m
 
 Q ^ 
 O -w
 
 The Forerunner 
 
 $1.50 
 
 The\ Folly of 
 Others 
 
 Illustrated, $1.00
 
 THE ETERNAL SPRING
 
 ' You are exactly like a Lippo Lippi Madonna how won- 
 derful!"'
 
 THE 
 
 ETERNAL 
 SPRING 
 
 A Novel 
 
 Author of 
 "The Forerunner," "The Folly of Others," Etc. 
 
 Illustrations by Blendon Campbell 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 FOX DUFFIELD & COMPANY 
 
 1906
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1906, BY 
 Fox, DUFFIELD & COMPANY 
 
 Published January, 1906
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 PART I 
 
 La Fontaneila 
 
 PART II 
 
 The Hills
 
 ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 ' ' * You are exactly like a Lippo Lippi Ma- 
 donna how wonderful! ' FRONTISPIECE 
 
 FACING PAGE 
 
 " Elizabeth suddenly bent down and plunged 
 her hands into the wafer" j6 
 
 " Clara stood by the piano, looking over a 
 heap of loose music " 2OO 
 
 " Glancing back, he saw her waver ana sink 
 down again upon the rock," 318 
 
 " She walked about in the dimmer atmos- 
 phere of the room, and he heard her sigh 
 heavily" 376 
 
 ; 'Do you think we're too happy ?' she 
 asked after a moment in a hush :d voice" 400
 
 THE ETERNAL SPRING 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 CARLETON found her, as he had expected, 
 at the Stazione Centrale, standing on the 
 platform, a little out of the crowd, waiting 
 for him to come to her. He saw her first; saw her 
 bright, veiled, eager look as she glanced over the 
 incoming passengers, saw her start toward him and 
 smile. 
 
 "It's really you?" she said in a breathlessly 
 quiet tone, and the smile flickered on her mouth, 
 which was never two moments the same. 
 
 As the best answer, Carleton held her hand and 
 looked at her. His deep-set blue eyes glowed with 
 pleasure. Apparently he was willing to stand just 
 there, holding her hand and looking at her, indefi- 
 nitely. Mrs. Craven made the move; and, the 
 matter of baggage having been disposed of, took 
 him out to her carriage. Damiano, the old coach-
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 man with the humorous Irish face, had a smil- 
 ing salute of recognition for him. And as the 
 victoria rolled on into the mesh of narrow stone 
 lanes which are Florentine streets, it carried Carle- 
 ton into a labyrinth of pleasant memories a flash 
 here, an enchanting glimpse there; the city her- 
 self seemed to salute him with smiling remem- 
 brance. 
 
 His Florentine past, in which Elizabeth Craven 
 was so much concerned, revived in silence rather 
 than in speech. After the first few words there 
 was a pause. Mrs. Craven, leaning a little away 
 from him in her corner of the seat, watched him in 
 the silence that implied that past. She was giving 
 him time for his impression. She waited for him 
 to speak. And this struck Carleton at once as an 
 unexpected change that the five years had made in 
 her. But she, too, was noting changes. Each of 
 them, after the first welcome to the known, was 
 taking account of the unknown. 
 
 " At last ! " Carleton said with a quick sigh. 
 
 He was looking at her as he spoke ; but beyond 
 her he saw also the Duomo and the Tower, set flat 
 there on the city pavement, in that casual, uncon- 
 
 4
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 cerned way that had always been half their beauty 
 to him and his words were partly for them and 
 all they represented. 
 
 " Yes, it was time," she said, smiling tremu- 
 lously. " How old we have grown ! " 
 
 " * We ? ' No, not you. How could you grow 
 old? But I have been through the mill. I have 
 been ground to powder. Don't you keep Medea's 
 caldron somewhere in your hills? Can't I be put 
 in overnight and boiled young again? " 
 
 " We'll see what we can do for you," murmured 
 Mrs. Craven, studying him. " Yes, you've been 
 through the mill. That horrible America ! To 
 devour you whole in five years ! " 
 
 Carleton took off his hat, to reveal the extent of 
 the devastation. 
 
 "Yes, actually you are, a little!" she sighed. 
 " And see my grey hairs." 
 
 Carleton shook his head. There were a few in 
 her red-brown tresses her main beauty but, as 
 she knew well enough, they were invisible from his 
 distance. She mentioned them, as she had dis- 
 dained the illusion of a veil; the print of time was 
 certain to be discovered, and she meant to start 
 
 5
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 fair, with nothing to be scored up later. She wore, 
 however, a drooping lace hat, and the time was 
 after seven in the evening. In the old, crowded 
 streets, through which Damiano drove rapidly, 
 with a superb disregard of scurrying foot-passen- 
 gers, it was already twilight; when they came out 
 into the newer quarter, and then beyond the walls 
 into the country, the air was warm, and golden, 
 and kind. 
 
 Carleton looked about him with delight. 
 
 " It is just the same," he said. " At least, if 
 there are changes I don't see them, don't wish to 
 see them. Essentially there can't be any change. 
 That's what I've counted on in coming back 
 something complete, finished, perfect rest for 
 one's soul, and ' quiet breathing.' It's * the Last 
 Refuge,' " he quoted, laughing. 
 
 " Ah, how you have grown old ! You were not 
 looking for a last refuge when you were here 
 before!" 
 
 " I meant to come back here. It's true I meant 
 to come sooner than I have done and not quite 
 such a wreck. But once caught in the machinery 
 
 over there " 
 
 6
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 " Oh, I know. But who would have thought you 
 ambitious capable of being caught ! " 
 
 "Ambitious I never was. Being caught is a 
 matter of surplus energy and the opinion of the 
 community. You're too little of an American now 
 to understand. And I want to forget that I ever 
 understood it. I've lost not only my surplus 
 energy, but all except barely enough to keep me 
 together. I'm an empty shell that the sea has cast 
 at your feet! " 
 
 " Then I'll keep you for the sake of the interest- 
 ing creature that once abode in you and for old 
 times' sake," said Mrs. Craven. 
 
 Her eyes gold-brown, wide-spaced, and water- 
 clear seemed still not to have finished their sur- 
 vey. They were expressive eyes, and they showed 
 concern that was almost alarm, as in the brighter 
 light she saw the faded pallor of Carleton's brown 
 face, and his lankness. His clothes hung on his big 
 frame with a suggestion of nothing much but bones 
 under them. And the sub-structure of his face, 
 always very evident, was now painfully so, in 
 cheek-bones and jaw, and about his eyes. He 
 seemed to have got down to the absolute essentials 
 
 7
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 of physical being. But these essentials had a good 
 deal of body, and looked durable. He looked like 
 an over-trained athlete powerful and useless. 
 All his remaining vitality seemed concentrated in 
 his eyes, of a peculiarly vivid colour and intensity., 
 
 " You didn't tell me you were ill ! " 
 
 " I'm not but only promised to be, if I kept 
 on in harness. They promised me nervous pros- 
 tration. I pretended to think I had it, anyway, 
 and pulled out. I really am rather useless. It isn't 
 treating you very well, I know. Perhaps I ought 
 to have warned you " 
 
 " Oh," she murmured, her eyes and hands busy 
 with a small parasol, which she half-raised and then 
 put down again. 
 
 Carleton understood her. The nervous gesture, 
 the sudden plaintive compression of her lips, were 
 like her old self. They meant that the sensitive 
 and self-distrustful creature had been hurt, and he 
 knew how. But he looked at her quietly. There 
 would be time enough to explain himself. 
 
 ' There's one thing that might have been differ- 
 ent," she said with a little effort. " There are 
 some people at the house." 
 
 8
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 " Oh, of course there always would be ! " 
 Carleton smiled. 
 
 " But they are here for a long visit as long as 
 I stay till it gets hot. They are relatives of Mr. 
 Craven." 
 
 " Oh, relatives " 
 
 " It isn't as bad as it sounds, though. They are 
 very, very distant cousins I suppose you'd hardly 
 count the relationship at all; but, you see, they are 
 Southerners that is, the family. However, they 
 needn't bother you in the least. They're quite civil- 
 ised oh, you'll see ! " She broke off and laughed. 
 
 " Whether I shall bother them is the question. 
 I'm afraid I can't pretend to any ' life-enhancing ' 
 qualities at present if I ever had them." 
 
 They smiled at the old, familiar phrase. 
 
 " Ah, we shall get on," said Mrs. Craven. " If 
 you don't like one another, the place is big enough. 
 Only if I'd known earlier that you were coming 
 I wouldn't have asked them." 
 
 " You haven't said who or what ' they ' are." 
 
 ' They ' are Mrs. Langham and her daughter. 
 I am very fond of the girl. They've lived about 
 over here for many years in fact, since Clara was 
 
 9
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 a baby. But I never saw them till lately, for there 
 was a family quarrel between Mrs. Langham 
 and Mr. Craven." 
 
 It was the second time Elizabeth had spoken her 
 husband's name; but Carleton found it as difficult 
 to speak of him or of her widowhood as it had 
 been to write to her, two years ago, the letter that 
 could not be exactly condolence. He had written 
 the letter, but with the same feeling of awkward- 
 ness that now hindered his speech. 
 
 " You have had much to go through in these 
 last years," he said, after a pause. " Mr. Craven's 
 illness " 
 
 " Yes," said Elizabeth briefly. " And I've been 
 lonely. . . . But we won't talk of that 
 
 now." 
 
 Elizabeth was sincere, and conventional. She 
 wouldn't say that she regretted the death of her 
 husband nor that she did not regret it. 
 
