H. B. Marriott Watson
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF 
 CALIFORNIA 
 
 SAN DIEGO
 
 The Heart of Miranda
 
 By the Same Author 
 GALLOPING DICK 
 AT THE FIRST CORNER 
 DIOGENES IN LONDON
 
 The Heart of Miranda 
 
 And other Stories, being mostly 
 
 Winter Tales 
 
 BY 
 
 
 H. B. MARRIOTT WATSON 
 
 JOHN LANE: THE BODLEY HEAD 
 
 LONDON AND NEW YORK 
 
 1898
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1898, 
 BY JOHN LANE.
 
 TO HENRY JAMES 
 
 DEAR HENRY JAMES : 
 
 If the appearance of this brief dedication would seem 
 to lay upon you the onerous obligation of reading the pages 
 that follow, pray let me make it clear that I look for no 
 such magnanimous return. I beg that you will rather 
 understand that here is the tribute of one who holds your 
 work in such consideration that, having nothing else to 
 offer save his admiration, he takes leave to set it forth in 
 this public fashion, even if only as a prelude to his own 
 disjected pieces. 
 
 Yours always sincerely, 
 
 H. B. MARRIOTT WATSON. 
 
 Chiswick, March 21, 1898.
 
 Contents 
 
 PAGE 
 
 I. THE HEART OF MIRANDA i 
 
 II. THE DEAD WALL 84 
 
 III. THE STONE CHAMBER . . . .140 
 
 IV. ZORAKA 225 
 
 V. EN ROUTE 271 
 
 VI. A RESURRECTION 299
 
 The Heart of Miranda 
 
 I. THE POPINJAY 
 
 Miranda came forth into the garden and 
 looked about her. The sun shone through 
 deeps of blue, the spring flowers were blow- 
 ing, the young breezes of the morning flut- 
 tered her bright hair. Her white gown 
 trembled and wavered. In her large eyes 
 the light gleamed as on the surface of deep 
 pools. Merrily sang the birds as they flit- 
 ted among the trees. Her gaze wandered 
 abroad, from the garden, fresh with its 
 early dews, to the rolling hills and distant 
 valleys, shrouded in the golden haze of 
 the morning. She smiled at the landscape. 
 Something knocked at Miranda's heart.
 
 The Heart of Miranda 
 
 Miranda felt the world was full of charm ; it 
 held something in keeping for her, some- 
 thing unknown and wonderful and fair. Of 
 what does a young maid dream in the fresh 
 morning ? Soft and blooming from her 
 sleep, she surveyed the world and its boun- 
 tiful contents. All things lovely came to 
 lie at Miranda's feet. She could have 
 danced for gaiety ; she could have sung for 
 happiness. What enchanting avenues of 
 pleasure opened out before her eyes ! Some- 
 thing was waiting for her; she wondered 
 what. Its nature and its quality evaded 
 her; but she had a vague vision of a great 
 glory near by, ready for her discovery. Her 
 pulse beat fast. Something mysterious was 
 creeping into her heart. She was but a 
 child in years. How could she know ? 
 Within the phantasmagoria of her dreams 
 she wandered in innocence. The air that 
 breathed about her forehead she smiled at 
 for pleasure ; the sun that shone so warmly
 
 The Heart of Miranda 
 
 on her cheeks she laughed at for sheer 
 delight; the flowers that nodded on their 
 stalks she kissed for very happiness. Youth, 
 spring, and loveliness blossomed in Mi- 
 randa's heart. 
 
 Miranda looked down the pathway and 
 wondered. She could not rest within 
 doors. The mystery in her heart turned 
 her steps away into the garden and the 
 world, to seek, to seek she wondered what. 
 Her soul went out among the flowers and 
 rejoiced, and then crept back and nestled in 
 its home, marvelling. She yearned for 
 something other than the flowers and the 
 sunshine, something in harmony with them. 
 Would she find it at the end of the pathway, 
 or in the wide world ? She tripped down 
 the steps and set forth. 
 
 At the corner of the garden, where the 
 
 stile led into the lane, Miranda paused. A 
 
 pretty youth peeped over the hedge and 
 
 gazed upon her. Before the admiration in 
 
 3
 
 The Heart of Miranda 
 
 his glance Miranda's eyes fell. She fin- 
 gered the daffodils at her breast until he 
 should be gone, but when she looked up 
 again he was still there. Miranda stamped 
 her little foot. 
 
 ' When you have stared your fill, Sir," 
 said she, " perhaps I shall have leave to 
 pass." 
 
 He plucked off his hat and asked her par- 
 don, and his hair hung in curls. 
 
 ' ' You shall have all the liberty I can give 
 you, fair maid," said he, "if I, too, may 
 pass with you." 
 
 " But why ?" asked Miranda, smoothing 
 her flowers, with downcast eyes. 
 
 He smiled a pretty smile. " Oh," says 
 he, " but you know you are beautiful. The 
 pretty must always have full knowledge of 
 their own prettiness. " And he preened his 
 bare head with an elegant white hand and 
 smiled to himself. 
 
 Miranda looked up. He was quite the 
 4
 
 The Heart of Miranda 
 
 most ravishing creature she had seen. She 
 wondered. Miranda looked down, and the 
 scent of the garden passed into her soul. 
 He put out his hand to help her over the 
 stile, but she kept her eyelids lowered. 
 
 'Will you not trust me?" he lisped. 
 She shook her head, and mounted the first 
 stage. 
 
 " Of what age ? " he asked sweetly. She 
 climbed the steps one by one. 
 
 " Eighteen," she answered shyly. 
 
 "Jump," he cried, " and I will catch you." 
 
 He opened his arms ; she looked and hesi- 
 tated. She put her face aside and crept 
 down the steps demurely. 
 
 "Cruel!" he murmured, using his soft 
 
 eyes upon her. He sighed and turned 
 
 away. Miranda surveyed the valley mistily. 
 
 'Tis a sweet age for a maid," said he at 
 
 length. 
 
 Miranda laughed. She clapped her hands 
 in the glory of the springtide. 
 5
 
 The Heart of Miranda 
 
 " And mine own can match it," he went 
 on. " Betwixt yours and mine are but a 
 summer or two." 
 
 'Tis a fine age for a man," says Mi- 
 randa, slyly. 
 
 He turned swiftly and took her hand. 
 Miranda's heart stopped dead. 
 
 ' Think you so, sweet ? " he asked softly. 
 " I have long looked for such a maid as you. 
 We should make a pretty pair." 
 
 Miranda's heart beat slowly. 
 
 " What does it mean ? " said Miranda. 
 
 " It means," said he, " my sweet, that 
 the world is ours before us, that time and 
 space are browbeat out of reckoning, that 
 life is love and love is life, my darling." 
 ' What is love ? " asked Miranda. 
 
 " Look in my face," he said, " and, faith, 
 sweetheart, you shall see it there. It is 
 engraven on my heart for you ; it is im- 
 printed in my eyes. Every negotiation of 
 this body is but for you. Come, let me 
 6
 
 The Heart of Miranda 
 
 gaze into your soul, and see what you have 
 sight of in this soul of mine." 
 
 " I see it not," said Miranda. 
 
 He seized her fingers. " Let me kiss 
 your hand," said he. 
 
 " No, no! " said Miranda. 
 ' Your lips! " he cried. 
 
 " Hush! hush!" said Miranda. 
 
 Her face blew red ; she snatched her hand 
 away, and turned aside. With a light step, 
 he followed after, pleading in her ears. 
 
 ' You love me, dear; I know you love 
 me," he whispered. It is but your inno- 
 cence that keeps you from the knowledge. 
 Have I not seen the light in other eyes, and 
 shall I not judge ? Faith, dear, hundreds 
 have pined for these blue eyes of mine." 
 
 Miranda's heart went to and fro about its 
 business. 
 
 ' You are mistaken," said she, sedately; 
 " the light in my eyes, if so there be a light, 
 is the dancing of the sun. As for this love, 
 7
 
 The Heart of Miranda 
 
 I know it not. And you," she cried, look- 
 ing upon him with a little scorn, " whatever 
 you may see in your own, as you bow and 
 caper before your mirror, pray pause and 
 question if it be not merely the reflection 
 of a very precious vanity, the admiration of 
 your own fine person. You are a pretty fel- 
 low," says she, surveying him. 
 
 He smirked and bowed. 
 
 " I vowed you would see it soon," said 
 he, complacently. 
 
 " But for my own taste," quoth Miranda, 
 cocking her head upon one side, "you 
 smack overmuch of the toilet-table. You 
 are composed too daintily as a waxen image ; 
 you are prepared too fragrantly as with my 
 lady's powder. You are too tricked with 
 all the fashions at your service." 
 
 " Madame," says he in astonishment, 
 " your tongue is awry to-day. It is some 
 bitterness, surely, makes you so reckless of 
 your words." 
 
 8
 
 The Heart of Miranda 
 
 "Nay," said Miranda, soberly; "but I 
 am cool enough. I but survey you as you 
 are in all your maiden vanity. You offer 
 me love, and what do I that know not the 
 foolish term make out this love to be ? 
 Why, forsooth, yourself is all it comes to ; 
 yourself, or as much as goes to make your- 
 self, of all the tricks and elegances of the 
 hour. I would take no love at such an 
 estimate. It comes with the hour, and with 
 the hour it goes. Sir, 'tis not worth the 
 time of a ' pish ' or a ' tush. ' ' 
 
 ' You have a vile temper," he rejoined, 
 crossly ; " I have never met a maid with such 
 a shrewish wit as yours no, not among 
 the thousands that have loved me. What 
 have I done to offend you? But I know the 
 way of a maid's tongue," he said, wagging 
 his head; " if she be crossed even by the 
 slipping of an epithet, she will straightway 
 fall into a very tempest of rage and deny 
 the dearest idol of her heart. Lord, how 
 9
 
 The Heart of Miranda 
 
 perverse she will be ! Come, sweet my love, 
 and tell me how I have offended, for it is 
 not in reason but you must love me." 
 
 " Love you ! " cried Miranda, and laughed 
 to the sky. She looked him up and down. 
 " I like not your nose," quoth she, " 'tis 
 too straight for my taste 'tis wonderful 
 how monotonous a nose maybe. And your 
 eyes," she exclaimed, " Heavens! of what 
 pale China blue, as the eyes of an idol grin- 
 ning on his thousand worshippers! There 
 is less colour in a kind of blue I know than 
 in any honest puddle of mud. And, oh ! my 
 pretty sir, to find the petulance of a maid 
 pouting on the lips of a youth ! 'Tis so un- 
 seemly. Those curling locks, too, I cannot 
 abide. On my soul, they are more lady- 
 like and bewitching than mine own, and no 
 woman would forgive such an affront upon 
 her vanity. Love you, sweet sir! I love 
 not a mannikin, designed by Mother Nature 
 as fit company for the lapdog on my lady's
 
 The Heart of Miranda 
 
 knee. Give me a man," says Miranda, 
 blazing into anger; " give me a man with 
 a soul and body fashioned for manhood." 
 
 He stamped his foot, and made as though 
 to seize her by the wrist, but stopped. 
 
 Pooh! " he sneered, as he turned away; 
 " 'tis a comfort fair women fade so fast." 
 
 II. THE BELLS OF FOLLY 
 
 Miranda ran into the meadow laughing. 
 The grassy slope shelved down into the 
 valley, where the wood lay black and still. 
 Daffodils nodded and cowslips bowed as she 
 passed upon her way. A lark got up and 
 rose singing to heaven. She sped out of 
 the shadow and into the sunlight, and the 
 sound of her young laughter floated down 
 the valley; echoes joined it there, and the 
 little ravine gurgled with merriment. Mi- 
 randa stopped, with her chin in the air, and 
 ii
 
 The Heart of Miranda 
 
 listened. Was it all the echo of her own 
 delight, or was it something more ? The 
 peal of her mockery died into the sombre 
 copse, and out of it, fresh and clear, a voice 
 trilled merrily on its upward way. Miranda 
 stood and waited. 
 
 He came up the bank of wild flowers, his 
 face bright with the love of life and laugh- 
 ter, and at the sight of her he paused. The 
 two faced each other for a while in silence, 
 and then a smile ran round Miranda's lips, 
 and the young man's eyes sparkled with 
 merriment. 
 
 " I took your laughter for a signal," said 
 he, making his beaming salutations; "but 
 I reckoned little upon so charming an assig- 
 nation." 
 
 " It was but a signal of the spring, Sir," 
 says she, with a dainty bow. 
 
 "Nay," he replied; "I make no such 
 distinctions between the seasons. I laugh 
 the whole year through; it is the manner 
 
 13
 
 The Heart of Miranda 
 
 of the wise. You will perceive my jocund 
 humour, fair mistress. Believe me, 'tis not 
 the whim of an hour contrived by the guiles 
 of a spring morning; but a very settled dis- 
 position of the mind. I am broad-based 
 upon gaiety." 
 
 "Ah! to be gay!" cried Miranda; "to 
 be gay is to live." 
 
 " Life is at our feet," said the merry 
 youth. " I take an infinite pleasure in its 
 complexities. Believe me, nothing should 
 matter, save the twinkling of an eye or the 
 dimpling of a cheek." 
 
 ' You are right," said Miranda, smiling. 
 " How can one have enough of laughter ? " 
 ' We are of one mind," he answered 
 pleasantly. " Let us go into our corner 
 and be merry together." 
 
 "Why not?" says Miranda. "Why 
 not ?" 
 
 - There are ten thousand pleasures in this 
 silly world," he went on ; " and, for myself, 
 13
 
 The Heart of Miranda 
 
 I have not yet exhausted the tenth part of 
 them. Count my years, then, and make 
 three-score-and-ten the dividend, and what 
 remains? Pack them into the hours never 
 so neatly, and you will not exhaust the 
 store. And that is why I am a spendthrift 
 of pleasures. I eke not out my delights. 
 I would burn twenty in a straw hat out 
 of sheer caprice, and toss a dozen to the 
 ducks upon the lake for pity." 
 
 ' Yes, yes," agreed Miranda. 
 
 ' Time " he continued, with fine scorn. 
 " Time has discovered us a conspiracy of the 
 ages to enthrone this Melancholy. But we 
 are no traitors to our rightful king, you and 
 I ; and we will clap a crown upon the head 
 of Laughter, and lay the usurper by the 
 heels in his proper dungeon." 
 
 " He were better there," replied Miranda, 
 thoughtfully. 
 
 ' There is never a care," he resumed, 
 " upon which we may not trample, not a 
 14
 
 The Heart of Miranda 
 
 trouble which we may not forget. What a 
 fool is he who would nurse his sorrow and 
 not bury it in the deepest grave! " 
 
 'What a fool!" murmured Miranda, 
 dreamily. 
 
 " Should one lose a friend, a fig for friend- 
 ship ! " quoth he. " Does one cast a lover, 
 a snap for a hundred lovers! What has 
 been remains, and what is shall be." 
 
 Miranda said nothing. 
 
 " Subtract love from life," said the young 
 man, " and life remains. I would have the 
 world know that love is a pleasant cipher, an 
 amiable and entertaining mood, and that life 
 is left when love is lost. There is no Love. 
 It were more truly writ in the plural and 
 spelled with a small letter." 
 
 Miranda turned upon him swiftly. " Fie! 
 fie!" said she, and the light flashed in her 
 eyes. " I know nothing of this Love, but 
 I dare swear there be things that matter. 
 Take these from life, and what will rest 
 15
 
 The Heart of Miranda 
 
 over? Is there not Sorrow, and is there not 
 Pain? Is there not Remorse, and is there 
 not the thing called Sin? I know nothing of 
 these ; I am too young to the world. But 
 there they stand, Sir, importuning at our 
 doors with outstretched arms, and one has 
 only to lift the latch to let them in. You 
 would deny the very pulse of human nature 
 when you ignore these evils. You would 
 forswear the very weaknesses which have 
 composed for you your sentiments." 
 
 In the excitement of her retort Miranda's 
 face flushed and grew bright. Wide-eyed, 
 the young man stared at her and forgot to 
 laugh, and when she had done his head 
 dropped and he sighed. 
 
 " Ah," she said, " you sigh. You your- 
 self have felt and suffered. You have be- 
 lied yourself! You sigh. There are facts 
 in life even for sighs." 
 
 'Tis true," he answered softly, " yet I 
 sighed for pleasure." 
 16
 
 The Heart of Miranda 
 
 " What pleasure? " she asked curiously. 
 
 " Or it may be hope," he added. 
 
 He looked at her, and his gaze was mild 
 and wistful. She regarded him in perplex- 
 ity, and then a wild flush took her in the 
 cheek and throat. 
 
 "Pooh! pooh!" she cried, and turned 
 off, plucking at the hawthorn bush. The 
 white may smelled rank, but strange and 
 soothing; the petals shivered and fell. Mi- 
 randa's heart beat on, wondering. Some- 
 thing clapped at its doors again and again. 
 Would she open? What was this impatient 
 visitor that pleaded so for entrance? She 
 had so little knowledge ; she was but newly 
 arrived upon the world. Her emotions 
 were still strangers to her; she was a pil- 
 grim still among her new sensations. Ought 
 she to open? Nay, to stay so and wonder 
 was surely pleasantest. One day she would 
 throw wide the doors and look. But now 
 it was sweet to feel that hand upon the 
 2 17
 
 The Heart of Miranda 
 
 knocker, that clutching at the latch, and lie 
 trembling within in feigned insecurity. She 
 turned and faced him. Straightway the 
 clamour ceased, and in her heart was silence. 
 She looked him coldly in the face. 
 
 ' You smile for love? " she asked. 
 
 ' Yes, dear," said he, " and for the 
 thought of you." 
 
 " Oh, you take me too lightly," she 
 broke out. ' You do not guess what a 
 solemn thing this Love may be. You flut- 
 ter into a thousand follies on the scantest 
 reflection. You will dance, and you will 
 play, and you will jingle-jangle through your 
 holiday world without a thought for any- 
 thing but pirouettes and jigs and whirligigs 
 of laughter. The most sonorous of sacred 
 sorrows may sound in your ears, and wake 
 no echo but a jape within your heart. And 
 you would put me upon that dead plane of 
 ribald merriment with yourself? I will laugh 
 with you. Yes; I will go beg of you for 
 iS
 
 The Heart of Miranda 
 
 jests in my jocund seasons. I am willing to 
 shriek over your whimsicalities at my own 
 pleasure. In my serene, unthinking mo- 
 ments I will be content to exchange hu- 
 mours with you, and to vow life were void 
 and dull were not such as you at my beck. 
 But when I have opened my chamber and 
 fastened the door upon myself my soul and 
 I shall be alone together; and I will weep, 
 and pity, and repent, and ache out my heart 
 with sorrow in which you can have no lot. 
 I am young, but I have an inkling of what 
 the world may mean." 
 
 "The world," said he, "means happi- 
 ness." 
 
 'The world," she retorted, "means 
 tears, and bitter wringing of the hands. 
 Have I not heard of Death? And have I 
 not seen Pain? You think me gay, yet how 
 long shall I keep this gaiety in my heart? 
 I go round upon the wheel. It turns and 
 changes. What shall befall to-morrow that 
 19
 
 The Heart of Miranda 
 
 I should not weep to-day? You would 
 pluck me with no greater consideration than 
 you would pick a flower from its stalk 
 wherewith to deck your coat. Should it 
 wither or fall adust, another will serve until 
 the coming of the wine. Look you, you 
 will sigh and weep for love, and your sighs 
 will be smiles, and your tears will be laugh- 
 ter. Forthright your heart is singing like a 
 lark. Yours! yours is the shallowest of 
 paltry passions." 
 
 " I would do much for you," said he. 
 
 " Give up your dimples," cried Miranda, 
 " and so to the churchyard with a wry face." 
 
 " Even that," he answered, nodding. 
 
 " Pah! " said she, " you will not contain 
 your face lugubriously for five minutes by 
 the clock. Though you shall remember to 
 be sober for two sentences, at the third you 
 will be whistling, and the fourth will find 
 you holding your sides." 
 
 He moved a step towards her.
 
 The Heart of Miranda 
 
 " And if I should die for you? " he asked 
 pleadingly. 
 
 Miranda gasped. She contemplated his 
 face with uncertainty. His eyes shone with 
 the dew of tears; his hands trembled; it 
 was the corner of his mouth betrayed him. 
 Miranda burst into laughter. 
 
 " You! " she cried. " You! Why, you 
 would forget my coffin as it passed, and the 
 colour of my face ere my back was upon 
 you. See here," she said; "I will give 
 you to the hedge for misery; but I swear 
 you will take the lane as jauntily as an hour 
 since. Get you gone, my merry man, and 
 come again to dispute with me in an idle 
 humour. Fie! fie! to think on you and 
 Death in the same company! " 
 
 He sighed and turned away. 
 
 " You have the smallest heart of any maid 
 I know," he said, shaking his head. 
 
 ' The better for my laughter," laughed 
 Miranda.
 
 The Heart of Miranda 
 
 He moved across the meadow, his head 
 hanging, his eyes downcast, his stick drag- 
 ging among the daisies. Miranda stared 
 after him, her lips parted in amusement. 
 He climbed the stile, and, stopping on the 
 topmost step, turned to her again. 
 
 " I have at least one solace," he called 
 across the meadow. " I shall forget your 
 fickle face by night." 
 
 Miranda's laughter touched the skies and 
 ceased. Her face fell thoughtful ; she sighed 
 and shrugged her dainty shoulders. 
 
 III. THE PHILOSOPHY OF LOVE 
 
 " Is there such a thing as Love?" asked 
 Miranda. 
 
 Overhead the larks sung, about her the 
 blackbirds carolled; finch called to finch 
 in the hedgerows. Wrinkled with her 
 thoughts, Miranda walked down the slope
 
 The Heart of Miranda 
 
 into the field of young green corn, and, 
 pausing on the verge of the wheat, looked 
 across the valley. 
 
 "Is there such a thing as Love?" she 
 asked. 
 
 She shaded her eyes to the East. The 
 morning still lay like a golden shroud upon 
 the horizon, and through that veil she could 
 not pierce. She wondered what reached 
 beyond that remote, mysterious brightness. 
 If the sun would but disperse those aureoles 
 of the East, she would, perhaps, see clearly 
 what she guessed at vaguely. The valley 
 was her own, informed and animated by 
 her own fancy, free to her wandering feet, 
 charged full of sweet beatitudes, smiling 
 with flowers, and lovely with the serene 
 possession of life and happiness. But Mi- 
 randa had, somehow, a dim sense of confine- 
 ment within those golden mists. Her life 
 was beautiful and fortunate, but the walls 
 of the world came so close upon her. She 
 23
 
 The Heart of Miranda 
 
 wanted the key of the wicket to pass out 
 upon the mountains. Was there nothing 
 beyond the birds and the flowers and the 
 waving fields of wheat? Something troubled 
 Miranda! 
 
 There was none to guide her. What 
 passed beyond the mists and what fell across 
 the mountains? She was sure she should 
 know some day, but she wanted to know 
 now. So many mysteries flitted through 
 Miranda's mind. 
 
 " If there is no Love," said Miranda, 
 " what is ringing at my heart? Is it Love, 
 is it Death, or is it merely the desire and 
 delight of life? Oh, for an interpreter!" 
 she sighed. 
 
 In the little pathway through the corn 
 a bird lay dead. Miranda stooped and 
 smoothed its ruffled feathers. 
 
 " Is it Pity? " she asked. " Perhaps it is 
 Pity," she said. 
 
 She could not dissever her emotions; they 
 24
 
 The Heart of Miranda 
 
 ran together in confusion. The one faded 
 into the other. How fast the blood fled 
 through Miranda's body! How full was 
 Miranda's soul! 
 
 " He must be very tender," thought 
 Miranda, stroking the poor dead creature. 
 " He must be very kind and true. How 
 shall I know him? What does it mean?" 
 
 The wind sang through the wheat, and 
 seemed to bear snatches from over the 
 mountains to her ears. They stirred her 
 strangely. She threw her arms up in 
 despair. 
 
 "Oh, I shall never love!" sighed Mi- 
 randa, " for love is all a figment." 
 
 " So young a maid, and yet so harsh a 
 creed," said a voice behind her. 
 
 Miranda started, and hung her head for 
 shame. 
 
 ' ' If I have trespassed upon your thoughts, ' ' 
 said the voice, " it was through the inad- 
 vertence of an impulse. Forgive me. I 
 25
 
 The Heart of Miranda 
 
 should have passed and left you to your 
 trouble." 
 
 " I am in no trouble," said Miranda, 
 glancing shyly at the stranger. " I was 
 but wondering." 
 
 " The most of our life is wonder, and the 
 rest regret," said he. 
 
 " Mine is all wonder, Sir," she answered. 
 
 He nodded his head kindly. 
 
 " Yes," he sighed. ' The garden still 
 encloses you. You are not yet upon the 
 road. And the garden is full of flowers, 
 and the road winds through hot and arid 
 tracts to death." 
 
 Miranda looked at him timidly, and he 
 was watching the valley with a gentle smile. 
 Hope danced through Miranda's heart. 
 Was this then her interpreter, who would 
 put a meaning upon her unknown won- 
 ders and solve the mysteries that beset 
 her? 
 
 " Yet those in the garden may dream of 
 26
 
 The Heart of Miranda 
 
 the road," she said; " and I am perplexed 
 with many things." 
 
 " This Love," he answered, smiling, 
 " most of all." 
 
 Miranda blushed. 'Tis true," she mur- 
 mured. 
 
 " Love, poor child," said the stranger, 
 " is a tyrannous enemy, but a decent friend. 
 It were better in chains than above an 
 altar." 
 
 " Is it not good? " she asked in surprise. 
 
 He leaned upon the gate. "It is easily 
 mistook," he said slowly. ' Who am I to 
 convince you? But my years in the world 
 have taught me to regard it at the best as 
 a very tender tie of friendship." 
 
 " But, oh! " says Miranda. 
 
 " Child," said he, " you will cry your 
 heart out for it, and once it is gained will 
 cry out your heart because of it. Believe 
 me, Love is a steady flame, and neither 
 leaps nor splutters." 
 27
 
 The Heart of Miranda 
 
 " How may one tell it?" whispered Mi- 
 randa. 
 
 "Shall one say by the voice?" he an- 
 swered. " Shall one speak of the touch, 
 or the look ? Maybe, a little breathless- 
 ness will mark it." 
 
 " I have that now," says she. 
 
 " Well, well," he replied; " but 'tis of a 
 long growth and very gentle." 
 
 " And may not one love at sight? " asked 
 Miranda. 
 
 He laughed. " My child, 'twould be the 
 veriest folly and bitterly repented. Never 
 yet came true love but by slow years of 
 wont. A face a face is a shadow that 
 passes. Eyes eyes flicker and fade. Lips 
 lips are for food and laughter. The hair 
 decays ; the body dwindles and withers ; the 
 comely limbs grow shrunken and hollow. 
 If you would hold by these, my dear, you 
 would put your trust in the flying hour." 
 
 Miranda's eyes opened large and wide. 
 28
 
 The Heart of Miranda 
 
 She stared at him. Her underlip quivered. 
 She gave a little sob, and at the sound he 
 turned to her. For the first time her face 
 came full into the sunlight, and her eyes 
 met his. He took her hand; she hid her 
 face. 
 
 " Why, child " said he. 
 
 "Is it so?" she whispered, "and is it 
 really so? Will all this come to me? " 
 
 He looked in her eyes again, and drew a 
 sharp breath. 
 
 " Dear," he answered, "it is the way of 
 mortal clay." 
 
 Miranda sighed. 
 
 " But, ah!" he cried, " surely the gods 
 will spare such sweetness till the end." 
 
 He held her hand still. She wondered. 
 
 "And must one wait so long?" she 
 asked. 
 
 He shook his head. " I believe," said 
 he, fiercely, " that upon occasion Love may 
 come at sight." 
 
 29
 
 The Heart of Miranda 
 
 4 Why," said she, opening her eyes in 
 wonder, " a little ago it was the veriest 
 folly!" 
 
 " Ah, dear," he answered, " forgive me. 
 I was blind, and saw not. Philosophy and 
 I rolled into the ditch." Miranda stared at 
 him. He smiled and sighed. " But when 
 it comes," said he, " it comes indeed. The 
 skies open, the flowers blow sweetly, every 
 shred of green corn is fragrant. Love, be- 
 lieve me, is a very comfortable possession." 
 
 " Is it not gentle?" asked Miranda. 
 
 " Ah, so gentle! " he replied. " It wraps 
 you round like a soft fur; it soothes you; 
 you may sit and dine and sleep with easy 
 thoughts if Love but guard you. Love is 
 like a good wine, that mellows the heart 
 and quickens the understanding." 
 
 He moved a little closer to her. 
 ' Were one to love like this," said Mi- 
 randa, " would the heart be then at rest ? 
 Would it throb less loudly in one's side? 
 30
 
 The Heart of Miranda 
 
 Would such a love fulfil the most exigent 
 desires of human nature? What part would 
 so smooth a sentiment fill in one's life?" 
 
 " Passion," he answered, " is the bubble 
 that we blow in youth. It is the creature of 
 our own imagination, fails with our pulse, 
 and expires upon the indrawing of a breath. 
 How many have I seen wrecked upon pas- 
 sion, incredulous that it would be gone with 
 the fall of the sun or the waking of the 
 birds! Love, child, is no passion, but the 
 sweetest of contentments. Served in a 
 daily fare, it will preserve Peace and Health 
 and Wisdom. What would you have be- 
 yond these ? For, behold ! the greatest of 
 all is Peace." 
 
 "Peace!" sighed Miranda. 
 
 He went towards her. "Ah, sweet," he 
 murmured, " Peace should be our fortune 
 should we go through life together. Come, 
 place your hand in mine, and we will dispel 
 these rebel wildings from your heart. Look 
 31
 
 The Heart of Miranda 
 
 round and see the spring. All things keep 
 serene and quiet holiday. Pluck out dis- 
 trust; forget these treacherous longings! 
 A happy childhood shall surely preface a 
 comfortable career of ease." 
 
 Miranda hesitated ; her pretty brows were 
 puckered with doubt. At his bidding she 
 looked around. Nature smiled at her. The 
 face of the world shone with gaiety. Some- 
 where in the elms a throstle sang of Love 
 and mystery. She turned and gazed into 
 the stranger's face, and his kindly eyes 
 seemed dull and old. Spring and the sun- 
 shine and the song of birds lay not therein. 
 She shook her head. 
 
 " I want not comfortable ease," she an- 
 swered sadly; " I would not take it at so 
 great a sacrifice. See, there are other 
 things in Nature save peace. What of this 
 dead bird, callow from the nest? Is it 
 nought but peace I hear in yonder singing in 
 the trees? Hark! what secret is the young 
 32
 
 The Heart of Miranda 
 
 corn breathing to itself? Nay, what is even 
 this poor ignorant heart of mine faltering 
 within me? All around I see witnesses to 
 some greater glory than this ease of which 
 you speak. The strokes of my pulse beat 
 folly, you will say. Well, I will pursue 
 their folly until wisdom comes. Do not let 
 me from my own. I can but follow where 
 myself am leader." 
 
 " Nay," he said; " follow rather where I 
 lead I who have years of wisdom. You 
 are very sweet to me. Your eyes are soft 
 and beautiful." 
 
 " Eyes flicker and fade," said Miranda 
 with a smile. 
 
 ' Your form is young and lissom." 
 
 ' ' The body dwindles, ' ' quoth she, pouting. 
 ' Your lips " he began. 
 
 " Are for food and laughter," laughed 
 Miranda. " I pray you will not hold by 
 these, else will you put your trust in the 
 flying hour." 
 
 3 33
 
 The Heart of Miranda 
 
 ' You mock me," said he sadly. 
 
 " Nay," she replied; " I give you back 
 the echo of your own philosophy. Is it not 
 true ? Yourself have seen it. They shrink, 
 they wither, they fade, they decay oh, it 
 were wanton vanity to admire them ! Sir, 
 you have a very wise head, and will do well 
 not to go back upon its counsels. Nay, you 
 shall have your comfort, and you shall take 
 it at the lips of any of a hundred maids. 
 There is no choice for you. Why, no mys- 
 teries may trouble you. You have but a 
 straight course to saunter by, without so 
 much as blinking at the sun. Marry your 
 maid then, and take your comfort in God's 
 name. And in my mind's eye I shall see 
 you lolling in your purple chair, and suck- 
 ing in the comfort of your admirable room, 
 smoking your comfortable pipe, and direct- 
 ing comfortable glances at the flight of 
 rooks outside your window. And beside 
 you one, I shall see, to tender anticipations 
 34
 
 The Heart of Miranda 
 
 to your wants, plump and brown and gentle, 
 the mother of your sturdy children and the 
 custodian of your ease. Oh, you shall have 
 a comfortable life, I do assure you." 
 
 "That," he said tenderly, "is how I 
 would paint the picture for myself and 
 you. Come, think upon it. What better 
 prospect than this home you have upheld to 
 mockery? Indeed, what you have framed 
 in derision shall surely come to be your 
 heart's desire. Forego your yearnings: 
 they are idle dreams. Why, then, dream 
 them at night if you will, so be you are 
 complacently mine by day. I exact not 
 much, but a warm affection and a tender 
 friendship." 
 
 " Oh, we may be friends! we may be 
 friends!" cried Miranda. "I will be a 
 dozen friends to you a day. I love the 
 friendliness of friends, as I love the light 
 and warmth of the sun. I will dance with 
 you, if you be not too staid; I widl sing 
 35
 
 The Heart of Miranda 
 
 with you, if you have but the voice ; I will 
 read my books in tears with you, if you can 
 weep. But then you shall march home to 
 your comfortable wife, embrace her serenely, 
 and, free from the distractions of your 
 friend's emotions, serenely take comfort in 
 her serene comfortableness." 
 
 "Ah!" he cried. 
 
 " But as for me," she went on, with an 
 imperious gesture of her hand, " I like not 
 comfort. I can buy a rushlight for a far- 
 thing, bread for a penny, and the whole 
 world for sixpence. I would think shame 
 to sell the mysteries of life for the petty 
 possession of a bland prosperity." 
 
 Without a word, he turned on his heel 
 and went his way, and Miranda, following 
 him with her eyes, smiled to herself and her 
 heart. She was flushed and beautiful ; her 
 bosom quickened with excitement, and to 
 the door of her heart the hand came clutch- 
 ing, clutching at the latch. 
 36
 
 The Heart of Miranda 
 
 IV. THE MAN OF SENTIMENT 
 
 A sound of hurrying feet struck on Mi- 
 randa's ear. She turned in time to con- 
 front two eager eyes that were bent upon 
 her brightly. He was a little breathless 
 with his haste, and his smooth cheeks were 
 flushed with excitement. Panting, he be- 
 gan, pointing his finger across the waving 
 corn 
 
 " I have watched him go," said he. " I 
 have long waited for his exit. Time has 
 crept on such tardy legs. I know him 
 well," he remarked with a pitying smile; 
 " as dull a dog as ever kept tame kennel. 
 You are well rid of the fellow with his meek 
 philosophy and his unblinking eyes. Faith, 
 I would not have him trouble the ears of a 
 maid for all the wealth of Prester John. A 
 clucking barn-door cock, with emotions fit 
 to scratch all day upon a dung-heap, and 
 37
 
 The Heart of Miranda 
 
 not skill enough to discern the twinkling 
 of a diamond from the sad yellows of a 
 wheat-ear, wherewith to fill his stomach! " 
 
 Miranda stared at him, and burst into 
 tinkling laughter. 
 
 " Good," says he, complacently, " I see 
 you take him at his proper value. Pearls 
 have another destiny than to go for but- 
 tons on his sober sides. Such as he should 
 keep company with cold-visaged age. What 
 said the lover? Had he not arguments? " 
 
 "Oh, he had arguments to spare," she 
 laughed. " Life was a deadly fustian- 
 coated thing to him. He pleaded for re- 
 pose." 
 
 " Repose!" he echoed. "I pray I may 
 die when I come to think on repose with 
 any feeling but distaste. Repose! Oh, 
 yes ; let them repose that love it ; but they 
 shall not solicit into their stagnation aught 
 that is comely and vivacious. I know well 
 enough what life may be," he said, wag- 
 38
 
 The Heart of Miranda 
 
 ging his head. " I have sounded all its 
 mysteries. Take me for a pilot. I have 
 tasted the sweet and the bitter"; and he 
 sighed. 
 
 Miranda looked at him with pity. He 
 was so young to have this sorrow in his 
 heart. She sighed with him. 
 
 " But there are compensations," he went 
 on presently. " One dies and the light goes 
 out, but there remains still the beautiful 
 world." 
 
 Miranda gazed round the valley. 
 
 " Will that suffice ? " she asked softly. 
 ' Ah, no!" he cried; " a thousand noes. 
 There is nothing will suffice save death. 
 But life is laid upon us. What may we do? 
 We take our pains and our pleasures; there 
 is no rest. To rest were death in life. I 
 could not sink into the moral worm that 
 withdraws its blind head and wriggles into 
 cover on the passage of a pain. Nay, I 
 take life with my eyes open, though my 
 
 39
 
 The Heart of Miranda 
 
 back be bowed and my body bent, and 
 though the ice encrust my soul. The grace 
 of the day passes, but we are surely the 
 happier even for that ephemeral sweetness." 
 'Yes; surely we are happier," assented 
 Miranda, wondering at his fine words. 
 
 " And even when we think it not, there 
 comes," said he, " some mi-tigation to Sor- 
 row. There is the joy of Resignation ; there 
 is the delight of Sacrifice ; and there is the 
 sweetness of Remembered Pain ; and be- 
 yond all lies the gladness of Despair." 
 
 Miranda looked puzzled. She gazed at 
 him inquiringly. 
 
 'You will think me absurd," said he; 
 " but I talk out of my knowledge. I speak 
 in sober words, as one upon whose hopes 
 the grave has closed. Sorrow is a fire that 
 refines; pain is a scourge that purifies. You 
 are young, child, and go yet unscathed ; but 
 some day maybe and that in but a little 
 while you may watch the sky grow black 
 40
 
 The Heart of Miranda 
 
 upon you, and feel the foundations of the 
 earth totter, and your whole being will reel 
 and burn and moan aloud to God within 
 you. In such an hour you will remember 
 and believe; and when you are crept into 
 some insecure and windy refuge, trembling 
 till the storm may pass, you will know that 
 the blight of mortality is upon you. And 
 you will finger your scars, and put your 
 hands upon your wounds, realising that out 
 of pain have you purchased knowledge, 
 peace out of suffering, and out of despair 
 hope." 
 
 The tears stood in Miranda's eyes. She 
 laid a timid hand upon his arm. " Ah, how 
 you have suffered! " she murmured. 
 
 He raised his sad gaze to hers and sighed. 
 ' ' I have wept out these eyes for want of 
 such a one as you to succour me. Had but 
 your tenderness and loving kindness been 
 with me, the storm had surely, passed in 
 vain." 
 