 It struck Carleton suddenly that she was dressed 
 in what he had heard ladies call half-mourning a 
 long, pale-grey coat and dress, with black for the 
 only relief. She had been fond of colours, rather 
 gay and coquettish in attire. The coquetry, in 
 
 10
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 fact, remained. He had noticed her high-heeled, 
 small grey shoes; the long, soft gloves, wrink- 
 ling up into the loose sleeves of her wrap; a 
 faint foreign breath of violets. She was pictur- 
 esque, as she had always been, and she had, some- 
 how, more style, of her very feminine sort. He 
 wondered, though, if she could be still wearing 
 mourning for James Craven. Or was it, perhaps, 
 that she began to feel the shadow of years? Decid- 
 edly she was older she was within sight of the 
 fatal fortieth. 
 
 Their drive was nearly at an end. The horses 
 were taking the long hill slowly. The stony road 
 wound between high grey walls, within which, as 
 Carleton could see, looking down on the lower 
 slopes, blue-green wheat stood in long billows, 
 spotted with scarlet poppies. Their sky-line above 
 was now a ridge of nodding grass and flowers, now 
 a wall running over with flowering vines, now a 
 row of grey-green olives. They had left the noisy 
 tram behind, and all other evidences of the modern 
 order. The villa-gates that they passed were old; 
 the walls were immemorially old. The olive trees 
 had a look of the wisdom of ages. Even the wav- 
 
 ii
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 ing wheat and the flowers, with all their freshness 
 of spring, suggested all the other springs that had 
 flowered there, within these same stone boundaries, 
 out of the historic soil. Halfway up the hill they 
 came to the gateway of La Fontanella. At one 
 side of the open gate stood a splendid peasant-boy, 
 new to Carleton, but smiling a welcome. 
 
 " The gardener," said Mrs. Craven. " And you 
 remember Roberto? There he is. He and this 
 one," pointing to the coachman, " are the only old 
 ones left." 
 
 The carriage rolled in and stopped before the 
 open hall-doors. Carleton had an effusive greeting 
 from Roberto, the moustachioed butler. And he 
 lingered a moment in the doorway, casting a look 
 of recognition round the little domain of La Fon- 
 tanella the wall of the garden, the tiny chapel, 
 the terrace with its boundary line of great cypresses 
 from which one looked down on Florence in its 
 valley. The buff stucco front of the house made 
 the fourth side of the enclosure. Nothing had 
 been changed, outside or in, so far as Carleton 
 could see. The broad, long hall, inviting as of old, 
 still boasted the primitive pictures, part of Cra- 
 
 12
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 yen's collection of twenty years. Its narrow 
 benches with embroidered cushions, its bowls of 
 flowers, even, stood in the same places. Carleton 
 glanced down on the table in the niche by the stairs, 
 half expecting to see Craven's gloves and hat 
 the broad-leafed hat which had set off the old 
 man's tossed silver hair, and with the Roman cloak 
 wrapping his wiry frame, had made him so pic- 
 turesque a figure, pacing the antique garden or the 
 terrace. For the moment that figure was very 
 present to Carleton the keen old face, the pierc- 
 ing eyes and close-pressed mouth the chill of age, 
 wise without geniality. . . . 
 
 " Dinner is at eight," said Elizabeth. " We 
 shall be rather late, so come down just as you are, 
 will you ? " 
 
 She took him to the door of his old rooms, and 
 laid her hand on his arm in friendly fashion. " It's 
 so awfully jolly to see you again ! " was her parting 
 word. 
 
 Jolly? Well, perhaps, in the sense of her Eng- 
 lish slang. In that sense the house itself was jolly 
 the view, Carleton's bedroom, with its grey plas- 
 ter walls and immense pieces of furniture of black 
 
 13
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 Italian walnut. But jollity, in its strict meaning, 
 was hardly to him the note of this meeting. 
 
 It was still light enough to dispense with 
 lamp and candles as he made his abbreviated toilet. 
 From the dressing-room he went into the sitting- 
 room, where he had once spent a good many hours 
 trying to write a Borrowesque novel. Here there 
 were a few alterations. The hangings were a dif- 
 ferent colour a dull crimson brocade, some new 
 treasure. There was a desk of French marquetry 
 which had formerly been in Elizabeth's own room. 
 There were some shelves of books. Probably, he 
 thought, she had been using these rooms herself. 
 On the table there was a great bowl of the jasmine 
 he liked, and a, few pale roses. And on the wall 
 near the door a gleam of gold caught his eye. It 
 was a tiny picture, on the background of which 
 only a few lines of colour remained the brow, 
 cheek, and lips of a Madonna. Carleton remem- 
 bered that picture it had hung in Craven's bed- 
 room. And he remembered clearly the buying of 
 the picture. It had been brought to the door under 
 the arm of one of the many Italians who knew 
 Craven as a collector. On the terrace out there it 
 
 14
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 had been studied and discussed. And Craven had 
 bought it, under Elizabeth's protest at the price, 
 Carleton sitting by, an amused listener. Why had 
 Elizabeth hung the picture here? Had she come 
 to care for it, or was it for him ? 
 
 A velvety footstep and discreet knock inter- 
 rupted his musings. 
 
 " Avanti," he called. 
 
 Roberto's high-pitched voice responded in the 
 old-fashioned Italian phrase which intimated that 
 if by chance the Signer were pleased to permit, 
 dinner might be considered ready in the salotto.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 CARLETON was a little dazzled by the 
 company in which he found himself. It 
 consisted simply of the two house-guests, 
 Elizabeth's relatives, and a young Italian, Dr. 
 Morelli; but the feminine part of it reminded the 
 newcomer of a favourite fresco, Orcagna's " Para- 
 diso." They were three as charming women, he 
 thought, as it had ever been his fortune to see. 
 And yet charming was not exactly the word cer- 
 tainly not the word for Mrs. Langham. Carleton 
 felt that Elizabeth might have prepared him a 
 little unless, indeed, she for some reason wanted 
 him to be dazed. 
 
 This carelessly-mentioned cousin was unmistak- 
 ably a very great beauty a beauty on really an 
 heroic scale. She must be famous; it argued noth- 
 ing that he had never heard of her. She had the 
 air of a famous person; she was as calmly self- 
 conscious as a festal illumination. She was very 
 wonderfully dressed too much so for the occa- 
 
 16
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 sion, except that probably she was never seen other- 
 wise. She would always think of herself rather 
 than of the occasion, and, like a royal person, 
 could not properly appear without a certain 
 amount of state; thus Carleton summed up his 
 first impression. 
 
 It was a gorgeous type broad in line, and full 
 of dark colour. Carleton had seen its like among 
 pure-blooded Tuscans. She had masses of black 
 hair, artificially rippled, black eyes under splen- 
 didly arched brows, a sensuous red mouth, a throat 
 like a column. She was either very slightly or very 
 cleverly made up, and her hands and wrists were 
 heavily jewelled. 
 
 She was absorbed in a rapid conversation in 
 French with Morelli, which continued for some 
 time after they sat down at table. Miss Langham 
 sat between her mother and Carleton, and seemed 
 very willing to listen on either side. Elizabeth 
 was asking questions about America, some people 
 whom Carleton had lately seen, and other things 
 in which, he felt, the girl on his right could not be 
 interested. But she was listening, nevertheless, 
 and presently Elizabeth said:
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 " Get Mr. Carleton to tell you about Chicago, 
 Clara. Chicago is in the middle of America. 
 America means to Clara," she explained, " just a 
 great flat stretch of country from which come dol- 
 lars and tourists. I shall take her over when 
 I go." 
 
 Clara smiled. 
 
 " Oh, I am going! Just to make sure that I am 
 as well off as possible here. Sometimes when my 
 landlord is unpleasant, or the servants rob me too 
 much, or people get too dull, I've almost got down 
 to take my passage. But somehow " 
 
 " Oh, somehow! " said Miss Langham. 
 
 " Take me as a fair sample of America," sug- 
 gested Carleton. " I assure you that I bring the 
 real breath of the prairies I am absolutely typi- 
 cal. Let me save you the journey. And take my 
 word for it, you are well off here. I've been think- 
 ing of my favourite picture of ' Paradise,' down in 
 Florence." 
 
 "Not Fra Angelico? No, no; ours isn't that 
 sort of a Paradise ! But such as it is, you have the 
 freedom of the place. I'll be Saint Peter and hand 
 over the key to you. Perhaps we might make you 
 
 18
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 keeper of the gate if you'll promise to keep out 
 all bores." 
 
 " Don't give me anything to do just yet," begged 
 Carleton. " Much less anything so difficult. Re- 
 member, I had a strenuous life of it on earth. Let 
 me have a flowery bed of ease I've earned it. 
 They've put on my tombstone, ' He lived in Chi- 
 cago.' " 
 
 " You can't very well go back, then." 
 
 " I haven't the remotest intention of going back. 
 Why should I go back? I am going to look at 
 fifteenth-century pictures for the rest of my life." 
 
 " And what becomes, then, of your newspaper, 
 of your Municipal League, and the rest of it " 
 
 Carleton implied utter rejection. 
 
 " Don't ask a freed spirit what becomes of his 
 earthly trammels. I had already forgotten them." 
 
 " But, good heavens ! what shall we do with 
 you? It's very well to talk; but, after all, you'll 
 have to have some occupation. Everybody has, 
 you know, even here. I'm a housewife, Clara has 
 her music, Dr. Morelli is the busiest man in Flor- 
 ence, and Mrs. Langham well, she is bored 
 because there isn't enough to do." 
 