 41
 
 The Heart of Miranda 
 
 " Is it long gone ? " she asked gently. 
 
 " Some three months since," he an- 
 swered; "and still is my heart sore within 
 me. I dare not fancy how it will all end. 
 The sun rises and I see it not ; the air grows 
 warm and I feel it not; the stars blink 
 down upon me and I regard them not. 
 Day passes after day, and night succeeds 
 to night; yet is my long pain still with 
 me, and I heed not the rolling years." 
 
 "'Tis but three months," she suggested. 
 ' Three months are many years," he 
 sighed. 
 
 Miranda looked at his misty blue eyes, 
 and a thrill of pity pierced her soul. 
 
 "But you will be strong," she said; 
 " you will pluck out the thorns from your 
 heart, and it shall yet blossom again as the 
 rose. You will not bow your head to 
 trouble. I know so little, but surely again 
 in the springtime you will find a fair flush 
 upon your world." 
 
 42
 
 The Heart of Miranda 
 
 The young man put out his hand and 
 took hers. He pressed it gently. 
 
 " 'Tis true," he said, " for others. They, 
 indeed, may die with the waning moon, and 
 be born again when she shows her new 
 horns. With each fresh week they may 
 start anew into life. Nay, even the hours 
 are the measure of their fortunes. But for 
 me the spring is over and gone; out of the 
 dead heart of the summer shall I snatch 
 aught but withered leaves? And shall I 
 permit my own dead heart to take the dews 
 and sunlight of an unavailing spring? Child, 
 child, you know not, you cannot judge," 
 and he patted softly on the hand he held 
 between his fingers. 
 
 Miranda bent her head, and wept gently. 
 He put his arm upon her shoulder, and 
 looked into her eyes. 
 
 4 Yes, there are other springs," said he, 
 " but they are for you, and not for me. 
 And still and still your sweet voice com- 
 43
 
 The Heart of Miranda 
 
 forts me, your dear tears console me. There 
 is so much between us I would fain retain." 
 
 Miranda stayed, reluctant, under his 
 touch, and then, gently moving, would have 
 withdrawn herself beyond him. But his 
 hand held her fast ; he tightened his clasp ; 
 a gulp of tears rolled into his throat. 
 
 " Nay," he murmured; " do not leave me 
 so. Bear with me till this sorrow passes. 
 'Twill be gone in a little. See, the sky is 
 clearing, and only on the horizon do the 
 clouds lie black. Come, let me have your 
 hand, and we will talk of what we know is 
 true and beautiful of life and love and the 
 loveliness of life; for in you, dear child, all 
 these are surely implicit." 
 
 The red hung in Miranda's cheeks, and 
 then went out slowly. 
 
 " I love life," she answered in low tones, 
 " and I love the loveliness of life, but I 
 know not why I love them." 
 
 " Because," said he, smiling, " you your- 
 44
 
 The Heart of Miranda 
 
 self are informed with Love. Think you 
 God made a maid so lovely and not for love? 
 No; your arms were designed for a lover's 
 necklace; your bosom was conceived for a 
 lover's pillow ; your lips for the sweet rest- 
 ing-place of tired eyes, and you yourself for 
 the delectation of many hapless wooers." 
 
 Miranda blushed, and stirred uncomfort- 
 ably. Something in his rapturous fancy 
 irked her, and yet it was surely right that 
 one so buried in his distant sorrow should 
 adjudge her thus. She conceived his kindly 
 eyes upon her in a melancholy gaze, as of a 
 brother who would fain reassure her out of 
 his own troubled past. And then, she was 
 sure, they passed away from her and across 
 the valley where the golden mists were scat- 
 tering, and lit upon the hill-tops somewhere 
 far off, amid the kindly haze, and dwelt 
 alone there with his sacred grief, as in a 
 silent and inaccessible temple. She looked 
 up in some awe, and found them fastened 
 
 45
 
 The Heart of Miranda 
 
 upon her with an ardent wistfulness. Her 
 hand had fallen from his; he reached out, 
 and seized it again. 
 
 ' We have so much in common," he 
 murmured. " My dear, the sweetness of 
 those tremulous eyes! " 
 
 Miranda sharply pulled her fingers from 
 him. 
 
 " Ah, sweet, be not so cruel," he 
 pleaded; " you were not fashioned for dis- 
 dain. Let me look. Yes, in those lamps 
 of light I can behold my own face, drowned 
 as in a pool. It shines therefrom, as star- 
 light from a blue sky. Would God " 
 
 He ended with a sigh. 
 
 " I will bid you good-day, Sir," says she; 
 
 the morning grows late." 
 
 "No, no!" he cried, catching at her 
 hand. 
 
 Miranda stopped in wonder. 
 
 " And do you love me, then?" he asked 
 in a cooing voice. 
 
 46
 
 The Heart of Miranda 
 
 Miranda opened her mouth and stared. 
 
 " No," said she, shortly, after a pause. 
 
 He sighed musically, and his sigh ran like 
 cold water down Miranda's back. He sighed 
 again. Miranda turned, and in an instant, 
 ere he was aware, flashed out upon him. 
 
 " And do you love me, then? " she mim- 
 icked, scorn in her cooing. 
 
 " Dear!" said he, and bent to kiss her 
 hand. Miranda laughed. 
 
 ' You love me, then? " she cried. 
 
 He made a motion of his hand, as though 
 to banish an irrelevant thought. 
 
 'Why ply so bluntly?" he remarked, 
 with some sad displeasure; " and why blow 
 so coarsely ? Love 'twixt man and maid 
 forgive me should be as gentle as the 
 breath of the zephyr, as light as the touch 
 of warm sun upon the rose. There is no 
 need of terms. Heart looks to heart and 
 holds communion silently. Nay, but the 
 fault was mine. I ask your pardon. I put 
 47
 
 The Heart of Miranda 
 
 too gross a question to you. Let us rather 
 linger in this delicious incertitude all day. 
 The morning is young; we have the fields 
 before us ; let us wander there, and you shall 
 pluck the flowers and idly weave a garland 
 for your head, while I look on and smile, 
 a bird singing in my heart, unquestioned, 
 standing alone within a maze of ways, yet 
 undismayed, knowing this only, that the full 
 glory of love is not to know, and the full 
 flower of life is expectation." 
 
 ' You talk great nonsense, sir," says she. 
 
 " Ah, no," he broke in. " Believe 
 
 me But before the flash in her eyes 
 
 he paused. 
 
 " Ere you put tongue to further follies," 
 says she, " listen. Out of my ignorance 
 shall I instruct your wisdom. You have 
 too soft a heart for this rude world. I 
 pity you. Your soul is like a flying bird, 
 ever at the rough mercy of the fowler. 
 Boom! goes the gun, and down it falls, 
 4 8
 
 The Heart of Miranda 
 
 winged and whimpering at her feet. Why, 
 she has never so much as to put her finger 
 on the lock, but you will fall fluttering at 
 the mere glint of it. You have whole seas 
 of sentiment within your eyes. Lord ! how 
 you would weep ! You would drown out 
 this valley in a week, and flood my gar- 
 den for a fallen sparrow. Tears ! Tears 
 are your finery. You bedeck yourself with 
 them, and strut among your acquaintances 
 the proudest wight of all. You cull posies 
 of sentiment by every wayside. Not a day 
 but you will have a fresh desire, own a fresh 
 sorrow, and crown a fresh conquest. Vic- 
 tor and victim ! I salute your immortal 
 youth. Other men have died for love, but 
 to you alone has it been vouchsafed to live 
 for it. So, as you may cry and mourn and 
 sigh and go forlorn, touch delicate hands, 
 and interchange the soft felicities of affec- 
 tion, you will walk in a whirl of gaiety to 
 your grave. Sir, you would bury a thou- 
 
 4 49
 
 The Heart of Miranda 
 
 sand loves with delirious delight. Oh, you 
 are too fastidious ; you exact too much. It 
 were surely wiser to fill your hours more 
 economically with griefs. They will not 
 outlast you. Sorrow abides but for a night. 
 Have you never laughed ? Did joy never 
 wear any face for you save that of bereave- 
 ment? Did ever your pulse flow faster save 
 at the prospect of sepulture? I beseech you 
 to adventure more. Believe me, there are 
 fields of sweet emotion as yet untrodden of 
 your feet. Come, for an experiment, stay a 
 whole week with your heart's delight ; I can 
 foresee for you new and strange sensations. 
 You shall decay beautifully. This rare and 
 lovely sentiment of yours will turn all man- 
 ner of raw colours. It will shine rank, and 
 smell stale ; it will take on all the hues of 
 swift corruption. But think on them, and 
 should they fall and you exhaust the uni- 
 verse, why, there is always the river, and 
 the rain of tears upon self-contemplated 
 50
 
 The Heart of Miranda 
 
 suicide. You shall stand over the brink, 
 and pause, and murmur to the trees, and 
 roll your eyes to heaven, and look down 
 with compassion upon your elegant limbs, 
 so soon to toss among the graceless weeds. 
 And I, if you will, shall bear you witness, 
 and copy your fair sentences into some 
 white book, and send them down the ages, 
 engraven above a golden heart. Oh, I will 
 frame you an admirable, a most pitiful epi- 
 taph. Nay, but I mistake, for surely it 
 were meeter writ from your own dictation." 
 
 She paused for want of breath, and the 
 young man raised his hand in a manner of 
 deprecation. 
 
 " It is enough," he said, and sighed, " I 
 have mistaken. Forgive me the lack of 
 judgment. Had I regarded sufficiently the 
 tip of your nose, indeed I had not blun- 
 dered." Miranda's fingers went to her face. 
 " I had thought you endowed with the quali- 
 ties of sympathy. But," he shrugged his
 
 The Heart of Miranda 
 
 shoulders, " one blunders still. Indeed, one 
 blunders after many blunders. You are 
 too pert and young. You put life to the 
 coarse edge of fact. Believe me, you were 
 better living in ideals. One buys facts by 
 the gross, and at so many pence. The ideal 
 we snatch from the empyrean. You shall go 
 your way, and I mine." Miranda curtsied. 
 " I bear you no malice for your wanton 
 tongue. Child, you will learn wisdom, and 
 come to regard affection." 
 
 With that, he made her a great bow, and, 
 turning slowly, made off with a heavy ap- 
 pearance of sorrow. At the corner of the 
 hedge he stopped, glanced over his shoul- 
 der, raised his hat, and sighed loudly. 
 
 Miranda stood watching his receding 
 figure with something between a smile and 
 a frown upon her dainty face.
 
 The Heart of Miranda 
 
 V. LACK-LUSTRE VIRTUE 
 
 Miranda put a finger to the tip of her nose 
 and frowned. 
 
 'Tis false," she murmured querulously; 
 "it is straight enough in all conscience. 
 Oh, I abhor spite," and, shrugging her 
 shoulders angrily, she ran lightly through 
 the green corn down upon the little wood 
 below. 
 
 Here a pleasant brook fretted over tiny 
 falls, and curled in eddies round large, 
 smooth pebbles. The morning sun struck 
 a slant through the willows, and patches of 
 blue sky beamed up from the depths of the 
 shadlow water. Miranda stepped upon the 
 frail bridge and leaned over the handrail. 
 The mirror below her was full of waver- 
 ing shadows and grey light. The stream 
 trickled coolly in that secluded dell, and 
 Miranda's face was flushed and hot with her 
 53
 
 The Heart of Miranda 
 
 haste. The breeze went softly through the 
 tresses of her hair. Miranda glanced along 
 the shelving banks to where a grassy knoll 
 jutted forth upon a corner of the brook. 
 She left the bridge, and walking to the spot, 
 looked down upon the water. The dell was 
 silent. 
 
 Her eyes flew swiftly this way and that, 
 in furtive diffidence, and then, fast as a 
 flash, she slipped her shoes from under her 
 feet, and flung her hosen down, and, drop- 
 ping upon the knoll, dabbled her white feet 
 in the current. The water washed about 
 her ankles gently, and she watched the 
 curves in her high arches dissolve and 
 change and waver in the eddies. How 
 translucent was the stream ! How still .and 
 sweet the air! She bent forward and re- 
 garded her face in the deep pool. Sud- 
 denly, and with a little gasp of terror, she 
 found the earth slipping from her. She 
 threw herself back and clutched wildly at 
 54
 
 The Heart of Miranda 
 
 the grass. She felt the water creeping 
 above her ankles. A cry escaped her, and 
 on the next instant two hands were clasped 
 beneath her arms, and she was swiftly drawn 
 into safety, and lay high upon the grass 
 upon her back. Miranda sat up, and look- 
 ing round met the bashful eyes of a youth. 
 At once his gaze dropped, and he fumbled 
 his hands together, shifting from foot to 
 foot. 
 
 " I beg your pardon," said he, " but 
 you 
 
 " Oh, you are very kind," said Miranda 
 earnestly. " I thank you, Sir. Another 
 moment and I had been lost." 
 
 "It is but shallow," he mumbled smil- 
 ing, and bit his nail. 
 
 Miranda laughed awkwardly. " Oh, but 
 thank you, Sir," she said, "you are very 
 good." 
 
 "Twas but my duty," he stammered, 
 and looked away, frowning at the trees; 
 
 55
 
 The Heart of Miranda 
 
 " anyone would have done more for you," 
 he added, blushing. 
 
 Miranda's gaze went down her gown, and 
 hastily she plucked her bare feet under her 
 skirt. There fell a long silence, during 
 which he fidgeted with the stalks of the 
 bracken, and Miranda beat her fingers im- 
 patiently upon her knee. 
 
 "Heavens! will the man never speak or 
 go?" thought Miranda. 'The sun shines 
 bright, and the birds sing sweet," says she; 
 " we shall soon be in full spring." 
 
 " Very bright," said he, starting; " very 
 sweet," he added, and " 'twill .rain by 
 nightfall," he ventured, cocking his eye at 
 the sky. 
 
 "Ah!" said Miranda, fanning herself 
 with her hat. 
 
 Again a pause ensued. The young man 
 
 shuffled on his feet ; he whistled gently. 
 
 Miranda yawned and drummed her fingers 
 
 faster on her knee. She gave a little cough. 
 
 56
 
 The Heart of Miranda 
 
 " I fear," he stuttered, " you will grow 
 cold upon the moist slope. The sun has 
 little power upon the dews within this 
 shade. If I might beg " 
 
 Approaching, he held out a vague hand. 
 Miranda shut her mouth with a snap. 
 
 " I thank you," she said, with scorn, 
 " but the dew delights me. I am never 
 content save upon damp grass." 
 
 " I I crave your pardon," he besought 
 her. " I I fancied " 
 
 " I hate a fool!" quoth Miranda to her- 
 self, in anger. 
 
 His eyes wandered to the stream. 
 'Why, there are your shoes," says he,, 
 brightening, " and your hosen. Pray " 
 
 He made a hasty movement forward. 
 
 " I beg you will be at no trouble for 
 me," cried Miranda, flaming. "Suffer me, 
 at least, I pray you, the liberty to dispose 
 of my own apparel. I am no child at 
 nurse." 
 
 57
 
 The Heart of Miranda 
 
 He drew back, red and frightened, and 
 Miranda, breathless, curled her feet closer 
 beneath her gown. He watched her face 
 askance. She bit her lips. 
 
 " He is only a fool; but I hate a fool," 
 said she. 
 
 Miranda sighed. He glanced at her anx- 
 iously. 
 
 " And you think it will rain? " she asked. 
 I'll swear it will," he cried eagerly, 
 and waited, open-mouthed, upon her conde- 
 scension. 
 
 " I wonder," said Miranda thoughtfully. 
 
 " But the sky is red," he panted. 
 
 " I have my doubts," said Miranda 
 sagely, shaking her head. ' The wood ob- 
 scures the heaven. How is it possible to 
 tell?" 
 
 " Indeed " he began. 
 
 " Nay," she interrupted; " but from the 
 cornfield yonder you could descry with cer- 
 tainty, and I should be reassured." 
 58
 
 The Heart of Miranda 
 
 " I can see the cornfield through the 
 trees," he answered, "and the sun shines 
 red above the hedges." 
 
 Miranda shrugged her shoulders petu- 
 lantly. 
 
 "What sound was that?" she said. 
 "Surely some animal. I hate a cow!" 
 she exclaimed. " Oh, Sir, pray run and 
 see!" 
 
 'Tis no cow," he replied stolidly. " I 
 know the fields by heart, and there is never 
 a cow within two miles." 
 
 ' There is many a fool," said Miranda 
 bitterly. 
 
 "Aye, to be sure," he assented easily; 
 " and many a sinner, moreover," he added 
 thoughtfully. 
 
 " I think I prefer a sinner," said Miranda 
 vehemently. 
 
 ' The sinner for me, too," he agreed 
 cheerfully. 
 
 Miranda put out her tongue at the grass. 
 
 59
 
 The Heart of Miranda 
 
 Idly he broke the bark of a silver birch. 
 Miranda uttered an exclamation of anger. 
 He turned. 
 
 " I beg your pardon," said he. " I did 
 not catch your words, but I do assure you 
 that if there is aught I can do will 
 
 Miranda's temper burst its bonds. 
 " Nothing in the world," she said, in sar- 
 casm; "nothing in life for me, save only 
 that you will leave me to enjoy my soli- 
 tude." 
 
 He started, stammered half a sentence, 
 took off his hat, mopped his face, and, 
 tumbling over a creeper, set off. Miranda's 
 heart pricked her pride. He looked forlorn, 
 and he had done his best in honest stupidity. 
 
 "Stay!" she called impetuously. He 
 tarried in wonder. " I meant no unkind- 
 ness, Sir." He came stumbling back. " I 
 have an intermittent trick of petulance." 
 The light beamed in a broad grin upon his 
 face. 
 
 60
 
 The Heart of Miranda 
 
 Miranda shivered. He sat down squat 
 upon the bracken. Miranda groaned. 
 
 " I wondered at your cruel words," he 
 began slowly. " Somehow they fitted ill 
 your face, which is" he blushed "the 
 sweetest I have seen." 
 
 " Oh, you are rash," said Miranda scorn- 
 fully; " I dare swear that one with so much 
 knowledge as yourself has weltered among 
 scores of pretty faces." 
 
 " Indeed " he cried, but she broke in 
 
 upon his protest. 
 
 " For myself, I lay no claim to beauty; 
 let others flaunt their titles as they will. I 
 am well enough, no doubt. I have the face 
 of youth, and my eyes have no squint in 
 them. But I am assured you have seen 
 many pretty maidens." 
 
 " That is so," he cried eagerly, " and this 
 the prettiest." 
 
 Miranda smiled. ' You do your friends 
 a harsh injustice," she answered. " I have 
 61
 
 The Heart of Miranda 
 
 my years to my credit, and no more, which 
 is a virtue through which each must passage. 
 And what, indeed, is beauty, if all be 
 told?" 
 
 " Beauty ? It is a pearl," he gasped, and 
 suddenly swallowed his emotion with a gulp. 
 
 "I set no value upon pearls," said Mi- 
 randa sedately. " Let others if they will. 
 While the world swings on, folly will ring 
 her bells, fools gape, and gossips chatter." 
 
 He watched her ardently, and sidling a 
 step nearer, resumed his argument. 
 
 ' You cannot tell," he said, " with how 
 full a heart a man regards beauty. The 
 tears start in his eyes at the sight, his breath 
 catches, and his legs fall to trembling." 
 
 "Ah! is it so?" asked Miranda indiffer- 
 ently. 
 
 He rolled himself upon his stomach, and 
 looked up into her face. 
 
 " It is with me," he said earnestly. His 
 gaze embarrassed her. She turned her head 
 62
 
 The Heart of Miranda 
 
 away. " I have long wondered about this 
 love," he stammered, " and now I know." 
 
 Miranda looked round at him quickly. 
 
 " What is it like ? " she asked, with some 
 interest. 
 
 Abashed, he thrust his fingers through his 
 hair. " I I beg your pardon," he stut- 
 tered; " but I have scarce the wherewithal 
 to clothe my feelings. It makes me 'tis 
 like a oh, I feel indeed, and I would do 
 anything in your behalf," he concluded 
 bravely. 
 
 Miranda stared at him a second, and then 
 smiled softly. He sprawled so ungainly ; he 
 lay a huge hulk of ineptitudes; his large 
 blue eyes were watered with affection. 
 ' You are very good," she murmured. 
 
 'Tis no goodness," he averred stoutly, 
 " but out of the very bottom of indulgent sel- 
 fishness. I would sacrifice worlds for you." 
 
 Miranda glanced at him slyly. ' Would 
 you drown ?" she asked. 
 63
 
 The Heart of Miranda 
 
 He nodded. 
 
 " Would you surrender me forever ?" 
 
 He hesitated. 
 ' Would you sell your soul for me ? " 
 
 He knit his brows into a frown of puzzle- 
 ment. 
 
 " Why," cried she, " you would never 
 surely steal to set me smiling ? " 
 
 He shook his head thoughtfully. ' ' No, ' ' 
 he replied. 'Twould be a wrong you 
 would not ask of me." 
 
 " And if I did ? " she insisted. 
 
 He searched her face, and then, " I would 
 hire someone else for the job," he declared, 
 with a sigh. 
 
 Miranda lay back on the turf, and shook 
 with laughter. Suddenly she sat up ; in a 
 flash the laughter ceased, and red and white 
 in turn she tucked her bare feet beneath her 
 gown again. 
 
 " I trust," said he anxiously, " that you 
 have not hurt yourself." 
 64
 
 The Heart of Miranda 
 
 " Oh, no," she replied coldly. " Pray 
 continue. Your philosophy was most enter- 
 taining. You make a scruple of theft, I 
 understand. But you could love me to dis- 
 traction. Oh, yes. You will pull down the 
 world for me, an you do it not by your own 
 hand. You will meet lions, an you can find 
 another to replace you. You will swear and 
 forswear, and break through the decalogue, 
 if you can do all these things by substitute. 
 Yours is a wonderful sense of passion, so 
 new, so strange, so masterful." 
 
 The young man nodded his head sagely. 
 
 'Tis marvellous what change Love will 
 bring to a man, but," he added doubtfully, 
 " I would not break through the decalogue. 
 I dare not have another's blood upon me. 
 Oh, there are many things one dare not do, 
 nor would you ask them. Why do I talk so 
 wildly ? I am content to love you, if you 
 will suffer me." 
 
 He leaned forward and took her hand 
 5 65
 
 The Heart of Miranda 
 
 awkwardly, looking the while into her face 
 with bashful affection. She snapped her 
 hand away, and laughed impatiently. 
 
 " Oh, you are too good, fair Sir," she 
 cried. " I am not worthy of your devout 
 devotion. I ? I have sins enough upon my 
 head, God wot, but none so great as this 
 unequal partnership would be. You are too 
 virtuous for such as I. You are too much 
 composed of discreet renunciations. Re- 
 nounce once more, and save your soul alive. 
 Mine is the waywardness of the wild cat ; I 
 have the passions of the desperado. I break 
 through a commandment daily. I am right 
 to my hair in sins. Should I repent I should 
 need an acre of sackcloth and gallons of 
 ashes. But I do not; thank the Lord, I 
 shall not. I am stark in my vices. I com- 
 plete them with exultation; I plan them 
 with rebellious joys. I am a fiend in a fair 
 wig, a ghoul in a white gown. To love me 
 is to love perdition." 
 66
 
 The Heart of Miranda 
 
 He stared at her dumbly, and withdrew a 
 pace. 
 
 " Indeed," said she, " you have every 
 reason for your fears. I fear myself. O' 
 nights I lie awake and think of devilments ; 
 they float through my dreams. I pinch 
 myself in wonder if I be really human. 
 There is no audacity I could not dare, no 
 shame to cause me blink." 
 
 He shuffled a little further away. 
 
 " Come, come," she cried, " begone ere 
 I break out upon you. I have the very 
 deuce of a temper. For you and yours I 
 see the happy valleys open ; for me is the 
 rude path among the mountains. Get you 
 gone, then, Sir, to your happiness and the 
 sweet maid that awaits you. Mine is the 
 bitter, narrow road to Hell! " 
 
 She rose to her feet and pointed at him 
 
 mockingly with her finger. The young man 
 
 turned, and casting back one glance across 
 
 his shoulder, scampered heavily through the 
 
 67
 
 The Heart of Miranda 
 
 undergrowth without a word, and disap- 
 peared into the wood. 
 
 Miranda stopped, breathless. " I believe 
 he took me for the Devil," she said, and 
 laughed. " But oh, the prickles ! " she cried, 
 drawing in her breath and grimacing. She 
 flung herself upon the ground and rubbed 
 her pretty feet. 
 
 Miranda reached for her hose. 'Twas 
 difficult," she murmured; " 'twas very 
 difficult; but at last at last!" 
 
 VI. THE ROSES 
 
 Miranda crossed the bridge and struck 
 into the little copse. 
 
 " To think," said she, " that Love is 
 that ! To think that I should be loved like 
 that! She smiled at the recollection, and 
 then sighed. " Oh, for my garden ! " she ex- 
 claimed wearily. ' There is no such thing 
 68
 
 The Heart of Miranda 
 
 as Love. There are only the flowers, and 
 the spring, and the sunshine." 
 
 The thicket was close-set with trees ; the 
 way was rough and thorny. 
 
 " I will break through," cried Miranda 
 angrily, and tore the briers viciously from 
 her gown. As she was bent thus lowly, and 
 ere she raised her head, she was aware of 
 someone standing by. A little shadow of 
 fear sailed across her heart. She started, and 
 looking up met the eyes of a young man. 
 
 Miranda looked down: her heart throbbed 
 fast ; the fragrance of the wild roses stole 
 through her senses. Miranda looked up : 
 the sunlight flashed and sparkled on the 
 green thicket. 
 
 ' Pray give me leave, ' ' said the stranger, 
 and dropped upon his knees. 
 
 Miranda's bosom rose and fell as he dis- 
 entangled her frock from the thorns. 
 
 " I thank you, Sir," she said timidly, 
 when he was got upon his feet again. 
 69
 
 The Heart of Miranda 
 
 He laughed, and looked at her with smil- 
 ing eyes. Their glances met, and both 
 fell on the instant. In the silence upon 
 that the stream wimpled loud behind 
 them. Miranda took her gown in hand and 
 moved gently away. The young man raised 
 his face and watched her go. She reached a 
 little bend in the pathway, and he stirred. 
 
 " I pray you," he called, " pardon my 
 interruption, but the brake is grown thick 
 and the passage narrow. You were better 
 upon the roadway." 
 
 " I have no fears," said she, " and the 
 road is adust and dreary." 
 
 She vanished round the point. He sped 
 after her to the corner. 
 
 " I pray you," he called, " forgive my 
 foolish importunity, but the hill beyond is 
 steep and crowned with thorns." 
 
 " I have climbed it often," she responded, 
 " and in the spring daffodils grow upon the 
 slopes." 
 
 70
 
 The Heart of Miranda 
 
 He bit his finger meditatively as he 
 watched her. Suddenly 
 
 " Let me help you, then," he cried. 
 Help ?" she echoed, and hesitated. 
 
 He pushed aside the branches of the nut- 
 tree. " See," he said, " they would close 
 against a girlish arm. They are in a sworn 
 conspiracy against maidens. 'Tis only the 
 strong hand of the woodman bends them 
 to his will." 
 
 " Are you a woodman ?" she asked de- 
 murely. 
 
 He shook his head, laughing. " Nay, 
 but I have learned a trick to teach the surly 
 louts civility." A branch leapt forth and 
 struck him on the cheek. A stain of red 
 sprang up to meet it. 
 
 " Oh! " cried Miranda, in distress. 
 
 'Tis spite they rankle," said he, with 
 a merry smile; " see, how they would en- 
 treat you. But they shall know their mas- 
 ter, and bow to a lady. " He swept them 
 71
 
 The Heart of Miranda 
 
 back with a movement of his long arm. 
 " Pass, pass," he said; " they cringe, and 
 dare not." 
 
 Miranda looked, and bent her head. 
 
 'Tis closer than I had thought," she mur- 
 mured, as she disappeared beneath the arch- 
 way of his arms. 
 
 He followed, and she turned to him in 
 despair. 
 
 " I was a little, wanton fool," she said 
 plaintively. " How is it possible to pierce 
 this thicket ?" 
 
 With a laugh he threw himself against 
 the brushwood, and a passage slowly 
 opened. 
 
 " I thank you, Sir," she said softly. 
 " You are too kind to a wilful maid." 
 
 " 'Tis worse and worse," he said, survey- 
 ing the tangle breathlessly. " But the hill 
 slopes lie beyond. Come." He took her 
 hand. Miranda breathed hard. She flut- 
 tered after him beneath the coppice. 
 72
 
 The Heart of Miranda 
 
 "My hair!" she cried suddenly, in a 
 sharp note of pain. 
 
 He stopped in a moment and begged a 
 thousand pardons. A brown tress glimmered 
 in the clutch of an alder. He put up his 
 hand and pulled. 
 
 " I pray you, Sir, be gentle," she mur- 
 mured distressfully. 
 
 He invoked a thousand murrains on him- 
 self. " I must come closer," said he. 
 
 " I think," she murmured, " that I my- 
 self " she shrank from him and gave her 
 head a shake, stopping with a little gasp. 
 
 " I fear 'tis too secure," said he, and drew 
 gently nearer. 
 
 He peered into the tangle; his breath 
 moved in her hair; his fingers were en- 
 twined in the brown tresses. Miranda's 
 heart beat quickly. With a deft twist of 
 his hand she was free. 
 
 ' I thank you, Sir," again quoth she. 
 She sped along the pathway into the 
 73
 
 The Heart of Miranda 
 
 open, where the track ran lazily up the 
 slope. 
 
 " I thank you," she repeated, and put out 
 her hand, with a bow. He took it, bowing 
 in answer, and his face fell. 
 
 " But there is the hill," he said dolefully. 
 " I may not leave you yet." 
 
 " An excellent hill to climb upon a soft 
 morning," says she. " Good-bye." 
 
 ' Were you to stumble " he began 
 
 anxiously. 
 
 " I should pick myself up and laugh," she 
 concluded promptly. 
 
 He sighed, and looked back at the copse. 
 She moved away a pace or two, and paus- 
 ing, glanced at him. Before his gaze her 
 own sank, and again her heart swung faster. 
 'Tis a rough way," he said sadly. 
 'Tis true," she murmured, " there is 
 the quarry." 
 
 He climbed towards her. " I will see you 
 past it," he said firmly. 
 74
 
 The Heart of Miranda 
 
 Miranda answered nothing, but went 
 slowly onwards. He leapt above her, and, 
 leaning back, gave her his hand. ' There 
 is a huge boulder here," he explained. 
 
 " I had forgot," she murmured. 
 
 He pulled her over the obstruction. 
 
 " Good Heavens! " he cried, " the gorse! 
 We had forgot also the gorse." 
 
 She surveyed the gorse with dismay. 
 The bushes rose waist high. 
 
 " How stupid!" said Miranda pettishly. 
 " They should have been cut down." 
 
 "There's never a path runs through 
 them," he said triumphantly. 
 
 " We must go back," said Miranda with 
 a sigh. 
 
 " There is the thicket again," he cried with 
 jubilation. 
 
 " True," she murmured. 
 
 There was a moment's pause, and then : 
 
 " I must carry you through the gorse! " 
 he exclaimed, with ill-repressed exultation. 
 75
 
 The Heart of Miranda 
 
 Miranda flushed. " Indeed, I can walk," 
 said she coldly. She took a step into the 
 midst, and the thorns pierced her ankles. 
 Miranda kept her lips close, and took an- 
 other step. The thorns crept higher. 
 
 " Oh!" cried Miranda in the dismay of 
 pain. 
 
 ' Let me have your arm," he said, " and 
 we shall help each other." 
 
 " No, no," said Miranda dolefully; " it 
 hurts, it hurts; I will go back." 
 ' You cannot," said he. 
 
 Miranda frowned. " I will sit down." 
 ' You dare not," said he joyfully. 
 
 Miranda's head sank; the tears came into 
 her eyes. 
 
 " Lean upon me," he whispered. 
 
 Miranda leant. He put his arms beneath 
 her, and, disengaging the thorns from her 
 skirt, lifted her from her feet. 
 
 " Oh," she exclaimed. ' How dare 
 you?" 
 
 76
 
 The Heart of Miranda 
 
 " Hush," he whispered, " 'twill be over 
 soon. Shut your eyes and hold your 
 breath, so shall you never set eyes upon 
 my horrid face. 'Tis but a horse, an ass, 
 an elephant that carries you over a diffi- 
 cult crossing." 
 
 Miranda said not a word. He jogged 
 heavily along amid the gorse. He stumbled. 
 Miranda clutched his shoulder tightly. 
 He stopped and bent over her. 
 
 " Put me down," she said imperiously, 
 shutting her eyes. 
 
 He set her down. Miranda smoothed her 
 gown. She turned her pink face from him. 
 
 " I am much in your debt, Sir," she said, 
 " and now I will wish you good-day." 
 ' There is yet the quarry," he objected. 
 
 Miranda winced. He walked by her side, 
 and in silence they clambered into the 
 quarry and out upon the further side. In 
 silence they reached the garden. Miranda 
 turned and thrust out her hand for the third 
 77
 
 The Heart of Miranda 
 
 time. His eyes were fastened upon her 
 throat. 
 
 " And now," says she primly, " 'tis really 
 good-day. I do not know how I may repay 
 you for your goodness. But 
 
 " With a rose," he stammered. 
 
 Miranda glanced demurely around. 
 ' There is none by," she answered. 
 
 " 'Tis at your throat," he said, " if I may 
 make so bold " 
 
 " Oh, if you will," said she with indiffer- 
 ence. " I was about to have discarded it." 
 
 She plucked it from her neck and held it 
 forth. He stuck it in the lapel of his coat. 
 She opened the little gate and entered the 
 garden. The first turning of the pathway 
 hid the stranger from her view. She lin- 
 gered and stooped over a rose-bush. A 
 flood of new fragrance rushed through her 
 senses. Something sang in her blood. A 
 loud knock sounded in her heart. Miranda 
 started, and the young man stood before her. 
 78
 
 The Heart of Miranda 
 
 " I crave your indulgence, ' ' he stammered, 
 " but I have forgot the hour, and it is now 
 late, and I must needs be thinking of my 
 destination." 
 
 Miranda crossed to the sun-dial on the 
 lawn. 
 
 'Tis only noon," she said. 'Tis very 
 late," she added quickly. 
 
 " Ah, noon," he responded; " yes, noon, 
 of course. How foolish ! " and walked back 
 slowly towards the gate. 
 
 Miranda bent over the roses, and the per- 
 fume filled her with an ecstasy till now un- 
 known. The garden was ringing with song, 
 and her body thrilled with a passionate 
 sympathy till now unfelt. Again at her 
 heart a loud noise sounded, and again she 
 started. 
 
 'Tis very stupid in me," laughed the 
 stranger, in embarrassment. " My wits 
 have wandered. But is it Tuesday or surely 
 Wednesday to-day ? " 
 79
 
 The Heart of Miranda 
 
 Miranda reflected. 'Twas Monday yes- 
 terday," she answered thoughtfully. 
 
 " Ah, then," said he sagely, " 'tis Tues- 
 day to-day, and 'twill be Wednesday to- 
 morrow." He moved away again reluc- 
 tantly. "A fine shining day," he called, 
 " and admirable weather for the flowers." 
 
 'Twill rain, maybe," said Miranda, 
 glancing at the sky. 
 
 " No doubt," he said, and lingered. 
 Miranda stooped over the roses. He 
 melted slowly round the bend in the path- 
 way. The sunlight flashed upon the lilac, 
 and Miranda's heart danced up and down 
 tumultuously. A shadow fell across the bed. 
 " If you said noon," said the stranger, " I 
 could reach the Vale ere one ? " 
 
 ' Why, yes," she answered, " if you 
 should start at once." 
 
 'Tis time, indeed, to go," said he ab- 
 sently. 
 
 'Tis certainly time," said Miranda. A 
 So
 
 The Heart of Miranda 
 
 cloud blew over the sunlight, and the roses 
 blurred before her eyes. 
 
 There was a long silence. Miranda 
 sighed, and turning, moved slowly up the 
 pathway. At the distance of ten steps she 
 stopped and glanced down at her shoe. 
 The latchet trailed upon the ground, and, 
 with a pout, she bent to lace it up. But the 
 young man was before her, and, kneeling 
 upon the ground, looked up in her face. 
 
 'Tis my last privilege ere I go," he 
 pleaded. 
 
 Miranda looked away, but, for all she 
 saw, the garden was a desert. It seemed he 
 was a long time at her shoe, but the garden 
 was so large and beautiful that she had for- 
 got the minutes. And all the time her heart 
 was thumping in her side, and the door 
 was creaking on its latch. He rose and 
 stood before her. 
 
 " The Vale," said he, " is far distant." 
 
 " 'Tis very far," she answered gently. 
 6 81
 
 The Heart of Miranda 
 
 " And the sun is past noon," he contin- 
 ued. 
 
 " Tis late," she assented. 
 
 " 'Twere better I should wait and take 
 refreshment ere I go," said he. 
 
 " No doubt, 'twere wiser," she mur- 
 mured, looking down. 
 
 " I shall be very lonely," said he. 
 
 'Tis lonely to be alone," she whispered. 
 
 He put out his arm. She stared at the 
 roses. How they blew. How red they 
 grew. How their hearts fluttered. How 
 sweet and fragrant smelled the garden. 
 
 " I were not alone with Love," he said 
 in low tones. 
 
 'With Love!" she murmured to the 
 roses. 
 
 The clouds drifted from the face of the 
 sun, and the light streamed down upon 
 them. Larks sprang warbling to Heaven. 
 The garden awoke into light and music. In 
 the pause something drew Miranda's eyes to 
 82
 
 The Heart of Miranda 
 
 his face; his eyes were deep in dew. Mi- 
 randa felt her own grow misty. A surge of 
 tears rose up from her heart ; the swing- 
 gates of her soul flew open, and through 
 the portals, ere she was aware, there passed 
 swiftly Something Something she knew 
 not what. 
 
 She gave a little sob. The young man 
 put his arms about her.
 