 19
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 tf ' Let me find occupation for myself, then, if I 
 must. And for choice, let me look on at the rest 
 of you. I shan't want any other distraction at 
 present." 
 
 This speech was sincere and literal. Carleton's 
 eye was so abundantly interested and satisfied in 
 the immediate spectacle that he cared for nothing 
 else, not even to talk; all the more as he was 
 extremely tired. Weariness, mental and physical, 
 had been his main sensation for many months. 
 The long sea-voyage, the plunge into this sweet, 
 relaxing air, had served so far only to make him 
 conscious that he was tired to death. But there 
 was still life enough in him to respond to the 
 beauty about him, as the warmth of his eyes 
 showed. 
 
 The room itself was beautiful in the soft light 
 of candles and Venetian lamps; its ground-colour 
 of greenish-grey, its old furniture a ruddy brown, 
 covered with leather, embossed with great gilt nail- 
 heads. On one buffet, deep-blue dishes stood 
 against the green wall. The mounting steps of 
 another held Venice glass in bubble-like shapes. 
 There were pictures one opposite Carleton a 
 
 20
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 Madonna in dark-blue robe, in a gold heaven. 
 Behind him the windows were open on a balcony 
 which overlooked the dark garden. The fall of 
 the little fountain that gave its name to the villa, 
 the interrupted song of a nightingale in the 
 cypresses, were the only sounds without; within, 
 voices were subdued. Roberto, in white gloves, 
 with moustachios curling into his eyes, circled the 
 table noiselessly; his falsetto whisper offered 
 Carleton white wine or red. 
 
 Carleton's eyes came back gratefully to Eliza- 
 . beth. All this quiet sweetness was hers, and 
 through her, for the time being, his. The dura- 
 tion of his possession depended, he knew, on him- 
 self alone. He owed much to her affection in the 
 past; he might, if he would, contract the great 
 debt of all. 
 
 She was looking very pretty, her fair colouring 
 lit up by a festal glow of pleasure. She wore a 
 pale-grey dress, and a necklace of old Italian silver 
 and small emeralds. Her face showed quick- 
 flashing spirit, and, above all, eagerness. She had 
 always been eager, often aigre, in the intensity of 
 her unsatisfaction, of her craving for something 
 
 21
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 that she had not. Now, it seemed to him, she was 
 softened, more subdued in speech and manner, 
 more graceful. 
 
 If he studied her, the other three people at the 
 table did so, too; Mrs. Langham with an occa- 
 sional frank stare across the flower-bowls, Morelli 
 with swift glances, Clara more unobtrusively still. 
 They saw some change in her, or perhaps they 
 were curious to find some. 
 
 Mrs. Langham, at Elizabeth's mention of her, 
 looked enquiringly at Carleton and broke in on 
 Morelli's fluent undertone. 
 
 "What are you saying about me? " she asked 
 languidly. 
 
 " Only that you are bored and that there is 
 nothing to do here," said Elizabeth. " It's true, 
 isn't it?" 
 
 " Oh no. There is plenty to do, only I am 
 such a stupid person, I have no abilities. All you 
 others find enough to do. But I'm not bored no. 
 Interesting people are always happening along." 
 This in an indolent voice, with a speculative glance 
 at Carleton. 
 
 " We have a colony out here, but Mrs. Lang- 
 22
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 ham doesn't like little neighbourhood dinners, and 
 tea, and scandal. And we have some celebrities, 
 too, but she doesn't like them. There our resources 
 end except that occasionally we can gather in 
 some stranger like yourself." 
 
 " Unlike myself, I hope, if it's a question of 
 interest," murmured Carleton. " I'm quite aware 
 that my strangeness is my only claim." 
 
 " Oh, well, that won't last long," said Mrs. 
 Langham. " They will know all about you in a 
 week. That's why I don't like neighbourhoods." 
 
 She did not belong in one, assuredly; in any 
 provincial or parochial nook. So thought Carle- 
 ton, and instantly questioned his impression. 
 Where did she belong? On a stage of some sort, 
 evidently. She had an air of the world, yet not of 
 any definite " great world." She might be in a 
 way a hanger-on ; or she might be a mere stray on 
 the surface, acquainted with many strange coasts 
 and currents, but not related to any. In Eliza- 
 beth's phrase, she had been " living about over 
 here." In that case, she had hardly made the most 
 of herself, if what she wanted was a stage. Her 
 beauty, he judged, was not matched by intelligence. 
 
 23
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 She looked hard, too. But what a splendid figure 
 to make the centre of a room ! 
 
 The dinner was nearly over, when Carleton 
 became aware that as yet Miss Langham had 
 addressed no remark directly to him, nor had he 
 spoken to her. It was not that she seemed out of 
 it; or if she were, it was by her own will. She 
 seemed to find sufficient interest in listening and 
 observing; she was by far the most impersonal 
 person of the five. As she sat beside Carleton, 
 and much of the time her head was turned away 
 from him, her looks were vaguer to him than the 
 others. But he perceived a profile dark hair, 
 like the mother's, but unrippled, a slender figure 
 dressed in white, beautiful hands, long and deli- 
 cate, yet strong. Her voice was soft and rather 
 hesitating, with a veiled quality it was like the 
 English voice as he had known it in some sensitive 
 and ultra-nervous people. 
 
 Next he noticed the line of her head, from the 
 brow to the coil at the nape of her neck; the poise 
 of the head, the delicate outline of her shoulders, 
 the long line from the chin to the base of the 
 throat. Her profile was that of a Lippo Lippi 
 
 24
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 " Madonna " ; and when she again turned toward 
 him he saw that she really carried out in a marvel- 
 lous degree that same type the rounded fore- 
 head, the thin, arched eyebrows, the eyes half- 
 covered by drooping lids, the full and pensive 
 mouth. 
 
 He looked from her to her mother, and won- 
 dered. The girl, he thought, was about twenty 
 perhaps two or three years older. Mrs. Langham 
 seemed not older than thirty-five or six. Their 
 absolute unlikeness was as much of a puzzle. In 
 combination they were bewildering and then 
 there was Elizabeth for another distraction. 
 Carleton felt moved to echo the youthful shout in 
 Figaro: " O les femmes et les fillesf les filles et 
 les femmes! " 
 
 Morelli, he found, when Elizabeth finally by a 
 question shifted the talk round, spoke excellent 
 English, and seemed to have a keen curiosity about 
 things American. Carleton at first thought him 
 merely polite and fluent; but as they followed the 
 ladies upstairs into the library he asked a rapid 
 series of questions which indicated a personal inter- 
 est in American ways of living. Particularly he 
 
 25
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 wanted to know about Chicago, never, he said, 
 having met any person from there before. 
 
 " Have you been in London? " enquired Carle- 
 ton. 
 
 11 Oh, yes." 
 
 " Well, perhaps that won't help you much. 
 Anyhow, imagine a lot of enormous, ugly build- 
 ings dumped down on a prairie, with mud under- 
 foot, smoke overhead, and everything between 
 filled with soot that's Chicago, outside. Inside, 
 it's an aggregation of about two million more or 
 less interesting and lawless citizens. Does it sound 
 attractive ? " 
 
 " I should like to see it," said Morelli. " I 
 should like to see all America to see ' how you 
 do it,' as you say. Truly, I should like to go and 
 do likewise." 
 
 " In what way?" 
 
 " Oh, in my own way, too, doubtless. What I 
 admire is the big things you do. If I could be two 
 people, I should be first what I am, and next 
 an American millionaire, ' self-made,' as you 
 say." 
 
 " Even if, to ' make ' yourself, you had to slave 
 26
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 fourteen hours a day for years, in a noisy, dirty 
 hole of a city? " 
 
 " Oh, work is nothing," remarked Morelli. " I 
 work fourteen hours a day as it is." 
 
 Mrs. Langham had established herself on a 
 brocaded sofa, whose dull peacock-blues and gold 
 made an ample background for her. Clara sat 
 down beside a small table, on which presently 
 Roberto put the coffee-tray. Morelli's eyes fol- 
 lowed Clara, and rested on her; and now he went 
 to take the cup from her hand for Mrs. Langham. 
 Then she gave him one for himself, dropping four 
 lumps of sugar into it, with a smile, not up at him, 
 but apparently for herself. 
 
 Carleton did not drink coffee at night, under 
 penalty of sleeplessness; but he went to get a cup 
 from Miss Langham, and stood near her. Eliza- 
 beth lighted a cigarette and sat down at her 
 writing-table. There were three little notebooks 
 in a neat pile, just placed there by Roberto. She 
 glanced over a few pages in each, added up some 
 figures, made a few corrections; then took a sheet 
 of paper and wrote, in her even, precise script, 
 pausing now and then and glancing over her shoul- 
 
 27
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 der at the group near the chimney-piece. Carle- 
 ton watched her; the procedure was familiar. She 
 was inspecting the accounts of the day, and making 
 out the menu for the morrow. She did it easily 
 and quickly; then rang for Roberto, gave him the 
 books and paper, and apparently got rid then and 
 there of housekeeping cares. In all the time he 
 had stayed in the house before, Carleton had never 
 seen more than this of the operating machinery. 
 With apparently no more oversight than this, it 
 had run smoothly, delightfully; except, to be sure, 
 that there had been an occasional mild protest 
 from the master of the house against Elizabeth's 
 extravagance, which she had always vehemently 
 denied. Now, Carleton reflected, she could be as 
 extravagant as she liked; at least there was no one 
 to protest. 
 
 She wore her freedom much better than she had 
 worn the yoke. She seemed now entirely the chate- 
 laine, entirely at ease, too, in the midst of her 
 possessions; and this she had not been formerly. 
 There was no one now to chafe her by the per- 
 petual nervous prolixity of his discourse, to worry 
 her with advice, sarcasm, or supervision, to hang 
 
 28
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 the weight of age and outlived experience on the 
 motions of her astonishingly youthful spirit. 
 Elizabeth, at thirty-eight, was free to try her 
 fortune. 
 
 It dawned on Carleton suddenly, as he stood 
 absorbed in these reflections, that he was in the 
 way; or that at least Morelli thought he was. 
 Morelli, drinking his second cup of coffee and 
 talking in Italian to Miss Langham, kept glancing 
 up at the stranger, but not at all in a way to take 
 him into the conversation. His frankness amused 
 Carleton. He looked eminently good-humoured; 
 and Carleton, too, was good-humoured. He 
 moved away, and, at her invitation, sat down by 
 Mrs. Langham. But he was sufficiently interested 
 to keep an eye on the other two ; and was rewarded 
 by seeing that Morelli, after a rapid monologue 
 in a low tone and some questions, answered in 
 monosyllables by Clara, got up to go. He shook 
 hands all round and said to Mrs. Craven : 
 
 " I'm awfully sorry, but I have a consultation on 
 the other side of town at ten o'clock. I'm afraid 
 I shall be late." 
 
 Elizabeth laughed they all laughed. 
 29
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 " Oh, impossible, Morelli, 1 ' drawled Mrs. Lang- 
 ham. " When were you ever late? " 
 
 He shrugged his shoulders with a careless, 
 radiant air, and departed. 
 
 " What a clever creature he is ! " said the 
 beauty. " Really, he amuses me more than any 
 person I know, almost. He was telling me about 
 
 the new Princess Ruspoli " She paused, 
 
 glanced obliquely at Elizabeth, and laughed. "I'll 
 tell you something, if he doesn't. But one thing 
 she did I can tell you. They were lunching some- 
 where, she and the Principe, and he asked some- 
 body to drive somewhere with him, and made an 
 appointment for the afternoon. She spoke up and 
 said, across the table : ' Pardon me, the horses 
 are mine, and I'm going to use them myself this 
 afternoon.' She's an American," added Mrs. 
 Langham, looking at Carleton. " But she forgets 
 that the Principe isn't. I wonder what will happen 
 to her? I back Ruspoli, any day." 
 
 "What would be his proper procedure, in the 
 circumstances?" enquired Carleton. 
 
 " Oh, it depends. They have been married 
 about three months. Probably he will frighten 
 
 30
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 her into giving him a separate establishment, in a 
 few months more. He will live in Rome, and she 
 won't be received anywhere. If she holds the 
 purse-strings too tight, he will whisper that her 
 mind is affected. It doesn't take long for that to 
 get about. Then who knows? Crazy people 
 do queer things. Sometimes they do themselves 
 injury become violent, and have to be shut 
 up 1" 
 
 " Augusta, you are lurid to-night. Don't give 
 Mr. Carleton the idea that any such exciting things 
 may happen. He'll be cruelly disappointed." 
 
 " Oh, he may not. And then it's interesting, 
 just ' waiting for the Sleary babies to develop 
 Sleary's fits.' And sometimes they do. You ought 
 to read the Popolo Romano you'd see what 
 things happen." Mrs. Langham yawned slightly, 
 and gave her empty cup to Carleton. " I'd like to 
 be born an Italian. I think they get more out of 
 life than we do. They live more intensely. And 
 then they have so much back of them all sorts of 
 queer complications and undercurrents and things 
 going on in the dark. It's drama their life is 
 better plots than D'Annunzio makes."
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 She dropped her words evenly, monotonously, 
 with an air rather of talking against time and not 
 expecting anything from her listeners, except their 
 attention. That, it was plain, she would take for 
 granted. 
 
 Clara glanced up at Carleton as he set down the 
 cup on the table. She had taken up some work a 
 little frame with a pattern of lace stretched on it 
 and now bent over it again. Her fingers moved 
 swiftly, guiding a long needle in and out of the 
 square meshes. She was wonderfully pictorial, he 
 thought. And he wondered why she effaced her- 
 self so, leaving the whole centre of the floor, as it 
 were, to her mother. Or was it, perhaps, only a 
 more subtle way of drawing one's attention? It 
 would have been, he concluded, if she had had any 
 reason to be interested in himself. As it was, it 
 probably meant just lack of interest. That was 
 natural enough; Carleton felt that he had never 
 been more stupid in his life. 
 
 He was glad now of Elizabeth's move. She 
 dismissed him to bed, with a sympathetic note of 
 his fatigue, and walked with him again along the 
 corridor to the door of his room. 
 
 32
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 " Good-night ring for your breakfast any time 
 you want it," she said. " You'll take a lot of rest- 
 ing, won't you ? " 
 
 " I'm afraid I shall," he said ruefully. " But I 
 shan't be so bad as this to-morrow. . . . It's 
 wonderful, being here and you're wonderfully 
 good to me." 
 
 He put her hand to his lips, and she left him, 
 with a soft backward look. 
 
 It seemed to him as he flung himself into the 
 great bed, which reared its mass on a dais till its 
 head almost touched the ceiling, that he sank into 
 his ineffable weariness as into a sea whose waves 
 closed over him, obliterating thought and even 
 sense. The silence was absolute. Even the foun- 
 tain and the nightingale were on the other side of 
 the house and inaudible. He sighed deeply and 
 lay without moving. The air that blew in upon 
 him had a drowsy coolness. It was poppy and 
 mandragora from the fields of sleep. Peace, peace, 
 quiet remoteness from the jar and jangle of life 
 tills was what he had come to find, perhaps to ask 
 of Elizabeth, for he could not find it alone. 
 
 33
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 IT was this same air, warmed by the late May 
 sun to a softer, more relaxing degree, that 
 Carleton blamed for his languor next day. 
 A night's sleep of ten solid hours had not pre- 
 vented him from drowsing off again immediately 
 after his late breakfast in spite of the splendour 
 of a blue-and-gilt morning and an infinity of things 
 to interest his eye. He had found Elizabeth on 
 the terrace in the shade of the cypresses, where 
 there were always chairs and a table for writing, 
 and almost always a breeze. She had left him for 
 a few moments while she went in to see some visit- 
 ors ; and he awoke to see her sitting at a little dis- 
 tance, writing a letter. He sat up in his long 
 wicker chair and uttered an apology. 
 
 " How long have you been there ? " he enquired 
 confusedly. 
 
 " About half an hour," Elizabeth smilingly 
 answered, laying down her pen. " Do you hate 
 to have people see you asleep? I do. One never 
 
 34
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 knows what one looks like. Fancy being seen 
 sleeping with your mouth open how idiotic one 
 would look ! " 
 
 " I hope I wasn't," said Carleton earnestly. 
 
 " No, indeed, or I should have waked you." 
 
 " I wish you had. It's ridiculous. I slept last 
 night as I haven't for years. It must be the air. 
 It has certainly an indescribably languid quality." 
 Carleton half closed his eyes and breathed deeply. 
 
 " It's not the air it's the relaxation of the bent 
 bow," said Elizabeth. " You must be idle now, 
 and you'll suffer the penalty of having worked. 
 I've seen it before. You'll go to pieces to a certain 
 extent. I hope we can put you together again, 
 though." 
 
 " And make me young again? . . . Then 
 you really have the magic caldron tucked away 
 somewhere? I could almost swear I felt it at 
 work already, melting my old bones. . . . Do 
 you know how I feel? Like one of those twisted 
 olive-trees when the spring begins to work in it 
 and the sap to rise and swell its branches and strain 
 its tough old bark ! " 
 
 " Don't sit up meanwhile in that decorously 
 35
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 uncomfortable fashion," said Elizabeth. ' That's 
 the invalid chair, and you're now on my list 
 of invalids. Lie down and tell me what on earth 
 you've been doing the last three yes, three 
 years. It's about that time since you stopped 
 writing me what you were doing." 
 
 She leaned back in her low chair and looked at 
 him composedly. In a light morning-dress, with 
 a white hat pulled down over her brows, she was 
 if not quite as pretty as in candle-light yet suffi- 
 ciently attractive to help Carleton out. 
 
 ' You know why I stopped," he said with a 
 steady gaze. 
 
 " No, I do not know. But it doesn't matter I 
 mean, I didn't intend to ask. I asked you " 
 
 " But, Elizabeth, you must have known at the 
 time. You've forgotten." 
 
 She smiled, rather bitterly. 
 
 " I haven't forgotten anything. There wasn't 
 anything positive. You simply stopped writing 
 me I mean about yourself and your life, as you 
 had been doing up to that time. It was natural 
 enough I'm not complaining, though I believe I 
 
 did protest a little at the time " 
 
 36
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 " But you know it all seemed so hopeless then. 
 I felt that I was bound down to the wheel for an 
 indefinite time. I saw no chance of seeing you 
 again for years to come. And meantime I must 
 drudge along in the same round that you knew, 
 and that couldn't be very interesting " 
 
 "Barry, you know better! You know that I 
 was keenly interested; that I followed your work, 
 and studied your politics, and did my best to know 
 just what you were thinking, and doing, and liv- 
 ing! But it grew tiresome to you troublesome 
 
 to tell me all I wanted to know. And you " 
 
 She pulled herself up. " But here this isn't what 
 I meant ! Tell me now, if it won't tire you, what 
 the last three years have been just briefly, I mean. 
 What have you been doing, to hollow your face 
 and wear out your nerves? " 
 
 " Working, and well, gambling," said Carle- 
 ton. 
 