 II 
 
 The Dead Wall 
 
 The dawn stared raw and yellow out of 
 the east at Rosewarne. Its bleak and ugly 
 face smouldered through morose vapours. 
 The wind blew sharp against the windows, 
 shaking them in their casements. The pros- 
 pect from that lonely chamber overawed him 
 with menace; it glowered upon him. The 
 houses in the square, wrapped in immiti- 
 gable gloom, were to him ominous memo- 
 rials of death. They frightened him into 
 a formless panic. Anchored in that sound- 
 less sea, they terrified him with their very 
 stillness. In dreary ranks they rose, a great 
 high wall of doom, lifting their lank chim- 
 neys to the dreadful sky. They obsessed 
 84
 
 The Dead Wall 
 
 him with forebodings to which he could put 
 no term, for which he could find no reason. 
 Shrouded under its great terror, his poor 
 mind fell into deeper depression under the 
 influence of those malign and ugly signals. 
 He strove to withdraw his thoughts and 
 direct them upon some different subject. 
 He wrenched them round to the contem- 
 plation of his room, his walls, his wife. A 
 dull pain throbbed in the back of his head. 
 He repeated aloud the topics upon which 
 he would have his mind revolve, but the 
 words rang in his ears without meaning. 
 He touched the pictures on the wall, he 
 spoke their names, he covered his face and 
 strained hard to recapture coherent thought. 
 The subjects mocked him : they were too 
 nimble and elusive for his tired brain ; they 
 danced out of reach, and he followed blindly 
 till a deeper darkness fell. They grew faint 
 and shadowy like wraiths in a mist, and 
 he pursued the glancing shadows. Finally, 
 85
 
 The Dead Wall 
 
 his brain grew blank ; it was as if conscious- 
 ness had lapsed ; and he found himself re- 
 garding a fly that crawled upon the pane. 
 Outside lay the oppression of that appalling 
 scene that horrified him he knew not why. 
 Rosewarne was growing used to these ner- 
 vous exhibitions. This unequal struggle 
 had been repeated through many weeks, but 
 he had always so far come out of it with 
 personal security. The dread that some 
 day he would fail continually haunted him, 
 and increased the strain of the conflict. He 
 wondered what lay at the back of this hor- 
 rible condition, and shuddered as he won- 
 dered. And he knew now that he must 
 not let himself adrift, but must allay the 
 devils by every means. He broke into a 
 whistle, and moved about the room care- 
 lessly. It was a lively stave from the 
 streets that his lips framed, but it conveyed 
 to him no sense of sound. He perambu- 
 lated the chamber with a false air of cheer- 
 86
 
 The Dead Wall 
 
 fulness. He eyed the bed with his head 
 askew, winking as if to share a jest with it. 
 He patted the pillows, arranging and disar- 
 ranging them in turn. He laughed softly, 
 merrily, emptily. He seized the dumb- 
 bells from the mantelpiece and whirled 
 them about his head ; he chafed his hands, 
 he rubbed his flesh. Little by little the 
 blood moved with more content through 
 his body, and the pulse of his heart sank 
 slowly. 
 
 Outside, the dawn brightened and the 
 wind came faster. Rosewarne looked forth 
 and nodded ; then he turned and left the 
 room, his face flashing as he passed the mir- 
 ror, like the distempered face of a corpse. 
 Across the landing he paused before a door, 
 and, bending to the keyhole, listened ; little 
 low sounds of life came to his ears, and 
 suddenly his haggard face crowded with 
 emotions. He rose and softly descended 
 the stairs to his study. The house lay in 
 87
 
 The Dead Wall 
 
 the quiet of sleep, and within the solitude 
 of that rich room he, too, was as still as the 
 sleepers. The inferior parts of the window 
 formed a blind of stained glass, but the grey 
 light flowed through the upper panes into a 
 magnificent wilderness. The cold ashes of 
 the fire, by which he had sat at his task late 
 into the morning, lay still within the grate. 
 The little ensigns of a human presence, the 
 scattered papers, the dirty hearth, all the 
 instruments of his work, looked mean and 
 squalid within the spacious dignity of that 
 high room. He lit the gas and sat down to 
 his table, moving his restless fingers among 
 the papers. It was as if his members arro- 
 gantly claimed their independence, and re- 
 fused the commands of a weak brain. His 
 mind had abrogated. His hands shifted 
 furtively like the hands of a pickpocket: 
 they wandered among the papers and re- 
 turned to him. The clock droned out the 
 hour slowly, and at that he started, shook 
 88
 
 The Dead Wall 
 
 his wits together, and began in haste to turn 
 about the documents. He knew now the 
 sheet of which he had sent his hands in 
 quest. Large and blue and awful, it had 
 been his ghost throughout the night. He 
 could see the figures scrawled upon it in 
 his own tremulous writing, rows upon rows 
 of them, thin and sparse and self-respecting 
 at the top, but to the close, fevered, mis- 
 shapen, and reckless, fighting and jostling in 
 a crowd for space upon the page. He laid 
 his hand upon the horrible thing; he opened 
 his ledgers; and sat deciphering once more 
 his own ruin. 
 
 The tragedy lay bare to his shrinking 
 eyes ; it leaped forth at him from the blurred 
 and confused figures. There was no need 
 to rehearse them; he had reiterated them 
 upon a hundred scrolls in a hundred various 
 ways these many weeks. They had become 
 his enemies, to deceive whom he had in- 
 voked the wreck of a fine intelligence. He 
 89
 
 The Dead Wall 
 
 had used all the wiles and dodges of a cun- 
 ning mind to entrap them to his service. 
 He had spent a weary campaign upon them, 
 storming them with fresh troops of figures, 
 deploying and ambuscading with all the sub- 
 terfuge of a subtle business mind. But 
 there now, as at the outset of his hopeless 
 fight, the issue remained unchanged ; the 
 terrible sum of his sin abode, unsubtracted, 
 undivided, unabridged. As he regarded it 
 at this moment it seeied to assume quickly 
 a vaster proportion. His crime cried out 
 upon him, calling for vengeance in his ears. 
 Seizing a pen, eagerly, vacantly, he set forth 
 anew to recompose the items. 
 
 Rosewarne worked on for a couple of 
 hours, holding his quivering fingers to the 
 paper by the sheer remnants of his will. 
 His brain refused its offices, and he stumbled 
 among the numerical problems with false 
 and blundering steps. To add one sum to 
 another he must ransack the litter of his 
 90
 
 The Dead Wall 
 
 mind; the knowledge that runs glibly to 
 the tongue of a child he must rediscover by. 
 persistent and arduous concentration. But 
 still he kept his seat, and jotted down his 
 cyphers. About him the house stirred 
 slowly ; noises passed his door and faded ; 
 the grim and yellow sun rose higher and 
 struck upon the table, contending with the 
 gaslight. But Rosewarne paid no heed ; he 
 wrestled with his numb brain and his shiver- 
 ing fingers, wrestled to the close of the page ; 
 where once more the hateful figures gleamed 
 in bold ink, menacing and blinking, his old 
 ghost renewed and invested with fresh life. 
 
 The pen dropped from his hand, his head 
 fell upon his arms, and as he lay in that 
 helpless attitude of despair that protests 
 not, of misery that can make no appeal, the 
 door fell softly open and his wife entered. 
 
 " Freddy, whatever are you doing here 
 like this?" she said, with surprise in her 
 voice. " Have you gone to sleep ? " 
 91
 
 The Dead Wall 
 
 Rosewarne lifted his head sharply and 
 turned to her. Athwart the pallor of his 
 face gleamed for an instant a soft flush 
 of pleasure, and his dull eyes lit up with 
 affection. 
 
 " I was doing some work, Dorothy," said 
 he, " and I was tired." 
 
 Mrs. Rosewarne took a step nearer. Her 
 fine grey eyes regarded him with wonder and 
 with inquiry, and in her voice a little impa- 
 tience mingled with a certain kindliness. 
 
 " It's very absurd your working like this," 
 she said, " and in this cold room without a 
 fire ! Aren't you coming to breakfast ? " 
 
 Rosewarne got up from his chair. " Why, 
 yes," he laughed. " Of course. I didn't 
 realise it was ready. Oh, Dolly dear," he 
 paused and put his hand to his head with a 
 look of perplexity ; then his face lightened. 
 " Dolly, I've got something for you." 
 
 " For me!" she asked, and the curve of 
 her lips drooped in a pretty smile of curiosity. 
 92
 
 The Dead Wall 
 
 
 
 He fumbled in a drawer and withdrew a 
 packet. 
 
 " Yes, darling. You know what day 
 it is. It's your birthday, and you're twen- 
 ty- 
 
 " Oh, for goodness' sake, Freddy, don't," 
 she interrupted with a touch of impatience; 
 and then opening the packet examined the 
 contents with care. A light dawned in her 
 eyes. " How very pretty! I was in need 
 of a bracelet. Freddy, you are a good boy. 
 But come, you mustn't catch cold. Come 
 into the dining-room, and get warm, you 
 simpleton." 
 
 She patted him softly on the head, and 
 fell again to the scrutiny of her present. 
 Rosewarne did not move, but watched her, 
 smiling. " Aren't you coming ? " she asked, 
 looking up at last. 
 
 His eyes met hers and pleaded with them 
 dumbly, but she made no sign, returning 
 once more to her jewels. 
 93
 
 The Dead Wall 
 
 i 
 
 " Isn't it worth a kiss, Dolly ? " he asked 
 softly. 
 
 Mrs. Rosewarne looked at him vaguely. 
 " What! Oh, well, yes, if you like, I sup- 
 pose." She bent towards him, and he 
 touched her cheek gently. " But it was 
 very nice of you to think of me," she said, 
 withdrawing. " Come to breakfast now." 
 
 Rosewarne followed her into the breakfast- 
 room, with a fresh access of impotence. 
 He fumbled with his chair; the napkin flut- 
 tered out of his fingers ; he pulled a plate 
 to him, and the silver rattled under his 
 clumsy action ; a fork clattered to the floor. 
 Mrs. Rosewarne winced. 
 
 ' How very stupid you are to-day, 
 Freddy ! ' ' she said pettishly. 
 
 He laughed a short, meaningless laugh, 
 and begged her pardon. Her movements 
 were full of gentle grace ; her breath came 
 easily and with the best breeding. Her 
 teacup tinkled sweetly, and only that and 
 94
 
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 the soft sussurra of her sleeves marked her 
 stately presence at the table. She looked 
 at the bracelet comfortably, and lifted her 
 cup to her lips. Rosewarne glanced at her 
 timidly. The sickly light shone clear upon 
 the fine contours of her placid face; the 
 evil magic of that dreary day was trans- 
 muted upon her hair. She set down her cup 
 and met his eyes. 
 
 " What a dreadful colour you are!" she 
 said critically. The ghastly yellow of his 
 face repelled her. " I wish you would get bet- 
 ter, and not rise at such ridiculous hours." 
 
 " I slept ill, Dolly," he answered with a 
 faint smile. He resumed his breakfast fe- 
 verishly. The knuckles of his hands seemed 
 to stand out awkwardly; his elbows wag- 
 gled ; he mouthed at his food in a frightened 
 fashion. 
 
 " Good heavens, Freddy," cried his wife, 
 wrinkling her nose in distaste, " why do 
 you eat like that ? It's more like an animal 
 95
 
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 than a human being. Your manners are 
 becoming perfectly awful." 
 
 He started and dropped his knife. ' What 
 the devil does it matter how I eat ? " he ex- 
 claimed angrily. ' You you " His 
 
 ideas faded from him, and he sat staring at 
 her in vacant indignation. Then he put his 
 hand to his head. " Oh, forgive me, Dolly; 
 forgive me, please. I'm tired and 
 
 " My dear man," broke in Mrs. Rose- 
 warne coldly, " if you will make yourself ill, 
 what can you expect?" She unfolded a 
 morning paper and ran her eyes down the 
 columns; Rosewarne sat looking across the 
 room into the fire. Suddenly she called to 
 him in a new voice. " Mr. Maclagan came 
 to town yesterday, Freddy, and paid a visit 
 to Downing Street." 
 
 ' Yes ? " he said, starting again. 
 
 She drew down the paper and looked at 
 him over the edge, her eyes filled with some 
 excitement. 
 
 96
 
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 " Do you hear, Freddy dear ? Now is 
 your chance to make the arrangement final." 
 
 He gazed at her, his face contorted in 
 a desperate attempt to concentrate his 
 thoughts upon her words. What was she 
 saying ? And what did it mean ? 
 
 "Freddy, don't you hear?" she cried 
 again in a voice in which impatience blended 
 with a certain eagerness. She leaned for- 
 ward and put a hand upon his arm. He 
 clutched at it feverishly with his fingers. 
 
 Lord Hambleton is favourable, I know, 
 and it only remains to secure Maclagan, " 
 she went on quickly. " He, you know, was 
 inclined to agree when you saw him before. 
 I'm sure that the nail is ready for the ham- 
 mer. There is South Wiltshire, where you 
 are known, and no one yet settled upon by 
 the Party. See, dear; you must call on him 
 to-day, and that, with another cheque for 
 the Party, should place the matter beyond 
 doubt. Freddy! Freddy! Don't you hear 
 7 97
 
 The Dead Wall 
 
 what I'm saying ? For goodness' sake, 
 don't look like a corpse, if you are ill." 
 
 " Yes, yes, Dolly," said Rosewarne hur- 
 riedly. 
 
 " And for the love of decency, don't 
 Dolly me," said Mrs. Rosewarne with a pet- 
 ulant movement of her shoulders. " It's 
 bad enough to have to answer to an elderly 
 Quaker name like Dorothy." 
 
 Rosewarne got up from the table. " For 
 God's sake, be civil to me, if you can't be 
 kind," he said sharply. She regarded him 
 coldly. ' What is it you want ? " he asked. 
 
 Mrs. Rosewarne rapped her knuckles an- 
 grily upon the table. 
 
 " I imagined we had made that pretty 
 clear between us long ago, "she said with 
 a sarcastic emphasis; " we agreed that you 
 were to go into Parliament, and we laid our 
 plans to that end. The only thing want- 
 ing was the particular seat, and now it's 
 found you ask me what I'm talking about." 
 98
 
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 She looked at him with placid disdain. 
 Rosewarne shuddered ; he remembered now, 
 as in a dream, the ambitions she had formed 
 for him. 
 
 " No, no, dear," he said. " Tell me. 
 It's all right. I'll see Lord Lord Hamble- 
 ton. The " 
 
 Mrs. Rosewarne's expression turned swift- 
 ly to complacency. 
 
 " No," she said, " leave him to me, 
 Freddy. I shall see him this afternoon at 
 the Charters's. You must see Maclagan to- 
 day, and we'll meet and talk the matter 
 over at dinner." 
 
 She smiled upon him with a tolerant air 
 of patronage. Rosewarne stood by the 
 window, restlessly twitching his fingers. 
 
 ' You will not be in to lunch ? " he asked, 
 dully. 
 
 "No; I'm going to the Charters's. We 
 have each a long day before us. It's a sort 
 of crisis in our lives. I'm tired of this un- 
 99
 
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 distinguished competence. Any one can be 
 the partner in a bank. It is the House that 
 opens the gate to success." 
 
 She rose and swept her skirts behind her 
 with a motion of her arm. She regarded 
 herself in the mirror with a face of satisfac- 
 tion, directing with nimble fingers an errant 
 lock of her hair. 
 
 " And now you'll be off, I suppose," she 
 said, and turned on him laughing. ' Well, 
 Freddy, pluck up your heart and speak your 
 best ; you have a tongue as neat as any one 
 when you like. Don't wear so lugubrious a 
 countenance, dear come!" 
 
 She kissed him lightly on the forehead, 
 laying her hands on his shoulders, her eyes 
 sparkling with excitement. Rosewarne put 
 out his arms and caught her. His eyes de- 
 voured her. " Kiss me again, Dolly," he 
 sputtered. " Kiss me again. Kiss me on 
 the lips." 
 
 She laughed, a faint colour rose in her
 
 The Dead Wall 
 
 cheeks, and she struggled in his clutch. 
 " Dolly, Dolly!" he pleaded. A frown of 
 embarrassment gathered in her forehead. 
 
 " Do let me go," she said sharply. 
 
 He obeyed; his arms fell to his sides; 
 wistfully he watched her withdraw. Stately 
 in her flowing, rustling robes, receding from 
 him, she sailed through the doorway, and 
 with the loss of that fine vision the light 
 and the flush fell from him, and all that re- 
 mained was an ignoble figure with discol- 
 oured cheeks and sunken head. In that 
 moment and with the chill of that departing 
 grace fresh upon him, he regarded his tragic 
 position plainly and without illusion. The 
 poor rags of his last unvoiced hopes dropped 
 from his outcast soul. He had deferred the 
 story of his ruin, in part out of shame, 
 but much, too, out of pity, and because of 
 some shreds of confidence in his own for- 
 tunes. And yet, implicit in that silence he 
 had kept, but unacknowledged in his own 
 
 101
 
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 thoughts, had been the fear of her demean- 
 our in the crisis. He knew her for a worldly 
 woman, clad in great aspirations; he had 
 taken the measure of her trivial vanities ; he 
 had sounded the shallows of her passionless 
 heart ; and still he had trusted, still he had 
 nursed an empty faith in her affection. But 
 now at this slight repulse somehow the 
 props swayed beneath his rickety platform, 
 and his thoughts ran in a darker current of 
 despair. The bankruptcy, the guilt, the hor- 
 ror of his defalcations, were no longer the 
 Evil to come, but merely now the steps 
 by which he mounted to the real tragedy of 
 his life. 
 
 Rosewarne quietly took up his hat, and 
 drawing on his coat, passed out of the 
 house and walked slowly towards the City. 
 
 It was upon two o'clock when Mrs. Rose- 
 warne descended from the portico of her 
 house and was enclosed within her landau 
 by the footman. She was in a fervour which 
 102
 
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 became her admirably; her cheeks were 
 touched with points of colour, and her fine 
 eyes brightened as with the flash of steel. 
 She itched to try the temper of her diplo- 
 macy, and, as she entered the drawing-room 
 of her hostess, the thought that she was well 
 equipped for the encounter filled her anew 
 with zest. Her eyes, piercing from that 
 handsome face, challenged the luncheon- 
 party. Mrs. Charters gave her a loud effu- 
 sive welcome, as the beauty of the enter- 
 tainment, and a general murmur of greeting 
 seemed to salute her ears. Stepping a pace 
 from the company and engaging easily with 
 her hostess, Mrs. Rosewarne denoted the 
 guests with sharp glances. Of her own dispo- 
 sition at the table she could have no certain- 
 ty; the occasion was urgent; and with a nod 
 she summoned Lord Hambleton to her side. 
 "And you, Lord Hambleton!" said she 
 with a pretty air of surprise, " why, I heard 
 you were in Scotland." 
 103
 
 The Dead Wall 
 
 " Scotland ! " he said, shrugging his shoul- 
 ders and smiling. " What! Scotland in Jan- 
 uary, and the session like a drawn sword at 
 one's heart." 
 
 " Ah! " she replied, " I had forgotten the 
 session. And yet my poor husband talks 
 enough about it." 
 
 "Indeed!" said the Whip with good- 
 humour, " there is still some one, then, who 
 bothers about us." 
 
 She lifted her shoulders slightly, as one 
 who would disclaim a personal participation 
 in the folly. 
 
 ' Doesn't every one ? " she asked. 
 
 ' Why, we talk of ourselves," said he 
 
 laughing, " but I did not know any one else 
 
 took an interest in us. We have outlived 
 
 our time, you see. We are early Victorians, 
 
 so to speak. Representative government is 
 
 a glorious tradition, like the English flag or 
 
 Balaclava very brave, very wonderful, but 
 
 very unimportant. I know we bulk largely 
 
 104
 
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 in the newspapers. It is our metier. But 
 I wonder why. The habit exists when the 
 utility is fled. Is it because the advertisers 
 love us, do you think ? It is the only rea- 
 son I can conceive. We all owe our being 
 to the Births, Deaths, and Marriages. The 
 servant-girl, my dear Mrs. Rosewarne, con- 
 fers upon me the fame of a Tuesday's issue, 
 for the shilling she expends upon a ' Wanted. ' 
 Alas! " He pulled his features into an ex- 
 pression of dismay. ' When the hoarding 
 and the sky-sign come in we shall go out. 
 
 Mrs. Rosewarne laughed gently, a demure 
 intelligence shining from her eyes. 
 
 "And you," said he quizzically, "you 
 don't care for us ? " 
 
 "Oh, I!" she retorted with a sigh. 
 " Yes, I talk of you. I am obliged to talk 
 of you over the hearth-rug. I assure you 
 I have all your names by rote, and rattle 
 them off like a poll-parrot." 
 
 "Ah!" said Lord Hambleton, peering 
 105
 
 The Dead Wall 
 
 into her face curiously; " I can appreciate 
 your tone. You are weary of us." 
 
 " Frankly, yes," said she, smiling. They 
 both laughed, and he made a gesture of 
 apology. 
 
 "Why ?" he asked. 
 
 The voice of a butler cried from the 
 doorway; there was a sudden stir in the 
 room, and then a little hush. 
 
 "We are separated, alas!" said Lord 
 Hambleton. 
 
 " Not at all," said Mrs. Charters, sud- 
 denly, at his elbows. " I believe you are 
 neighbours." 
 
 Mrs. Rosewarne's heart bounded in her 
 side, and then beat placidly with its accus- 
 tomed rhythm. Lord Hambleton looked at 
 her. ' That's very nice," he murmured. 
 
 At the table he turned to her with an 
 immediate air of interest. "Why?" he 
 repeated. 
 
 Her gaze had wandered across the table 
 
 106
 
 The Dead Wall 
 
 with a profession of gentle indifference. 
 She was surveying the guests with a remote 
 abstraction ; plucked out of which she 
 glanced at him with a pretty hint of em- 
 barrassment, her forehead frowning as 
 though to recover the topic of their con- 
 versation. 
 
 'Why?" she echoed; and then: " Oh, 
 yes," said she, smiling as out of a memory 
 regained. " Because well, because, what 
 does it all avail ? " 
 
 Nothing, I grant you," he replied eas- 
 ily, " or very little, save to ourselves. You 
 forget us. We have our business. Our 
 fathers gamed and we talk. Don't forget 
 us." 
 
 He spoke in railing tones, almost jocosely, 
 and she lifted her eyebrows a line. 
 
 "Ah, yes!" she assented. 'Yes, but 
 me and the rest of us, are we to keep you 
 in your fun ? " 
 
 He paused before replying, and noted 
 107
 
 The Dead Wall 
 
 every particular distinction in her hand- 
 some face. They were at close quarters; 
 he leaned a trifle nearer, and lowered his 
 voice to a mocking confidence: 
 
 " Mrs. Rosewarne, you would never blow 
 upon us, surely." He feigned to hang in 
 suspense upon her answer; the proximity 
 touched him with a queer elation ; she shot 
 upon him one of her loveliest glances. 
 
 " I can hold my tongue for a friend, Lord 
 Hambleton." 
 
 " Come," he said, nodding, " that is bet- 
 ter. That is a very sportsmanlike spirit." 
 
 Mrs. Rosewarne considered, smiling the 
 while she continued her meal. The ap- 
 proach was long, but to manoeuvre height- 
 ened her spirits, and she was now to make 
 a bolder movement. 
 
 " But why," she asked, " should you ex- 
 pect mercy from a woman ? " 
 
 I don't, Heaven knows," he responded 
 promptly; " I wonder at it, and admire." 
 108
 
 The Dead Wall 
 
 " I think you have had a very long 
 innings," said she, thoughtfully, " and 
 were it in my power I would show no 
 mercy." 
 
 Lord Hambleton laughed contentedly. 
 " Oh, well!" he said. 
 
 "There is no opportunity for women," 
 continued Mrs. Rosewarne, wistfully ; " there 
 has never been." 
 
 " Who would have suspected that you 
 were ambitious ?" commented Lord Ham- 
 bleton, archly. 
 
 She threw up her jewelled fingers. " Am- 
 bitious!" she said, impatiently. " I am a 
 woman. Where is the use ? That is your 
 business; mine is the boudoir, naturally. 
 We are always in the field, you call it, 
 don't you ? Men go to the wickets. My 
 poor husband would tear out his heart for a 
 seat. He is sound, he is good, he has wits, 
 he is tolerable; he would serve excellently 
 well upon a minor committee, and would 
 109
 
 The Dead Wall 
 
 never give a shadow of trouble. He would 
 never ask questions, or soar at Cabinets. 
 Yet it is, I suppose, ambition of a kind. 
 But me ! What has it to do with me ! A 
 woman knows nothing of politics, no more 
 than life. I can enjoy no vicarious pomp. 
 No! give me the authority myself; give me 
 a share in it, Lord Hambleton, and then I 
 will tell you if I am ambitious! " 
 
 She put her head aside, and appeared with 
 this tirade to drop the subject; she made a 
 feint of listening to a conversation across 
 the table. She smiled at the jest that 
 reached her as if she had forgotten her 
 companion. And yet she was aware that 
 the aspect of her face, at which he was star- 
 ing, was that which best became her. Lord 
 Hambleton watched the long and delicate 
 lines warm with soft blood, and his own 
 senses were strangely affected. 
 
 " But you would influence him," he said 
 presently. She came back with a display of
 
 The Dead Wall 
 
 reluctance, and seemed to pause, searching 
 for his meaning. 
 
 "Oh!" she said, "Heavens! I have 
 higher aims than that. Make him Under- 
 secretary, and he would be worth influenc- 
 ing; but poor Freddy " She shrugged 
 
 her shoulders and looked away again, as 
 though impatient of the subject. Perhaps 
 she was really tired of the conversation, he 
 reflected. 
 
 ' Well, here we are," he said, with depre- 
 cation in his voice, " talking all the time on 
 a subject which you professed at the outset 
 bored you. How unpardonable of me! " 
 
 " Bored me! " she said, opening her eyes 
 at him and very innocently. " Oh, not 
 talking with any one worth while." 
 
 Lord Hambleton's eyes dropped, and he 
 was silent. The wine had fired his blood 
 no less than her beauty. He looked up 
 again, and met her glance by misadventure. 
 A show of colour flooded her face; the
 
 The Dead Wall 
 
 pulses beat in her white throat. He did 
 not know why, but his hands trembled a 
 little, and a bar seemed broken down be- 
 tween them. 
 
 " Upon my soul!" he said, with an ex- 
 cited laugh, " I believe you would regener- 
 ate us all, if you were in the House! " 
 
 "I'm sure I should," she said gaily. 
 Her heart fluttered in her side. " But there 
 is no chance of that ; I could only keep a 
 salon. Why isn't it done ? There is no 
 Re" camier nowadays ; there is no Blessington. 
 There is even no Whip's wife." 
 
 She was conscious of a faint shudder as 
 she made this impudent stroke, and with- 
 drew in a tremble into herself. She lay 
 back in her chair, frightened. The words 
 fell opportunely into Lord Hambleton's 
 heart ; he had no suspicion that they were 
 deliberate, and the blood danced lightly 
 along his arteries. 
 
 ' You would hold a salon bravely, ' ' he said. 
 112
 
 The Dead Wall 
 
 ' Try me, ' ' she said with the affectation 
 of playful laughter. 
 
 He laughed with her, and " Oh, we shall 
 have everything out of you by-and-bye," 
 said he. ' We will bide our time. What 
 we want just now more than anything is 
 sound men. Now Mr. Rosewarne " 
 
 " Poor Freddy is as sound as Big Ben, 
 I suppose," said Mrs. Rosewarne, indiffer- 
 ently. 
 
 She felt the blood burning in her cheeks. 
 Their eyes encountered. It seemed to him 
 that they had a private secret together. He 
 scarce knew what it was, so far had his sen- 
 sations crowded upon his intelligence; but 
 some connection, woven through the clatter 
 of that public meal, held him and her in 
 common. With her quick wit she was 
 aware of his thought. She felt flushed with 
 her own beauty. It was not of her husband 
 he was thinking, and she was aware that he 
 believed she too was not considering him. 
 8 113
 
 The Dead Wall 
 
 The understanding lay between themselves. 
 She rose triumphant; her heart spoke in 
 loud acclamations. 
 
 " Ah, well," she said, with a tiny sigh, " I 
 must wait, then, for old age to found my 
 salon. ' ' 
 
 " No," he replied, smiling at her; " and 
 why ? We must have your husband in the 
 House. Then you may begin at once." 
 
 "My husband!" she echoed, as though 
 recalled to some vague and distasteful con- 
 sideration. 
 
 ' Yes. You must have this salon. It 
 may save us." 
 
 She looked at him, as if in doubt. He 
 rose beside her. He overtopped her by a 
 head, and a certain strength about his fore- 
 head attracted her. Ah! If this had been 
 her husband ! The regret flashed and was 
 gone. 
 
 " Come and tell him," she said suddenly. 
 
 He misinterpreted the fervour in her eyes. 
 114
 
 The Dead Wall 
 
 ' When ?" he asked. 
 
 " To-night," she murmured. 
 
 There was a momentary pause, and then, 
 ' To-night," he assented, taking her hand. 
 
 Mrs. Rosewarne moved easily within the 
 retinue of her admirers in the drawing- 
 room. She regarded the company with cool 
 eyes of triumph. She held their gazes; the 
 looks they passed upon her fed her com- 
 placency; she was sensible of her new dis- 
 tinction among them. And when, later, 
 she returned to her house, she was still 
 under the escort of success. The excite- 
 ment ran like rich wine in her body, and 
 under its stimulus her pale face was flushed 
 with a tide of colour. She dressed for din- 
 ner, radiant, and crowned, as she conceived, 
 with incomparable splendour. The presid- 
 ing enthusiasm of her mind prevailed upon 
 her beauty. In the glass she considered 
 her looks, and smilingly softened the glory 
 of her cheeks. Her thoughts reverted with 
 "5
 
 The Dead Wall 
 
 amiable contempt to her husband, and in a 
 measure he too was exalted in her own tri- 
 umph. She descended the stairs, and swept 
 into the dining-room in the full current of 
 her happiness; and she had a sudden sense 
 of repulse upon finding the room vacant. 
 
 "Where is your master ?" she asked of 
 the servant, who stood in observant silence 
 at the further end of the room. 
 
 Williams had seen him come in an hour 
 ago ; he had retired to his room. Should he 
 go and inquire ? 
 
 " No: we will give him a few minutes," 
 said she, seating herself. 
 
 She held communion with her own sur- 
 prises. She anticipated his sensations; if 
 he had failed with Maclagan, she, at least, 
 had had better fortune, and for a moment 
 Freddy and she were wrapt in common fel- 
 lowship, set upon a common course. But 
 as the time wore on, and he made no appear- 
 ance, she grew restless and fidgeted ; a little 
 
 116
 
 The Dead Wall 
 
 annoyance mingled with her good-humour; 
 the warmth of her success ebbed away. 
 She despatched Williams to bring the lag- 
 gard down, and when he had returned with 
 the report that he could get no answer, she 
 picked up her skirts, and with lowering 
 brows herself undertook the mission. 
 
 Mrs. Rosewarne paused outside her hus- 
 band's room, and knocked. There was no 
 response, and turning the handle of the 
 door impatiently, she entered. The lamp 
 burned low, and Freddy lay upon the bed, 
 sprawling in an attitude of graceless com- 
 fort. The noise of his hard breathing 
 sounded in the chamber, and the odour of 
 strong spirit filled the air. In an access of 
 angry disgust she shook him by the shoul- 
 ders, and he lifted a stupid face to her, his 
 eyes shot with blood. 
 
 " Is it you, Dolly ? " he asked thickly. 
 
 Her voice rose on a high note of anger. 
 4 Do you know that the gong has gone 
 117
 
 The Dead Wall 
 
 this half-hour ? Bah ! You have been 
 drinking, you beast! " 
 
 He sat up, staring at her vacantly, and 
 slowly his eyes grew quick with life and 
 fury. 
 
 "And what the devil is it to you if I 
 have ? " he said savagely. ' Why, in hell's 
 name, don't you leave me alone ? What are 
 you doing here ? What are you doing in 
 my room ? It was you relegated me to this. 
 What are you doing here ? " 
 
 " I came," said she coldly, " to call you 
 to dinner; but since you have chosen to be 
 the beast you are, I will leave you." 
 
 At the word, she swept upon her heel 
 and was gone. Rosewarne sat for some 
 minutes dully upon his bed. The flame of 
 his anger had leapt and died, and he was 
 now hunched up physically and morally, 
 like a craven : his wits dispersed, his mind 
 groping in a dreadful space for some palpa- 
 ble occasion of pain. Presently his reason 
 118
 
 The Dead Wall 
 
 flowed once more, and piece by piece he 
 resumed the horrible round of life. There- 
 after came a deep, warm gush of reason and 
 affection. He had been brutal; he had 
 been the beast she termed him. He had 
 used her evilly when she meant but kindly 
 by him. His heart wept for her and for 
 himself she was his love and his darling. 
 He would go and pour forth his tears of 
 regret upon her. She had naturally been 
 struck to the heart to see him thus un- 
 manned and sapped in the very foundations 
 of his mind. She did not know. How 
 could she ? . . . But he must tell her ! The 
 thought fetched him to a sudden term in 
 the maudlin consideration of his streaming 
 emotions. Drawn at this instant before 
 the presence of that Terror, he trembled and 
 rocked upon his couch. He threw the gath- 
 ering thoughts aside. He must not suffer 
 them to cloud his mind again. He must 
 go forth and enter the room with the plead- 
 119
 
 The Dead Wall 
 
 ing face of a penitent. It was her due; it 
 was his necessity nay, this control was de- 
 manded by the very terms of his being. 
 
 He set his dress in order; he combed him- 
 self before the glass, and regarded his own 
 grimacing image. ' ' I will think of nothing, 
 he murmured. " I am a man. There is 
 nothing wrong. I can assume that for an 
 hour. I shall go straight to Dolly. I must 
 ward it all off. It will suffice later. Now! 
 I am going to begin Now ! I will think of 
 nothing. Do you hear, you fool ! Oh, you 
 damned, silly fool ! You know it is fatal if 
 you don't. Stop. No figures; no worries. 
 Just thrust them aside. It can't matter 
 that two and two make four when they 
 ought to make five. Now then ! From 
 this moment I stop. I am a man," he ex- 
 plained to his grimacing image. " No more 
 figures. I will begin. No worries! Now!" 
 He pulled out his watch. " In five seconds 
 I will start." He saw the hand jump round.
 
 The Dead Wall 
 
 " Now! " and then in the ear of his brain 
 a thin voice cried, softly insistent: " Five 
 thousand and that odd two hundred. Is 
 that all right ? Go back on it. Give them 
 just a glance." He paused, but the blood 
 in his head stood still. At the cross-ways 
 he trembled, dazed with the conflict of the 
 two desires. ' Well, one glance." 
 
 At that the whole body of his madness 
 rolled back upon him through the rift. He 
 threw up his hands, and, hiding his face in 
 the bed-clothes, groaned. " Now! " he said 
 again, flinging himself peremptorily to his 
 feet. He straightened his figure. " Now! " 
 As if with a wild, reckless motion, he pulled 
 to the door of his mind, and shutting his 
 eyes, marched out of the room, laughing 
 mechanically. " Dorothy, Dorothy, Doro- 
 thy! " he muttered under his breath. 
 
 Rosewarne entered the dining-room with 
 a quick tread and a moving galvanic smile. 
 
 " Dolly, forgive me," he said; " I am 
 
 121
 
 The Dead Wall 
 
 late. Where are you ? Oh, Williams, some 
 fish. That will do." 
 
 He started to talk in a very hurried man- 
 ner, but with humble cheerfulness. His 
 wife stared at him coldly, answering in short, 
 colourless sentences. But he made amends 
 for her reticence with a continuous stream 
 of talk. He chattered freely, and he ate 
 ravenously. He rambled on through num- 
 berless topics with no apparent connection. 
 All the reserves of his nature were enrolled 
 in that gallant essay to fence him from the 
 Horror of his life, and hedge him safely 
 about with casual trifles. Of a sudden he 
 saw things clear about him. A certain 
 bright wit shone in his soliloquies; he spoke 
 with that incoherence and irresponsibility 
 which begets sometimes effective phrasing. 
 His wife considered him ; the novelty of his 
 conversation struck her, its frivolity took 
 her with admiration. Slowly the barriers 
 of her own reserve broke down, the sense 
 122
 
 The Dead Wall 
 
 of satisfaction in herself grew upon her, and 
 by degrees her good-humour returned. She 
 joined in his talk, laughed a little, was in- 
 spired by his mood into newer, fresher, 
 wilder hopes. No word was said about the 
 scene in the bedroom ; it had dropped into 
 past history, and their feet were set to the 
 future. And when Williams was gone, she 
 turned swiftly upon him, her zeal showing 
 in her eyes. 
 
 " And now, Freddy," she said, " tell me 
 all about Maclagan. " 
 
 His face started into haggard lines; he 
 lowered his eyes, and, with a short laugh, 
 shook his head. 
 
 " Later; not now," he said. ' You be- 
 gin." 
 
 She laughed also. " I have seen Lord 
 Hambleton," she said, with a burst of ex- 
 citement. " He is coming to-night." And 
 watched upon his face for the effect. 
 
 " Oh, you clever girl! " he cried, his eyes 
 123
 
 The Dead Wall 
 
 smiling, his lips quivering slightly. ' You 
 clever girl." 
 
 Again she laughed. It almost seemed to 
 her at that moment that she loved him. 
 
 " Ah, you would think so, if you knew 
 how I managed it." 
 
 " But I know it, I know it," he cried, 
 seizing her hand across the table. ' You 
 are as clever as you are beautiful." 
 
 He hardly recalled the point to which 
 their conversation related ; he was aware 
 only of her proximity and her kindly eyes. 
 She returned the pressure of his fingers 
 faintly, and looked at him thoughtfully. 
 
 " You look tired, Freddy," she said. 
 "I'm afraid you've had a very wearisome 
 day." 
 
 "Yes," he assented with a tiny laugh. 
 " I have had a bad day." 
 
 "Tell me," she said abruptly, "what 
 about Maclagan ? " 
 
 He rose. " Come into the study, then," 
 124
 
 The Dead Wall 
 
 he said in another voice. " I can tell you 
 better there." 
 
 She followed him, laying a hand lightly 
 upon his shoulder. She took her seat within 
 the comfortable armchair, stretching herself 
 out, with her feet to the fire and the red 
 light upon her face and bosom. Rosewarne 
 leaned his elbow on the mantel-piece. 
 
 " Well ? " she asked presently in a tone of 
 invitation. 
 
 He started. " Dolly," he said slowly, 
 "supposing I were to die would you " 
 
 " Good gracious, Freddy, don't talk non- 
 sense," she interrupted on his halting 
 phrases. " We haven't come to talk about 
 foolish things like that." 
 
 He made no answer, but stared harder 
 into the fire. A sense of irritation grew 
 upon Mrs. Rosewarne. Had he failed in 
 his mission ? If he had, at least she had 
 succeeded in hers, and the thought consoled 
 her. 
 
 125
 
 The Dead Wall 
 
 " Now, let me hear all about it. Do be 
 quick," she said. 
 
 He turned to her suddenly. " Dolly, you 
 must answer me; please answer me," he 
 cried in agitation. ' You could not bear 
 my death, could you ? Say you couldn't." 
 
 " Of course not," she replied sharply. 
 
 ' Why in the name of all that is decent 
 
 will you harp on that ? Don't be morbid." 
 
 " It will have to come to that," he said 
 brokenly. 
 