 "Oh, gambling?" 
 
 " Yes. It was like this. As you know, I went 
 back to America because of my father's death. I 
 should have had to go anyhow because of the finan- 
 cial smash that followed. Up to the time I was 
 
 37
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 twenty-five, I'd never worked at all that is, I 
 mean I hadn't earned any money. Then I found 
 myself with three people to support. My mother 
 had a very small property left. My sister was 
 young, pretty, and gay. . . . Well, all this 
 you know, and about my newspaper work. I did 
 work like the devil, those first two years. I threw 
 myself into it, into the study of the city first just 
 as a phenomenon, seen from a foreign point of 
 view. Then as I got more intimate with its condi- 
 tions my work became less sociology and more defi- 
 nitely politics. . . . Then I ceased to write 
 you details. They would have been practical and 
 rather sordid details the story of a long, slow 
 fight against the usual brand of corruption. It 
 wasn't a spectacular fight. The men that were 
 doing it weren't picturesque. I couldn't have made 
 it interesting. And then I was getting tired. I 
 was losing my well, what ambition I'd had. I 
 was deadly tired of the newspaper mill, of business 
 policy, of being tied down to say just so much of 
 what I wanted to say as would be safe, and to 
 earn so much money every month. What could 
 I do?" 
 
 38
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 Carleton stopped to light a cigar. Elizabeth 
 was listening intently. 
 
 " I couldn't get free except by making some 
 money a good deal. I knew nothing about busi- 
 ness or any other profession, even if I could have 
 started in, at thirty, without capital. I did know 
 something about the stock-market, as most news- 
 paper men do. I began to study it hard. I specu- 
 lated a little, week by week, for two years. I made 
 small profits, seldom losing. I increased my 
 mother's property by about a third. . . . Then, 
 last winter, I went in hard. I knew a man, a rich 
 fellow, who let me in on the first thing. Then I 
 played as high as I could. I was playing for a 
 decent amount of freedom and risking hopeless 
 slavery. ... I pulled it off. I made enough 
 in that winter, boiled down into safe securities, to 
 give my mother a comfortable little income. My 
 sister has married rather well. And I well, I 
 have about enough to live on, for myself. At 
 least," he added, " I shall have to live on it! I 
 wouldn't go through this last year again for any 
 amount of money." 
 
 He lay back in the chair and re-lighted his cigar, 
 39
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 which had gone out. Then he held up the burnt 
 match with a smile. It shook in his fingers like a 
 leaf in the wind. 
 
 " That's what it did for me," he commented. 
 " You see, I'm not a money-making sort. Heaven 
 knows what I was made for; but at least it wasn't 
 that. It was all dead against the grain." 
 
 Elizabeth nodded slowly. 
 
 " I can believe it. The wonder is you could 
 do it at all, with your temperament and training. 
 How could you do it, Barry? I used to think you 
 could never do anything anything practical, I 
 mean. You seemed never to have the will for 
 it never to use your will, to make yourself 
 do anything. But this must have been sheer 
 will." 
 
 ' Yes, at the last it was, at least sheer will. 
 I made use of that egotism you were always accus- 
 ing me of I must have a frightful amount now, 
 if it grows by use ! " 
 
 " I wonder if it does? I called you an egotist 
 because you were always so completely yourself, so 
 conscious of yourself, your character, and all. You 
 were never uncertain ! But not because you used 
 
 40
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 that force for any definite end. You never did 
 that." 
 
 " No, not then. But I have done it since. I've 
 used it all used it up, I think. I don't seem to 
 have any left." 
 
 " Any egotism? " 
 
 " Yes or any will." 
 
 Elizabeth pondered. 
 
 " But, at any rate, you're free now. You're a 
 success," she said suddenly. 
 
 Carleton laughed, not altogether sweetly. 
 
 " Oh, a wonderful success ! " He brooded over 
 it for a little. " Yes, wonderful. I dropped what 
 work I was doing as soon as I could. I used to 
 think I cared whether the second city of our coun- 
 try had a decent administration or was ruled by a 
 band of thieves. I used to think decency was 
 worth fighting for, inch by inch. I used to write 
 and lecture about municipal problems. I used to 
 think I'd get into the game ' public life,' you 
 know, for the public good. . . . Well, 
 now you see how much in earnest I was." 
 
 " Oh, about politics. You were very young 
 when you went back you were, really, astonish-
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 ingly young. It was natural you should have 
 enthusiasms. But real success I call your getting 
 out of that environment. You took the only way 
 out. It was clever of you ! I never thought you 
 were at all practical. But you did a difficult thing 
 I admire you for it. You might have stuck in 
 that quicksand all your life buried in it. And 
 now you're free ! " 
 
 " Yes, free," he murmured. Then he blew out 
 a great cloud of smoke and said suddenly: 
 " You're perfectly sure that you're doing the right 
 thing, aren't you? Your life here, I mean. You 
 don't feel cut off from anything? " 
 
 Elizabeth looked at him, unable for a moment 
 to reply. 
 
 " If you mean," she said finally, " living here 
 rather than in America, I'm quite sure. I couldn't 
 live there. You see, don't you? " 
 
 His glance rested on her a moment, then roved 
 slowly over her background the noble dark 
 cypresses that towered up over the boundary-wall 
 and cut sharply the burning blue of the sky. They 
 stood seemingly on the edge of an abyss of air, for 
 the hill shelved sharply down, the valley was invis- 
 
 42
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 ible from where Carleton sat, and only the hills on 
 the far side climbed into view, painted thick with 
 purple shades. Carleton got up and went to the 
 edge of the terrace and leaned on the wall. Little 
 lizards darted away among the crevices of the 
 ancient stones. Somewhere in the fields below a 
 cuckoo was calling in a perfect Swiss-clock voice. 
 He listened for the vicious slam of the clock-door, 
 which had always followed the voice at home, and 
 smiled as a vision of " home " rose before him. 
 He was fond of his mother; but "home" had 
 meant, for the last five years, one varnished and 
 comfortless flat after another, with a succession of 
 unprofitable servants. 
 
 There lay the city, crowding about the Dome, 
 which rose, straining at its moorings as a soap- 
 bubble strains away from the pipe into an obloid 
 shape. There was beauty, there were endless 
 memories. Carleton turned and glanced again 
 over the terrace, where the sunlight lay heavy on 
 the gravel; up at the light fagade of the house; 
 down at the garden wall, within which the fonta- 
 nella sang to itself. 
 
 A new music broke on his ear. It came appar- 
 43
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 ently from somewhere near, but outside, the house. 
 A piano, smitten with strength, gave it forth a 
 music sonorous, weighty and formal, beginning 
 with a majestic prelude and going on as though it 
 meant to continue indefinitely. 
 
 Carleton approached Elizabeth, who, her head 
 bent, was disturbing the fine gravel at her feet with 
 the point of a bronze slipper. 
 
 " I haven't been into the garden yet will you 
 take me? " he asked. 
 
 "Willingly." 
 
 They walked toward the house. Its front was 
 continuous, in Italian fashion, with the garden- 
 wall, and the wall of a courtyard, and the front of 
 the stables beyond. The door into the courtyard 
 was open. Elizabeth nodded toward it. 
 
 '' That's Clara at her music. Come and see." 
 
 " But we may disturb her, I suppose," objected 
 Carleton. 
 
 " She won't see us. I want you to see the new 
 music-room." 
 
 It was a separate building, at one side of the 
 court a single large room with vaulted ceiling, 
 some seats at one end and Clara at the piano at the 
 
 44
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 other. The girl's back was toward the door. Her 
 white dress, her black, heavy knot of hair, her 
 head bent forward over the keyboard, her hands 
 beating out a series of tremendous clashing chords, 
 gave Carleton a mixed impression of grace and 
 energy. He turned away, after one look. 
 
 " She plays Bach quite amazingly well," said 
 Elizabeth as they retreated. " She plays for me 
 every Friday my day. Really, she's almost a 
 professional, you see. It's been her ambition, and 
 she has played in public a few times. But, poor 
 girl, she hasn't the nerves for it or, rather, she 
 has too many." 
 
 " Has she? She doesn't look ill, though and 
 it must take various kinds of strength to play that 
 sort of thing." 
 
 " Oh, she's not ill at least, not now. But it's 
 a hair-trigger kind of organization a question of 
 delicate balance over-balance, sometimes. She 
 can stand a good deal of hard work but the excite- 
 ment of playing in concert throws her quite out. 
 Last time she broke down, poor child, in the mid- 
 dle of her programme. It was in London, last 
 winter. It must have been quite awful, the effect 
 
 45
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 on her. In fact, she's hardly got over it yet. Her 
 mother wrote me about it, and I asked them to come 
 here immediately. But Clara wouldn't, till she 
 had pulled herself together. Then went to Rome 
 instead. Mrs. Langham hates London." 
 
 " The girl's nerves don't come from that side 
 of the family, I suppose," said Carleton. " I 
 should say Mrs. Langham had about as many as 
 a marble Roman." 
 
 Elizabeth laughed. " She thinks she has them, 
 though," she said in a low voice. She stopped just 
 inside the garden door and pointed up at a line of 
 open windows. " Those are her rooms. She's 
 about the serious business of the day. Do you 
 know that woman's toilette takes three mortal 
 hours every morning? She never appears till one. 
 But then she's presentable for the next twelve 
 hours. She won't change her gown more than 
 three times in the course of the day perhaps only 
 twice, if it's just ourselves. And she will look 
 well, as you saw her last night. Oh, it's worth the 
 three hours! Besides, she's nothing else to do." 
 