 " Pooh ! Don't be foolish," she retorted. 
 She regarded him critically. Even in the 
 red light the colour of his face, which had 
 fallen into ugly lines, repelled her. " Come, 
 what is it ? Is anything the matter with 
 you ? Have you seen your doctor ? What 
 are you keeping from me ? " 
 
 The questions ran off her tongue sharply, 
 even acrimoniously. She had anew the 
 sense of irritation that he had chosen this 
 hour to be ill. 
 
 126
 
 The Dead Wall 
 
 " No," he replied in a blank voice, " I 
 suppose I'm all right. I don't know. I've 
 been yes I'm ill with the horrible trouble. 
 
 I'm " He fell quickly upon his knees, 
 
 burying his face in her gown. " Oh, Dolly, 
 Dolly," he sobbed, " I have ruined you, and 
 you don't know it. It is all over all over." 
 
 Her eyes opened in alarm, but she did not 
 move. ' What nonsense are you talking, 
 Freddy ?" she asked in an uncertain voice 
 which rang harshly. " You're ill. You've 
 been overworking. You mustn't. What 
 foolishness! " 
 
 She laughed faintly, with embarrassment, 
 and almost mechanically put out a hand and 
 touched his hair as though vaguely to reas- 
 sure him of his mistake ; while all the time 
 her heart thumped on and her mind was 
 wondering in a daze. 
 
 At her touch he raised his head, and 
 clutched her, crying, " Ah, you do love 
 me, Dolly. You do love me. I knew 
 127
 
 The Dead Wall 
 
 you loved me. I knew you would be sorry 
 for me." 
 
 She sat motionless, fear reaching out arms 
 for her heart. Slowly she was beginning to 
 understand. 
 
 " What is it that you have done ?" she 
 asked in a dry voice. 
 
 He pressed her hand tightly, crushing her 
 fingers. " I have taken money," he whis- 
 pered, " trust money. I am ruined. I 
 must go to prison, unless I " 
 
 She moistened her lips, impassive as ever. 
 
 " But you do love me," he repeated, 
 clinging to her. ' Yes, you do love me, 
 Dolly. Even if I have to do that thing, 
 you love me still." 
 
 Through all her being ran a repulsion 
 for this creature at her knees, but she was 
 clogged with her emotions and sat silent. 
 
 "Dolly, Dolly," he cried pathetically. 
 " I shall have to do it. I know I shall have 
 
 to do it I " He looked up, gulping 
 
 128
 
 The Dead Wall 
 
 down his sobs, as though seeking in her face 
 for a contradiction. He knew the warm 
 tears would fall upon him. Through his 
 blurred vision he saw her mutely, indis- 
 tinctly, raise her arms, extracting her hand 
 from his grasp. He felt he knew he 
 
 hoped Ah, she would throw them 
 
 about his neck and draw him close in a 
 passionate, pitiful embrace. 
 
 " Dolly, Dolly," he whispered, " I shall 
 have to die." 
 
 With a rough movement she thrust him 
 from her and got upon her feet. 
 
 "Die!" she exclaimed in a voice full of 
 ineffable bitterness. " Die! Oh, my God, 
 yes. That is the least you can do." 
 
 He lay where he had fallen to her push, 
 huddled in a shapeless heap, stirring faintly. 
 It was to her eyes as if some vermin upon 
 which she had set her foot still moved with 
 life. There was left in him no power of 
 thought, no capacity of emotion. He was 
 9 "9
 
 The Dead Wall 
 
 dimly conscious of misery, and he knew 
 that she was standing by. Far away a tune 
 sounded, and reverberated in his ears; it 
 was the singing of the empty air. She was 
 staring upon him with disgust and terror. 
 
 "Poor worm!" she said, in tense, low 
 tones; and then her eyes alighted on her 
 heaving bosom and the glories of her gown. 
 The revulsion struck her like a blow, and 
 she reeled under it. " You devil ! " she cried. 
 ' You have ruined my life." 
 
 The sound of those sharp words smote 
 upon his brain, and whipped his ragged soul. 
 He rose suddenly to his feet, his face blaz- 
 ing with fury. 
 
 " Damn you," he cried passionately. " I 
 have loved you. I have sold my soul for 
 you. I have ruined my mind for you. 
 Damn you, Dorothy. And you have no 
 words for me. Damn you." 
 
 His voice trailed away into a tremulous 
 sob, and he stood contemplating her with 
 130
 
 The Dead Wall 
 
 fixed eyes. She laughed hardly, withdraw- 
 ing her skirts from his vicinity. His gaze 
 wandered from her, and went furtively to- 
 wards the mantelpiece. She followed it, 
 and saw a revolver lying upon the marble. 
 
 " Bah! " she said. " You have not the 
 courage." 
 
 At that moment a knock fell upon the 
 door ; after a pause she moved and opened it. 
 
 " Lord Hambleton, ma'am," said Wil- 
 liams. " He is in the drawing-room." 
 
 Breathing hard, she looked round at her 
 husband. Rosewarne's dull eyes were fixed 
 upon her. They interceded with her; they 
 fawned upon her. 
 
 " I will be there in a moment," she said 
 clearly. Rosewarne moved slowly to the 
 table and sat down, resting his head in his 
 hands. He made no protest; if he realised 
 anything now, he realised that he had ex- 
 pected this. The door shut to behind her; 
 a dull pain started in the base of his brain ; 
 131
 
 The Dead Wall 
 
 into the redoubts of his soul streamed 
 swiftly the forces of sheer panic. 
 
 Mrs. Rosewarne entered the drawing- 
 room, the tail of her dress rustling over 
 the carpet. Lord Hambleton turned 
 with this sound in his ears stirring him 
 pleasantly. 
 
 " Well," said he, smiling, " you see I've 
 come." 
 
 She gave him her hand and paused, con- 
 fronting him. Her heart thumped like a 
 hammer upon her side; her face was flushed 
 with colour, and her lips quivered. 
 
 "It is good of you," she said tremu- 
 lously; " won't you sit down ?" 
 
 He did not heed her invitation, but shot 
 a shrewd glance at her. Her voice startled 
 him; the discomposure of her appearance 
 arrested his eyes. He wondered what had 
 happened. It could not be that his visit 
 was the cause of this confusion. And yet 
 he noted it with a thrill of satisfaction, such 
 132
 
 The Dead Wall 
 
 as he had experienced in the colloquy at 
 Mrs. Charters's. 
 
 ' You are very good to look at like this," 
 he allowed himself to say. He picked up 
 the thread of their communion where it 
 had been dropped earlier that day. She 
 was marvellously handsome; he had never 
 admired a woman so much since his youth. 
 The faint light spreading from the lamps il- 
 lumined her brilliant face and threw up her 
 figure in a kind of twilight against the wall. 
 Her heart palpitated audibly; it seemed 
 to her that she had a sudden unreasonable 
 desire to laugh. The squalid gloom of 
 that chamber beyond lifted; it seemed re- 
 mote and accidental. She was here with 
 the comfortable eyes of this man upon her, 
 contemplating her with admiration. She 
 was not a parcel of that tragedy outside. 
 She smiled broadly. 
 
 ' Why, the better for my salon," she 
 said. 
 
 i33
 
 The Dead Wall 
 
 What had excited her ? he asked himself. 
 " Ah! we will arrange all that," he answered 
 with a familiar nod. 
 
 " You will ? " she asked eagerly breath- 
 lessly. 
 
 " Why, certainly," he replied. " I 
 think we can manage it between us." 
 
 She laughed aloud this time. " Yes, both 
 of us together," she said. 
 
 He met her eyes. Was it wine ? he 
 
 asked. Or was it ? Lord Hambleton's 
 
 body tingled with sensation. He had not 
 suspected that matters had progressed so 
 intimately between them. Almost involun- 
 tarily he put out a hand towards her. She 
 laughed awkwardly, and he drew it back. 
 
 ' You should have had it long ago," he 
 said. ' You have thrown away a chance." 
 
 " My life, you mean," she cried, breaking 
 in upon his mellifluous tones with a harsher 
 note. 
 
 She shifted her head towards the door as 
 134
 
 The Dead Wall 
 
 if listening for a sound. Her action struck 
 him for the moment as ungainly. 
 
 " Things do not always fall out as we 
 want them," he said slowly. 
 
 "Not as you want them?" she asked, 
 coming back to regard him. ' Why, what 
 more do you want ? " 
 
 He watched her from his quiet eyes, which 
 suddenly lost their equable expression. To 
 him she had always appeared a woman of 
 dispassion, but now the seeming surrender 
 in her mind, the revolution in her character, 
 flashed upon him with an extreme sense of 
 emotion. His heart beat faster. 
 
 " I think you know," he said softly, and 
 reaching forth, took her hand. 
 
 Swiftly she turned ; a look of dread 
 rushed into her eyes. All on a sudden the 
 transactions of that neighbouring room leapt 
 into proximity. She saw Freddy handling 
 the revolver; she watched him lean over 
 the table and cock it in the light ; she saw 
 135
 
 The Dead Wall 
 
 him She gave a cry, and moved a step 
 
 towards the door, with a frightened face. 
 
 "What is it?" asked Lord Hambleton 
 in alarm. ' You are ill. You She 
 
 made no answer, and he seized her hand 
 again. " Let me ring for a glass of wine," 
 he whispered. 
 
 Mrs. Rosewarne laughed loudly in his face. 
 
 " No, no," she said; "it is nothing. 
 Pray, don't. I shall be better." 
 
 She looked at him, and then turned her 
 ear to the door again, listening with a white 
 face. He watched her anxiously, but in his 
 own mind the reason of her perturbation 
 was clear. The thought was sweet to 
 him. 
 
 ' Well, ' ' said he ; " and now to business. ' ' 
 
 "Business!" she echoed, and moved 
 quickly to him, " I Please, you must 
 excuse me, Lord Hambleton. My hus- 
 band is ill. Do you mind ? I 
 
 He rose abruptly. " I am very sorry," 
 136
 
 The Dead Wall 
 
 he said; " I will not trouble you, then, just 
 now." 
 
 He took his hat. She had turned away 
 and was hearkening with all her senses for 
 that report that did not come. He bit his 
 lips. Perhaps she had been overstrained. 
 He could scarce say what feeling ran upper- 
 most in his mind. She hurried him to the 
 door, accompanying him herself. 
 
 " Must you go ? " she asked, stupidly, on 
 the doorstep. 
 
 He looked at her; perhaps she really was 
 ill. But she was very beautiful. She did 
 not hear his answer. The rough wind blew 
 through the open door and scattered her 
 hair and her skirts. Lord Hambleton went 
 down the steps. She watched him go. At 
 that moment, somehow, a great revulsion 
 overwhelmed her. She had listened, and 
 there had been no discharge. What a fool 
 she had been ! Of course, he had no cour- 
 age. She had the desire to rush after Lord 
 137
 
 The Dead Wall 
 
 Hambleton and call him back. She had 
 tortured herself idly ; she had played a silly 
 part in a melodrama. She recalled Lord 
 Hambleton's ardent gaze. There was a 
 man ! Ah, if this thing were not fastened 
 about her neck ! She stole back along the 
 hall furious. Once more she was con- 
 fronted with the squalor of her position. 
 Her indignation rose higher; she could see 
 that pitiful creature crying for mercy, crying 
 for affection. Bah! He was too cowardly 
 to die. Burning with the old anger, she 
 crossed to the study and opened the door. 
 She would have it out with him ; they 
 should understand their position. With 
 Lord Hambleton the dignified prospects of 
 her life had vanished, and she was flung 
 back upon a mean and ignominious lot. 
 
 Rosewarne was seated in the armchair; 
 
 the revolver rested where it had lain upon 
 
 the mantelpiece. He made no movement 
 
 to rise as she returned, and she stood for a 
 
 138
 
 The Dead Wall 
 
 second looking down upon him from behind 
 with curling lips. A bottle of whisky and a 
 glass stood upon the table at his elbow. It 
 was probable that he had drunk himself to 
 sleep. 
 
 "Are you awake?" she called sharply. 
 He made no sign. She bent over angrily 
 and shook him. 
 
 His head fell to her touch, and from his 
 fingers a little phial tumbled upon the floor. 
 
 139
 
 Ill 
 
 The Stone Chamber 
 
 IT was not until early summer that War- 
 rington took possession of Marvyn Abbey. 
 He had bought the property in the preced- 
 ing autumn, but the place had so fallen into 
 decay through the disorders of time that 
 more than six months elapsed ere it was 
 inhabitable. The delay, however, fell out 
 conveniently for Warrington ; for the Bosan- 
 quets spent the winter abroad, and nothing 
 must suit but he must spend it with them. 
 There was never a man who pursued his 
 passion with such ardour. He was ever at 
 Miss Bosanquet's skirts, and bade fair to 
 make her as steadfast a husband as he was 
 attached a lover. Thus it was not until 
 140
 
 The Stone Chamber 
 
 after his return from that prolonged exile 
 that he had the opportunity of inspecting 
 the repairs discharged by his architect. He 
 was nothing out of the common in charac- 
 ter, but was full of kindly impulses and a 
 fellow of impetuous blood. When he called 
 upon me in my chambers he spoke with 
 some excitement of his Abbey, as also of 
 his approaching marriage ; and finally, break- 
 ing into an exhibition of genuine affection, 
 declared that we had been so long and so 
 continuously intimate that I, and none 
 other, must help him warm his house and 
 marry his bride. It had indeed been 
 always understood between us that I should 
 serve him at the ceremony, but now it 
 appeared that I must start my duties even 
 earlier. The prospect of a summer holiday 
 in Utterbourne pleased me. It was a 
 charming village, set upon the slope of a 
 wooded hill and within call of the sea. I 
 had a slight knowledge of the district from 
 141
 
 The Stone Chamber 
 
 a riding excursion taken through that part 
 of Devonshire; and years before, and ere 
 Warrington had come into his money, had 
 viewed the Abbey ruins from a distance 
 with the polite curiosity of a passing tourist. 
 I examined them now with new eyes as 
 we drove up the avenue. The face which 
 the ancient building presented to the valley 
 was of magnificent design, but now much 
 worn and battered. Part of it, the* right 
 wing, I judged to be long past the uses of 
 a dwelling, for the walls had crumbled away, 
 huge gaps opened in the foundations, and 
 the roof was quite dismantled. Warrington 
 had very wisely left this portion to its own 
 sinister decay; it was the left wing which 
 had been restored, and which we were to 
 inhabit. The entrance, I will confess, was 
 a little mean, for the large doorway had 
 been bricked up and an ordinary modern 
 door gave upon the spacious terrace and the 
 winding gardens. But apart from this, the 
 142
 
 The Stone Chamber 
 
 work of restoration had been undertaken 
 with skill and piety, and the interior had 
 retained its native dignity, while resuming 
 an air of proper comfort. The old oak had 
 been repaired congruous with the original 
 designs, and the great rooms had been as 
 little altered as was requisite to adapt them 
 for daily use. 
 
 Warrington passed quickly from chamber 
 to chamber in evident delight, directing my 
 attention upon this and upon that, and 
 eagerly requiring my congratulations and 
 approval. My comments must have satisfied 
 him, for the place attracted me vastly. The 
 only criticism I ventured was to remark 
 upon the size of the rooms and to question 
 if they might not dwarf the insignificant 
 human figures they were to entertain. 
 
 He laughed. " Not a bit," said he. 
 ' Roaring fires in winter in those fine old 
 fireplaces; and as for summer, the more 
 space the better. We shall be jolly." 
 i43
 
 The Stone Chamber 
 
 I followed him along the noble hall, and 
 we stopped before a small door of very black 
 oak. 
 
 " The bedrooms," he explained, as he 
 turned the key, " are all upstairs, but mine 
 is not ready yet. And besides, I am reserv- 
 ing it; I won't sleep in it till you under- 
 stand," he concluded, with a smiling sugges- 
 tion of embarrassment. 
 
 I understood very well. He threw the 
 door open. 
 
 ' I am going to use this in the mean- 
 time," he continued. " Queer little room, 
 isn't it ? It used to be a sort of library. 
 How do you think it looks ? " 
 
 We had entered as he spoke, and stood, 
 distributing our glances in that vague and 
 general way in which a room is surveyed. It 
 was a chamber of much smaller proportions 
 than the rest, and was dimly lighted by two 
 long narrow windows sunk in the great walls. 
 The bed and the modern fittings looked 
 144
 
 The Stone Chamber 
 
 strangely out of keeping with its ancient 
 privacy. The walls were rudely distempered 
 with barbaric frescos, dating, I conjectured, 
 from the fourteenth century; and the floor 
 was of stone, worn into grooves and hol- 
 lows with the feet of many generations. As 
 I was taking in these facts, there came over 
 me a sudden curiosity as to those dead Mar- 
 vyns who had held the Abbey for so long. 
 This silent chamber seemed to suggest ques- 
 tions of their history; it spoke eloquently of 
 past ages and past deeds, fallen now into 
 oblivion. Here, within these thick walls, 
 no echo from the outer world might carry, 
 no sound would ring within its solitary se- 
 clusion. Even the silence seemed to confer 
 with one upon the ancient transactions of 
 that extinct House. 
 
 Warrington stirred, and turned suddenly to 
 me. " I hope it's not damp," said he, with 
 a slight shiver. " It looks rather solemn. 
 I thought furniture would brighten it up." 
 145
 
 The Stone Chamber 
 
 " I should think it would be very comfort- 
 able," said I. 'You will never be dis- 
 turbed by any sounds at any rate." 
 
 " No," he answered, hesitatingly; and 
 then, quickly, on one of his impulses: 
 " Hang it, Heywood, there's too much 
 silence here for me." Then he laughed. 
 " Oh, I shall do very well for a month or 
 two." And with that appeared to return 
 to his former placid cheerfulness. 
 
 The train of thought started in that som- 
 bre chamber served to entertain me several 
 times that day. I questioned Warrington 
 at dinner, which we took in one of the 
 smaller rooms, commanding a lovely pros- 
 pect of dale and sea. He shook his head. 
 Archaeological lore, as indeed anything else 
 out of the borders of actual life, held very 
 little interest for him. 
 
 ' The Marvyns died out in 1714, I be- 
 lieve," he said, indifferently; " someone 
 told me that the man I bought it from, I 
 146
 
 The Stone Chamber 
 
 think. They might just as well have kept 
 the place up since ; but I think it has been 
 only occupied twice between then and now, 
 and the last time was forty years ago. It 
 would have rotted to pieces if I hadn't taken 
 it. Perhaps Mrs. Batty could tell you. 
 She's lived in these parts almost all her life." 
 To humour me, and affected, I doubt not, 
 by a certain pride in his new possession, he 
 put the query to his housekeeper upon her 
 appearance subsequently; but it seemed 
 that her knowledge was little fuller than his 
 own, though she had gathered some vague 
 traditions of the countryside. The Marvyns 
 had not left a reputable name, if rumour 
 spoke truly; theirs was a family to which 
 black deeds had been credited. They were 
 ill-starred also in their fortunes, and had 
 become extinct suddenly; but for the rest, 
 the events had fallen too many generations 
 ago to be current now between the mem- 
 ories of the village. 
 
 147
 
 The Stone Chamber 
 
 Warrington, who was more eager to dis- 
 cuss the future than to recall the past, was 
 vastly excited by his anticipations. St. 
 Pharamond, Sir William Bosanquet's house, 
 lay across the valley, barely five miles away; 
 and as the family had now returned, it was 
 easy to forgive Warrington's elation. 
 
 " What do you think ? " he said, late that 
 evening; and clapping me upon the shoul- 
 der, "You have seen Marion; here is the 
 house. Am I not lucky ? Damn it, Hey- 
 wood, I'm not pious, but I am disposed to 
 thank God! I'm not a bad fellow, but I'm 
 no saint; it's fortunate that it's not only 
 the virtuous that are rewarded. In fact, it's 
 usually contrariwise. I owe this to Lord, 
 I don't know what I owe it to. Is it my 
 money ? Of course, Marion doesn't care a 
 rap for that; but then, you see, I mightn't 
 have known her without it. Of course, 
 there's the house, too. I'm thankful I have 
 money. At any rate, here's my new life. 
 148
 
 The Stone Chamber 
 
 Just look about and take it in, old fellow. 
 If you knew how a man may be ashamed of 
 himself! But there, I've done. You know 
 I'm decent at heart you must count my 
 
 life from to-day." And with this outbreak 
 
 i 
 he lifted the glass between fingers that 
 
 trembled with the warmth of his emotions, 
 and tossed off his wine. 
 
 He did himself but justice when he 
 claimed to be a good fellow ; and, in truth, 
 I was myself somewhat moved by his ob- 
 vious feeling. I remember that we shook 
 hands very affectionately, and my sympathy 
 was the prelude to a long and confidential 
 talk, which lasted until quite a late hour. 
 
 At the foot of the staircase, where we 
 parted, he detained me. 
 
 ' This is the last of my wayward days," 
 he said, with a smile. " Late hours liquor 
 all go. You shall see. Good-night. 
 You know your room. I shall be up long 
 before you." And with that he vanished 
 149
 
 The Stone Chamber 
 
 briskly into the darkness that hung about 
 the lower parts of the passage. 
 
 I watched him go, and it struck me quite 
 vaguely what a slight impression his candle 
 made upon that channel of opaque gloom. 
 It seemed merely as a thread of light that 
 illumined nothing. Warrington himself was 
 rapt into the prevalent blackness ; but long 
 afterwards, and even when his footsteps had 
 died away upon the heavy carpet, the tiny 
 beam was visible, advancing and flickering 
 in the distance. 
 
 My window, which was modern, opened 
 upon a little balcony, where, as the night 
 was warm and I was indisposed for sleep, I 
 spent half an hour enjoying the air. I was 
 in a sentimental mood, and my thoughts 
 turned upon the suggestions which Warring- 
 ton's conversation had induced. It was not 
 until I was in bed, and had blown out the 
 light, that they settled upon the square, 
 dark chamber in which my host was to pass 
 150
 
 The Stone Chamber 
 
 the night. As I have said, I was wakeful, 
 owing, no doubt, to the high pitch of the 
 emotions which we had encouraged ; but 
 presently my fancies became inarticulate 
 and incoherent, and then I was overtaken 
 by profound sleep. 
 
 Warrington was up before me, as he had 
 predicted, and met me in the breakfast- 
 room. 
 
 ' What a beggar you are to sleep! " he 
 said, with a smile. " I've hammered at 
 your door for half an hour." 
 
 I apologised for myself, alleging the rich 
 country air in my defence, and mentioned 
 that I had had some difficulty in getting 
 to sleep. 
 
 " So had I," he remarked, as we sat down 
 to the table. " We got very excited, I sup- 
 pose. Just see what you have there, Hey- 
 wood. Eggs ? Oh, damn it, one can have 
 too much of eggs!" He frowned, and 
 lifted a third cover. " Why in the name 
 151
 
 The Stone Chamber 
 
 of common sense can't Mrs. Batty give us 
 more variety ? " he asked, impatiently. 
 
 I deprecated his displeasure, suggesting 
 that we should do very well; indeed, his 
 discontent seemed to me quite unnecessary. 
 But I supposed Warrington had been rather 
 spoiled by many years of club life. 
 
 He settled himself without replying, and 
 began to pick over his plate in a gingerly 
 manner. 
 
 " There's one thing I will have here, Hey- 
 wood," he observed. " I will have things 
 well appointed. I'm not going to let life in 
 the country mean an uncomfortable life. A 
 man can't change the habits of a lifetime." 
 
 In contrast with his exhilarated profes- 
 sions of the previous evening, this struck 
 me with a sense of amusement at the mo- 
 ment; and the incongruity may have oc- 
 curred to him, for he went on: " Marion's 
 not over strong, you know, and must have 
 things comme il faut. She shan't decline 
 152
 
 The Stone Chamber 
 
 upon a lower level. The worst of these 
 rustics is that they have no imagination." 
 He held up a piece of bacon on his fork, 
 and surveyed it with disgust. " Now, look 
 at that ! Why the devil don't they take tips 
 from civilised people like the French ? " 
 
 It was so unlike him to exhibit this petu- 
 lance that I put it down to a bad night, and 
 without discovering the connection of my 
 thoughts, asked him how he liked his bed- 
 room. 
 
 " Oh, pretty well, pretty well," he said, in- 
 differently. " It's not so cold as I thought. 
 But I slept badly. I always do in a strange 
 bed " ; and pushing aside his plate, he lit a 
 cigarette. ' When you've finished that 
 garbage, Heywood, we'll have a stroll 
 round the Abbey," he said. 
 
 His good temper returned during our 
 walk, and he indicated to me various im- 
 provements which he contemplated, with 
 something of his old ardour. The left wing
 
 The Stone Chamber 
 
 of the house, as I have said, was entire, but 
 a little apart were the ruins of a chapel. 
 Surrounded by a low moss-grown wall, it 
 was full of picturesque charm ; the roofless 
 chancel was spread with ivy, but the aisles 
 were intact. Grass grew between the stones 
 and the floor, and many creepers had 
 strayed through chinks in the wall into those 
 sacred precincts. The solemn quietude of 
 the ruin, maintained under the spell of 
 death, awed me a little, but upon Warring- 
 ton apparently it made no impression. He 
 was only zealous that I should properly ap- 
 preciate the distinction of such a property. 
 I stooped and drew the weeds away from 
 one of the slabs in the aisle, and was able 
 to trace upon it the relics of lettering, well- 
 nigh obliterated under the corrosion of 
 time. 
 
 ' There are tombs," said I. 
 " Oh, yes," he answered, with a certain 
 relish. " I understand the Marvyns used it 
 i54
 
 The Stone Chamber 
 
 as a mausoleum. They are all buried here. 
 Some good brasses, I am told." 
 
 The associations of the place engaged me ; 
 the aspect of the Abbey faced the past ; it 
 seemed to refuse communion with the pres- 
 ent ; and somehow the thought of those two 
 decent humdrum lives which should be 
 spent within its shelter savoured of the in- 
 congruous. The white-capped maids and 
 the emblazoned butlers that should tread 
 these halls offered a ridiculous appearance 
 beside my fancies of the ancient building. 
 For all that, I envied Warrington his home, 
 and so I told him, with a humorous hint that 
 I was fitter to appreciate its glories than 
 himself. 
 
 He laughed. " Oh, I don't know," said 
 he. " I like the old-world look as much 
 as you do. I have always had a notion of 
 something venerable. It seems to serve you 
 for ancestors." And he was undoubtedly 
 delighted with my enthusiasm. 
 i55
 
 The Stone Chamber 
 
 But at lunch again he chopped round to 
 his previous irritation, only now quite an- 
 other matter provoked his anger. He had 
 received a letter by the second post from 
 Miss Bosanquet, which, if I may judge from 
 his perplexity, must have been unusually 
 confused. He read and re-read it, his brow 
 lowering. 
 
 "What the deuce does she mean?" he 
 asked, testily. ' ' She first makes an ar- 
 rangement for us to ride over to-day, and 
 now I can't make out whether we are to go 
 to St. Pharamond, or they are coming to us. 
 Just look at it, will you, Heywood ?" 
 
 I glanced through the note, but could 
 offer no final solution, whereupon he broke 
 out again: 
 
 " That's just like women they never can 
 say anything straightforwardly. Why, in 
 the name of goodness, couldn't she leave 
 things as they were ? You see," he ob- 
 served, rather in answer, as I fancied, to my 
 156
 
 The Stone Chamber 
 
 silence, " we don't know what to do now; 
 if we stay here they mayn't come, and if 
 we go probably we shall cross them." And 
 he snapped his fingers in annoyance. 
 
 I was cheerful enough, perhaps because 
 the responsibility was not mine, and ven- 
 tured to suggest that we might ride over, 
 and return if we missed them. But he dis- 
 missed the subject sharply by saying: 
 
 " No, I'll stay. I'm not going on a 
 fool's errand," and drew my attention to 
 some point in the decoration of the room. 
 
 The Bosanquets did not arrive during the 
 afternoon, and Warrington's ill-humour in- 
 creased. His love-sick state pleaded in 
 excuse of him, but he was certainly not 
 a pleasant companion. He was sour and 
 snappish, and one could introduce no state- 
 ment to which he would not find a contra- 
 diction. So unamiable did he grow that at 
 last I discovered a pretext to leave him, and 
 rambled to the back of the Abbey into the 
 i57
 
 The Stone Chamber 
 
 precincts of the old chapel. The day was 
 falling, and the summer sun flared through 
 the western windows upon the bare aisle. 
 The creepers rustled upon the gaping walls, 
 and the tall grasses waved in shadows over 
 the bodies of the forgotten dead. As I 
 stood contemplating the effect, and medi- 
 tating greatly upon the anterior fortunes of 
 the Abbey, my attention fell upon a huge 
 slab of marble, upon which the yellow light 
 struck sharply. The faded lettering rose 
 into greater definition before my eyes and I 
 read slowly: 
 
 ' ' Here lyeth the body of Sir Rupert Mar- 
 vyn. ' ' 
 
 Beyond a date, very difficult to decipher, 
 there was nothing more ; of eulogy, of style, 
 of record, of pious considerations such as 
 were usual to the period, not a word. I 
 read the numerals variously as 1723 and 
 1745 ; but however they ran it was probable 
 that the stone covered the resting-place of 
 158
 
 The Stone Chamber 
 
 the last Marvyn. The history of this futile 
 house interested me not a little, partly for 
 Warrington's sake, and in part from a natu- 
 ral bent towards ancient records; and I 
 made a mental note of the name and date. 
 
 When I returned Warrington's surliness 
 had entirely vanished, and had given place 
 to an effusion of boisterous spirits. He 
 apologised jovially for his bad temper. 
 
 " It was the disappointment of not seeing 
 Marion," he said. ' You will understand 
 that some day, old fellow. But, anyhow, 
 we'll go over to-morrow"; and forthwith 
 proceeded to enliven the dinner with an 
 ostentation of good-fellowship I had seldom 
 witnessed in him. I began to suspect that 
 he had heard again from St. Pharamond, 
 though he chose to conceal the fact from 
 me. The wine was admirable; though 
 Warrington himself was no great judge, he 
 had entrusted the selection to a good palate. 
 We had a merry meal, drank a little more 
 159
 
 The Stone Chamber 
 
 than was prudent, and smoked our cigars 
 upon the terrace in the fresh air. Warring- 
 ton was restless. He pushed his glass from 
 him. " I'll tell you what, old chap," he 
 broke out, " I'll give you a game of bil- 
 liards. I've got a decent table." 
 
 I demurred. The air was too delicious, 
 and I was in no humour for a sharp use of 
 my wits. He laughed, though he seemed 
 rather disappointed. 
 
 " It's almost sacrilege to play billiards in 
 an Abbey," I said, whimsically. " What 
 would the ghosts of the old Marvyns 
 think?" 
 
 "Oh, hang the Marvyns!" he rejoined, 
 crossly. ' You're always talking of them." 
 
 He rose and entered the house, returning 
 presently with a flagon of whiskey and some 
 glasses. 
 
 "Try this," he said. "We've had no 
 liqueurs"; and pouring out some spirit he 
 swallowed it raw. 
 
 160
 
 The Stone Chamber 
 
 I stared, for Warrington rarely took 
 spirits, being more of a wine drinker; more- 
 over, he must have taken nearly the quarter 
 of a tumbler. But he did not notice my sur- 
 prise, and, seating himself, lit another cigar. 
 
 " I don't mean to have things quiet here," 
 he observed, reflectively. " I don't believe 
 in your stagnant rustic life. What I intend 
 to do is to keep the place warm plenty of 
 house parties, things going on all the year. 
 I shall expect you down for the shooting, 
 Ned. The coverts promise well this year." 
 
 I assented willingly enough, and he ram- 
 bled on again. 
 
 " I don't know that I shall use the Abbey 
 so much. I think I'll live in town a good 
 deal. It's brighter there. I don't know 
 though. I like the place. Hang it, it's a 
 rattling good shop, there's no mistake about 
 it. Look here," he broke off, abruptly, 
 " bring your glass in, and I'll show you 
 something." 
 
 161
 
 The Stone Chamber 
 
 I was little inclined to move, but he was 
 so peremptory that I followed him with a 
 sigh. We entered one of the smaller rooms 
 which overlooked the terrace, and had been 
 diverted into a comfortable library. He 
 flung back the windows. 
 
 ' There's air for you," he cried. " Now, 
 sit down," and walking to a cupboard pro- 
 duced a second flagon of whiskey. " Irish ! " 
 he ejaculated, clumping it on the table. 
 ' Take your choice," and turning again to 
 the cupboard, presently sat down with his 
 hands under the table. " Now, then, Ned," 
 he said, with a short laugh. " Fill up, and 
 we'll have some fun," with which he sud- 
 denly threw a pack of cards upon the board. 
 
 I opened my eyes, for I do not suppose 
 Warrington had touched cards since his col- 
 lege days ; but, interpreting my look in his 
 own way, he cried: 
 
 " Oh, I'm not married yet. Warring- 
 ton's his own man still. Poker ? Eh ? " 
 162
 
 The Stone Chamber 
 
 44 Anything you like," said I, with resig- 
 nation. 
 
 A peculiar expression of delight gleamed 
 in his eyes, and he shuffled the cards fever- 
 ishly. 
 
 " Cut," said he, and helped himself to 
 more whiskey. 
 
 It was shameful to be playing there with 
 that beautiful night without, but there 
 seemed no help for it. Warrington had a 
 run of luck, though he played with little 
 skill ; and his excitement grew as he won. 
 
 4 ' Let us make it ten shillings," he sug- 
 gested. 
 
 I shook my head. ' You forget I'm not 
 a millionaire," I replied. 
 
 44 Bah ! " he cried. " I like a game worth 
 the victory. Well, fire away." 
 
 His eyes gloated upon the cards, and he 
 fingered them with unctuous affection. The 
 behaviour of the man amazed me. I began 
 to win. 
 
 163
 
 The Stone Chamber 
 
 Warrington's face slowly assumed a dull, 
 lowering expression ; he played eagerly, 
 avariciously; he disputed my points, and 
 was querulous. 
 
 "Oh, we've had enough!" I cried in 
 distaste. 
 
 "By Jove, you don't!" he exclaimed, 
 jumping to his feet. ' You're the winner, 
 Heywood, and I'll see you damned before I 
 let you off my revenge ! " 
 
 The words startled me no less than the 
 fury which rang in his accents. I gazed at 
 him in stupefaction. The whites of his 
 eyes showed wildly, and a sullen, angry 
 look determined his face. Suddenly I was 
 arrested by the suspicion of something 
 upon his neck. 
 
 " What's that ? " I asked. " You've cut 
 yourself." 
 
 He put his hand to his face. " Non- 
 sense," he replied, in a surly fashion. 
 
 I looked closer, and then I saw my mis- 
 164
 
 The Stone Chamber 
 
 take. It was a round, faint red mark, the 
 size of a florin, upon the column of his 
 throat, and I set it down to the accidental 
 pressure of some button. 
 
 " Come on ! " he insisted, impatiently. 
 
 " Bah! Warrington," I said, for I imag- 
 ined that he had been over-excited by the 
 whiskey he had taken. " It's only a matter 
 of a few pounds. Why make a fuss ? To- 
 morrow will serve." 
 
 After a moment his eyes fell, and he gave 
 an awkward laugh. " Oh, well, that'll do," 
 said he. " But I got so infernally excited." 
 
 " Whiskey," said I, sententiously. 
 
 He glanced at the bottle. " How many 
 glasses have I had?" and he whistled. 
 "By Jove, Ned, this won't do! I must 
 turn over a new leaf. Come on ; let's look 
 at the night." 
 
 I was only too glad to get away from the 
 table, and we were soon upon the terrace 
 again. Warrington was silent, and his gaze 
 165
 
 The Stone Chamber 
 
 went constantly across the valley, where the 
 moon was rising, and in the direction in 
 which, as he had indicated to me, St. Phar- 
 amond lay. When he said good-night he 
 was still pre-occupied. 
 
 " I hope you will sleep better," he said. 
 
 " And you, too," I added. 
 
 He smiled. " I don't suppose I shall 
 wake the whole night through," he said; 
 and then, as I was turning to go, he caught 
 me quickly by the arm. 
 
 " Ned," he said, impulsively and very 
 earnestly, " don't let me make a fool of 
 myself again. I know it's the excitement 
 of everything. But I want to be as good 
 as I can for her." 
 
 I pressed his hand. " All right, old fel- 
 low," I said; and we parted. 
 
 I think I have never enjoyed sounder 
 
 slumber than that night. The first thing I 
 
 was aware of was the singing of thrushes 
 
 outside my window. I rose and looked 
 
 1 66
 
 The Stone Chamber 
 
 forth, and the sun was hanging high in the 
 eastern sky, the grass and the young green 
 of the trees were shining with dew. With 
 an uncomfortable feeling that I was very- 
 late I hastily dressed and went downstairs. 
 Warrington was waiting for me in the 
 breakfast-room, as upon the previous morn- 
 ing, and when he turned from the window 
 at my approach, the sight of his face 
 startled me. It was drawn and haggard, 
 and his eyes were shot with blood ; it was 
 a face broken and savage with dissipation. 
 He made no answer to my questioning, but 
 seated himself with a morose air. 
 
 " Now you have come," he said, sul- 
 lenly, " we may as well begin. But it's 
 not my fault if the coffee's cold." 
 
 I examined him critically, and passed 
 some comment upon his appearance. 
 
 'You don't look up to much," I said. 
 " Another bad night ? " 
 
 " No; I slept well enough," he responded, 
 167
 
 The Stone Chamber 
 
 ungraciously; and then, after a pause: " I'll 
 tell you what, Heywood. You shall give 
 me my revenge after breakfast." 
 
 " Nonsense," I said, after a momentary 
 silence. " You're going over to St. Phara- 
 mond." 
 
 " Hang it!" was his retort, " one can't 
 be always bothering about women. You 
 seem mightily indisposed to meet me 
 again." 
 
 " I certainly won't this morning," I an- 
 swered, rather sharply, for the man's man- 
 ner grated upon me. ' This evening, if 
 you like ; and then the silly business shall 
 end." 
 
 He said something in an undertone of 
 grumble, and the rest of the meal passed in 
 silence. But I entertained an uneasy sus- 
 picion of him, and after all he was my 
 friend, with whom I was under obligations 
 not to quarrel ; and so when we rose, I ap- 
 proached him. 
 
 163
 
 The Stone Chamber 
 
 " Look here, Warrington," I said. 
 " What's the matter with you ? Have you 
 been drinking ? Remember what you asked 
 me last night." 
 
 " Hold your damned row!" was all the 
 answer he vouchsafed, as he whirled away 
 from me, but with an embarrassed display 
 of shame. 
 
 But I was not to be put off in that way, 
 and I spoke somewhat more sharply. 
 
 " We're going to have this out, Warring- 
 ton," I said. " If you are ill, let us under- 
 stand that; but I'm not going to stay here 
 with you in this cantankerous spirit." 
 
 "I'm not ill," he replied testily. 
 