 They went on past the wall where the jasmine 
 and roses clung, between rows of orange trees in
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 great earthenware pots, down a long, leisurely 
 flight of stone steps, broken by several landings. 
 On the different terraces grew masses of shrubs 
 and small trees, many in flower and fragrant under 
 the hot sun. In the centre of the garden was the 
 fountain, half in shadow. Its surface was covered 
 with lily and lotos-pads, under which lurked gold- 
 fish with long, prismatic, fringe-like fins. 
 
 They sat down in the shade on the stone rim of 
 the fountain. Carleton looked about him for some 
 moments thoughtfully. The place was silent, for 
 the bulk of the house was between them and the 
 piano they could no longer hear it. They were 
 out of eye-shot of the windows, too, behind a row 
 of lemon-trees. He laid his hand on Elizabeth's. 
 
 " Yes, I see you could never go back," he said, 
 answering the question he had asked out there on 
 the terrace. " I don't know why the idea occurred 
 to me except that it seemed to me you must, after 
 all, be rather lonely here." 
 
 " Perhaps," she said, after a pause, drawing 
 away a little from his light touch. " But I should 
 hardly be less lonely anywhere else. Plenty of 
 people come to me here." 
 
 47
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 " Yes, they come and they go." 
 
 " I shouldn't want all of them to stay ! " 
 
 " No, nor any of them, perhaps. That's just it." 
 
 " But they entertain me immensely! I like new 
 
 people. And some I am really fond of, like Clara. 
 
 I hope she will marry Morelli." 
 
 " Marry him? Why do you hope so? " 
 
 " Oh, she ought to marry, and she likes him, 
 
 and he is madly in love with her. Also, he is a 
 
 very clever man, and I like him, too, very much. I 
 
 rather think I shall leave them my money, if they 
 
 marry. At least, I shall give Clara a dowry, for 
 
 he's poor and she has only a little." 
 
 "They look like rich people the mother and 
 
 daughter, I mean." 
 
 " Ah, their dress they know how to do it. And 
 
 then Mrs. Langham has a good deal but she'll 
 
 always need it all." 
 
 " I should think you'd find her rather a white 
 
 elephant on your hands," said Carleton lazily. 
 
 "She's really on an heroic scale, isn't she?" 
 " Oh, I wouldn't have her, if it wasn't for 
 
 Clara. But Clara won't go anywhere without 
 
 her. Of course, Augusta is something to show 
 
 48
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 off people like to come and look at her. But 
 she is so bored here, and I can't give her what she 
 likes it doesn't fit in with my quiet life. I sup- 
 pose you saw that she looked you over and rejected 
 you? She doesn't like American men, any- 
 way." 
 
 " I wasn't aware that I was offered to her," said 
 Carleton, rather piqued. " She doesn't interest 
 me." 
 
 "But Clara does?" 
 
 " Suppose, now, we stop talking about your rela- 
 tives will you ? The person I happen to be inter- 
 ested in just now is yourself." 
 
 " Myself? I'm even less interesting than I was 
 three years ago, when you forgot all about me. 
 I've become what you see a placid old dowager, 
 busy with the love affairs of the young people. 
 You must let me arrange one for you." 
 
 " That," said Carleton, " is what I came over 
 for." 
 
 " Ah, no, my dear ! " said Elizabeth with a 
 little agitated laugh. " You came because you'd 
 got some money, and a nervous break-down ! " 
 
 " Well, I couldn't have come if I hadn't got 
 49
 
 \The Eternal Spring 
 
 some money, could I?" Carleton asked steadily. 
 " I came as soon as I could, didn't I? . . .As 
 to forgetting you you can understand, can't you, 
 how just then it all seemed hopeless? " 
 
 Elizabeth stood up hastily; she fairly took to 
 flight. 
 
 " I must go luncheon there are some people 
 coming," she said in a voice that trembled for all 
 her effort. And she started on ahead of Carleton 
 so that he should not see her eyes. On the first 
 landing he stopped. 
 
 " I'll go back there until lunch-time, I think," 
 he said. 
 
 " Very well. Lunch is at one. You'll find a 
 bench somewhere in the shade." 
 
 And, even now not meeting his look, she went 
 on up the steps. 
 
 Carleton went back, and stood for some mo- 
 ments staring down at the lilies in the fountain. 
 Then he became aware that the sun was boring a 
 hole between his shoulders, and turned aside into 
 a shaded walk. He took the first stone seat at 
 hand, threw off his hat, and clasped his hands at 
 the back of his neck, where the familiar gnawing 
 
 50
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 pain was at work again. His few minutes in the 
 sun this morning had brought it back or had it 
 never really left him at all? The old feeling of 
 absolute uselessness came back with it. 
 
 " I'm a nice fellow to be making love 1 " he 
 thought disgustedly. " No wonder she wouldn't 
 have it. . , . And yet, why wouldn't she ? " 
 
 A perception of the reason why she wouldn't 
 made itself clear in spite of him. He felt sick, 
 sorry, and ashamed. She was right it had been 
 forced. He had forced himself to begin to say 
 things. But Carleton had got so used to forcing 
 himself that he asked now, rather aghast, How 
 was he ever to do or say anything more, if he was 
 expected to be perfectly spontaneous? Life was 
 an effort, had been for years, and was still. It 
 must continue to be, or else stop altogether, he 
 thought. Elizabeth was unreasonable, if she 
 expected the fresh ardour of a boy. . . . 
 
 Carleton wearily sounded his heart, and dis- 
 covered that he really did not want to make the 
 effort to live. He did not really want anything at 
 all. But he had believed that Elizabeth wanted 
 him; he had vaguely intended to live for her sake.
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 Now, did she at all want him, or was it only that 
 she did not want him, as it were, in fragments? 
 
 Well, it was evident, at any rate, that he was 
 not to force himself to make love to her. Cer- 
 tainly, if he could take her on a basis of clear, 
 unsentimental liking, it would be easier at any 
 rate, for a time. 
 
 " And, by Jove," was his resolution, " if I ever 
 do say anything more, she shall stay and listen ! " 
 
 He was irritated, and at the same time grateful 
 to her for running away. He did not want any 
 emotions, unless they might be of the perfectly 
 primitive sort, as purely sensuous, as immediate 
 and transitory, as the effect of the air's softness or 
 the jasmine's perfume. In his relaxed state he was 
 peculiarly susceptible to things of the sense to 
 the beauty of the earth, of art, and of women. 
 And he wanted just to enjoy all of these that came 
 easily. 
 
 It had begun his enjoyment with the long, 
 calm southern voyage, and the day at Naples had 
 flung wide the gate for him. Something he had 
 seen on the hill of Posilippo recurred now, as it 
 often had in the meantime a glimpse of feminine 
 
 52
 
 The 'Eternal Spring 
 
 and of Italian charm. As his cab passed a 
 doorway in a high wall, a woman, dressed in 
 black, with black drapery over her head, young 
 and graceful, came out, and turned to take leave 
 of a young girl. She took the girl's chin in her 
 hand, and turned the small face and kissed both 
 its cheeks, with a slow, sweet movement of her 
 veiled head. Sweet, sweet it was ! Carleton 
 dwelt on the picture with speculative, regretful 
 pleasure. If only all these Italian days might have 
 that suggestion of surprise, of romance, adven- 
 ture I 
 
 53
 
 MORELLI came to luncheon late, after 
 the rest of them had gone to the table 
 and Carleton studied him with some 
 attention. A seat had been kept for him next to 
 Miss Langham, and the information that he was 
 in love with her seemed to Carleton quite super- 
 fluous. One had only to look at him to see. As 
 for Clara, she had the perfectly non-committal 
 manner that women know. Apparently she found 
 him agreeable. 
 
 And that he was an attractive person Carleton 
 could not deny. His air of energy, of buoyant 
 vitality, of frank good humour, was immensely 
 taking. He seemed full of iron and electricity. 
 His reddish-brown hair and eyes and fair skin, and 
 his wiry litheness he was as quick in motion as a 
 lizard spoke of a mixed strain; and, in fact, he 
 had some English blood. But his gaiety and 
 expressiveness were altogether Italian. He had a 
 
 54
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 great deal of social cleverness. Carleton marked 
 the tonic effect of his entrance on the rather lan- 
 guid party assembled, and saw his obvious popu- 
 larity. 
 
 It was by no means a formal party. There was 
 an English art-critic with his wife, and also an 
 English girl who was writing a book on some 
 obscure Renaissance painter. She talked to the 
 art-critic about the progress of symbols; and 
 Carleton talked with the art-critic's wife, a fair, 
 delicate, vehement little creature, about her hus- 
 band. Mrs. Langham appeared with a long, loose 
 white wrap over her shoulders, and an enormous 
 white hat. The massy ripples of her hair looked 
 as immutable as a Japanese head-dress. She sat 
 with one elbow on the table and talked vaguely 
 with the other visitor a young American whom 
 Carleton knew slightly and disliked for his acidity. 
 
 Elizabeth, at the head of the table, appeared 
 impersonal and detached. She no longer had any 
 vestige of the American manner of the hostess. 
 Pier guests caused her no concern. Carleton had 
 not been introduced to anybody. No one, appar- 
 ently, noticed him as a stranger. Nobody tried to 
 
 55
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 entertain him, or to talk up or down to him. Some- 
 thing of the feeling of the night before came back 
 to him. He began to feel rather happy again. 
 