 " Look at yourself," I cried, and turned 
 him about to the mirror over the mantel- 
 piece. 
 
 He started a little, and a frown of per- 
 plexity gathered on his fbrehead. 
 
 " Good Lord! I'm not like that, Ned," 
 he said, in a different voice. " I must have 
 169
 
 The Stone Chamber 
 
 been drunk last night." And with a sort of 
 groan, he directed a piteous look at me. 
 
 " Come," I was constrained to answer, 
 " pull yourself together. The ride will do 
 you good. And no more whisky." 
 
 " No, by Heaven, no! " he cried vehem- 
 ently, and seemed to shiver; but then, 
 suddenly taking my arm, he walked out of 
 the room. 
 
 The morning lay still and golden. War- 
 rington's eyes went forth across the valley. 
 
 " Come round to the stables, Ned," he 
 said, impulsively. ' You shall choose your 
 own nag." 
 
 I shook my head. " I'll choose yours," 
 said I, " but I am not going with you." He 
 looked surprised. " No, ride by yourself. 
 You don't want a companion on such an 
 errand. I'll stay here, and pursue my 
 investigations into the Marvyns. " 
 
 A scowl crossed his face, but only for an 
 instant, and then he answered: " All right, 
 170
 
 The Stone Chamber 
 
 old chap; do as you like. Anyway, I'm off 
 at once." And presently, when his horse 
 was brought, he was laughing merrily. 
 
 " You'll have a dull day, Ned; but it's 
 your own fault, you duffer. You'll have to 
 lunch by yourself, as I shan't be back till 
 late." And, gaily flourishing his whip, he 
 trotted down the drive. 
 
 It was some relief to me to be rid of him, 
 for, in truth, his moods had worn my 
 nerves, and I had not looked for a holiday 
 of this disquieting nature. When he re- 
 turned, I had no doubt it would be with 
 quite another face, and meanwhile I was 
 excellent company for myself. After lunch 
 I amused myself for half an hour with idle 
 tricks upon the billiard-table, and, tiring of 
 my pastime, fell upon the housekeeper as 
 I returned along the corridor. She was a 
 woman nearer to sixty than fifty, of a com- 
 fortable, portly figure, and an amiable 
 expression. Her eyes invited me ever so 
 171
 
 The Stone Chamber 
 
 respectfully to conversation, and stopping, 
 I entered into talk. She inquired if I liked 
 my room and how I slept. 
 
 'Tis a nice look-out you have, Sir," 
 said she. ' That was where old Lady Mar- 
 tin slept." 
 
 It appeared that she had served as kitchen- 
 maid to the previous tenants of the Abbey, 
 nearly fifty years before. 
 
 " Oh, I know the old house in and out," 
 she asserted; "and I arranged the rooms 
 with Mr. Warrington." 
 
 We were standing opposite the low door- 
 way which gave entrance to Warrington 's 
 bedroom, and my eyes unconsciously shot 
 in that direction. Mrs. Batty followed my 
 glance. 
 
 " I didn't want him to have that," she 
 said; " but he was set upon it. It's small- 
 ish for a bedroom, and in my opinion isn't 
 fit for more than a lumber-room. That's 
 what Sir William used it for." 
 172
 
 The Stone Chamber 
 
 I pushed open the door and stepped over 
 the threshold, and the housekeeper followed 
 me. 
 
 "No," she said, glancing round; "and 
 it's in my mind that it's damp, Sir." 
 
 Again I had a curious feeling that the 
 silence was speaking in my ear; the atmos- 
 phere was thick and heavy, and a musty 
 smell, as of faded draperies, penetrated my 
 nostrils. The whole room looked indescrib- 
 ably dingy, despite the new hangings. I 
 went over to the narrow window and peered 
 through the diamond panes. Outside, but 
 seen dimly through that ancient and discol- 
 oured glass, the ruins of the chapel con- 
 fronted me, bare and stark, in the yellow 
 sunlight. I turned. 
 
 ' There are no ghosts in the Abbey, I 
 suppose, Mrs. Batty," I asked, whimsi- 
 cally. 
 
 But she took my inquiry very gravely. 
 " I have never heard tell of one, Sir," she 
 i73
 
 The Stone Chamber 
 
 protested; " and if there was such a thing 
 I should have known it." 
 
 As I was rejoining her a strange low whir- 
 ring was audible, and looking up I saw in 
 a corner of the high-arched roof a horrible 
 face watching me out of black narrow eyes. 
 I confess that I was very much startled at 
 the apparition, but the next moment real- 
 ised what it was. The creature hung with 
 its ugly fleshy wings extended over a gro- 
 tesque stone head that leered down upon 
 me, its evil-looking snout projecting into the 
 room ; it lay perfectly still, returning me 
 glance for glance, until moved by the re- 
 pulsion of its presence I clapped my hands, 
 and cried loudly; then, slowly flitting in a 
 circle round the roof, it vanished with a flap- 
 ping of wings into some darker comer of 
 the rafters. Mrs. Batty was astounded, and 
 expressed surprise that it had managed to 
 conceal itself for so long. 
 
 " Oh, bats live in holes," I answered. 
 174
 
 The Stone Chamber 
 
 " Probably there is some small access 
 through the masonry." But the incident 
 had sent an uncomfortable shiver through 
 me all the same. 
 
 Later that day I began to recognise that, 
 short of an abrupt return to town, my time 
 was not likely to be spent very pleasantly. 
 But it was the personal problem so far as 
 it concerned Warrington himself that dis- 
 tressed me even more. He came back from 
 St. Pharamond in a morose and ugly tem- 
 per, quite alien to his kindly nature. It 
 seems that he had quarrelled bitterly with 
 Miss Bosanquet, but upon what I could not 
 determine, nor did I press him for an expla- 
 nation. But the fumes of his anger were 
 still rising when we met, and our dinner was 
 a most depressing .meal. He was in a de- 
 gree of irritation which rendered it impos- 
 sible to address him, and I soon withdrew 
 into my thoughts. I saw, however, that he 
 was drinking far too much, as, indeed, was
 
 The Stone Chamber 
 
 plain subsequently when he invited me into 
 the library. Once more he produced the 
 hateful cards, and I was compelled to play, 
 as he reminded me somewhat churlishly that 
 I had promised him his revenge. 
 
 ' Understand, Warrington," I said, 
 firmly, " I play to-night, but never again, 
 whatever the result. In fact, I am in half 
 the mind to return to town to-morrow." 
 
 He gave me a look as he set down, but said 
 nothing, and the game began. He lost 
 heavily from the first, and as nothing would 
 content him but we must constantly raise the 
 stakes, in a short time I had won several 
 hundred pounds. He bore the reverses very 
 ill, breaking out from time to time into 
 some angry exclamation, now petulantly 
 questioning my playing, and muttering oaths 
 under his breath. But I was resolved that 
 he should have no cause of complaint against 
 me for this one night, and disregarding his 
 insane fits of temper, I played steadily and 
 176
 
 The Stone Chamber 
 
 silently. As the tally of my gains mounted 
 he changed colour slowly, his face assum- 
 ing a ghastly expression, and his eyes sus- 
 piciously denoting my actions. At length 
 he rose, and throwing himself quickly across 
 the table, seized my hand ferociously as I 
 dealt a couple of cards. 
 
 " Damn you ! I see your tricks," he cried, 
 in frenzied passion. " Drop that hand, do 
 you hear ? Drop that hand, or by " 
 
 But he got no further, for, rising myself, 
 I wrenched my hand from his grasp, and 
 turned upon him, in almost as great a pas- 
 sion as himself. But suddenly, and even 
 as I opened my mouth to speak, I stopped 
 short with a cry of horror. His face was 
 livid to the lips, his eyes were cast with 
 blood, and upon the dirty white of his flesh, 
 right in the centre of his throat, the round 
 red scar, flaming and ugly as a wound, stared 
 upon me. 
 
 ' Warrington ! " I cried, " what is this ? 
 
 12 177
 
 The Stone Chamber 
 
 What have you " And I pointed in 
 
 alarm to the spot. 
 
 " Mind your own business," he said, with 
 a sneer. "It is well to try and draw off 
 attention from your knavery. But that trick 
 won't answer with me." 
 
 Without another word I flung the I O U's 
 upon the table, and turning on my heel, left 
 the room. I was furious with him, and fully 
 resolved to leave the Abbey in the morning. 
 I made my way upstairs to my room, and 
 then, seating myself upon the balcony, en- 
 deavoured to recover my self-possession. 
 
 The more I considered, the more unac- 
 countable was Warrington's behaviour. He 
 had always been a perfectly courteous man, 
 with a great lump of kindness in his nature, 
 whereas these last few days he had been 
 nothing other than a savage. It seemed 
 certain that he must be ill or going mad; 
 and as I reflected upon this the conjecture 
 struck me with a sense of pity. If it was 
 178
 
 The Stone Chamber 
 
 that he was losing his senses, how horrible 
 was the tragedy in face of the new and 
 lovely prospects opening in his life. Stimu- 
 lated by this growing conviction, I resolved 
 to go down and see him, more particularly 
 as I now recalled his pleading voice that I 
 should help him, on the previous evening. 
 Was it not possible that this pathetic appeal 
 derived from the instinct of the insane to 
 protect themselves. 
 
 I found him still in the library; his head 
 had fallen upon the table, and the state of 
 the whisky bottle by his arm showed only 
 too clearly his condition. I shook him vig- 
 orously, and he opened his eyes. 
 
 ' ' Warrington, you must go to bed, ' ' I said. 
 
 He smiled, and greeted me quite affec- 
 tionately. Obviously he was not so drunk 
 as I had supposed. 
 
 " What is the time, Ned ? " he asked. 
 
 I told him it was one o'clock, at which he 
 rose briskly. 
 
 179
 
 The Stone Chamber 
 
 " Lord, I've been asleep," he said. 
 " Help me, Ned. I don't think I'm sober. 
 Where have you been ? " 
 
 I assisted him to his room, and he un- 
 dressed slowly, and with an effort. Some- 
 how, as I stood watching him, I yielded to 
 an unknown impulse, and said, suddenly: 
 
 ' Warrington, don't sleep here. Come 
 and share my room." 
 
 " My dear fellow," he replied, with a 
 foolish laugh, " yours is not the only room 
 in the house. I can use half-a-dozen if I 
 like." 
 
 " Well, use one of them," I answered. 
 
 He shook his head. " I'm going to sleep 
 here," he returned, obstinately. 
 
 I made no further effort to influence him, 
 for, after all, now that the words were out, 
 I had absolutely no reason to give him or 
 myself for my proposition. And so I left 
 him. When I had closed the door, and was 
 turning to go along the passage, I heard 
 
 180
 
 The Stone Chamber 
 
 very clearly, as it seemed to me, a plaintive 
 cry, muffled and faint, but very disturbing, 
 which sounded from the room. Instantly I 
 opened the door again. Warrington was in 
 bed, and the heavy sound of his breathing 
 told me that he was asleep. It was impos- 
 sible that he could have uttered the cry. A 
 night-light was burning by his bedside, shed- 
 ding a strong illumination over the immediate 
 vicinity, and throwing antic shadows on the 
 walls. As I turned to go, there was a whir- 
 ring of wings, a brief flap behind me, and 
 the room was plunged in darkness. The 
 obscene creature that lived in the recesses of 
 the roof must have knocked out the tiny 
 light with its wings. Then Warrington 's 
 breathing ceased, and there was no sound at 
 all. And then once more the silence seemed 
 to gather round me slowly and heavily, and 
 whisper to me. I had a vague sense of being 
 prevailed upon, of being enticed and lured 
 by something in the surrounding air; a sort 
 181
 
 The Stone Chamber 
 
 of horror circumscribed me, and I broke 
 from the invisible ring and rushed from the 
 room. The door clanged behind me, and 
 as I hastened along the hall, once more 
 there seemed to ring in my ears the faint 
 and melancholy cry. 
 
 I awoke, in the sombre twilight that pre- 
 cedes the dawn, from a sleep troubled and 
 encumbered with evil dreams. The birds 
 had not yet begun their day, and a vast 
 silence brooded over the Abbey gardens. 
 Looking out of my window, I caught sight 
 of a dark figure stealing cautiously round 
 the corner of the ruined chapel. The fur- 
 tive gait, as well as the appearance of a man 
 at that early hour, struck me with surprise ; 
 and hastily throwing on some clothes, I ran 
 downstairs, and, opening the hall-door, went 
 out. When I reached the porch which gave 
 entrance to the aisle I stopped suddenly, 
 for there before me, with his head to the 
 ground, and peering among the tall grasses, 
 182
 
 The Stone Chamber 
 
 was the object of my pursuit. Then I 
 stepped quickly forward and laid a hand 
 upon his shoulder. It was Warrington. 
 
 " What are you doing here ? " I asked. 
 
 He turned and looked at me in bewilder- 
 ment. His eyes wore a dazed expression, 
 and he blinked in perplexity before he re- 
 plied. 
 
 " It's you, is it ? " he said weakly. " I 
 
 thought " and then paused. ' What 
 
 is it ? " he asked. 
 
 " I followed you here," I explained. " I 
 only saw your figure, and thought it might 
 be some intruder." 
 
 He avoided my eyes. " I thought I 
 heard a cry out here," he answered. 
 
 ' Warrington," I said, with some earnest- 
 ness, " come back to bed." 
 
 He made no answer, and slipping my arm 
 in his, I led him away. On the door-step 
 he stopped, and lifted his face to me. 
 
 " Do you think it's possible he 
 
 183
 
 The Stone Chamber 
 
 began, as if to inquire of me, and then again 
 paused. With a slight shiver he proceeded 
 to his room, while I followed him. He sat 
 down upon his bed, and his eyes strayed to 
 .the barred window absently. The black 
 shadow of the chapel was visible through 
 the panes. 
 
 ' Don't say anything about this," he 
 said, suddenly. " Don't let Marion know." 
 
 I laughed, but it was an awkward laugh. 
 
 ' Why, that you were alarmed by a cry 
 for help, and went in search like a gentle- 
 man?" I asked, jestingly. 
 
 ' You heard it, then ?" he said, eagerly. 
 
 I shook my head, for I was not going to 
 encourage his fancies. ' You had better go 
 to sleep," I replied, " and get rid of these 
 nightmares." 
 
 He sighed and lay back upon his pillow, 
 dressed as he was. Ere I left him he had 
 fallen into a profound slumber. 
 
 If I had expected a surly mood in him 
 184
 
 The Stone Chamber 
 
 at breakfast I was much mistaken. There 
 was not a trace of his nocturnal dissipations ; 
 he did not seem even to remember them, 
 and he made no allusion whatever to our 
 adventure in the dawn. He perused a letter 
 carefully, and threw it over to me with a 
 grin. 
 
 "Lor', what queer sheep women are!" 
 he exclaimed, with rather a coarse laugh. 
 
 I glanced at the letter without thinking, 
 but ere I had read half of it I put it aside. 
 It was certainly not meant for my eyes, and 
 I marvelled at Warrington's indelicacy in 
 making public, as it were, that very private 
 matter. The note was from Miss Bosan- 
 quet, and was clearly designed for his own 
 heart, couched as it was in the terms of 
 warm and fond affection. No man should 
 see such letters save he for whom they are 
 written. 
 
 ' You see, they're coming over to dine," 
 he remarked, carelessly. ' Trust a girl to 
 185
 
 The Stone Chamber 
 
 make it up if you let her alone long 
 enough." 
 
 I made no answer; but though Warring- 
 ton's grossness irritated me, I reflected with 
 satisfaction upon his return to good humour, 
 which I attributed to the reconciliation. 
 
 When I moved out upon the terrace the 
 maid had entered to remove the breakfast 
 things. I was conscious of a slight exclama- 
 tion behind me, and Warrington joined me 
 presently, with a loud guffaw. 
 
 " That's a damned pretty girl! " he said, 
 with unction. "I'm glad Mrs. Batty got 
 her. I like to have good-looking servants." 
 
 I suddenly interpreted the incident, and 
 shrugged my shoulders. 
 
 ' You're a perfect boor this morning, War- 
 rington," I exclaimed, irritably. 
 
 He only laughed. ' You're a dull dog of 
 a saint, Hey wood," he retorted. " Come 
 along," and dragged me out in no amiable 
 spirit. 
 
 186
 
 The Stone Chamber 
 
 I had forgotten how perfect a host War- 
 rington could be, but that evening he was 
 displayed at his best. The Bosanquets ar- 
 rived early. Sir William was an easy-going 
 man, fond of books and of wine, and I now 
 guessed at the taste which had decided War- 
 rington's cellar. Miss Bosanquet was as 
 charming as I remembered her to be; and if 
 any objection might be taken to Warrington 
 himself by my anxious eyes it was merely 
 that he seemed a trifle excited, a fault 
 which, in the circumstances, I was able to 
 condone. Sir William hung late about the 
 table, sipping his wine. Warrington, who 
 had been very abstemious, grew restless, 
 and, finally apologising in his graceful way, 
 left me to keep the baronet company. I 
 was the less disinclined to do so as I was 
 anxious not to intrude upon the lovers, and 
 Sir William was discussing the history of 
 the Abbey. He had an old volume some- 
 where in his library which related to it, and, 
 187
 
 The Stone Chamber 
 
 seeing that I was interested, invited me to 
 look it up. 
 
 We sat long, and it was not until later 
 that the horrible affair which I must nar- 
 rate occurred. The evening was close and 
 oppressive, owing to the thunder, which 
 already rumbled far away in the south. 
 When we rose we found that Warrington 
 and Miss Bosanquet were in the garden, and 
 thither we followed. As at first we did not 
 find them, Sir William, who had noted the 
 approaching storm with some uneasiness, 
 left me to make arrangements for his 
 return; and I strolled along the paths by 
 myself, enjoying a cigarette. I had reached 
 the shrubbery upon the further side of the 
 chapel, when I heard the sound of voices 
 a man's rough and rasping, a woman's plead- 
 ing and informed with fear. A sharp cry 
 ensued, and without hesitation I plunged 
 through the thicket in the direction of the 
 speakers. The sight that met me appalled 
 
 188
 
 The Stone Chamber 
 
 me for the moment. Darkness was falling, 
 lit with ominous flashes ; and the two fig- 
 ures stood out distinctly in the bushes, in an 
 attitude of struggle. I could not mistake 
 the voices now. I heard Warrington's, 
 brusque with anger, and almost savage in its 
 tones, crying, " You shall!" and there fol- 
 lowed a murmur from the girl, a little sob, 
 and then a piercing cry. I sprang forward 
 and seized Warrington by the arm ; when, 
 to my horror, I perceived that he had taken 
 her wrist in both hands and was roughly 
 twisting it, after the cruel habit of school- 
 boys. The malevolent cruelty of the action 
 so astounded me that for an instant I re- 
 mained motionless ; I almost heard the bones 
 in the frail wrist cracking; and then, in a 
 second, I had seized Warrington's hands in 
 a grip of iron, and flung him violently to the 
 ground. The girl fell with him, and as I 
 picked her up he rose too, and, clenching his 
 fists, made as though to come at me, but 
 189
 
 The Stone Chamber 
 
 instead turned and went sullenly, and with 
 a ferocious look of hate upon his face, out 
 of the thicket. 
 
 Miss Bosanquet came to very shortly, and 
 though the agony of the pain must have 
 been considerable to a delicate girl, I believe 
 it was rather the incredible horror of the 
 act under which she swooned. For my part 
 I had nothing to say: not one word relative 
 to the incident dared pass my lips. I in- 
 quired if she was better, and then, putting 
 her arm in mine, led her gently towards the 
 house. Her heart beat hard against me, and 
 she breathed heavily, leaning on me for 
 support. At the chapel I stopped, feeling 
 suddenly that I dare not let her be seen in 
 this condition, and bewildered greatly by 
 the whole atrocious business. 
 
 " Come and rest in here," I suggested, 
 and we entered the chapel. 
 
 I set her on a slab of marble, and stood 
 waiting by her side. I talked fluently about 
 190
 
 The Stone Chamber 
 
 anything; for lack of a subject, upon the 
 tate of the chapel and the curious tomb 
 I had discovered. Recovering a little, she 
 joined presently in my remarks. It was 
 plain that she was putting a severe restraint 
 upon herself. I moved aside the grasses, 
 and read aloud the inscription on Sir 
 Rupert's grave-piece, and turning to the 
 next, which was rankly overgrown, feigned 
 to search further. As I was bending there, 
 suddenly, and by what thread of thought I 
 know not, I identified the spot with that 
 upon which I had found Warrington stoop- 
 ing that morning. With a sweep of my 
 hand I brushed back the weeds, uprooting 
 some with my fingers, and kneeling in the 
 twilight, pored over the monument. Sud- 
 denly a wild flare of light streamed down 
 the sky, and a great crash of thunder fol- 
 lowed. Miss Bosanquet started to her feet 
 and I to mine. The heaven was lit up, 
 as it were, with sunlight, and, as I turned, 
 191
 
 The Stone Chamber 
 
 my eyes fell upon the now uncovered 
 stone. Plainly the lettering flashed in my 
 eyes: 
 
 " Priscilla, Lady Marvyn." 
 
 Then the clouds opened, and the rain fell 
 in spouts, shouting and dancing upon the 
 ancient roof overhead. 
 
 We were under a very precarious shelter, 
 and I was uneasy that Miss Bosanquet 
 should run the risk of that flimsy, ravaged 
 edifice; and so in a momentary lull I man- 
 aged to get her to the house. I found Sir 
 William in a restless state of nerves. He 
 was a timorous man, and the thunder had 
 upset him, more particularly as he and his 
 daughter were now storm-bound for some 
 time. There was no possibility of ventur- 
 ing into those rude elements for an hour or 
 more. Warrington was not inside, and no 
 one had seen him. In the light Miss Bosan- 
 quet's face frightened me; her eyes were 
 large and scared, and her colour very dead 
 192
 
 The Stone Chamber 
 
 white. Clearly she was very near a break- 
 down. I found Mrs. Batty, and told her 
 that the young lady had been severely 
 shaken by the storm, suggesting that she 
 had better lie down for a little. Returning 
 with me, the housekeeper led off the unfor- 
 tunate girl, and Sir William and I were left 
 together. He paced the room impatiently, 
 and constantly inquired if there were any 
 signs of improvement in the weather. He 
 also asked for Warrington, irritably. The 
 burden of the whole dreadful night seemed 
 fallen upon me. Passing through the hall 
 I met Mrs. Batty again. Her usually placid 
 features were disturbed and aghast. 
 
 "What is the matter?" I asked. "Is 
 Miss Bosanquet " 
 
 " No, Sir; I think she's sleeping," she 
 replied. " She's in she is in Mr. Warring- 
 ton's room." 
 
 I started. " Are there no other rooms ? " 
 I asked, abruptly. 
 
 13 i93
 
 The Stone Chamber 
 
 " There are none ready, Sir, except 
 yours," she answered, " and I thought 
 
 "You should have taken her there," I 
 said, sharply. The woman looked at me 
 and opened her mouth. " Good heavens !" 
 I said, irritably, "what is the matter? 
 Everyone is mad to-night." 
 
 " Alice is gone, Sir," she blurted forth. 
 
 Alice, I remembered, was the name of one 
 of her maids. 
 
 " What do you mean ?" I asked, for her 
 air of panic betokened something graver 
 than her words. The thunder broke over 
 the house and drowned her voice. 
 
 " She can't be out in this storm she 
 must have taken refuge somewhere, ' ' I said. 
 
 At that the strings of her tongue loos- 
 ened, and she burst forth with her tale. It 
 was an abominable narrative. 
 
 "Where is Mr. Warrington ? " I asked; 
 but she shook her head. 
 
 There was a moment's silence between us, 
 194
 
 The Stone Chamber 
 
 and we eyed each other aghast. ' ' She will 
 be all right," I said at last, as if dismissing 
 the subject. 
 
 The housekeeper wrung her hands. " I 
 never would have thought it ! " she repeated, 
 dismally. ' ' I never would have thought it ! " 
 'There is some mistake," I said; but, 
 somehow, I knew better. Indeed, I felt 
 now that I had almost been prepared for it. 
 
 " She ran towards the village," whispered 
 Mrs. Batty. " God knows where she was 
 going! The river lies that way." 
 
 "Pooh!" I exclaimed. "Don't talk 
 nonsense. It is all a mistake. Come, have 
 you any brandy ? ' ' 
 
 Brought back to the material round of her 
 duties she bustled away with a sort of brisk- 
 ness, and returned with a flagon and glasses. 
 I took a strong nip, and went back to Sir 
 William. He was feverish, and declaimed 
 against the weather unceasingly. I had to 
 listen to the string of misfortunes which he 
 195
 
 The Stone Chamber 
 
 recounted in the season's crops. It seemed 
 all so futile, with his daughter involved in 
 her horrid tragedy in a neighbouring room. 
 He was better after some brandy, and grew 
 more cheerful, but assiduously wondered 
 about Warrington. 
 
 " Oh, he's been caught in the storm and 
 taken refuge somewhere," I explained, 
 vainly. I wondered if the next day would 
 ever dawn. 
 
 By degrees the thunder rolled slowly into 
 the northern parts of the sky, and only fitful 
 flashes seamed the heavens. It had lasted 
 now more than two hours. Sir William de- 
 clared his intention of starting, and asked for 
 his daughter. I rang for Mrs. Batty, and 
 sent her to rouse Miss Bosanquet. Almost 
 immediately there was a knock upon the door, 
 and the housekeeper was in the doorway, 
 with an agitated expression, demanding to 
 see me. Sir William was looking out of the 
 window, and fortunately did not see her. 
 196
 
 I 
 
 The Stone Chamber 
 
 " Please come to Miss Bosanquet, Sir," 
 she cried, very scared. " Please come at 
 once." 
 
 In alarm I hastily ran down the corridor 
 and entered Warrington's room. The girl 
 was lying upon the bed, her hair flowing 
 upon the pillow; her eyes, wide open and 
 filled with terror, stared at the ceiling, and 
 her hands clutched and twined in the cover- 
 let as if in an agony of pain. A gasping 
 sound issued from her, as though she were 
 struggling for breath under suffocation. 
 Her whole appearance was as of one in the 
 murderous grasp of an assailant. 
 
 I bent over. ' Throw the light, quick," 
 I called to Mrs. Batty; and as I put my 
 hand on her shoulder to lift her, the crea- 
 ture that lived in the chamber rose sud- 
 denly from the shadow upon the further side 
 of the bed, and sailed with a flapping noise 
 up to the cornice. With an exclamation of 
 horror I pulled the girl's head forward, and 
 197
 
 The Stone Chamber 
 
 the candle-light glowed on her pallid face. 
 Upon the soft flesh of the slender throat 
 was a round red mark, the size of a florin. 
 
 At the sight I almost let her fall upon the 
 pillow again ; but, commanding my nerves, 
 I put my arms round her, and, lifting her 
 bodily from the bed, carried her from the 
 room. Mrs. Batty followed. 
 
 'What shall we do?" she asked, in a 
 low voice. 
 
 " Take her away from this damned cham- 
 ber!" I cried. " Anywhere the hall, the 
 kitchen rather." 
 
 I laid my burden upon a sofa in the din- 
 ing-room, and, despatching Mrs. Batty for 
 the brandy, gave Miss Bosanquet a draught. 
 Slowly the horror faded from her eyes ; they 
 closed, and then she looked at me. 
 
 ' What have you ? where am I ? " she 
 asked. 
 
 " You have been unwell," I said. " Pray 
 don't disturb yourself yet." 
 198
 
 The Stone Chamber 
 
 She shuddered, and closed her eyes again. 
 
 Very little more was said. Sir William 
 pressed for his horses, and as the sky was 
 clearing I made no attempt to detain him, 
 more particularly as the sooner Miss Bosan- 
 quet left the Abbey the better for herself. 
 In half an hour she recovered sufficiently to 
 go, and I helped her into the carriage. She 
 never referred to her seizure, but thanked 
 me for my kindness. That was all. No 
 one asked after Warrington not even Sir 
 William. He had forgotten everything, 
 save his anxiety to get back. As the car- 
 riage turned from the steps I saw the mark 
 upon the girl's throat, now grown fainter. 
 
 I waited up till late into the morning, but 
 there was no sign of Warrington when I 
 went to bed. Nor had he made his appear- 
 ance when I descended to breakfast. A 
 letter in his handwriting, however, and with 
 the London postmark, awaited me. It was 
 a pitiful scrawl, in the very penmanship of 
 199
 
 The Stone Chamber 
 
 which one might trace the desperate emotions 
 by which he was torn. He implored my 
 forgiveness. "Am I a devil?" he asked. 
 " Ant I mad? It was not I ! It was not 
 //" he repeated, underlining the sentence 
 with impetuous dashes. ' You know" he 
 wrote; " and you know, therefore, that every- 
 thing is at an end for me. I am going abroad 
 to-day. I shall never see the A bbey again. ' ' 
 
 It was well that he had gone, as I hardly 
 think that I could have faced him ; and yet 
 I was loth myself to leave the matter in this 
 horrible tangle. I felt that it was enjoined 
 upon me to meet the problems, and I en- 
 deavoured to do so as best I might. Mrs. 
 Batty gave me news of -the girl Alice. It 
 was bad enough, though not so bad as both 
 of us had feared. I was able to make ar- 
 rangements on the instant, which I hoped 
 might bury that lamentable affair for the 
 time. There remained Miss Bosanquet ; but 
 that difficulty seemed beyond me. I could
 
 The Stone Chamber 
 
 see no avenue out of the tragedy. I heard 
 nothing save that she was ill an illness at- 
 tributed upon all hands to the shock of ex- 
 posure to the thunderstorm. Only I knew 
 better, and a vague disinclination to fly from 
 the responsibilities of the position kept me 
 hanging on at Utterbourne. 
 
 It was in those days before my visit to 
 St. Pharamond that I turned my attention 
 more particularly to the thing which had 
 forced itself relentlessly upon me. I was 
 never a superstitious man; the gossip of 
 old wives interested me merely as a curious 
 and unsympathetic observer. And yet I 
 was vaguely discomfited by the transaction 
 in the Abbey, and it was with some reluc- 
 tance that I decided to make a further test 
 of Warrington's bedroom. Mrs. Batty re- 
 ceived my determination to change my room 
 easily enough, but with a protest as to the 
 dampness of the Stone Chamber. It was 
 plain that her suspicions had not marched
 
 The Stone Chamber 
 
 with mine. On the second night after War- 
 rington's departure I occupied the room for 
 the first time. 
 
 I lay awake for a couple of hours, with a 
 reading lamp by my bed, and a volume of 
 travels in my hand, and then, feeling very 
 tired, put out the light and went to sleep. 
 Nothing distracted me that night; indeed, 
 I slept more soundly and peaceably than 
 before in that house. I rose, too, experi- 
 encing quite an exhilaration, and it was not 
 until I was dressing before the glass that I 
 remembered the circumstances of my mis- 
 sion; but then I was at once pulled up, 
 startled swiftly out of my cheerful temper. 
 Faintly visible upon my throat was the 
 same round mark which I had already seen 
 stamped upon Warrington and Miss Bosan- 
 quet. With that, all my former doubts 
 returned in force, augmented and militant. 
 My mind recurred to the bat, and tales of 
 bloodsucking by those evil creatures revived
 
 The Stone Chamber 
 
 in my memory. But when I had remem- 
 bered that these were of foreign beasts, and 
 that I was in England, I dismissed them 
 lightly enough. Still, the impress of that 
 mark remained, and alarmed me. It could 
 not come by accident ; to suppose so mani- 
 fold a coincidence was absurd. The puzzle 
 dwelt with me, unsolved, and the fingers of 
 dread slowly crept over me. 
 
 Yet I slept again in the room. Having 
 but myself for company, and being some- 
 what bored and dull, I fear I took more 
 spirit than was my custom, and the result 
 was that I again slept profoundly. I awoke 
 about three in the morning, and was sur- 
 prised to find the lamp still burning. I had 
 forgotten it in my stupid state of somno- 
 lence. As I turned to put it out, the bat 
 swept by me and circled for an instant above 
 my head. So overpowered with torpor 
 was I that I scarcely noticed it, and my 
 head was no sooner at rest than I was once 
 203
 
 The Stone Chamber 
 
 more unconscious. The red mark was 
 stronger next morning, though, as on the 
 previous day, it wore off with the fall of 
 evening. But I merely observed the fact 
 without any concern ; indeed, now the mat- 
 ter of my investigation seemed to have 
 drawn very remote. I was growing indiffer- 
 ent, I supposed, through familiarity. But 
 the solitude was palling upon me, and I 
 spent a very restless day. A sharp ride I 
 took in the afternoon was the one agreeable 
 experience of the day. I reflected that if 
 this burden were to continue I must hasten 
 up to town. I had no desire to tie myself 
 to Warrington's apron, in his interest. So 
 dreary was the evening, that after I had 
 strolled round the grounds and into the 
 chapel by moonlight, I returned to the li- 
 brary and endeavoured to pass the time with 
 Warrington's cards. But it was poor fun 
 with no antagonist to pit myself against ; and 
 I was throwing down the pack in disgust 
 204
 
 The Stone Chamber 
 
 when one of the men-servants entered with 
 the whisky. 
 
 It was not until long afterwards that I 
 fully realised the course of my action ; but 
 even at the time I was aware of a curious 
 sub-feeling of shamefacedness. I am sure 
 that the thing fell naturally, and that there 
 was no awkwardness in my approaching 
 him. Nor, after the first surprise, did he 
 offer any objection. Later he was hardly 
 expected to do so, seeing that he was win- 
 ning very quickly. The reason of that I 
 guessed afterwards, but during the play 
 I was amazed to note at intervals how 
 strangely my irritation was aroused. Fi- 
 nally, I swept the cards to the floor, and 
 rose; the man, with a smile in which tri- 
 umph blended with uneasiness, rose also. 
 
 " Damn you, get away! " I said, angrily. 
 
 True to his traditions to the close, he 
 answered me with respect, and obeyed ; and 
 I sat staring at the table. With a sudden 
 205
 
 The Stone Chamber 
 
 flush, the grotesque folly of the night's busi- 
 ness came to me, and my eyes fell on the 
 whisky bottle. It was nearly empty. 
 Then I went to bed. 
 
 Voices cried all night in that chamber 
 soft, pleading voices. There was nothing 
 to alarm in them ; they seemed in a manner 
 to coo me to sleep. But presently a sharper 
 cry roused me from my semi-slumber; and 
 getting up, I flung open the window. The 
 wind rushed round the Abbey, sweeping 
 with noises against the corners and gables. 
 The black chapel lay still in the moonlight, 
 and drew my eyes. But, resisting a strange, 
 unaccountable impulse to go further, I went 
 back to bed. 
 
 The events of the following day are better 
 related without comment. 
 
 At breakfast I found a letter from Sir 
 William Bosanquet, inviting me to come 
 over to St. Pharamond. I was at once con- 
 scious of an eager desire to do so : it seemed 
 206
 
 The Stone Chamber 
 
 somehow as though I had been waiting for 
 this. The visit assumed preposterous pro- 
 portions, and I was impatient for the after- 
 noon. 
 
 Sir William was polite, but not, as I 
 thought, cordial. He never alluded to War- 
 rington, from which I guessed that he had 
 been informed of the breach, and I conjec- 
 tured also that the invitation extended to 
 me was rather an act of courtesy to a soli- 
 tary stranger than due to a desire for my 
 company. Nevertheless, when he presently 
 suggested that I should stay to dinner, I 
 accepted promptly. For, to say the truth, 
 I had not yet seen Miss Bosanquet, and I 
 experienced a strange curiosity to do so. 
 When at last she made her appearance, I 
 was struck, almost for the first time, by 
 her beauty. She was certainly a hand- 
 some girl, though she had a delicate air 
 of ill-health. 
 
 After dinner Sir William remembered by 
 207
 
 The Stone Chamber 
 
 accident the book on the Abbey which he 
 had promised to show me, and after a brief 
 hunt in the library we found it. Shortly 
 afterwards he was called away, and with an 
 apology left me. With a curious eagerness I 
 turned the pages of the volume and settled 
 down to read. 
 
 It was published early in the century, and 
 purported to relate the history of the Abbey 
 and its owners. But it was one chapter 
 which specially drew my interest that which 
 recounted the fate of the last Marvyn. The 
 family had become extinct through a bloody 
 tragedy ; that fact held me. The bare nar- 
 rative, long since passed from the memory 
 of tradition, was here set forth in the bald- 
 est statements. The names of Sir Rupert 
 Marvyn and Priscilla, Lady Marvyn, shook 
 me strangely, but particularly the latter. 
 Some links of connection with those grave- 
 stones lying in the Abbey chapel constrained 
 me intimately. The history of that evil race 
 208
 
 The Stone Chamber 
 
 was stained and discoloured with blood, and 
 the end was in fitting harmony a lurid 
 holocaust of crime. There had been two 
 brothers, but it was hard to choose between 
 the foulness of their lives. If either, the 
 younger, William, was the worse ; so at least 
 the narrative would have it. The details 
 of his excesses had not survived, but it was 
 abundantly plain that they were both noto- 
 rious gamblers. The story of their deaths 
 was wrapt in doubt, the theme of conjec- 
 ture only, and probability ; for none was by 
 to observe save the three veritable actors 
 who were at once involved together in a 
 bloody dissolution. Priscilla, the wife of 
 Sir Rupert, was suspected of an intrigue 
 with her brother-in-law. She would seem 
 to have been tainted with the corruption of 
 the family into which she had married. But 
 according to a second rumour, chronicled 
 by the author, there was some doubt if the 
 woman were not the worst of the three. 
 14 209
 
 The Stone Chamber 
 
 Nothing was known of her parentage; she 
 had returned with the passionate Sir Rupert 
 to the Abbey after one of his prolonged 
 absences, and was accepted as his legal wife. 
 This was the woman whose infamous beauty 
 had brought a terrible sin between the 
 brothers. 
 
 Upon the night which witnessed the ex- 
 tinction of this miserable family, the two 
 brothers had been gambling together. It 
 was known from the high voices that they 
 had quarrelled, and it is supposed that, 
 heated with wine and with the lust of play, 
 the younger had thrown some taunt at Sir 
 Rupert in respect to his wife. Whereupon 
 but this is all conjecture the elder stabbed 
 him to death. At least, it was understood 
 that at this point the sounds of a struggle 
 were heard, and a bitter cry. The report of 
 the servants ran that upon this noise Lady 
 Marvyn rushed into the room and locked 
 the door behind her. Fright was busy with
 
 The Stone Chamber 
 
 those servants, long used to the savage 
 manners of the house. According to wit- 
 nesses, no further sound was heard subse- 
 quently to Lady Marvyn's entrance; yet 
 when the doors were at last broken open 
 by the authorities, the three bodies were 
 discovered upon the floor. 
 
 How Sir Rupert and his wife met their 
 death there was no record. " This trag- 
 edy," proceeded the scribe, " took place in 
 the Stone Chamber underneath the stair- 
 way. 
 