 After luncheon, and coffee on the terrace, the 
 party abruptly dissolved. Elizabeth and Mrs. 
 Langham were going to drive into town. The art- 
 critic and the English girl disappeared to pore over 
 Craven's photographs of decayed paintings, in the 
 library. The Englishman's wife went home, and 
 took Gardner, the young American, who, it 
 appeared, was staying with them. Clara and 
 Morelli went off into the garden. Elizabeth 
 offered to take Carleton if he wished. 
 
 " I don't suppose, though, that you want to go 
 sight-seeing yet- or even shopping with us," she 
 said. " There's any amount of time, you 
 know." 
 
 " Then I'll waste a little here alone," he de- 
 cided. 
 
 "Yes, till four then there'll be tea in the 
 salotto, and music afterward. Clara will play 
 for us." 
 
 He watched her drive away and the gates close 
 behind her, and found himself solitary. It wasn't 
 
 56
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 exactly what he had expected. He was treated, 
 really, in quite a casual way; like any other way- 
 farer; taken in and fed and made free of the 
 place, and left alone. His coming, after all, had 
 apparently made not a ripple in Elizabeth's way of 
 life. Her life was full, too, evidently; and she 
 had not pushed aside anything or anybody to make 
 a place for him. 
 
 And he had expected yes, really to take at 
 once the first, main place. He had thought that 
 they would have at once some of those long, inti- 
 mate talks that had brought them so dan- 
 gerously close together, five years since; and 
 that very soon they would arrive at an under- 
 standing. 
 
 After all, it was rather soon to judge. This 
 might be only Elizabeth's great kindness, or tact 
 letting him find his own level, and meanwhile mak- 
 ing him feel uncommitted. He was in her house, 
 and, above all, she was now free. Something of 
 the reserve of a young girl was perhaps forced 
 upon her. He was relieved yet in a way dis- 
 appointed, too. If a frank arrangement could 
 only have been made! He thought the arrange- 
 
 57
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 ment would suit him very well; but he was 
 emphatically not of a wooing mind. 
 
 He returned to his long chair on the terrace 
 with a cigar and a late French review, but did not 
 read. The languor of the day and the place lay 
 heavy upon him, with a sweet oppression. It was 
 not hot, except in the direct sun, and there was a 
 cool breeze. The season, in fact, was very late; 
 spring was lingering in the green wheat and the 
 black, chilly cypress. But the saturated quality of 
 the Italian air was as deeply relaxing as a much 
 greater heat in America would have been. Carle- 
 ton gazed up at the lapis-lazuli sky, where a few 
 white clouds floated like distended sponges, and 
 where even the most deeply blue spaces were veiled 
 with moisture. He had never seen, he reflected, a 
 perfectly clear Italian sky. Saturation, gravidity, 
 richness was its physical quality, and the mental 
 atmosphere of the land as well. Infinite richness 
 of association, layer upon layer of lives lived out 
 on this spot, foundations far down in the impene- 
 trable deep, built up slowly, slowly, to make a little 
 space for this generation to live, and love, and die 
 upon. And those myriads of lives had left Beauty 
 
 58
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 behind them. Beauty everywhere in the lines 
 and groups of cypresses, in stone and mortar, paint 
 and plaster, brick and bronze. How had they 
 done it, and why was it that modern Italy had the 
 worst taste in the world? . . . And was it 
 true that Clara would marry Morelli? She 
 seemed quite an American young lady, in spite 
 of her foreign bringing up. They had gone 
 away unchaperoned, perfectly as a matter of 
 course. . . 
 
 They came back in about half an hour, and 
 Morelli rushed off with a vivacious word or two 
 for Carleton, who had risen. He hoped that 
 Clara would sit down and talk to him, and after a 
 moment's hesitation she did so. 
 
 He was struck by the sadness of her face. Its 
 physical type was pensive, poetic ; it was extremely 
 expressive, and just now it expressed a melancholy 
 by far too intense for so young a creature. She 
 did not think it necessary to assume any cheerful- 
 ness on Carleton's account, or to smile as she spoke 
 in subdued, nervous phrases. He asked her 
 whether she could work in this enervating atmos- 
 phere without too great an effort, noting the while 
 
 59
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 that she looked pale and tired; noting, also, the 
 velvety softness of her eyes, whose colour he could 
 not quite make out. 
 
 " It does take more effort than it ought, per- 
 haps," she acknowledged. " But one must do 
 something." 
 
 "And perhaps it would be harder still to do 
 something less interesting? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " And do you like playing for Mrs. Craven's 
 people, as she tells me you do every week? " 
 
 " I wish to play before people as much as pos- 
 sible. I suffer from stage-fright," she said. " I 
 don't know if it can be overcome in that way 
 hut one can only try." 
 
 " I should think," said Carleton at random, 
 " that that would depend a good deal on one's 
 general strength." 
 
 4 Yes, I suppose so. And yet I am rather 
 strong." 
 
 " Perhaps if you dropped all work and got into 
 a bracing air you might get very much stronger 
 and forget your nervousness." 
 
 Clara looked at him gravely, then smiled with 
 60
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 some amusement. Possibly she was not much used 
 to just this tone this combination of obvious 
 interest in her as a person, with apparent imperson- 
 ality nor to advice so frankly offered. 
 
 " Perhaps so," she said. " Do you find this air 
 so very enervating? But I suppose we shall none 
 of us be staying here long." 
 
 "No? Why not?" 
 
 " Because it will get hot, and Mrs. Craven flies 
 from Florence with the first hot days. The sum- 
 mer is unusually late this year." 
 
 " And where do you all go then? " 
 
 " I 'do not know. Somewhere up in the hills, I 
 think, at least, I should like that best, some 
 quiet little place. My mother likes rather more 
 amusement, though, so we may go to Switzer- 
 land." 
 
 Carleton could not help smiling at this. 
 
 " Forgive me, but you talk as though you were a 
 hundred and ten," he said. " Don't you like 
 amusement? " 
 
 " Some kinds," said Clara indifferently. 
 
 " Well, will you tell me what kinds?" 
 
 " It depends. If I am in the mood, I like soci- 
 61
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 ety if it is gay enough. But not for long. I 
 don't like to be on parade for a whole day even. I 
 don't like rushing about." 
 
 " Of course not ' Es bildet sich ein Talent in 
 der Stille.' " 
 
 " Yes; but I don't take my Talent so seriously. 
 It is only a pastime, after all." 
 
 She looked away as she said this, pressing her 
 full lips together. Carleton looked curiously at 
 her. There was more than an undertone of bitter- 
 ness in the last speech. He referred it imme- 
 diately to what Elizabeth had told him of ambi- 
 tion frustrated by physical weakness. He felt very 
 sorry for her. And yet, after all, why could she 
 not take her music as a pastime ? Why should she 
 want a professional career? She was a young girl, 
 with definite and unusual charm with a rare kind 
 of beauty. And she must have opportunities 
 enough in society. He was struck as he had not 
 been hitherto by the elegance of her dress. It was 
 still white a thin embroidered stuff, and she 
 Wore a lacy white hat that curved down at the back 
 and rippled in shell-like curves over her black hair. 
 She was as smart, in a different way, as her mother. 
 
 62
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 And, though a young woman with a hidden grief, 
 she was evidently not minded to waste a single one 
 of her attractions. 
 
 " I suppose it is the best pastime, though to 
 make beauty live and breathe again. The pastime 
 of the gods or some of them the most decent 
 ones," he laughed. 
 
 " Oh, it is quite a respectable occupation. One 
 might do much worse," said Clara. " It is rather 
 exacting, that is the worst of it. I must go and 
 rest now I have to play at four." 
 
 Carleton walked with her to the door, and went 
 himself into the drawing-room to look about at 
 the things he vaguely remembered the pictures 
 and embroideries, books in Sienese bindings, some 
 carvings of value, some old French furniture. 
 They differed from the spoil heaped up in the rich 
 houses at home, in that there were not too many 
 of them ; that they were all somehow related, and 
 had a relation to the room and the house. And, 
 then, they all reminded Carleton of happy days 
 here at the villa and scattered through his four 
 Wanderjdhre, when he had floated gaily and alone 
 about Europe, tramping through the country, bur- 
 
 63
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 rowing into some old city, enjoying his chance 
 adventures, feeding full his senses, loafing and 
 inviting his soul. He breathed a deep sigh to feel 
 how far out of reach all that was now how com- 
 pletely he had left his youth behind; how work 
 and responsibility and time, doubtless had 
 taken it out of him. 
 
 He was but thirty, to be sure, and Elizabeth 
 must be yes, he knew exactly how old she was, 
 of course. She had told him that, and everything 
 else, in the old, confidential days. Did she begin 
 the confidences of herself, or was it he, with his 
 infernal faculty of interest in other people's affairs, 
 and his sympathy, that drew her out and on? At 
 any rate, he had very soon found himself consoler 
 of an unhappy wife, in a marriage that was no 
 marriage. 
 
 Elizabeth was a Puritan, body and soul. All 
 thai was uncontrolled about her was her tongue. 
 Therefore, though she had told him her most inti- 
 mate affairs, and her husband's, and they had spent 
 many long hours and days together in an atmos- 
 phere more or less suffused with emotion, though 
 she had said she loved him, and he was very much 
 
 64
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 interested in her, things had ended just there. 
 Carleton had never told her, either, that he loved 
 her; because he did not, and he was too sincere 
 and self-conscious to confuse matters, or to be 
 carried away by a moment's feeling. He had only 
 two things to regret in their relation it had pre- 
 vented him from knowing James Craven as well 
 as he would have liked to know him, and it had 
 put an additional shade of coolness, at the time, 
 between husband and wife. 
 