 I had got so far when the entrance of Miss 
 Bosanquet disturbed me. I remember ris- 
 ing in a dazed condition the room swung 
 about me. A conviction, hitherto resisted 
 and stealthily entertained upon compulsion, 
 now overpowered me. 
 
 " I thought my father was here," ex- 
 plained Miss Bosanquet, with a quick glance 
 round the room. 
 
 I explained the circumstances, and she 
 
 211
 
 The Stone Chamber 
 
 hesitated in my neighbourhood with a slight 
 air of embarrassment. 
 
 " I have not thanked you properly, Mr. 
 Heywood, ' ' she said presently, in a low voice, 
 scarcely articulate. ' You have been very 
 considerate and kind. Let me thank you 
 now." And ended with a tiny spasmodic 
 sob. 
 
 Somehow, an impulse overmastered my 
 tongue. Fresh from the perusal of that 
 chapter, queer possibilities crowded in my 
 mind, odd considerations urged me. 
 
 " Miss Bosanquet," said I, abruptly, " let 
 me speak of that a little. I will not touch on 
 details." 
 
 " Please," she cried, with a shrinking no- 
 tion as of one that would retreat in very 
 alarm. 
 
 " Nay,!' said I, eagerly; " hear me. It is 
 no wantonness that would press the mem- 
 ory upon you. You have been a witness to 
 distressful acts ; you have seen a man under 
 
 212
 
 The Stone Chamber 
 
 the influence of temporary madness. Nay, 
 even yourself, you have been a victim to the 
 same unaccountable phenomena." 
 
 "What do you mean?" she cried, 
 tensely. 
 
 " I will say no more," said I. "I should 
 incur your laughter. No, you would not 
 laugh, but my dim suspicions would leave 
 you still incredulous. But if this were so, 
 and if these were the phenomena of a brief 
 madness, surely you would make your mem- 
 ory a grave to bury the past." 
 
 " I cannot do that," said she, in low 
 tones. 
 
 "What!" I asked. "Would you turn 
 from your lover, aye, even from a friend, 
 because he was smitten with disease ? Con- 
 sider; if your dearest upon earth tossed in 
 a fever upon his bed, and denied you in 
 his ravings, using you despitefully, it would 
 not be he that entreated you so. When he 
 was quit of his madness and returned to his 
 213
 
 The Stone Chamber 
 
 proper person, would you not forget would 
 you not rather recall his insanity with the 
 pity of affection ?" 
 
 "I do not understand you," she whis- 
 pered. 
 
 ' You read your Bible," said I. " You 
 have wondered at the evil spirits that pos- 
 sessed poor victims. Why should you de- 
 cide that these things have ceased ? We 
 are too dogmatic in our modern world. Who 
 can say under what malign influence a soul 
 may pass, and out of its own custody ?" 
 
 She looked at me earnestly, searching my 
 eyes. 
 
 ' You hint at strange things," said she, 
 very low. 
 
 But somehow, even as I met her eyes, the 
 spirit of my mission failed me. My gaze, I 
 felt, devoured her ruthlessly. The light 
 shone on her pale and comely features ; they 
 burned me with an irresistible attraction. I 
 put forth my hand and took hers gently. 
 214
 
 The Stone Chamber 
 
 It was passive to my touch, as though in 
 acknowledgment of my kindly offices.- All 
 the while I experienced a sense of fierce 
 elation. In my blood ran, as it had been 
 fire, a horrible incentive, and I knew that 
 I was holding her hand very tightly. She 
 herself seemed to grow conscious of this, 
 for she made an effort to withdraw her fin- 
 gers, at which, the passion rushing through 
 my body, I clutched them closer, laughing 
 aloud. I saw a wondering look dawn in 
 her eyes, and her bosom, thinly veiled, 
 heaved with a tiny tremor. I was aware 
 that I was drawing her steadily to me. Sud- 
 denly her bewildered eyes, dropping from my 
 face, lit with a flare of terror, and, wrench- 
 ing her hand away, she fell back with a cry, 
 her gaze riveted upon my throat. 
 
 " That accursed mark! What is it ? What 
 
 is it? " she cried, shivering from head 
 
 to foot. 
 
 In an instant, the wild blood singing in 
 215
 
 The Stone Chamber 
 
 my head, I sprang towards her. What 
 wouldhave followed I know not, but at that 
 moment the door opened and Sir William 
 returned. He regarded us with consterna- 
 tion ; but Miss Bosanquet had fainted, and 
 the next moment he was at her side. I 
 stood near, watching her come to with a cer- 
 tain nameless fury, as of a beast cheated of 
 its prey. Sir William turned to me, and in 
 his most courteous manner begged me to 
 excuse the untoward scene. His daughter, 
 he said, was not at all strong, and he ended 
 by suggesting that I should leave them for 
 a time. 
 
 Reluctantly I obeyed, but when I was out 
 of the house, I took a sudden panic. The 
 demoniac possession lifted, and in a craven 
 state of trembling I saddled my horse, and 
 rode for the Abbey as if my life depended 
 upon my speed. 
 
 I arrived at about ten o'clock, and imme- 
 diately gave orders to have my bed pre- 
 216
 
 The Stone Chamber 
 
 pared in my old room. In my shaken con- 
 dition the sinister influences of that stone 
 chamber terrified me; and it was no't until 
 I had drunk deeply that I regained my 
 composure. 
 
 But I was destined to get little sleep. I 
 had steadily resolved to keep my thoughts 
 off the matter until the morning, but the 
 spell of the chamber was strong upon me. 
 I awoke after midnight with an irresistible 
 feeling drawing me to the room. I was con- 
 scious of the impulse, and combated it, but 
 in the end succumbed; and throwing on my 
 clothes, took a light and went downstairs. 
 I flung wide the door of the room and 
 peered in, listening, as though for some 
 voice of welcome. It was as silent as a 
 sepulchre ; but directly I crossed the thresh- 
 old voices seemed to surround and coax me. 
 I stood wavering, with a curious fascination 
 upon me. I knew I could not return to my 
 own room, and I now had no desire to do 
 217
 
 The Stone Chamber 
 
 so. As I stood, my candle flaring solemnly 
 against the darkness, I noticed upon the floor 
 in an alcove bare of carpet, a large black 
 mark, which appeared to be a stain. Bend- 
 ing down, I examined it, passing my fingers 
 over the stone. It moved to my touch. 
 Setting the candle upon the floor, I put my 
 finger-tips to the edges, and pulled hard. 
 As I did so the sounds that were ringing 
 in my ears died instantaneously; the next 
 moment the slab turned with a crash, and 
 discovered a gaping hole of impenetrable 
 blackness. 
 
 The patch of chasm thus opened to my 
 eyes was near a yard square. The candle 
 held to it shed a dim light upon a stone step 
 a foot or two below, and it was clear to 
 me that a stairway communicated with the 
 depths. Whether it had been used as a cellar 
 in times gone by I could not divine, but I 
 was soon to determine this doubt ; for, stirred 
 by a strange eagerness, I slipped my legs 
 218
 
 The Stone Chamber 
 
 through the hole, and let myself cautiously 
 down with the light in my hand. There 
 were a dozen steps to descend ere I reached 
 the floor and what turned out to be a nar- 
 row passage. The vault ran forward straight 
 as an arrow before my eyes, and slowly I 
 moved on. Dank and chill was the air in 
 those close confines, and the sound of my 
 feet returned from those walls dull and sul- 
 len. But I kept on, and, with infinite care, 
 must have penetrated quite a hundred yards 
 along that musty corridor ere I came out 
 upon an ampler chamber. Here the air was 
 freer, and I could perceive with the aid of 
 my light that the dimensions of the place 
 were lofty. Above, a solitary ray of moon- 
 light, sliding through a crack, informed me 
 that I was not far from the level of the 
 earth. It fell upon a block of stone, which 
 rose in the middle of the vault, and which 
 I now inspected with interest. As the can- 
 dle threw its flickering beams upon this I 
 219
 
 The Stone Chamber 
 
 realised where I was. I scarcely needed 
 the rude lettering upon the coffins to ac- 
 quaint me that here was the family vault of 
 the Marvyns. And now I began to perceive 
 upon all sides whereon my feeble light fell 
 the crumbling relics of the forgotten dead 
 coffins fallen into decay, bones and grinning 
 skulls resting in corners, disposed by the 
 hand of chance and time. This formidable 
 array of the mortal remains of that poor 
 family moved me to a shudder. I turned 
 from those ugly memorials once more to 
 the central altar where the two coffins rested 
 in this sombre silence. The lid had fallen 
 from the one, disclosing to my sight the 
 grisly skeleton of a man, that mocked and 
 leered at me. It seemed in a manner to my 
 fascinated eyes to challenge my mortality, 
 inviting me too to the rude and grotesque 
 sleep of death. I knew, as by an instinct, 
 that I was standing by the bones of Sir Ru- 
 pert Marvyn, the protagonist in that terrible
 
 The Stone Chamber 
 
 crime which had locked three souls in eter- 
 nal ruin. The consideration of this miser- 
 able spectacle held me motionless for some 
 moments, and then I moved a step closer 
 and cast my light upon the second coffin. 
 As I did so I was aware of a change 
 within myself. The grave and melancholy 
 thoughts which I had entertained, the sober 
 bent of my solemn reflections, gave place 
 instantly to a strange exultation, an unholy 
 sense of elation. My pulse swung fever- 
 ishly, and, while my eyes were riveted upon 
 the tarnished silver of the plate, I stretched 
 forth a tremulously eager hand and touched 
 the lid. It rattled gently under my fingers. 
 Disturbed by the noise, I hastily withdrew 
 them ; but whether it was the impetus 
 offered by my touch, or through some horri- 
 ble and nameless circumstance God knows 
 slowly and softly a gap opened between 
 the lid and the body of the coffin ! Before 
 my startled eyes the awful thing happened, 
 221
 
 The Stone Chamber 
 
 and yet I was conscious of no terror, merely 
 of surprise and it seems terrible to admit 
 of a feeling of eager expectancy. The lid 
 rose slowly on the one side, and as it lifted 
 the dark space between it and the coffin 
 grew gently charged with light. At that mo- 
 ment my feeble candle, which had been grad- 
 ually diminishing, guttered and flickered. I 
 seemed to catch a glimpse of something, as 
 it were, of white and shining raiment inside 
 the coffin ; and then came a rush of wings 
 and a whirring sound within the vault. I 
 gave a cry, and stepping back missed my 
 foothold; the guttering candle was jerked 
 from my grasp, and I fell prone to the floor 
 in darkness. The next moment a sheet of 
 flame flashed in the chamber and lit up the 
 grotesque skeletons about me ; and at the 
 same time a piercing cry rang forth. Jump- 
 ing to my feet, I gave a dazed glance at the 
 conflagration. The whole vault was in 
 flames. Dazed and horror-struck, I rushed 
 222
 
 The Stone Chamber 
 
 blindly to the entrance; but as I did so the 
 horrible cry pierced my ears again, and I 
 saw the bat swoop round and circle swiftly 
 into the flames. Then, finding the exit, I 
 dashed with all the speed of terror down the 
 passage, groping my way along the walls, 
 and striking myself a dozen times in my 
 terrified flight. 
 
 Arrived in my room, I pushed over the 
 stone and listened. Not a sound was audi- 
 ble. With a white face and a body torn 
 and bleeding I rushed from the room, and 
 locking the door behind me, made my way 
 upstairs to my bedroom. Here I poured 
 myself out a stiff glass of brandy. 
 
 # * # * * 
 
 It was six months later ere Warrington 
 returned. In the meantime he had sold the 
 Abbey. It was inevitable that he should 
 do so ; and yet the new owner, I believe, has 
 found no drawback in his property, and the 
 Stone Chamber is still used for a bedroom 
 223
 
 The Stone Chamber 
 
 upon occasions, being considered very old- 
 fashioned. But there are some facts against 
 which no appeal is possible, and so it was in 
 his case. In my relation of the tragedy I 
 have made no attempt at explanation, hardly 
 even to myself ; and it appears now for the 
 first time in print, of course with supposi- 
 tious names. 
 
 224
 
 IV 
 
 Zoraka 
 
 THE disposition of the evening was pleas- 
 ant, but somehow a feeling of restless dis- 
 content prevailed upon me. It was as if I 
 had tired of the extravagant picturesque- 
 ness of the East. The barbaric interest of 
 the bazaars, the unfamiliar brightness of the 
 streets, the pied and variegated throngs 
 all these seemed now to pass, as with the 
 distance and seclusion of a stereoscopic vis- 
 ion. I looked down, as it were, upon col- 
 oured plates, picked out with shifting scenes, 
 in which I was a stranger with no part. This 
 turbaned mob passed to and fro about its 
 affairs; it held markets, chaffered in the 
 public emporiums, offered solemn greetings ; 
 is 225
 
 Zoraka 
 
 and I myself was admitted to these com- 
 mercial and polite exchanges. But that was 
 all. The real life of the people lay wide 
 apart from their business appearances day 
 by day. From that I was excluded. Sav- 
 ing for the change of colour and feature it 
 might as well be a cockney quarter of Lon- 
 don I was regarding, or the smart round of 
 life upon the Boulevards. This sequestra- 
 tion had come at last to annoy me, and the 
 aspects of the town wore now almost the 
 familiarity of my native suburb. The dis- 
 appointment settled in monotony; even the 
 novelty of the living had grown stale, and 
 the wine which at first had drunk very 
 strangely and quite agreeably to the palate, 
 was now revealed as merely thin and sour, 
 as like a tenpenny Bordeaux as may be, and 
 not so wholesome. 
 
 These reflections occupied me in my cham- 
 ber in the caravanserai, as I looked forth of 
 the window upon the huge white walls and 
 226
 
 Zoraka 
 
 the green gardens they held so private. The 
 sun had gone down, but his influences were 
 still flaming in the West ; a little night-air, 
 soft and soothing, was beginning to stir, 
 and the tamarisks were waving quietly. The 
 spring was still young. Behind such walls 
 as those the lives of these Orientals were 
 exhibited in the fulness of their blood. 
 There such romances as they knew dawned 
 and died; the comedies and tragedies of 
 their passions were enacted there no less 
 than in Bayswater drawing-rooms or Ken- 
 sington boudoirs. It fretted me to feel that 
 from a journey such as mine had been one 
 might take no more than the knowledge to 
 be thrown from a lantern-slide the public 
 processions, the investing rags, the sardonic 
 faces of an unknown and passionate race. 
 
 1 looked across the street below my win- 
 dow to the wall which closed my immediate 
 purview. The figure of a tall man, in the 
 full particulars of native costume, moved 
 227
 
 Zoraka 
 
 slowly, and as it struck me, with an air of 
 stealth, along the little alley. The muezzin 
 had just chanted the call to prayer sono- 
 rously from the minaret of a neighbour- 
 ing mosque. Somehow, quite vaguely, I 
 seemed to recall a previous recognition of 
 this furtive figure; and then, in a moment, 
 I knew what had tickled my memory. It 
 was my custom at this hour, after the long 
 hot day, to sit here at this loophole and 
 look forth upon the street, and now I re- 
 membered that this same tall fellow was 
 used to haunt the alley simultaneously upon 
 the fall of the muezzin's voice. I sat up 
 sharply and watched him with a hasty ac- 
 cession of interest. Why, here, maybe, was 
 the very occasion of romance stalking past 
 my doorway, and I unheeding. The fellow 
 stopped before a door in the wall, and, with 
 a surreptitious glance about him, pushed it 
 open and disappeared within. I was fever- 
 ish with unrest and dissatisfaction, and for 
 228
 
 Zoraka 
 
 some reason the secrecy of the act stirred 
 a pleasant thrill in me. I half rose from 
 my seat, moved by a sndden whim, and 
 paused again. ' Why, yes," said I to my- 
 self, laughing. "Why not?" My heart 
 pulsed quickly. I was certainly in a way to 
 be roused from my indifference. I put a 
 revolver in my pocket, and, leaving the inn, 
 walked quickly down the street, and, turn- 
 ing into the alley, stood in a few moments 
 hesitating before the door just as my sus- 
 picious stranger himself had done. 
 
 To my surprise the door was slightly ajar. 
 I was much under the influence of my im- 
 agination, but for a second or so I remained 
 with my hand upon the woodwork, while 
 my heart beat faster. Upon what high ad- 
 venture was I at last bound ? Or was it to 
 end as a commonplace blunder, in smiles, 
 bows, apologies, and perhaps a cup of 
 coffee and a cigarette ? The door moved 
 noiselessly back, and I entered; the next 
 229
 
 Zoraka 
 
 moment it fell to behind me heavily, and I 
 was in a dark passage. As my eyes ad- 
 justed themselves to the change I discerned 
 a little way ahead a soft dull glow, as from 
 a light piercing through thick curtains. 
 Feeling upon the wall, I advanced towards 
 this, and found myself at last upon the 
 threshold of a room shut off from the pas- 
 sage, as I had supposed, by rich hangings. 
 The chamber itself was empty, but by many 
 marks I took it for the private apartment of 
 a woman. Entering with some exaltation of 
 spirit I was proceeding to make further ex- 
 plorations, when all of a sudden a footstep 
 sounded at my back, and, turning, I beheld 
 a large man of middle age standing in the 
 curtained doorway. We regarded each 
 other in silence, for indeed I was a good 
 deal taken aback, but presently he spoke. 
 
 " You are welcome," he said, " I have 
 been waiting for you." 
 
 His voice was without emotion of any 
 230
 
 Zoraka 
 
 kind, nor had I any clue to what I was wel- 
 comed. Save for a certain excited light in 
 his eyes he might have been the polite host 
 his words would bespeak him. 
 
 " I am glad, sir," said I, making him a 
 bow, " to have blundered thus upon your 
 hospitality. ' ' 
 
 He made no response to my salutation, 
 but clapped his hands abruptly. So imme- 
 diately as to suggest that they had been in 
 hiding near by, a couple of stalwart fellows 
 jumped into the room, and ere I could divine 
 their intention had their hands upon me. 
 My revolver lay useless in my pocket, but 
 I struggled for a moment ineffectually in 
 their clutches, and then ceasing, indig- 
 nantly demanded of the master what this 
 meant. 
 
 " Is this the way," I asked, " to treat a 
 guest, who has trespassed by inadvertence 
 in your house ?" 
 
 He made no reply, but in a voice, now 
 231
 
 Zoraka 
 
 harsh and sounding with triumph, bade his 
 men bring me after him. I was conducted 
 through corridors out upon a court, which 
 had plainly once possessed some magnifi- 
 cence, but had now fallen into disorder, the 
 fountain alone remaining of its ancient splen- 
 dour; and thence through a maze of pas- 
 sages into a large room, decorated with florid 
 designs and barely furnished, as is the cus- 
 tom in these parts. Here, the master of 
 the house seated himself upon a divan, and 
 surveyed me for some moments with a curi- 
 ous look of savage satisfaction in his eyes, 
 while I, in the hands of my guards, re- 
 viewed my position with amazement and 
 alarm. In a little time the man clapped his 
 hands again, and there entered presently a 
 tall black, richly dressed, in whom I could 
 not but recognise the chief eunuch of that 
 household. He stared at me as if in great 
 surprise, and then hurriedly approaching his 
 master, whispered a few words. His looks 
 232
 
 Zoraka 
 
 betokened bewilderment, and indeed the 
 effect of his communication served to de- 
 range my captor also. 
 
 " What is thte ? " he said harshly. " Dog, 
 do you lie to me ? " and glowered upon the 
 black. 
 
 The eunuch salaamed humbly. " It is 
 true, lord of our lives," he answered, " we 
 have already captured the other." 
 
 His master frowned, but recovering, looked 
 sardonically at me. " Bring them both," 
 he commanded, " and the woman shall de- 
 cide between them." 
 
 With that the eunuch disappeared, and 
 when he returned he was accompanied by 
 a commotion. I set eyes first upon the 
 very man whom I had thus foolishly pursued 
 into what I now began to perceive must be 
 some trap, and he, like myself, was in the 
 custody of servants. But after him followed 
 the black, dragging rather than supporting 
 the body of a very handsome woman with 
 233
 
 Zoraka 
 
 black eyes and flowing hair. She was no 
 sooner entered than she threw herself before 
 the divan and embarked upon a passion of 
 tears and entreaties. So far as I could un- 
 derstand her language, for her voice was 
 broken with sobs, she protested against 
 some suspicion the man had taken of her, 
 and pleaded at once for his justice and his 
 mercy. And then it was that I began to 
 gather some dim hints of my own predica- 
 ment. Zoraka, for so she called herself in 
 her piteous appeals, was the wife of this 
 Ha"ssan, as she named him. The fellow 
 who was in custody with myself had plainly 
 been her lover, and, as I now conceived, I 
 had been so unfortunate as to make my silly 
 venture upon the very day on which Hassan 
 in his suspicion had chosen to lay a snare 
 for his wife's paramour. Into that net two 
 had fallen. The notion was so ludicrous, 
 when I considered it, that I could have 
 laughed out had it not been for the tragic 
 234
 
 Zoraka 
 
 consequences that seemed pending. It 
 would manifestly be no jest to stand before 
 this creature's jealous fury. The woman 
 had cast no glance upon us when she entered, 
 and lay now in a grovelling attitude of sup- 
 plication before her lord. To her prayers 
 he paid not the slightest heed, and, at last, 
 with a scowl pushed her from him with his 
 foot. At which, appearing to understand 
 that all was lost, she withdrew herself quickly 
 and got upon her feet quite calmly. The 
 sudden change in her demeanour startled 
 me, used as I was to the shifting passions 
 of the race. She stood impassive for a while 
 as though resigned to her fate, and then, 
 her gaze falling upon me, stared at me in 
 sullen wonder. Glutted of his victim's mis- 
 erable anticipations, Hassan now stirred on 
 his couch. With Oriental phlegm he lighted 
 a long pipe, and addressing my fellow-pris- 
 oner demanded in harsh tones what he was 
 doing there. The man made some reply, 
 235
 
 Zoraka 
 
 in which moroseness mingled with terror, 
 and then it was my turn. 
 
 " Sir," said I, " I know nothing of this 
 woman or of this man. I am an innocent 
 Feringhi who wandered through your door- 
 way by mistake. I demand my release, or 
 my Government will exact a heavy price at 
 your hands." 
 
 A grim smile lit up his sour features, and 
 he turned to the woman, Zoraka. " Ac- 
 cursed one," he said, " which of these is 
 your lover, or are your passions so insatiable 
 that you have taken both to your traitorous 
 bosom ? " 
 
 Zoraka shook her head. ' They are stran- 
 gers, my lord, ' ' she returned. ' Why must I 
 stand before strangers with my naked face ? " 
 
 All the time her eyes watched me curi- 
 ously. Hassan darted a terrible look of 
 hate upon her. 
 
 " We will make sure of all three," he said, 
 and made a sign to his eunuch. 
 236
 
 Zoraka 
 
 The negro drew from a scabbard in the 
 folds of his robe a huge scimitar, handling 
 which in a familiar way he approached the 
 woman. Her eyes still dwelt attentively 
 upon me, and it was not until the black 
 touched her roughly upon the shoulder that 
 she seemed to be aware of his presence by 
 her side. She started ever so slightly, and, 
 glancing at the shining sword, shivered per- 
 ceptibly. Then again, as though drawn by 
 an irresistible magnet, her gaze returned 
 to me. The menace of these proceedings 
 struck me as so monstrous that for all I 
 had heard of the cruel rigours of the harem 
 law, I could not fully realise that any trag- 
 edy was proposed. I met her eyes, and in 
 mine, I know, was a deep look of compas- 
 sion for this beautiful creature. At this ex- 
 change of our glances she smiled softly, and 
 turning slightly about, regarded the black 
 with curling lips and flattened nostrils. Sud- 
 denly Hassan leapt from his seat and broke 
 237
 
 Zoraka 
 
 into the most frantic exhibition of brutal 
 anger I have ever seen in a man. All his show 
 of indifference was gone. He cast up his 
 hands, with clenched fists, and raved like a 
 maniac, denouncing Zoraka in the vilest 
 terms, calling curses upon her future life, 
 and blackening the character of her ances- 
 tors. The woman never flinched, and when 
 his vituperation ceased from lack of breath, 
 she addressed him. 
 
 " My lord," she said, with a certain dig- 
 nity in her low and measured voice, " you 
 hold the keys of Life and Death in this 
 household. It is your will that I bare my 
 neck here to Death upon this spot. Allah 
 decrees it, and the Prophet assents. Think 
 not that it is with any regret that I leave 
 this world. My heart has been too full. I 
 have been your plaything, the vehicle of 
 your passion. 
 
 " We women," she cried with rising 
 spirit, "are the prisoners of the harem. 
 238
 
 Zoraka 
 
 It is our fortune. We are sold from out 
 our birthright; we pass under foreign 
 hands; we are the non-entities of pleas- 
 ure. And lo, there is among us not even 
 the little liberty of desire. If hope sparkle 
 in my eyes and the light shine on my soul, 
 whence have I offended against you ? You 
 cannot hush the throbbing of my heart ; it 
 rises under my bosom in the darkness of my 
 chamber. As for these men, I know nothing 
 of them. The sword is in your hands. 
 Let them go." 
 
 She faced him with heaving breast but 
 with a quiet face which won my admira- 
 tion. But the effect of her rebuke upon 
 Hassan was indescribable. His black face 
 blanched with rage. He ran down the steps 
 between them and seizing the scimitar from 
 the eunuch made as though to strike off her 
 head at a blow. I moved involuntarily, but 
 my gaolers held me tight, and it seemed 
 that the bloody scene must be enacted be- 
 239
 
 Zoraka 
 
 fore my eyes, while I was powerless to move 
 a hand. But as suddenly Hassan paused 
 and withheld the knife from the stroke. 
 
 " No," said he, with a malign contortion 
 of his features, " she shall be sprinkled first 
 with the blood of her lovers. Bring the 
 dogs forward." 
 
 We were hustled forward by our guards 
 and brought within a pace or two of the 
 ruffian, and Zoraka; once more she shot a 
 glance at me, and once more I met it with 
 a thrill of pity. The black took the scimi- 
 tar from his master and drew near my com- 
 panion. Almost for the first time I exam- 
 ined him closely. He was a fine-looking 
 fellow, of some position, I judged, and 
 bore himself very well in that supreme mo- 
 ment. His complexion was overcast with 
 a sallow shade of fear, but he made neither 
 sound nor sign, submitting himself to the 
 butchers like a frightened sheep. The trans- 
 action had a dreadful fascination for me ; it 
 240
 
 Zoraka 
 
 drew my eyes. I was entirely incapable of 
 considering my own situation. The black 
 came behind him and with a rude movement 
 of his brawny arm twisted the man's head 
 forward, so as to leave the neck bare and 
 free. Then he gripped his scimitar and 
 swung it in the air. I could not refrain a 
 glance at Zoraka ; but she stood motionless, 
 watching with wide eyes, only a little tense 
 contraction of the nostrils speaking to her 
 emotion. The executioner raised his sword 
 and a flash spread into a broad shaft of 
 light. A sort of groan started from my lips, 
 but Zoraka was dumb. Whether he had 
 had instructions beforehand and knew his 
 part in the devilish piece of cruelty I cannot 
 say, but suddenly, and when to my eyes 
 all was over and the awful bearded head 
 already rolling upon the floor, the black's 
 arms stopped dead, and the sword was ar- 
 rested on the very skin of the man's neck. 
 The eunuch looked at his master, and in 
 241
 
 Zoraka 
 
 obedience to a nod left the wretched, trem- 
 bling creature and approached me. 
 
 I cannot tell how it was, but my mind 
 grew lively all at once with a terrible illu- 
 mination. In a flash I saw the meaning of 
 this brutal scene ; it was designed to betray 
 the real lover by wresting a display of emo- 
 tion from Zoraka.. And with that a still 
 more fearful thought rushed in upon me. I 
 felt that I knew now with what purpose she 
 had interrogated me so fully with her eyes. 
 Her looks had been directed solely upon 
 me ; never for a second had she noticed her 
 lover. It was upon me she desired to throw 
 suspicion, in the hope to save the man she 
 loved, even though she herself were sacri- 
 ficed to her husband's wrath. I know not 
 to what extent this manoeuvre had been ob- 
 served, but in the new horror of my discov- 
 ery I feared the worst. And I was now to 
 suffer the same trial as my fellow. For one 
 instant the blood, rushing to my brain, 
 242
 
 Zoraka 
 
 blinded me. I saw Zoraka through a mist, 
 and bestowed upon her a look of reproach 
 and repugnance. Then I engaged in a 
 fierce, futile struggle with my captors. Their 
 arms pinioned me, and I was flung forward, 
 helpless in their grasp. If I remember 
 aright, I had just one wild animal desire 
 to throw myself on Hassan and tear him in 
 shreds, and then a numb apathy succeeded, 
 and I was conscious only of waiting for 
 Zoraka's cry. I heard dimly the scimitar 
 hissing in the air, and simultaneously it 
 seemed felt the wind and an edge across my 
 neck ; and then the scream of agony which 
 I had anticipated. Next instant my guards 
 pulled me back, and I was face to face with 
 Zoraka, looking into my eyes with a genu- 
 ine expression of terror. Was it possible, 
 I vaguely wondered, that this cry had been 
 wrung from her out of a real pity for an 
 innocent victim ? But then recalling her 
 indifference, when her lover was at stake, 
 243
 
 Zoraka 
 
 I dismissed the thought as absurd, and fell 
 back upon my previous conviction of her 
 cunning. 
 
 It was merely death that I expected now, 
 and it was a short sharp death I prayed for. 
 Yet it was horrible that I should have to 
 undergo again the tortures of that lingering 
 passage. But Hassan was silent and issued 
 no order. He came down from the dai's and 
 passed me by, searching my face with a swift 
 puzzled look; then he proceeded to scruti- 
 nise my companion also. It was plain he 
 was in doubt. Could it be that he, too, had 
 a suspicion of Zoraka's trick ? I came to 
 the conclusion that this was so, for turning 
 to the black he gave orders that we should 
 be kept in custody till the morrow, adding 
 with a filthy remark about his wife, that if 
 the real lover were not disclosed by then, 
 she should take both upon her bosom into 
 Paradise. I daresay he had designed some 
 horrid form of death for the paramour, which 
 244
 
 Zoraka 
 
 made his identification a matter of anxiety; 
 for on that ground alone can I explain his 
 reluctance to despatch us all three by the 
 sword. 
 
 I was removed into a small chamber, 
 quite devoid of furniture, and with high- 
 barred windows as like a cell as might be, 
 save that the pure air of the gardens en- 
 tered in wafts. And here I fell into a grave 
 consideration of my peril and remorse for 
 my foolhardiness. Since I had wanted the 
 romance of the East, why here was more 
 than my share of it at last, and very grubby 
 and abominable it was. I could be content, 
 I thought, after this, if there were any after 
 this, with the magic-lantern and stereoscopic 
 views of Oriental life. A Kodak was better 
 than a dungeon, and however picturesque 
 they sounded, mediaeval conditions were not 
 suited to a Victorian man. They had de- 
 prived me of my revolver, but had left me 
 free, trusting, no doubt, to the solid ma- 
 245
 
 Zoraka 
 
 sonry of the house. Yet I wandered to and 
 fro for hours, debating the possibilities of 
 my escape, and framing a hundred plans for 
 scaling the wall and breaking through the 
 window. By-and-bye, however, resignation 
 settled upon me, as the hopelessness of 
 these schemes was slowly revealed, and by 
 this time, feeling quite worn out with my 
 anxieties and the lateness of the hour, I fell 
 asleep upon the bare boards of the floor. 
 
 Some time afterwards I was awakened by 
 a touch on my shoulder, and sat up quickly. 
 A soft melodious voice breathed in my ear. 
 
 " Hush! " it said, " O Feringhi, be silent, 
 lest the guards upon the courtyard hear 
 you." 
 
 ' Who are you ? " I cried, sleep struggling 
 with my interest. 
 
 "It is I, Zoraka," said the voice, and 
 indeed I recognized it now. "It is I, O 
 Light of my Eyes." 
 
 I do not know that the expression fell 
 246
 
 Zoraka 
 
 upon very intelligent ears, for the fact was 
 that I was bewildered with her presence 
 there. " How came you here ? " I asked in 
 astonishment to find this victim, but lately 
 designed and destined to death with me, 
 thus moving free with all her liberties. 
 
 Zoraka laughed softly. ' There is none 
 that can keep me from my beloved," she 
 whispered in her honeyed voice. ' They 
 encircled me, but I deceived them. They 
 sleep soundly. Did the fool think to bind 
 me and to still my heart ? Listen how it 
 beats for thee. " 
 
 She was warming my hand gently, and 
 now I became aware of her action, and there 
 dawned upon me the significance of this 
 strange visit. I was suddenly overwhelmed 
 with the revelation. With the remarkable 
 abruptness of Eastern passions, Zoraka had 
 transferred her affections to me, moved by 
 some unaccountable whim. The thought 
 had never for an instant occurred to me, and 
 247
 
 Zoraka 
 
 now I sat silent, with my hand in hers, suf- 
 fering her warm touch, and revolving in con- 
 fusion this new development in my fortunes. 
 There was a sound from the next room, and 
 Zoraka clutched me tight. ' Hush!" she 
 murmured, with her finger to her lips, " we 
 must leave, my beloved. Let us depart 
 into the deep night and be gone. Stay! " 
 
 She moved quickly to the door, and as 
 she passed from me the moonlight streamed 
 through the window upon her lithe and 
 graceful figure, stirring in me a curious sen- 
 sation. She stood listening for a moment, 
 and then beckoned me with her hand. I 
 rose and followed her. The latch clicked 
 softly, and we were in a gloomy passage. She 
 moved forward, and I pursued her noiseless 
 footsteps, traversing many silent rooms and 
 ill-lit corridors, until at length we came out 
 into a place where the light was clearer and I 
 could smell the fresh air of a garden. Here 
 she stopped and pointed to an open door. 
 248
 
 Zoraka 
 
 " Go forth," she whispered, " and wait 
 for me. I will return. We must go armed " ; 
 and with a swish of her robes was gone. 
 
 I walked out into the garden, still under 
 the spell of my amazement ; the night was 
 thick with stars and a yellow moon ; the soft 
 fragrance of earth was in my nostrils. Here 
 was the way to safety ; the open garden lay 
 before reaching to the lane ; I was free. 
 
 Suddenly I heard, piercing from some 
 inner chamber and muffled by distance, a 
 sharp wailing cry. 
 
 The sound arrested me. It rose, a thin 
 high wail, and died without echoes in the 
 night. For a time I stood listening for a 
 repetition of the cry, but none came, and 
 silence presided alike in the house and in 
 the garden, save for the breaths of air that 
 stirred among the leaves. That discomfort- 
 able shriek awoke conjecture in me instantly, 
 and under the shadow of the arbutus im- 
 pulses and emotions divided me. Away, at 
 249
 
 Zoraka 
 
 the foot of the garden, the stars danced 
 lightly in the waters of the bay, inviting me 
 to flight. The term of that intestine con- 
 flict in my thoughts was considerable, but in 
 the end I came out of my shelter and re- 
 traced my way back into the house. I had 
 an indefinite sense of pleasure in my mag- 
 nanimity, mingling simultaneously with a 
 feeling that I was under an obligation of 
 honour not to desert Zoraka. 
 
 The house was still and dark as upon my 
 journey forth. When I came to consider, 
 my adventure was in no wise heroic, but 
 merely fatuous. I had no manner of notion 
 where Zoraka lay, nor indeed if she had not 
 been already sacrificed to the ferocious pas- 
 sions of her husband. That might have 
 been the real significance of her anguished 
 scream. And even if I had all uncertainties 
 determined, my quest was no more reason- 
 able. To snatch her from the centre of her 
 guards and bring into safety the idea was 
 250
 
 Zoraka 
 
 preposterous. Yet in a little I should have 
 been quite at a loss to retreat, if I had de- 
 sired to do so, for I was soon involved in 
 a labyrinth of darkened chambers. Pas- 
 sage opened into passage, and corridor suc- 
 ceeded corridor. I walked with great se- 
 crecy, and listened with both ears alert. At 
 one time I caught near-by the plash of a 
 fountain, and guessed that I must be some- 
 where within the vicinity of the interior 
 court. If that were so, I had wandered a 
 long way from the garden. It was strange 
 that I encountered no one ; the house seemed 
 wrapt in the quiet of the tombs. Once in 
 my passage through a room I heard the slow 
 and even noise of sleepers, but no person 
 barred my way. My progress was necessa- 
 rily difficult, for I had little light to guide 
 me, and must for the most part grope my 
 way through blackness. I began to despair 
 at last of finding any exit from this gloomy 
 prison. Zoraka insensibly faded from my 
 251
 
 Zoraka 
 
 imagination ; the hunt for her seemed su- 
 premely foolish with no clue to direct me. 
 And I had now the oppression of my own 
 fresh peril upon me. It was upon these re- 
 flections that I came at length into a large 
 chamber, which sounded bare and vacant to 
 my tread. Fingering on the wall I moved 
 carefully round it, in search of the further 
 doorway, for the apartments in these houses 
 invariably communicated with one another. 
 My chagrin reached its height when I was un- 
 able to discover any door; nor was this the 
 worst, for upon retiring the way I had come, 
 I found that the door by which I had entered 
 had completely vanished. The darkness, I 
 suppose, confused me; the chamber was 
 probably of an unusual shape ; at any rate I 
 seemed to make the circuit a dozen times 
 without success. I was incarcerated within 
 those solid walls as securely as if the bars of 
 a prison held me. As I made this desperate 
 comment to myself, I stumbled over a couch, 
 252
 
 Zoraka 
 
 and putting forth my hands to save a fall 
 was flung heavily upon some human body 
 that lay thereon. 
 
 I withdrew hastily, and in a whirl of fears ; 
 but no start or exclamation followed, and I 
 recalled now, as I stood, thick with appre- 
 hensions, that the face had been cold and 
 dry to the touch. This with the curious 
 stillness reassured me that my terror was 
 groundless ; it was a corpse that reposed in 
 the calm silence of that darkness. The 
 thought informed me with a new feeling 
 of distaste. A strange impulse led me to 
 stretch out my hand again, and touch the 
 body in a gingerly fashion. I was conscious 
 that my fingers were wetted and cold, and 
 I drew off sharply with a shudder. In my 
 mind speculations, which were almost con- 
 victions, broke vaguely and unpleasantly. I 
 was interrupted in my horrid considerations 
 by the sound of feet, the first sound of posi- 
 tive life that had yet reached me. I fled in 
 253
 
 Zoraka 
 
 haste, and by sheer good fortune ran into 
 a heavy curtain that draped the wall hard 
 by. I had scarcely wrapped myself in the 
 folds of this when a light burst into the 
 room, and two ill-looking fellows entered 
 and proceeded to the couch. The light illu- 
 mined the dead man's face, and showed me 
 that my conjecture had been right Zoraka's 
 lover lay there, stretched out in the ugly 
 peace of death. Save for a sinister contrac- 
 tion of the nostrils, and the protrusion of a 
 yellow tooth above the underlip, the coun- 
 tenance was underanged by his violent end ; 
 and only a streak of blood stained the beard. 
 I will confess that I dared not look upon 
 this scene without emotion ; the accomplish- 
 ment of the tragedy persisted in my thoughts 
 and challenged me with its menace. I had 
 few doubts at this moment that Zoraka too 
 had perished, and I, fool that I was, had 
 hazarded my chance of safety almost be- 
 yond retrieval. 
 
 254
 
 Zoraka 
 
 The servants raised the body without any 
 signs of interest, and carrying it between 
 them toiled across the room towards the 
 door, which I now perceived was hidden be- 
 hind the arras. When they had disappeared 
 I followed furtively. Almost the first step 
 I took, I tripped upon some hard substance 
 on the floor, and stooping discovered to my 
 satisfaction that it was a knife. Here at 
 any rate was a useful ally in my predica- 
 ment. Concealing it about me I pursued 
 after the men, for in them, it appeared, lay 
 my only prospect of finding a way out of 
 the house. But here fell my second sur- 
 prise. I maintained my course at a consid- 
 erable distance from the fellows, who had 
 little chance of detecting me from the noise 
 the)'- made under their burden, and presently 
 saw them push open a door in the corridor 
 and disappear. I hastened my steps, and 
 just as I reached the door a wild shriek rang 
 out of the silence. 
 
 255
 
 Zoraka 
 
 This, then was news of Zoraka. ; but what 
 news ? Eagerly, and with trepidant heart, 
 I thrust open the door behind its hangings, 
 and peered into the room. It was well 
 lighted. The two men had come to a halt 
 and laid their burden upon the floor. But it 
 was not upon these my gaze lingered, but 
 upon the tall figure of the Nubian eunuch, 
 who was contemplating with an indifferent 
 and cruel smile the prostrate body of Zor- 
 aka. She lay upon her back upon the mo- 
 saic, with her arms flung out, and for a mo- 
 ment (so devilish did the scene present itself 
 to my imagination) I was on the point of 
 throwing myself upon the black, knife in 
 hand. But this impulse passed, and the 
 next second, at a loud signal from him, a 
 fourth man entered, bearing a large sheet of 
 sacking. With a gathering sense of dread 
 I stared from him to Zoraka's body, and as 
 my eyes lit upon her, I noticed her bosom 
 slowly rising, as if with a resumption of- 
 256
 
 Zoraka 
 
 life. It was a relief to find that she was not 
 dead, as I had imagined, though I could not 
 but conjecture that some outrage was in- 
 tended. I was soon to be enlightened as 
 to the black's purpose, for at his instruc- 
 tions the three ruffians proceeded to bind 
 the two bodies together, the living body of 
 Zoraka with the stiff and clammy corpse of 
 her hapless lover. The act seemed a hide- 
 ous profanation, but I was helpless before 
 this abominable company, even though I 
 feared that worse was yet to fall. Before 
 my eyes the living and the dead were en- 
 wrapped together in the sacking and secured 
 with thick cords. If they had been undi- 
 vided in their lives, I could imagine Hassan 
 sneering, so surely should they remain un- 
 separated in death; and she at least was 
 free to awake upon her lover's bosom in 
 Paradise. 
 
 Zoraka had stirred slightly but had not 
 recovered consciousness ere she was lashed 
 17 257
 
 Zoraka 
 
 in this contumelious bundle. When the 
 work was complete the party, headed by the 
 black, moved out of the apartment, the 
 three men with the sacking supported be- 
 tween them. Concealing myself in a dark 
 corner of the passage I watched the proces- 
 sion; it passed me laboriously, and, after 
 a safe interval, I slipped out and followed. 
 This time I was certain of gaining the open 
 air, for I knew well enough the destination 
 of those poor victims. The ancient order 
 of this venerable kingdom suffers no change, 
 and the bay now, as ever, buries its secrets 
 fathoms deep. In this fashion we came 
 presently upon the garden, and once more 
 the delicious breath of heaven animated my 
 lungs. But now that my private fears were 
 allayed, again my sympathy turned to the 
 unfortunate woman designed for this atro- 
 cious end. I followed still, until the com- 
 pany reached the base of the garden and 
 the bay. A low wall here set a bound to 
 258
 
 Zoraka 
 
 the dark water, and mounting upon this the 
 four came to a halt, with their monstrous 
 package resting upon the stone. I watched 
 with an unnatural eagerness from the cover 
 of the thick bushes below. At a signal 
 from the eunuch the others raised the sack- 
 ing, and swaying and swinging for a mo- 
 ment upon the ledge, then swiftly flung 
 their arms seaward. With a great thud and 
 a splash the bodies struck the water, while 
 the spray danced and scattered in the air, 
 some drops falling heavily upon the foliage 
 about me. The ruffians lingered for a few 
 seconds, and then, descending, tramped back 
 towards the house. Hassan was avenged. 
 
 It was an impulse that actuated me, for 
 until that moment I had hardly entertained 
 a distant hope of saving Zoraka. But the 
 notion took sudden hold on me, and no 
 sooner were they melted into the darkness 
 than I scrambled upon the wall, and cast a 
 hasty glance downwards. The level of the 
 259
 
 Zoraka 
 
 bay was some three feet below me, and 
 the black waters rolled and plunged against 
 the wall with a sucking sound. Instantly 
 I dived headlong into the depths. I had 
 always been a strong swimmer, accustomed 
 to long spells of endurance under water, but 
 as the tide was high I had some misgivings 
 in that black abyss whether I should succeed 
 in struggling down to the floor of the sea. 
 The current struck cool and heavy against 
 my face; the darkness was profound, and all 
 the noises of an inferno grated in my ears. 
 I groped at a venture with both hands. . . . 
 The pressure upon my brain tightened ; I 
 could hold my breath no longer ; and I was 
 throwing up my arms for a plunge towards 
 the surface when my foot kicking in the va- 
 cancy struck upon something more solid. 
 In a moment more I was clinging to the 
 sacking with one hand, while with the other 
 I fumbled for my knife. To this hour I 
 have no definite remembrance of what fol- 
 260
 
 Zoraka 
 
 lowed. The intense weight upon my brain 
 seemed to shove me deeper into the sea, 
 while at the same time I was conscious of 
 holding fast by the cords to keep myself 
 from floating to the surface. My head was 
 bursting ; I felt strangled ; if I had had my 
 senses clear I am sure that I would have 
 abandoned the desperate task. But the 
 very numbness of my wits made me stick 
 like a leech to the sacking. I can recall 
 my fingers pressing upon human flesh, which 
 yet seemed like nothing human. Visions 
 of eyeless skulls floated through my mind. 
 Whitened bones and monstrous evil fishes 
 appeared to surround me. I had a dim 
 sense of collision with some body which 
 turned upon me and buffeted me. And then 
 I knew no more until I was upon the sur- 
 face of the waters, with the ringing of a 
 thousand noises in my head, the light of 
 stars and a calm moon, and something that 
 lay dead and heavy across my arm. 
 261
 
 Zoraka 
 
 Zoraka came to very slowly, as though 
 her spirit obeyed its recall with reluctance. 
 By this time the moon was vanishing over 
 the city, and the grey mists of dawn were 
 creeping over the bay. A spasm contracted 
 her bosom, and she emitted a long thin 
 breath; leisurely she opened her eyes and 
 looked at me. 
 
 " Beloved!" she murmured faintly. 
 
 Her eyes dwelt languorously upon me, 
 and with a gentle movement of her arms 
 she reached for my neck. 
 
 "It is Paradise, then," she whispered, 
 and lay upon the sward, contemplating the 
 dwindling stars of heaven with vague wist- 
 fulness. Kneeling I regarded her. Now 
 that the circumstances had been rescued 
 from tragedy a reaction rose in my mind. 
 Something in Zoraka. repelled me, some- 
 thing, it may be, derived from the associa- 
 tion with that immutable smiling corpse. 
 I could not wholly conceive her as a living 
 262
 
 Zoraka 
 
 woman ; she seemed tainted and defiled of 
 death, and by the embrace of that detest- 
 able body. I watched the dark beauty 
 growing in her face, and the handsome sug- 
 gestions of her dripping, white-robed figure 
 with dispassionate curiosity, even with dis- 
 taste. Her eyes shifted from point to point 
 of the vault and drooped upon me; she sat 
 up weakly, with a start, and clung suddenly 
 to me, with a sigh. 
 
 " Star of my night," she said. ' Thou 
 wert with me even in death. Kiss me, my 
 heart, kiss me." 
 
 I shrank away and softly loosened the 
 hands upon my neck. 
 
 " Hush," I said, " this is no time for ill- 
 considered passion. You have not been 
 locked in the embrace of death. Pray 
 rather to your God for peace." 
 
 She stared at me reproachfully. ' What 
 is this thou sayest ? " she asked with plead- 
 ing tenderness. " I have been in the arms 
 263
 
 Zoraka 
 
 of death ? Indeed, it is true. Surely I 
 have knocked upon the gates of Paradise, 
 and heard the wings of the houris. But 
 now, behold, love, it is in thine arms I lie, 
 and thou art my life. What has this touch 
 of death mattered, since it has brought my 
 life to me ? Listen, the bulbul sings in the 
 laurels! Of what is he singing, beloved, 
 save of thee and me?" 
 
 She laid her head upon my shoulder, 
 crooning softly like a child, but the chill 
 and damp of her wet garments entered into 
 my blood, and I shivered. 
 
 " Nay, offer up your prayers," I said, 
 " to Mahomet and to Allah. Allah-il-allah ! 
 Shall one who has just come forth from the 
 jaws of death through God's mercy turn 
 upon Him and wrong His laws ? You are 
 the wife of a man given under sacred ordi- 
 nances. Are you a child that you should 
 defy His goodness and challenge His loving 
 kindness ?" 
 
 264
 
 Zoraka 
 
 "A wife?" she cried on a higher note. 
 "I was sold into the bondage of the harem. 
 Why may I not deliver myself ? I have 
 been rejected and cast forth. I am dead. 
 There, O Feringhi, lies poor Zoraka, the 
 wife of Hassan, deep among the weeds and 
 fishes of the sea." 
 
 " You deceive yourself with fond hopes," 
 I answered. ' The obligations of the world 
 enwrap you still, like the chains upon a 
 slave." 
 
 " I have broken them, I have derided 
 them. Nought can bind me now," she 
 cried proudly. She rose to her feet and 
 tottering to me once more encircled me with 
 her arms. "I love thee, Feringhi; yea, 
 though it be a sin, and accursed of Allah, 
 to desire a Giaour, I love thee, I desire thee ; 
 the heat of my passion burns in my body. 
 See, it laps up these dripping garments. I 
 lay my arm upon thy cheek. Mark how it 
 is afire. Press upon my bosom, and feel 
 265
 
 Zoraka 
 
 the flame that consumes my heart. I am 
 devoured with my love of thee. Of what 
 account then are the pains and tribulations 
 of hell with thee beside me ? Yea, though I 
 forfeit Paradise and the favour of Allah, yet 
 will I love thee and be thine." 
 
 I shook my head. "It is impossible," I 
 said, " I am a Feringhi from over the sea. 
 My way lies apart. I am here for a mo- 
 ment of the sunshine, like the swallow. The 
 meshes of your life enclose me. You and I 
 may speak through the bars of a prison." 
 
 She started from me. ' You do not love 
 me," she cried fiercely. 'You would pass 
 from me into the liberties of the world, and 
 I must keep my prison ? Is this face not 
 beautiful ? And yet it must fade and decay 
 behind the veil. Have not the lines of my 
 body moved you, and still must they wither 
 in the shroud of these garments ? Must I 
 lie all day within the harem walls, and must 
 the song sing in my heart without an end ? 
 266
 
 Zoraka 
 
 Oh my beloved!" and she threw herself 
 upon me again. " I am thine and thou art 
 mine. The Giaour is fashioned of stone ; 
 his heart is of marble ; but it is stained and 
 pierced with veins of blood. Thou lovest 
 me and I love thee. Let us leave this 
 place." 
 
 She spoke in a soft wailing voice, and 
 though I had grown weary of her importu- 
 nities and the clasp of her warm fingers gave 
 me no thrill, I could not restrain a sense of 
 pity in my soul. She was an outcast from 
 the harem, accounted dead, and it seemed 
 that I was the sole person left in her world. 
 I was greatly perplexed, for it was plain that 
 I could not leave her there, abandoned to 
 the ruthless hand of Hassan. And yet I 
 could conceive no means for her disposal. 
 While I was deep in these awkward medita- 
 tions, uppermost in which lay the necessity 
 of an immediate departure, a low and quiet 
 footfall sounded in the garden. Zoraka with 
 267
 
 Zoraka 
 
 her head upon my bosom heard nothing, 
 but I, looking up, saw to my horror the 
 burly form of Hassan approaching in the 
 dim light. We stood in thick shadow, and 
 he did not remark us, nor, indeed, do I think 
 he was in any condition to do so. For he 
 walked solemnly and slowly, as a man bent 
 with sorrow, and mounted upon the little 
 wall overlooking the bay without a glance 
 upon either side. Here he remained for 
 some moments motionless. The twilight of 
 the dawn illumined his features indistinctly; 
 the water, now grey and wan, washed with 
 regular sounds against the wall. Hassan's 
 eyes were troubled. The diabolic passion 
 had vanished from his face, and it wore now 
 even a patient melancholy dignity. Fearful, 
 I held Zoraka. closer to me, where she nestled 
 without a word; but it was upon Hassan 
 that my gaze was fixed. He stood silent, 
 the breeze blowing his robes about, and 
 then slowly bowing his head gave vent to 
 268
 
 Zoraka 
 
 an inarticulate cry of great emotion. The 
 man's abasement touched me, and in the in- 
 fluence of his presence I was not aware that 
 Zoraka had raised her head and was looking 
 at me. Suddenly her arms relaxed about 
 me, and she followed the direction of my 
 glance. A short wailing scream broke from 
 her, and whirling giddily upon her feet, she 
 slipped and staggered into the open light. 
 At the noise Hassan turned quickly, and his 
 face changed rapidly; the expression upon 
 it wore swiftly round from wonder to terror, 
 and from terror to delight. He leaped from 
 the wall, and ran hastily towards her; and 
 in a second she was folded in his arms, and 
 he was caressing her with endearing tender- 
 ness. Zoraka stood silent, swaying upon 
 her feet, her eyes eloquent of fear and repul- 
 sion. He drew her closer, murmuring affec- 
 tionately. It was plain that he had a pas- 
 sionate attachment to his unfaithful wife. 
 The interest of this scene held me spell- 
 269
 
 Zoraka 
 
 bound, regardless of my own situation. It 
 was not until Zoraka, folded helplessly in his 
 embrace, turned her face towards me, that 
 I recalled my own danger. I feared that she 
 would call upon me, make some appeal to 
 my love against this violation of her own 
 person. Indeed her eyes, unseen of Hassan, 
 fell upon me mutely, pleading and yearning, 
 like the eyes of a beaten dog. She opened 
 her lips, but no sound came. Hassan drew 
 her gently with him down the sward, and 
 her feet mechanically obeyed his impulse. 
 Within my coign of shadow I watched 
 them go, and, as she faded into the twilight 
 of the morning, it seemed to me that once 
 more she turned and implored me with those 
 great and shining eyes. 
 
 270
 
 En Route 
 
 JOHN CORFIELD reached Southampton 
 very early. The boat was advertised to sail 
 at ten o'clock, and close upon five empty 
 hours lay still before him. And yet it was 
 some relief to be here ; in a way his spirit 
 took new sensations from the idle, desultory 
 air and the fresh liberty of exercise. In 
 those last days London had come to crowd 
 upon his courage. He breathed hard within 
 those black walls; the dark skies confined 
 him ; the air of a prison surrounded him. 
 There was the theatre of his folly and his 
 crime, in which he was still a figure upon 
 the stage. Westward and eastward, day 
 by day, he must carry the private burden 
 271
 
 En Route 
 
 of his peril. The situation wore upon his 
 nerve, and at last constrained him to flight. 
 He was in a fret to depose these past and 
 irremediable episodes from their proximity. 
 The terror of suspense held him captive. 
 And as the time of his departure approached 
 this panic grew upon him into a fever. He 
 urged the cab that took him to Waterloo 
 into a faster pace; he stamped restlessly 
 about the platform ; he trembled with impa- 
 tience for the guard's signal. But once at 
 Southampton, and remote from the imme- 
 diate centre of his troubles, he drew freer 
 breath. The sea wind flew over the Water, 
 cool and sweet; the town lay secure in its 
 fine warm shelter. From the windows of 
 the hotel he could watch far off the heavens 
 darkling upon the Solent ; a score of small 
 sails were scattered upon the horizon ; and 
 in the distance, as the sun went down, a 
 South African liner was tramping for the 
 Heads. A little low, sad sound of water 
 272
 
 En Route 
 
 breaking upon stones rose from below and 
 filled the rooms with murmur. 
 
 Corfield leaned forth of his window and 
 inspired the strong flavour of the sea. He 
 was a lithe, spare man, with a firm, wide jaw 
 and sharp, fine eyes above a nest of deep 
 lines. His fingers tapped upon the sill as 
 he hummed very softly a plaintive Italian 
 air. The details of the panorama pre-oc- 
 cupied him. The sun fell ; the western sky 
 flushed with gold ; the Water flared with the 
 shadow of the sunset ; tiny sails, struck red 
 as blood, gleamed from a dozen points about 
 the harbour. Corfield watched the progress 
 of this pageantry ; swiftly the colours died, 
 and slowly the pale, cold greys of the Sep- 
 tember night crept over the prospect, and 
 slim, yellow points of light sprang up along 
 the quays. His eyes wandered from the 
 bleak water to the bright foreshore; the 
 town hummed in his ears. He listened very 
 idly. Far away upon a distant spit of land 
 18 273
 
 En Route 
 
 a great flash rose and died. It drew his in- 
 curious gaze. A noise of hammering echoed 
 from the streets; voices lifted in laughter 
 and passed by. The great silence of the 
 evening closed upon the port ; the sea-wind 
 dropped ; and only the little waves curling 
 on the pebbles below made a sound in his 
 ears. 
 
 Corfield withdrew his head, and shutting 
 the window, rang the bell. " Let my 
 things be taken to the boat at nine," he said 
 to the waiter, " and give me some dinner in 
 this room at seven." 
 
 "Yes, Sir," said the man. "Table 
 d'hote, Sir?" 
 
 Corfield paused a second. " No," he 
 said, slowly. " Bring me a menu and I'll 
 arrange the courses myself. A wine list 
 too." 
 
 He turned again to the window and looked 
 forth. The prospect lay dark and quiet, but 
 the desolation did not affect his compla- 
 274
 
 En Route 
 
 cence. Upon the waiter's reappearance he 
 examined the bill of fare with deliberate at- 
 tention, ticking off the dishes with a pencil. 
 " Bring me a magnum of No. 35," he said, 
 curtly. 
 
 He looked at his watch, rose, and putting 
 on his hat, descended the stairs. The town 
 was in comfortable warmth and brightness; 
 streams of passengers flowed along the foot- 
 ways ; and the roads ran brisk with traffic. 
 For an hour he strolled about the streets 
 surveying the scenes with indolent interest, 
 and then he returned to the hotel. He was 
 met upon the staircase by the waiter, defer- 
 ential and apologetic. 
 
 " A lady has called, Sir. She says you 
 expect her. She is in your room." 
 
 Corfield started, his eyes contracted 
 swiftly, and he moistened his lips. " Whom 
 did she ask for ? " he inquired. 
 
 " No one by name, Sir. She described 
 you, and said you were sailing to-night." 
 275
 
 En Route 
 
 "Very well," said Corfield ; "that is 
 right. I was expecting her." 
 
 He walked upstairs quietly, and opened 
 the door of his room without hesitation. 
 
 " Well, Nina, it is you ? " he said. 
 
 The woman turned quickly in her chair, 
 the colour ran into her pale face suddenly, 
 and with her joyous smile of welcome a 
 dimple shone out upon either cheek. 
 
 " Oh, Jack! " she cried, "oh, Jack! " 
 
 She burst into tears and clung about him 
 sobbing; the rich cloak dropped from her 
 shoulders and fell to the floor. Corfield 
 patted her head without emotion, and stoop- 
 ing, picked it from the ground. 
 
 " How did you find me ? " he asked. 
 
 " George told me," she answered between 
 her sobs ; " I begged him. He knew he could 
 trust me. Oh, why didn't you tell me ? " 
 
 " He should not have told you," said 
 Corfield, frowning. He stared at the floor 
 reflectively. ' Why have you come ? " 
 276
 
 En Route 
 
 She put her arms about him with a pretty 
 motion. " How can you ask ?" she cried. 
 " Oh, Jack! how can you ask me such a 
 question ? I am coming with you." 
 
 Corfield examined her with care, scruti- 
 nising her stained face with cold curiosity. 
 " I think you do love me, Nina," he said 
 at length. "But do you understand what 
 it means ? Women rarely understand." 
 
 "Oh, yes," said Nina, earnestly; "you 
 are a fugitive, I know. You must go abroad. 
 I am going with you." 
 
 " I am a criminal," he said. ' To-mor- 
 row the town will be shouting for my blood. 
 I have robbed hundreds of people. This 
 escape of mine is a tacit confession. You 
 see, it's no use making pretences. If 
 you are to come with me, we must be 
 frank." 
 
 ' Yes, yes," she said, weeping afresh; " I 
 don't care what you are. I don't care for 
 anything but you." 
 
 277
 
 En Route 
 
 " I cannot even marry you," said Corfield, 
 thoughtfully. 
 
 She used a gesture of impatience. " Have 
 I ever thought of that before ? " she asked. 
 
 " No; but this is a public matter," he 
 said. " It stands upon another footing. Do 
 you realise that to-morrow you will be in all 
 the papers, a notorious woman, associated 
 with a notorious thief ? " 
 
 He spoke brusquely, holding her at the 
 length of his arm, his eyes studiously upon 
 her face. She broke into a ripple of laugh- 
 ter, and the dimples ran into her cheeks 
 again. She strove to reach him with 
 her arms, but his grasp held her in a 
 vice. 
 
 " Once more listen," he went on, in his 
 slow, even tones. " Do not buoy yourself 
 up with false sentiments about me. I am 
 what I seem to be. See! " He left her, 
 and crossing the room, touched with his 
 foot a heavy box which lay in a corner. 
 278
 
 En Route 
 
 " There are twenty thousand pounds here. 
 I am a thief," he said, calmly. 
 
 Again she laughed; and following after, 
 flung out her arms upon him, drawing his 
 face to hers. ' Jack! Jack! " she cried. 
 
 Corfield's eyes met hers, which besought 
 him from their great deeps. He kissed her. 
 'Yes, you do love me, Nina," he said; 
 " I always thought so." 
 
 He gently disengaged her fingers from his 
 neck. " Sit down," he said, persuasively; 
 " you must be very tired. Did you find it 
 a dull journey ? I hate trains myself ; and 
 there was a baby in my compartment. It 
 got in at the last moment. They ought not 
 to allow women in smoking carriages upon 
 any emergency. Won't you sit ? Oh, by 
 the way, I've ordered dinner at seven, and 
 it will be here immediately. I must tell 
 them to lay for two." 
 
 His voice was placid ; he spoke more de- 
 liberately than accorded with his use ; and 
 279
 
 En Route 
 
 his face showed like a blank face in marble. 
 It was cold and grey in colour. Only his 
 eyes made any display of life, and it seemed 
 to the woman that they moved and suffered 
 behind a veil. There was no appearance of 
 discomfort save in her own agitation, and 
 for all the anxiety he wore they might well 
 have been prepared and settled for an ordi- 
 nary dinner in the sober round of the year. 
 
 It was this very passivity of his manner 
 that frightened her. 
 
 "Oh, don't Jack; don't be like this!" 
 she entreated, catching his hand. " Be 
 yourself. Tell me. Oh, speak to me prop- 
 erly! Oh, Jack, Jack, will they catch you ? " 
 
 She ended with a gulp of emotion, hiding 
 her face upon his breast. 
 
 " Nina, you are a goose," said he, lightly; 
 " don't be silly. Of course, I don't expect 
 them to catch me. Do you think I should 
 be here, if I did ? How am I to talk to 
 
 you, if you're ? There, don't go off in 
 
 280
 
 En Route 
 
 a flurry. It was very good and sweet of 
 you to come. Let me ring the bell." 
 
 She fluttered into a chair as the noise of 
 the waiter came up the stairs, and, with her 
 chin in one palm, stared without observa- 
 tion through the window. 
 
 " Ah, yes, that's a pretty view, isn't 
 it ? " said Corfield, with a glance at her and 
 then to the waiter: " Lay for two, please. 
 My wife will dine with me." 
 
 When the door had closed Nina rose to 
 her feet and approached him swiftly with her 
 arms out. Her eyes were full of tragedy, 
 her attitude was designed for appeal. He 
 anticipated the outbreak of tears and the 
 tumultuous pleadings, and he winced. 
 
 " For heaven's sake don't make scenes, 
 my dear girl ! " he urged, meeting her on the 
 way. " Come, you shall have a glass of 
 wine now to put you right." 
 
 " No, no!" she cried; " I am all right. 
 
 281
 
 En Route 
 
 " Well, cry then, and get it over," he said, 
 with a sigh of resignation. ' There's a bed- 
 room in there." 
 
 "Oh, for God's sake, pity me!" she 
 broke forth. 
 
 Corfield stared at her, and then the wrin- 
 kles grew into bunches beneath his eyes, and 
 his lips curled. The situation stirred a for- 
 gotten sense of humour in him. 
 
 " Well," said he, smiling, " and won't 
 you pity me ? " 
 
 Nina lifted her head from her hands 
 sharply. She started as though quickened 
 by a new idea. ' Yes, yes," she said. 
 " Oh, how selfish of me! I didn't look at 
 it like that, Jack; believe me I didn't, or I 
 would sooner have cut off my hand than 
 worried you. Oh, my poor Jack! Yes, 
 yes, I know there's the waiter. I'll just 
 run in the other room and wash my face." 
 
 She hurried away in confusion, and Cor- 
 field sat down to the table and picked up a 
 282
 
 En Route 
 
 paper. When she returned the dishes were 
 set. Corfield looked up from his reading. 
 " I sent the waiter away," he explained; 
 " I thought you wouldn't want him here." 
 
 " No, no: thank you, Jack," she assented, 
 hastily; and then, glancing at him, put out 
 a finger and touched him timidly. " Have 
 I spoiled myself crying?" she asked, with 
 a little laugh of embarrassment. " Won't 
 you kiss me, Jack ?" 
 
 He looked up at the tall, slight figure that 
 stood beside him ; the grey eyes pleaded 
 with him from the handsome face. They 
 touched him for a moment with their mem- 
 ories ; he put his arm round her suddenly. 
 "Why, certainly," he said, softly; "you 
 could never spoil your looks, Nina. You 
 will be handsome in your grave." 
 
 She laughed gently and bent to his caress. 
 " Oh, yes, in my grave! " she said, in mock 
 reproach. ' That might be to-night." 
 
 She hung over, smoothing his hair and 
 283
 
 En Route 
 
 laying her cheek upon his shoulder. He 
 moved slightly beneath her touch, and she 
 withdrew and took her seat at the table. 
 "And now, Jack," she said, gaily, "what 
 are you going to give me ? " 
 
 " Hors d'oeuvres for a start," he answered; 
 " and we must make the best of this cham- 
 pagne, such as it is. However, we'll man- 
 age, I daresay." 
 
 She laughed again and nodded with a 
 manner of liveliness; but the laugh and the 
 liveliness was too clearly dictated by a reso- 
 lution. Corfield picked over the dishes with 
 his fork, eating sparingly and maintaining a 
 fluent conversation. He spoke of irrelevant 
 matters of the races at the Goodwood 
 Meeting, of the newest play, of the great 
 cause that was proceeding; and finally fixed 
 his eyes upon her. 
 
 ' That is a very pretty dress, Nina," he 
 said. "Didn't I give you that? Yes; I 
 thought so. I haven't bad taste. It suits 
 284
 
 En Route 
 
 your svelte figure." And he surveyed her 
 critically. 
 
 Her pale face flushed and she smiled trem- 
 ulously. 'Jack, how you stare!" said 
 she ; and the next second her jaw fell and 
 she gazed blankly at her plate ; the colour 
 receded, leaving her face wan and haggard. 
 The courses passed untouched, she moved 
 her fork upon them and laid it down. She 
 heard Corfield talking in his smooth, soft 
 voice, but had no sense of his words. It 
 was like the sea grumbling upon the pebbles. 
 Suddenly he looked up, and there was a 
 silence of which she was vaguely conscious. 
 She started and her glance met his. 
 
 " Nina," he said, sharply, " why don't 
 you eat?" Her lips trembled as he held 
 her eyes. She opened her mouth as if to 
 speak, gaped, and was silent. 
 
 " Nina! " said Corfield. 
 
 " I can't," she stammered. 
 
 " Nonsense," he returned. " Drink your 
 285
 
 En Route 
 
 wine, and don't be foolish. It will do you 
 good." 
 
 " I it would choke me," she gasped, 
 with a sob. 
 
 Corfield frowned, but his voice was soft 
 and grave as he answered: 
 
 ' You must do as I tell you. We have 
 a long journey. You must keep yourself 
 up." 
 
 She glanced at him fearfully, and with a 
 whimper set the glass to her lips. It rattled 
 against her teeth. Corfield watched her, 
 and then filling his own glass anew, put back 
 his head and drank the wine at a gulp. 
 
 "There!" said he; "it's warming, and 
 one needs warming to-night." The cham- 
 pagne stirred the pulse of his heart, and he 
 smiled at her affectionately. " I'll ring for 
 the next course. You must remember I've 
 had no lunch." 
 
 " Oh, Jack! " she cried, spasmodically. 
 
 " I wonder how we shall fare to-night. I 
 286
 
 En Route 
 
 don't think it will be rough. Are you a 
 good sailor, Nina ? I forget. However, 
 there'll be plenty of time to get your legs. 
 We mustn't moon, Nina. We must have a 
 good time. You must be gay. Do you 
 think you can ever be gay again ?" 
 
 ' ' Where are we going ? ' ' she asked, 
 breathlessly. 
 
 He laughed and drank again. ' That de- 
 pends if we get there. Fill up your glass, 
 child." 
 
 "Oh!" she said, tersely, and fixing her 
 troubled eyes on him, " and you have lost 
 so much. Everything is gone your posi- 
 tion, your reputation, your home, and your 
 
 wife " 
 
 ' You pity me that ? " he asked, lifting 
 his eyebrows. 
 
 " No, no; but men do. Everything is 
 gone! " she cried, passionately. 
 
 " Well," he replied slowly, " I have 
 twenty thousand pounds and you, I sup- 
 287
 
 En Route 
 
 pose; and I have escaped gaol. Do you 
 mind a cigarette at this stage ? " 
 
 ' There's no chance of , " she inquired 
 
 in a voice of terror. 
 
 He shrugged his shoulders and struck a 
 match. 
 
 ' Well, if they do, I'm not a fool, my 
 dear. I have my plans. I have my prepa- 
 rations. Let us have another course : there's 
 a bird of some kind." 
 
 He got up and rang the bell as he spoke, 
 and the woman rose with him. 
 
 ' What do you mean, Jack ? " she cried. 
 'What are you hinting at ? Preparations! 
 My God ! what do you mean ? Jack ! Jack ! ' ' 
 He turned from the bell-rope and confronted 
 her, placidly. " Ah! " she screamed, point- 
 ing a finger at the bulging pocket of his 
 coat. "Ah, Jack! what is that? Give it 
 up to me, Jack do you hear?" she called 
 fiercely, and threw herself upon him. 
 
 " Don't be a fool, Nina! " he said, a little 
 288
 
 En Route 
 
 roughly, and strove to fling her off. But 
 she clung to him the closer, wreathing her 
 arms about him and fumbling at his breast. 
 ' You shall give it to me," she cried, 
 fighting with her fingers " you shall, Jack! 
 You coward! You " 
 
 "Hush, Nina, hush! There's the waiter 
 coming. Oh, damnation, take it then! " he 
 cried, angrily, and pushing her from him 
 took his seat at the table quickly. 
 
 The woman, clutching the revolver quickly 
 in both hands, swayed and staggered across 
 the room. 
 
 "Sit down, sit down!" said Corfield, 
 sharply, as a rap sounded on the door. 
 " Sit down and have some wine. Quick! " 
 
 Hiding the weapon in the bosom of her 
 dress, she fell into her chair and put her face 
 in her hands, trembling with emotion. 
 
 " Come in," said Corfield, in his suave 
 voice. The door opened. Corfield paused 
 with his glass half-way to his lips ; his eyes 
 19 289
 
 En Route 
 
 measured the man; and then, concluding 
 the movement of his hands with delibera- 
 tion, he drank the champagne slowly. He 
 set the empty glass upon the table. Nina's 
 head was hidden in her hands. 
 
 "Ah! it's you," said Corfield, quietly. 
 Nina lifted her face in wonder, and the man 
 came a step forward. 
 
 " I hold a warrant for your arrest, Mr. 
 Corfield," he said, in a level voice. 
 
 At the words a short sharp cry started 
 from the woman; she rose, like a spectre, 
 pallid and dishevelled from her struggle. 
 
 ' What are you doing here ? " she cried, 
 facing the stranger. " Oh, my God, what 
 are you " 
 
 Her shivering jaw fell and she stared at 
 him. 
 
 " Hush, Nina! " said Corfield, interposing 
 softly. " Sit down. You will alarm the 
 hotel. You are alone ?" he inquired, po- 
 litely of the man. 
 
 290
 
 En Route 
 
 The fellow shook his head with a smile. 
 "The job's too big for that, Mr. Corfield. 
 But I thought you'd like it better this way. 
 They think I'm a friend come to see you 
 off; there's no bother in the hotel." 
 
 " Quite right," said Corfield, suavely. 
 ' Very considerate of you. Sit down, 
 Mr. " 
 
 He lingered over the designation and in- 
 terrogated the newcomer. The detective 
 shook his head. "I'm afraid it's impossi- 
 ble, Sir. Better make up your mind. The 
 sooner we get it over the better. I'm sorry 
 to disturb you." 
 
 He spoke shortly, but with studious civil- 
 ity ; lithe and alert, he watched Corfield with 
 restless eyes. 
 
 " It's a fact that you do," said Corfield 
 with a smile; " and the lady, as you see, is 
 not very well. You might give me a few 
 minutes, at any rate." 
 
 The detective glanced for a moment at 
 291
 
 En Route 
 
 Nina, who, shrunk in her chair, was regard- 
 ing him with wide eyes of fear. 
 
 " Sorry to put you about. Madam," he 
 
 said, "but " 
 
 ' What have you got there ? " interrupted 
 Nina, with a shrill cry, stretching a tremu- 
 lous hand towards his coat. " Take it 
 away! Oh, take it away!" 
 
 The detective touched his pocket. " Oh, 
 I don't think we need use 'em, Madam. 
 Come, better take it easily. Mr. Corfield 
 knows." 
 
 She broke out suddenly into a fit of 
 laughter, lying back in her chair and shak- 
 ing in all her body. 
 
 " Nina," said Corfield, smoothly, "your 
 nerves are all on edge, poor girl. Let her 
 compose herself a little," he said, turning 
 on the officer. " I can't leave her like this." 
 
 The man hesitated. ' ' Well, ' ' he said, pres- 
 ently, " we might spare a minute or two." 
 
 There was a momentary silence, through 
 292
 
 En Route 
 
 which the rustling of the bay was heard, and 
 then Corfield pushed the bottle towards him. 
 " Have a glass while you wait," he said, per- 
 suasively. ' You're a friend, you know." 
 
 He smiled pleasantly. Nina giggled softly 
 to herself. The detective glanced at the 
 champagne, then at his prisoner, and he too 
 smiled. 
 
 " I don't mind, Sir," he said, and sat 
 down to the table with his eyes upon Cor- 
 field. Corfield filled a glass with care. 
 " How did you find me ? " he asked. 
 
 The detective smiled more grimly. " It's 
 a pity you let this lady here follow you, " said 
 he, lifting the glass to his mouth. Corfield 
 turned his glance on Nina. Suddenly the 
 laughter left her, and she rose to her feet, 
 silent and motionless for a second. Then 
 with a scream she rose and flung her arms 
 about Corfield. 
 
 "Oh, Jack, Jack! " she cried. " Oh, my 
 God! Oh, Jack, Jack !" 
 293
 
 En Route 
 
 She fell a dead lump across Corfield's 
 arms. The detective pushed back his chair 
 and came round the table; his features ad- 
 vertised a certain compassion. Corfield's 
 eyes flashed suddenly upon him and back 
 again to Nina. 
 
 " Get some water, quick," he said, has- 
 tily; and he moved his champagne glass 
 nearer as though for handy use. The de- 
 tective sprang back and reached for the 
 decanter. Corfield loosened his grip of 
 the woman, and deftly slipped two fingers 
 into his waistcoat pocket. . . . 
 
 When the man was at his side with the 
 tumbler the wine was singing loudly in Cor- 
 field's glass. He sprinkled Nina's hands 
 with water and set the tumbler to her teeth. 
 ' You see," he said, " it would have been 
 cruel to have left her like this. She is much 
 affected, but will be better presently." 
 The detective nodded, but a frown col- 
 294
 
 En Route 
 
 lected on his forehead. The circumstances 
 of the job distracted him. Corfield carefully 
 spread his burden on the floor and opened 
 her bodice. 
 
 ''She is coming to," he said, after a 
 pause. " Sit down, please, for a moment, 
 and finish your glass. I am sorry you have 
 been interrupted." 
 
 As if to set an example, he lifted his own 
 glass, and gently and slowly drank the wine. 
 He wiped his moustache, and sat looking at 
 Nina's body. The officer was silent, but he 
 sipped his wine uneasily, keeping his furtive 
 eyes on Corfield. 
 
 " It's a bad case," he said, presently; 
 " but you played for a big game, Mr. Cor- 
 field." 
 
 " I've always done that, my friend," said 
 Corfield, still watching Nina. 
 
 The body stirred upon the carpet; the 
 eyes opened. 
 
 " Come, Nina/' said Corfield. " Bet- 
 295
 
 En Route 
 
 ter ? " Stooping, he picked her up, and 
 carrying her to her chair settled her comfort- 
 ably in the seat. " Drink this," he said, 
 putting a glass to her lips. She drank me- 
 chanically, and, leaning back, stared upon 
 him. Then her eyes wandered to the detec- 
 tive, and remained upon his face, wide and 
 vacant. 
 
 " Silly girl to faint," said Corfield, pat- 
 ting her cheek. He returned to his chair. 
 The detective rose. 
 
 " We must go now, Mr. Corfield," he said. 
 
 Corfield bit his lip. " Come," he said, 
 " You have seen how ill she is. You can't 
 expect me to leave her just now. Give me 
 four minutes." 
 
 " It's very unusual," muttered the man, 
 undecidedly. 
 
 " The case is unusual," responded Cor- 
 field, with a little smile. " Nina, are you 
 better?" 
 
 She made no answer, but continued her 
 296
 
 En Route 
 
 steadfast gaze upon the detective. He rose, 
 and she rose with him. Corfield settled his 
 elbows on the table and leaned his face in 
 his hands. 
 
 " Come, sir," said the detective, briskly. 
 Corfield made no sign. The man walked up 
 and tapped him on the shoulder. " Come, 
 Sir," he said, more sharply. 
 
 Corfield lifted his eyes apathetically; they 
 moved vacantly across the detective's face, 
 and then passed beyond. Suddenly he 
 flinched and shivered; an expression of hor- 
 ror and surprise started into his face. 
 
 "Nina! Nina!" he gasped in a hoarse 
 whisper. 
 
 The detective, startled by the tones, 
 whirled rapidly upon his heels ; a sharp re- 
 port rang in the room, and he fell struggling 
 in a heap upon the floor. 
 
 Nina stood with the smoking revolver, her 
 eyes following the movements of the body 
 in a shifting stare. 
 
 297
 
 En Route 
 
 There was absolute silence upon the room 
 for some moments. Then Corfield stirred in 
 his chair and parted his lips. He strove to 
 rise. " Nina ! " he cried, in a remote whis- 
 per. The woman's eyes turned upon him 
 and she started. 
 
 He shook his head. "Too late!" he 
 cried, in that thin whisper. A laugh choked 
 itself in his throat. He shut his eyes and 
 opened them, tossing his head as though to 
 keep his senses. His features were gath- 
 ered into a deep grimace of thought. " Give 
 it give it to me! " he murmured, thrusting 
 out a hand aimlessly. " They will think 
 for God's sake " 
 
 His head dropped upon the table. The 
 fixed look melted in the woman's eyes; 
 terror gathered swiftly in its place; and, with 
 a shriek of anguish, she leapt across the 
 body, and, still holding the revolver, flung 
 herself upon Corfield. 
 
 298
 
 VI 
 
 A Resurrection 
 
 THE book slid gently from Gregory's fin- 
 gers, and closed with a rustle upon the 
 table. He was not conscious of the move- 
 ment, for in a moment he was rapt among 
 high and tender memories. The verses sang 
 in the current of his blood, and pulsed to 
 the beating of his arteries. They resounded 
 from distant years with the full rhythm of 
 an immediate echo. These instant rever- 
 berations in a heart long silent startled him 
 with their unexpectedness. It was so long 
 since he had provoked that pale wraith and 
 image of his old passion. And now of a 
 299
 
 A Resurrection 
 
 sudden his fibres were quick with a soft and 
 melancholy yearning. With that passage in 
 the poem, long since forgotten, the resur- 
 rection of this untimely ghost was charged 
 with delicate and private meaning. His eyes 
 fell again upon the closed volume, and he 
 repeated the verses in a soothing whisper 
 to himself. 
 
 He could see Dorothea's lips move to the 
 phrases, her hand flutter unawares about 
 her heart, according to a habit which had 
 always affected him. He saw her bend and 
 lean to touch him with her pretty air of as- 
 surance; soft fingers rested upon his arm. 
 He sighed, and dropping slowly in his chair 
 smiled very plaintively at his own fancies. 
 
 He was conscious of a certain penitence 
 for the long omission of this memorial re- 
 spect. The appeal of those lines allured 
 him ; he smarted and stung to reflect upon 
 that oblivion in which so long she had been 
 buried. Dorothea's eyes solicited him with 
 300
 
 A Resurrection 
 
 their soft radiance ; they seemed to intercede 
 with him for an interval of silent commun- 
 ion. That ghostly visitant in his mind 
 tremulously pleaded her cause. Was it so 
 much, she seemed to urge, to snatch a little 
 space, a fragmentary hour, from out a life 
 dedicated to another, a meagre alms to that 
 poor soul he once had loved ? It seemed 
 odd to him that the voice he once had heard 
 ring so clearly in those rooms had been so 
 persistently mute. The echoes of those fa- 
 miliar tones had died out with the years. 
 What brought them from the silent corners 
 at so irretrievable a time as this evening ? 
 He had foregone his lealty. He sighed and 
 directed his glance upon the wall of his 
 study where hung a slight water-colour 
 sketch. It formed but a dash of colour, 
 with no discernible proportions of a woman, 
 but still a faithful transcription of the 
 model. Dorothea had stood and posed 
 for that dainty sketch, and she it was in a 
 301
 
 A Resurrection 
 
 manner that still inhabited the coarse cloth 
 and looked forth upon him from blurred 
 eyes. Gregory slowly unlocked a drawer in 
 his bureau, and withdrew a photograph, care- 
 fully enwrapped between covers. He held 
 it before him, scrutinising it with attention, 
 and the light of the reading-lamp streamed 
 thickly upon the face. 
 
 There was just such a look in those poor 
 eyes as had fulfilled them many a time in 
 life. She watched him with that grave pa- 
 tience that had so sweetly mingled with her 
 pretty playfulness. The head to Gregory 
 wore an aureole, in its stream of bright hair. 
 As he regarded the picture from under the 
 arch of his hand, the facts and tenants of 
 that room lost their importunate reality. At 
 a stroke the winter was gone, and across the 
 budding English meadows he walked with 
 Dorothea in the spring. It was not so very 
 long ago, but the ten years had spanned a 
 tragedy for him. Was it possible, he won- 
 302
 
 A Resurrection 
 
 dered, that love should pass quite away, 
 should change and commute like the fash- 
 ions of a generation ? His eyes suffused. 
 Ah no, he thought, not such a passionate 
 whole love as theirs. He had not forgot- 
 ten, only not remembered these six years. 
 Somewhere under the sweet earth Doro- 
 thea's gracious heart throbbed to his pulses, 
 her pleading eyes were lit with thoughts of 
 him. The photograph dropped from his fin- 
 gers, as the book had done, and the curtains 
 swung in a mist before him. His memories 
 provoked a warm and happy past ; a sense, 
 as it were, of physical pleasure filled him 
 in the recollection of those fine days, now 
 gathered into forgotten Time. The sadness 
 of his reveries filled him with a positive de- 
 light. He sighed again, and his glance fell 
 newly upon the picture. Reinformed by 
 his sensitive imagination the bright flesh 
 sparkled with life; the image reproached 
 him with its immeasurable eyes. It seemed 
 303
 
 A Resurrection 
 
 that those six years which sounded in his 
 ears so desolately long, which had worn so 
 wearily, inadequately marked his supreme 
 sorrow. The grass was ancient over Doro- 
 thea in those six miserable years. The 
 world might well attribute to him a re- 
 markable fidelity. At nights he had sat 
 and thought upon her, those long and terri- 
 ble nights when her departure was fresh 
 among his griefs, those sad nights, too, upon 
 which it became something of a solace to 
 recall and to remember and to weep. The 
 devotion of his mourning spoke to his great 
 love, and yet now that his old happiness 
 and glory were vivid before him, he knew 
 that not six years, not ten, but a lifetime 
 should be the limit of his irreconciliation. 
 The tears welled in his eyes; a short 
 little sob shook him ; his shaded eyes de- 
 voured the portrait; and then a knock fell 
 on the door and a light voice broke upon 
 him. 
 
 304
 
 A Resurrection 
 
 "May I come in, Frank? Are you 
 busy ? " 
 
 The speaker awaited no invitation, as if 
 sure of her answer, but came forward briskly 
 to the table, and placed a hand affectionately 
 upon Gregory's shoulder. With a hasty 
 motion he slipped the photograph between 
 the covers of the blotting sheet before 
 him. 
 
 "Marion!" he said softly, and touched 
 her fingers gently, looking towards the fire 
 in abstraction. 
 
 The sudden contrast offered by this appa- 
 rition took him aback, and for a full moment 
 he was appalled at his own infidelity. Those 
 ashes of the past burning brightly in his 
 heart, he was newly affronted with the pres- 
 ent. But the ache faded slowly, leaving in 
 its place a sensation which he could not de- 
 termine for pleasure or pain. His thoughts 
 ranged vaguely over the enlarged area of 
 the problem. 
 
 20 305
 
 A Resurrection 
 
 'You are thinking, dear?" asked his 
 wife, smoothing his hair with a gentle 
 hand. 
 
 There was something particularly caress- 
 ing in her touch, which fitted with Gregory's 
 mood. He looked up at her and smiled. 
 ' Yes, child," he assented with a sigh. 
 
 "Aren't they happy thoughts?" she 
 asked, bending quickly to him with an im- 
 perious suggestion of affection. 
 
 He indulged the sentiment in his blood. 
 He was used to flow upon his emotions, and 
 now the resumed loyalty to Dorothea in 
 nowise jarred upon a present kindliness for 
 the beautiful woman at his side. He patted 
 her hand, and sought her face with a distant 
 smile. As he did so the tenderness of her 
 regard struck him. Her hair, the full form 
 of her face, were as unlike Dorothea's as 
 they might well be, but there returned to 
 him sharply the nameless and indefinite re- 
 semblances which had first attracted him to 
 306
 
 A Resurrection 
 
 Marion. Was it merely that she inspected 
 him with the same eyes of love, or was it 
 some deeper community of spirit between 
 the dead and the living that recalled this 
 likeness ? For the first time he realised 
 quite clearly why he had married her. 
 Turning with an abrupt movement in his 
 chair, he held her with his melancholy gaze. 
 The sudden act ruffled the papers on the 
 desk, and the blotting-pad slipped and fell 
 to the floor. With her usual impulsiveness 
 Marion stooped and gathered the scattered 
 papers, still clinging to his hand. He had 
 not understood the misadventure, and her 
 next words startled him. 
 
 ' Who is this ? " she asked. 
 
 Gregory saw that she had the photograph 
 in her hand. He thrust out his disengaged 
 arm, and put his fingers on it. 
 
 " It is a a friend," he murmured faintly. 
 Her clutch resisted his; she surveyed the 
 portrait slowly. 
 
 307
 
 A Resurrection 
 
 ' What friend ? " she asked curiously, and 
 glanced at him. 
 
 Something she perceived in him made her 
 drop his hand, and scrutinise the photograph 
 again. 
 
 "Who is it, Frank?" she said, with a 
 display of agitation. 
 
 He cleared his throat. Though to him- 
 self the situation presented no anomalies, 
 he felt that this was no occasion for candour. 
 
 " Oh, a very old friend, who is dead," he 
 said; and then, breaking the silence that 
 followed, " let me have it, Marion; I'll put 
 it away." 
 
 " No," she said, starting from him. " I 
 know." 
 
 He seemed to catch something tragic in 
 her tone, but he laughed a little, as though 
 undisturbed. " I don't think you do," he 
 said vaguely, " you never met her." 
 
 " So this is she," said Marion in a low 
 voice, heedless of his interruption. She 
 308
 
 A Resurrection 
 
 contemplated the picture in silence, and 
 then with a bitter cry threw it from her. 
 " If I had known," she moaned, " If I had 
 only realised! " 
 
 Gregory stirred uneasily. ' Come, Mar- 
 ion," he said soothingly. She shook off his 
 hand, and lifted her face. " Did you love 
 that woman ? ' ' she asked suddenly. 
 
 Her manner hardened him; it was ungen- 
 erous that she should reproach him. 
 
 " You know I was married before," he 
 said coldly. 
 
 " Did you love her ? " she repeated. 
 
 Her demeanour put him in the wrong; it 
 was as if she was inviting him to plead guilty 
 that she might pronounce his sentence. He 
 rose impatiently. 
 
 " I think we have discussed this enough," 
 he observed. 
 
 ' You will not answer me," she broke 
 forth passionately; and then "yes," she 
 assented, " quite enough"; and without a 
 309
 
 A Resurrection 
 
 word further walked from the room, closing 
 the door softly behind her. 
 
 Gregory was vaguely troubled. A con- 
 fluence of emotions mingled in his mind. 
 He resented the interruption upon his 
 thoughts. The opposition of the two wo- 
 men did not appear to him incongruous. 
 He had been willing enough to entertain 
 them in company, the one as that revisiting 
 memory, the other as the near associate of 
 his life. He had a sense of irritation with 
 Marion's jealousy which had thus disturbed 
 the current of his great regret. He was 
 not a man accustomed to confront vexatious 
 problems, and wondered petulantly why he 
 might not follow his own feelings without 
 challenge. He walked to the fire and poked 
 it in annoyance, and then, returning to his 
 table, once more took up the photograph. 
 The simplicity of that countenance was un- 
 deranged; its regard dwelt upon him with 
 changeless affection. He sighed. Doro- 
 310
 
 A Resurrection 
 
 thea, at least, kept her full heart, placid 
 with the old accustomed passion. It pleased 
 and soothed him to consider that here he 
 might commune with her still, discharged 
 from the gross accidents of life. His at- 
 tachment to Marion did not conflict with his 
 undying compassion for the forsaken com- 
 panion of his youth. And now, again, his 
 blood was spinning with thoughts of that 
 one who had been wrapt these six years in 
 the shroud of death. The flow of the old 
 mood resumed in him, and softly replac- 
 ing the picture in his drawer, he opened 
 the long windows of his room and walked 
 forth silently upon the lawn. 
 
 The wind was blowing through the gar- 
 den, and the rain flew in gusts upon his 
 face. He passed down the walks and entered 
 the dark shrubbery. Here was an interval 
 of silence in the savage night. The little 
 arbour peered through the barren branches, 
 seeming to beg his pity, thus abject to the
 
 A Resurrection 
 > 
 
 desolation of the winds. He could see 
 through the dull panes Dorothea's face pass 
 and repass. Her large eyes beckoned to 
 him. This spot was consecrated with recol- 
 lections, and the horrid winter aspect made 
 him shiver. It appeared to consist with the 
 broken pieces of his life. He recognised 
 now how tragic was the dissolution of the 
 beautiful dream. Inside the house he had 
 taken a warmer prospect ; but here his heart 
 turned cold insensibly. The shrieking in 
 the branches and the driven rain, the rude 
 turmoil of these barbarous elements, par- 
 took of a demonstration against him. Only 
 here, and apart from the public spaces of the 
 garden, lay a little private altar between 
 him and the past. He wondered drearily 
 how he could have married again, wondered 
 with no judgment upon himself, but only 
 with a caressing pity, with tears, with a 
 pathetic sense of isolation. 
 
 He had grown into a very tender mood, 
 312
 
 A Resurrection 
 
 and once indoors again, went direct to his 
 wife's room. In the dim light he could 
 discern her stretched in abandonment upon 
 the bed, and putting out his hand he touched 
 her. 
 
 " Come, dear," he said gently. 
 
 He was very full of kindness, and had the 
 desire to hold her to him, and to comfort 
 her. The roaring rain and the wind accom- 
 panied his feelings. Marion moved convul- 
 sively and gave no answer. 
 
 " Come, dear," he repeated affectionately. 
 
 She broke out weeping, and he gathered 
 her in his arms, hushing her as he would 
 a child upon his knee. He was sure that 
 his heart was buried with Dorothea, and it 
 was his duty to console and soothe this poor 
 girl with fraternal solicitude. Suddenly she 
 sprang from him. 
 
 " No, no," she cried between her sobs; 
 " your arms have been about her ; her head 
 has rested on you. Oh, my God, Frank! 
 313
 
 A Resurrection 
 
 Why didn't you tell me ? Why didn't I 
 realise ? You have given me nothing I 
 only have the remnants. You are divided 
 between me and the dead." 
 
 " No, no, no," he urged softly; "you are 
 overwrought ; you are foolish, Marion. This 
 is being morbid." He would not deny that 
 re-arisen love. It had broken its grave, and 
 come forth, and its arms were about him. 
 
 She clung to him ; she whispered passion- 
 ately in his ear: she pleaded with him to 
 dishonour and annul that old affection so as- 
 sociated with memories. And slowly in the 
 accession of her neighbourhood, and under 
 the warm spell of her arms, the forlorn im- 
 ages which he had entertained in his fancy 
 retreated. Her clasp stirred him ; the grace 
 of her slender body, abandoned to this 
 agony of weeping, shook him; her face, 
 superfluous with tears, invited his hesitant 
 lips. He drew her closer, whispering to her 
 questions. 
 
 314
 
 A Resurrection 
 
 " Yes, yes, you know I love you, dear," 
 he murmured; " and you are first, darling, 
 you are first." 
 
 Before this renunciation that freshly-awak- 
 ened ghost withdrew, reluctant. She was 
 denied her dignity; her attendance was dis- 
 charged. Beneath the earth, where Doro- 
 thea's gracious heart had so long beat to 
 his she must again seek the cold refuge of 
 oblivion. 
 
 Marion put her hands about his neck, and 
 the eyes that looked upon her were alight 
 and shining. 
 
 II 
 
 As the sun struck through his window 
 Gregory set down his pen and looked forth. 
 It was odd, he reflected, that these thoughts 
 pursued him at this particular stage in his 
 life. The remembrance of his first wife had 
 not fallen upon him since his re-marriage, 
 until this trivial accident had provoked it. 
 315
 
 A Resurrection 
 
 And now she returned persistently. He 
 was quite aware that the verses upon which 
 he was engaged were inspired with the sen- 
 timents of that revival. He felt in his se- 
 cret thoughts that it was impossible to for- 
 get. He was still loyal to his dead wife, 
 and it was only in the actual mellay of daily 
 life that the living interfered with her sover- 
 eignty. He hung now between the past and 
 the present, with no embarrassment and with 
 no mental confusion, but merely with alter- 
 nate and comfortable changes of sentiment. 
 Though Marion's nature was infinitely more 
 emotional in reality, his own was wont to 
 be more readily occluded by the drifts and 
 shadows of spectral passions. She, upon 
 her part, was for the time reconciled with 
 her fears. He had confessed that she was 
 first in his heart, and in the glory of that 
 truth she was losing her pain at the knowl- 
 edge that he had ever thought he cared for 
 some one else. 
 
 316
 
 A Resurrection 
 
 " It was before he met me," she repeated 
 to assure herself, " and he has never loved 
 any one but me. . . . Men make mis- 
 takes " she told herself, " and he took pity 
 upon her. . . . With that childish face, of 
 
 course ; " and of a sudden the image of 
 
 the woman that had forestalled her stabbed 
 her like a knife. But in the glow of her re- 
 turning confidence she put the temptation 
 from her heart. And thus Gregory sat in 
 his room composing his tender lyric to the 
 dead, and his wife following her domestic 
 charges about the house smiled at her fool- 
 ish distrust. 
 
 But in truth these various moods were 
 too delicate to endure, and the passionate 
 nature of the woman was as perilous as the 
 sentimental weakness of the man. 
 
 " Sing something, Marion," said Gregory 
 in the evening. 
 
 She started, roused sharply from a tempo- 
 rary doubt that was darkening her thoughts. 
 317
 
 A Resurrection 
 
 " What shall I sing ? " she asked unemo- 
 tionally. 
 
 She wondered dismally if such a request 
 had ever been presented before in that room, 
 and the recurrence of that thought quick- 
 ened her with sudden pain. She glanced 
 at her husband, where he lay sunk within 
 the comfortable arms of his chair, his own 
 gaze vacant and wistful upon the fire. 
 
 ' What is it you want ?" she demanded 
 in a sharper note. 
 
 He started. " Let us have you play 
 Chopin, don't you, Marion ? Play that 
 waltz. You must know it. I think it's 61." 
 
 Marion's hands fell rudely upon the key- 
 board. Like himself she was designed by 
 her own emotions, with little interference of 
 her reason ; but what in him proceeded in 
 weak sentimentality issued from her in loud 
 passion. Her blood was resolutely gather- 
 ing heat, and she was slowly graduating into 
 a frenzy of anger. But Gregory sat by 
 318
 
 A Resurrection 
 
 unconscious, floating upon the music along 
 past reaches of his life. He stirred upon 
 the conclusion, and lifted his chin with a 
 sigh. At that, the woman broke forth on 
 him. 
 
 4< Why do you sigh ?" she cried fiercely, 
 turning swiftly upon her seat and confront- 
 ing him. " What do you mean by treat- 
 ing me like that ? How dare you ? You 
 coward! You're thinking you're thinking 
 I know what you're thinking of. You 
 cannot deny it. I defy you to deny it." 
 
 To his early start of surprise succeeded in 
 Gregory's face a cold disapproval. 
 
 " I do not understand you," he said in a 
 chilling voice. " You are singularly hyster- 
 ical. I cannot pretend to follow you." 
 
 She laughed harshly, and struck the notes 
 in a discord. 
 
 " Don't you ? I have less difficulty in 
 following you," she replied, with suppressed 
 scorn. She played a bar or two. " I will 
 319
 
 A Resurrection 
 
 not be used to recover your memories of the 
 dead." 
 
 A flush sprang in Gregory's cheeks. 
 " What do you mean ? " he asked angrily. 
 
 " You understand quite well," she replied 
 with passionate deliberation, smoothing her 
 cuffs with studied calm. " It was an excel- 
 lent thought to make me fill the place of 
 that that woman. Men must condescend 
 to makeshifts and stopgaps. But now that 
 I know, it is another matter. I have no 
 intention of supporting the memory, or of 
 filling the post of what was her name, by 
 the way ?" she inquired with some exulta- 
 tion. 
 
 Gregory shuddered. He had been hurried 
 into such rude and abrupt emotions. As 
 he considered her, Marion appeared to him 
 at this moment vulgar, clamant, almost as 
 a shrieking shrew with hands to her hips. 
 And he had been roused from a meditation 
 of sorrowful sweetness to confront this. He 
 320
 
 A Resurrection 
 
 had been moving freely among the tender 
 memories of Dorothea, and the music had 
 assisted his mood. This strident outbreak 
 irritated him, and he frowned. 
 
 ' You you drive me beyond endurance," 
 he cried, in a lower voice and with a gesture 
 of despair. 
 
 Marion laughed. " Oh, I daresay," she 
 said, being herself indeed under the stress 
 of feelings that could find no issue in lan- 
 guage. He rose, and the sound distracted 
 her. She clutched him fiercely by the arm. 
 
 " It was true ? " she asked, fixing him with 
 her scornful eyes. 
 
 " What was true ?" he asked, shifting his 
 glance uneasily. 
 
 "You were thinking of why, what was 
 her name ? I ought to have informed myself 
 of that long ago." 
 
 She laughed hysterically. He shook off 
 her hand ; the woman was blatant, and de- 
 served no consideration. 
 21 321
 
 A Resurrection 
 
 " It was true that I was thinking of past 
 episodes in my life which were more pleas- 
 ant than the present," he said slowly, and 
 with the intention 'to hurt her. 
 
 She rose with a cry from her stool, and, 
 with blazing eyes, confronted him a moment. 
 Then, with a swift change, the whole as- 
 pect of her face was struck to despair. She 
 sprang to him. 
 
 "Oh, my God! don't say that, Frank, 
 don't say that. Oh, you will break my 
 heart you are killing me." 
 
 She broke into convulsive sobbing; a 
 great, dull pain throbbed in her side. Me- 
 chanically he patted her. 
 
 " There, there," he said. 
 
 " Don't you see you are killing me ? " she 
 murmured. " Oh, you don't know. You 
 kill me. Oh, my God ! I don't want to hear 
 her name. Say, you lied, you lied. You 
 did not think of her, did you did you, 
 Frank?" 
 
 322
 
 A Resurrection 
 
 The desolation of that clinging figure 
 touched him. 
 
 " No, no," he said soothingly, " no, no, 
 dear. You you are mistaken. But you 
 aggravated me. You " 
 
 " Yes, yes, forgive me," she pleaded. 
 " I know it was only the piece itself affected 
 you. We have both been melancholy to- 
 day. Oh, Frank, Frank !" 
 
 Her arms encircled him ; he was enclosed, 
 as it were, within the greedy emotion of her 
 love. Her face, moist with tears, entreated 
 him with an imperious plea for affection. 
 He bent and kissed her. 
 
 " I think we must not misunderstand each 
 other, Marion," he said. She shifted her 
 face against his with a little shudder. 
 
 " O darling," she sighed, " I am mad, I 
 am mad. Of course I know. But you see, 
 dear, it is this way. Now I know that you 
 care for me, and never cared for her. It's 
 bad enough like that, isn't it, dear Frank ? 
 323
 
 A Resurrection 
 
 But we won't think of that. I am your 
 only love. Men make mistakes ; there are 
 many fancies, but only one thing is real. 
 Isn't that it?" 
 
 " Yes, dear, yes," he murmured tenderly. 
 
 He was engaged in the proximity of her 
 beauty. He felt that he loved her. No 
 shadow of the dead fell across that recon- 
 ciliation. 
 
 4< We will never think of it again," he 
 whispered. 
 
 " Never, never," she murmured tenderly. 
 " We will destroy all traces that might 
 bring bitterness. Come," she cried, start- 
 ing from him impulsively, " let us do so 
 now. ' ' 
 
 "What do you mean, dear?" he asked 
 softly. 
 
 " The the photograph," she answered. 
 " Let us burn all our misunderstandings 
 with it." 
 
 She caught his hand, and the warmth of 
 324
 
 A Resurrection 
 
 her touch stirred him. He followed her 
 from the room into his study. 
 
 Marion opened the drawer and withdrew 
 the picture. She held it averted from 
 her. 
 
 ' Take it, dear, take it," she cried tremu- 
 lously. She thrust it into Gregory's hand, 
 and, still with his clasp in hers, he contem- 
 plated in silence the faded lineaments. A 
 vague sense of pitifulness crept over him. 
 The claims, embodied in that face, arose re- 
 surgent in his heart. Dorothea looked forth 
 on him with the familiar eyes ; but this un- 
 natural conflict were best determined, this 
 memory were best re-laid in its habitual 
 grave. He moved towards the grate. 
 
 ' Throw it in," urged Marion. He stood 
 hesitant, the prey of discordant motives. 
 " Frank! Frank! " she called pitifully. 
 
 With sudden movement of his fingers the 
 card was jerked into the fire, and lay for a 
 second intact upon the bright coal. He 
 325
 
 A Resurrection 
 
 drew a long breath of pain; a sigh came 
 from Marion also. 
 
 'Was she beautiful?" she asked, her 
 hand covering her eyes. 
 
 He paid no heed to her question. Marion 
 lifted her hand and pushed the poker into 
 the coals; the flames leaped and lapped 
 out the discoloured pasteboard. 
 
 'There, dear; see, we are burning our 
 misunderstanding. You are mine; you 
 have always been mine," she cried. 
 
 The stiff board slid forward and presented 
 itself for a moment to Gregory's gaze. A 
 black streak lay like a cruel tongue across 
 the face. 
 
 " Poor girl ! poor girl ! " said Marion. She 
 wrung her hands. " She was nobody what 
 has she to do with you or me? There burns a 
 young friend of yours, Frank a friend only. " 
 
 Suddenly, and with an exclamation of 
 horror, Gregory stooped low and snatched 
 fiercely at the smouldering fragment. 
 326
 
 A Resurrection 
 
 'What you doing? Frank! Frank!" 
 cried his wife in distress. 
 
 " Leave me alone," he said sharply, 
 shaking off her hand. 
 
 "Do not touch it! Dare to touch it!" 
 cried Marion, gasping. 
 
 He turned with the blackened paper in 
 his hand, and his face was torn with emo- 
 tion. She appeared to him like a brutal 
 wanton, a devil that had tempted him to a 
 cruel act. Ah, the pain of that sad, deso- 
 late heart beneath the grass ! 
 
 " I will never forgive you all my life," 
 he broke forth angrily. ' You you are 
 a devil." 
 
 " Why why " she stammered, her 
 
 mind tossing in the drift of her emotions. 
 
 " I loved her," he said furiously; " I 
 loved her, do you hear ? And you you 
 who attracted me by a chance resemblance, 
 you " 
 
 His passionate utterance went no further. 
 327
 
 A Resurrection 
 
 Her face had fallen ashen ; she moistened 
 her lips and then with a little meaning- 
 less motion of her hand, she stroked her 
 hair. 
 
 " Let me go," she murmured, and walked 
 uncertainly to the door. 
 
 The long windows of the dining-room 
 stood open, and the moonlight was in flood 
 upon the garden. Marion walked forth 
 without intelligence of her action. Her 
 dress trailed heavily upon the wet grass, and 
 was snatched and plucked by the briars as 
 she passed. Her brain was a heavy lump 
 within her head ; her heart, faint and tremu- 
 lous, was shot at intervals with ominous 
 pains. The calamity had fallen at the very 
 moment of her triumph. She understood 
 not that when she had merely dreaded she 
 had not really suffered. Now that she real- 
 ised, her frail world broke about her. His 
 words had been a pitiless weapon against 
 her, and she had fled as by instinct to hide 
 328
 
 A Resurrection 
 
 the dishonour of her wounds in private, as 
 some poor hunted creature steals away to 
 die. 
 
 Marion stood near the gateway and looked 
 out across the meadow. It seemed to her 
 now that she had come into this house upon 
 a false pretence ; she had no rights in it. She 
 compared dully her joyous entrance barely 
 six months before, in the full tide of sum- 
 mer, with this ruthless and ignoble expul- 
 sion. Circumferenced with her humiliation 
 she contemplated the ruins of her life with 
 staring, tearless eyes. The dark vault of 
 the night, scattered with stars and spread with 
 moonlight, shone blue and clear above her. 
 The earth under the white frost glittered 
 and glowed with a cold radiance. The moon 
 struck the face of the world to silver; the 
 illumination of her sorrow lay around her. 
 Marion's eyes travelled over the great 
 meadow to the verge of the uplands, and to 
 them appeared in that far distance Greg- 
 329
 
 A Resurrection 
 
 ory's slight and elegant figure, with its loi- 
 tering gait ; she saw him raise his head ; the 
 pale face with its odd fleck of colour in either 
 cheek, smiled upon her. ' He opened his 
 arms. . . . The meadow waved with wheat, 
 but the same moonlight visited that opulent 
 field of gold as shone upon this white and 
 arid stretch before her. She could not dis- 
 cern between these rival pictures, the cold 
 purview, this pitiless outcast, and the clang- 
 ing gates that opened on her Paradise that 
 warm summer evening. She clung to the 
 palings of the fence, her body taut, her vi- 
 sion straining to resume that sweet inveterate 
 fancy. A physical pain dwelt persistently 
 in her side. 
 
 The phantasmagoria dissolved into the 
 inhospitable winds of night. She clapped 
 her hands to her face and cried aloud. The 
 agony of that irreclaimable remembrance 
 mocked her. She left the gates and walked 
 wearily through the copse. The bare, dis- 
 330
 
 A Resurrection 
 
 paraged trees crowded upon her like curious, 
 pitiful strangers, receiving her to a commu- 
 nity of desolation. 
 
 " But they will awake," she cried. " The 
 spring will bring them to life." 
 
 She sank upon her knees in the vacant 
 summer-house. She realised now that what 
 she had intended was impossible. She could 
 not leave him ; she dared not forego the 
 sight of that false face. Poor, passionate 
 heart ! 
 
 " I am a coward," she thought, weeping. 
 His eyes had encountered other eyes in 
 affection ; other lips had touched his lips 
 with thrills of happiness. And she inher- 
 ited but the shadow of a loyal love ; it was 
 with the rags of that strong passion that she 
 was invested. It was hard that she should 
 be the victim of that great fidelity. . . . 
 Suddenly a great pain stung fiercely at her 
 heart. 
 
 His outbreak left Gregory with a slight
 
 A Resurrection 
 
 feeling of remorse, instinctive with a gentle 
 nature. That stricken face made him un- 
 easy, and he turned at once to comfort him- 
 self for his cruelty. 
 
 " It was diabolical to make me do that," 
 he argued, and in an instant the appeal of 
 that burned and charred fragment diverted 
 his pity. But most of all it was himself 
 that he commiserated. He had compassion 
 upon himself when he remembered how 
 Dorothea would have winced under this 
 shame. He had denied her, and must carry 
 a heavy load of guilt upon his sacrilegious 
 soul. He offered himself to the enjoyment 
 of sorrow. The grave had not held its ten- 
 ant; the disembodied ghost stole silently 
 along the familiar corridors with a new face 
 of reproach. Her features were marked 
 with agony ; he had invoked her from obliv- 
 ion to discrown and disown her. The ruins 
 of that picture made his heart ache. Her 
 radiant flesh was scarred and whealed with 
 332
 
 A Resurrection 
 
 his handiwork; it was as though he had 
 struck her in her patience and her resigna- 
 tion. She had asked but a private corner 
 of his heart, and he had refused her with 
 contumely. He wept upon that dead de- 
 spoiled face. The memories of that young 
 love were bright and persistent. They dis- 
 suaded him from his constancy to the pres- 
 ent. Now he thought upon it, every act and 
 issue of his late life revolted him in his in- 
 fidelity to Dorothea. Her voice sounded 
 low and musical in the room ; her hands 
 turned the pages of her favourite volume. 
 She sat against the fire and watched him 
 with a sigh, unobtrusive, silent, a voiceless, 
 motionless reproach. Gregory rose and 
 thrust aside the curtains. Across the lawn 
 she seemed to move in her cerements as 
 she had moved six years ago, but now with 
 a saddened step and downcast eyes. She 
 paused by her rose-bush; she lingered in 
 reluctance on her way. Opening the win- 
 333
 
 A Resurrection 
 
 dow he followed, in the unconscious pursuit 
 of his melancholy fancy. 
 
 There, below the hollies, she might now 
 be preceding him, as she had walked a thou- 
 sand times in life. He entered the copse, 
 and could imagine that she stopped and 
 beckoned to him. His eyes fell upon the 
 arbour. Surely it was thither that she 
 would have him go, to commune there to- 
 gether as they had done so many summer 
 evenings long ago. As he approached the 
 summer-house a flash of wonder turned his 
 heart to stone and then set it beating hard. 
 From the high regions of his soaring fancy 
 he fell suddenly to fact. He sprang forward 
 with a cry of bewilderment; for Dorothea's 
 face, white and immobile, peered through 
 the dim and grimy panes at him. He pushed 
 aside the ivy, trembling, and stood star- 
 ing through the entrance. . . . Was it 
 Dorothea's ? . . . 
 
 Upon that new grave he might now rear 
 
 334
 
 A Resurrection 
 
 a second temple to the dead, and from her 
 quiet place among the shadows she too 
 might now steal forth to revisit his melan- 
 choly dreams. 
 
 335
 
 AT THE FIRST CORNER 
 
 BY H. B. MARRIOTT WATSON 
 
 41 We willingly bear witness to Mr. Watson's brilliance, versa- 
 tility, and literary power. 'An Ordeal of Three ' is a fancy that is 
 full of beauty and delicate charm. When, again, Mr. Watson 
 deals with the merely sordid and real side of East-end London he 
 justifies his choice by a certain convincing realism which is never 
 dull, and which is always inevitably true." Pall Mall Gazette. 
 
 " A collection of nine stories admirably told by a master who has 
 been much copied but never equalled. Mr. Marriott Watson has 
 all the qualities of strength, imagination, and style, combined with 
 a very complete sense of proportion." Vanity Fair. 
 
 44 Mr. Marriott Watson can write, and in these new stories he 
 shows, more manifestly than in any previous work, his capacity for 
 dramatic realisation. 'An Ordeal of Three ' has no* only strength 
 but charm." Daily Chronicle. 
 
 " Admirably conceived and brilliantly finished ; the book will be 
 read." Saturday Review. 
 
 " Knowledge of life, literary cleverness, charm, and above all, 
 style, are present all through. One cannot dip into his volume 
 without being taken captive and reading every story." Realm. 
 
 41 Remarkable for diversity of subject and distinction of style. 
 Every page of this charming volume is original." 
 
 Black and White. 
 
 44 Mr. Watson can tell a story in a terse, vigorous, and thrilling 
 manner." Westminster Gazette. 
 
 "Contains the best work he has yet done. Uncommonly well 
 written." Sketch. 
 
 44 There is undeniable power in the volume of stories, 'At the 
 First Corner,' and there is something very like the fire of genius 
 behind this power. The style is terse, vivid, and imaginative." 
 
 Guardian. 
 
 41 Exceedingly well written. There is no denying Mr. Marriott 
 Watson's strength and delicacy of style." Queen. 
 
 " There is an impressive ' grip ' in Mr. Watson's narrative from 
 which the reader cannot easily escape." Whitehall Review.
 
 GALLOPING DICK 
 
 Being Episodes in the Life of Richard Ryder, sometime 
 Gentleman of the Road. 
 
 BY H. B. MARRIOTT WATSON 
 
 " We have no hesitation in speaking of ' Galloping Dick ' as a 
 distinct creation, as a new and wonderfully novel addition to that 
 select band of living individualities to which books are now the 
 only access." Saturday Review. 
 
 "The book ennobles the literature of the highwayman. Dick 
 Ryder is perhaps the most delightful rascal of the road to be found 
 in the fiction that treats of his kind." Dundee Advertiser. 
 
 "Men and women may read it with an assured anticipation of 
 enjoyment." Daily Chronicle. 
 
 " He is an artist consummate and supreme . . . The dialogue 
 which runs between them, the nicely-balanced sally and repartee, 
 the subtly-builded sentences, the proper arrangement of epithets, 
 the quaint affectation of the style and through all the fine flavour 
 and exhalations of the eighteenth century, are such that no lover 
 of literature can afford to miss." Pall Mall Gazette. 
 
 " A magnificent example of the picaresque novel, which is like to 
 become the vogue once more. Dash and humour carry you from 
 page to page and you are not disappointed from first to last. It is 
 a triumph of writing." Black and White. 
 
 " It is said that good wine needs no bush ; certainly ' Galloping 
 Dick ' does not stand in much need of anyone's recommendation. 
 
 Literary World. 
 
 " He is a most delightful cut-throat. We are sorry indeed to part 
 company with him, and should rejoice if he should at any future 
 time feel disposed to make a reappearance on the highway of 
 literature." Sunday Times. 
 
 "We have an always attractive theme worked up in an unpre- 
 tentious but thoroughly effective style." Daily Telegraph. 
 
 " It is extraordinarily good. In a series of episodes, each of 
 which is complete in itself, it relates the amazing adventures of a 
 gentleman of the road." Westminster Gazette. 
 
 " The author paints with many bold and characteristic touches 
 the loose morals, the wit, and unblushing speech of the men and 
 women of these audacious times." Daily Nevus. 
 
 " He is a gay rascal and for our introduction to him on his way 
 to the gallows we owe Mr. Watson our hearty thanks." Bookman. 
 
 JOHN LANE, LONDON AND NEW YORK
 
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