 Craven had been extremely interesting to him, 
 intellectually; a scholar he was, of the old Floren- 
 tine, or pagan, type; a man who had as good a 
 brain as Carleton had ever encountered with, and 
 as good a heart as, in the French phrase, could be 
 made out of brains. Craven had been calmly 
 proud of retaining, within sight of his eightieth 
 year, his ability to work, his hair, teeth, eyesight, 
 and capacity for good living. He had been fas- 
 tidiously intolerant of any physical weakness in 
 other people, and oddly tolerant of emotional 
 weakness, so long as it did not disturb the full and 
 quiet current of his days. He had given Elizabeth 
 perfect freedom and an atmosphere to live in as 
 
 65
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 warm as that above the moon. Elizabeth had not 
 been able to use the freedom he gave her. She 
 was an idealist. She was frozen, starved, by his 
 perfectly pagan spirit; and she made him, at times, 
 uncomfortable by her revolt. Hence his coolness 
 to Carleton, who understood that Craven had 
 thought his part in the menage a trois ill-per- 
 formed. Craven had made it perfectly plain, 
 however, that he, Carleton, was welcome in the 
 house. All the old man had wanted was to be left 
 in peace among his treasures and his little daily 
 enjoyments of food, wine, sunshine, and talk with 
 the brother-savants who visited him. He had not 
 wanted to talk much to Carleton, who at twenty- 
 five was too much in the spirit of youth. 
 
 Carleton's regret for this lack of interest in him, 
 and for the disturbances he caused, was honest as 
 the day he had immensely irritated Elizabeth, 
 then, by expressing it. But then he had not wanted 
 to make himself the chief person in her life. It 
 was Elizabeth herself, with her passionate longing 
 for life, love, and youth, who had wished that. 
 
 At dinner that night Carleton found himself 
 66
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 alone with her, in the big room, dimly lit and full 
 of fragrance from the garden. She was dressed 
 for him with all the art she knew in black, that 
 brought out the beautiful colour of her hair and 
 the bright fairness of her shoulders and arms. He 
 saw that it was to be a gay occasion Elizabeth's 
 kind of gaiety which might be serious. She was 
 glowing, her eyes and lips brilliant; every motion, 
 every look, spoke her intense consciousness of him, 
 her pleasure in his nearness. 
 
 " My ladies," she said as they went to the table, 
 " have gone out to dine. It isn't very often that 
 they're asked together so I seize the chance of 
 a good talk with you. . . . Do you remem- 
 ber how we used to talk? Hours and hours. You 
 never did anything else in those days." 
 
 " No, and now I shall do nothing else. But 
 perhaps I've lost the ability to talk." 
 
 " We shall see. Now, tell me first, what do you 
 think of me? " 
 
 " I think you're beautiful." 
 
 "Ah! do you? I'm glad you can say it, any- 
 way! . . . But that's not what I mean. I 
 want your impression as a whole whether I have 
 
 67
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 changed; what you think of me, my life, the place 
 here, the people, all " she ended breath- 
 lessly. 
 
 " I can't quite put all those together. You I 
 can't see that you've changed. At first I thought 
 you more calm, more quiet; but to-night you seem 
 exactly as you were except that you're hand- 
 somer, I think." 
 
 " I thought you would find me forlorn, melan- 
 choly, bored all that ! " 
 
 " If you are, you haven't let me see it. You 
 seem to me to be occupied and content." 
 
 "Content!" 
 
 " Not exactly, either," he went on quickly, " for 
 I can see you're halting just now. I'm convinced 
 that your future will be something different from 
 this. And you don't yet know what it will be. Am 
 I right?" 
 
 " Yes, yes," cried Elizabeth, " I do feel that. 
 But, then, I've always felt it! I mean that some- 
 thing startling would come into my life. For 
 years it seemed to me perfectly impossible that I 
 could go on, from day to day, as I was doing, so 
 quietly, in such monotony. It seemed to me that 
 
 68
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 something must happen. And now I have the 
 feeling of romance, of infinite possibilities, just as 
 keenly. ... It seems to me that I haven't 
 yet begun to live but that I might begin at any 
 moment! " 
 
 Her eyes, rather feverishly bright, met his 
 eagerly. She was leaning forward, her elbows on 
 the table, leaving her soup untasted. He sat at 
 her right, and this proximity, with the rest of the 
 table empty, with the soft, pure, unshaded flames 
 of the Venetian lamp for the only light in the 
 room, was exciting to them both. 
 
 " Ah, now I recognize you, indeed! " he cried. 
 " I wondered if you had lost your sense of adven- 
 ture or perhaps satisfied it." 
 
 " Neither ! I have it, and it will never be satis- 
 fied. I shall die without living ! Oh, how I hate, 
 hate to grow old! I am thirty-eight! " 
 
 " Don't be tragic about it. I don't know that 
 the literal number of years means very much." 
 
 " Oh, Barry, be honest ! It means everything. 
 It means as much to me as it does to Augusta 
 Langham ! More, perhaps, for she has had the 
 joy of her beauty, even if she has to lose it and 
 
 69
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 I, what have I had? I am losing my chance 
 that's all I have ever had, a chance ! And I am 
 losing that ! " ' 
 
 " Elizabeth, I could imagine I had never left 
 La Fontanella ! This is exactly as it used to 
 be." 
 
 " Yes, when James had gone out to some deadly 
 old historical dinner! Ah, poor man! he hadn't 
 much peace with me." 
 
 She was silent a moment; put out her hand for 
 her glass of champagne, and drank it slowly. 
 
 " How tragic life is. Some of us live too long 
 and we grow old . . . and then we drop 
 out, and it is as though we had never lived. Youth 
 is the only thing that matters the only happiness ! 
 And I threw mine away." 
 
 Roberto took the soup plates; and Elizabeth 
 had to help herself to meat and vegetables. She 
 went on talking, in the security of her alien tongue, 
 putting no guard, however, on her look and man- 
 ner. Her former quiet was gone, like a thin crust 
 of ice before the sun; she was as restlessly vehe- 
 ment as ever. 
 
 " I spent all my life with old people. First my 
 70
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 father I can't remember him when he wasn't old; 
 then my husband I doubt if he was ever young. 
 . . . He was like another father. And so I 
 am younger now than I have any right to be, and 
 I suffer for it. I ought to be settled now. I ought 
 to have lived my life. And I have never had it. 
 How I envy you, Barry! " 
 
 "And why, pray? " 
 
 ' Why, because you are young, and a man, and 
 can choose " 
 
 " I am not young any more. You said it your- 
 self yesterday. I'm a hundred and fifty." 
 
 " Oh, don't be absurd ! Don't put on the air of 
 a greybeard, just because you happen to be a little 
 fagged. I won't have you grow old. ... I 
 believe you have had some experience that you 
 haven't told me some serious affair." 
 
 Carleton laughed gaily. 
 
 " On my honour, I haven't. But " 
 
 "But what? Tell me what has happened to 
 you do tell me ! How can we go on, with all 
 this gulf of years between us? You are a stranger 
 to me now. I used to feel that I knew you, knew 
 your heart. You were transparent, clear, nothing
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 had touched you. No woman had had as much of 
 you as I had, then. But now! There is some- 
 thing, I know. ... In five years I " 
 
 " Nothing, honestly nothing important ! " 
 
 "'But? 1 You said 'but' " 
 
 " * But you' I started to say ! " 
 
 " And you have not you really haven't 
 fallen in love with anyone not even yet? You've 
 never been in love? " 
 
 " Not, at any rate, since I left you." 
 
 " And you are thirty years old! What are you 
 waiting for, Barry? " 
 
 " For you, I think, Elizabeth." 
 
 She drank off her wine hastily. Her hands 
 shook, her colour rose, and for a moment she 
 could not meet his eyes. 
 " It isn't fair of you," she murmured. 
 
 " Why? Not fair? Is there anything on your 
 side? In all these years?" 
 
 " You need not ask and you know it." 
 
 " Then your fate is still to come." 
 
 " My fate? My fate is to wither up here at La 
 Fontanella. Who would care for me now ? " 
 
 " I would," said Carleton. 
 72
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 "Ah, we're talking a different language. Who 
 would love me? Would you? Ah, no! you are 
 too old, too tired, isn't that it? You would come 
 to me and say, ' Here, we two middle-aged people 
 may as well plod on the rest of the way together.' 
 Isn't that what you feel? " 
 
 She stopped. Her eyes glittered; she looked 
 straight at him now, and he cooled. 
 
 " No matter what I feel," he said, addressing 
 himself to his dinner, which had been much neg- 
 lected, " I don't intend to tell you now." 
 
 Elizabeth laughed nervously. 
 
 " No, ... of course not. You are honest, 
 Barry, and I love you for it. You are dear to me 
 very dear. And you haven't changed. At first 
 I thought I had lost you ; but now I feel that you 
 are just as you were, that you still like me a little; 
 all is as it should be. We shall have some happy 
 times together and when I go for the summer 
 you will come, too, won't you? I'd thought of 
 going to England " 
 
 " I'll go with you, of course, if you'll take me. 
 Elizabeth, you know you're more interesting to 
 me than anyone in the world." 
 
 73
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 "Am I, am I Barry? But it won't always 
 be so. ... You'll fall in love, and 
 then " 
 
 " That idea haunts you, Elizabeth. Will any- 
 thing happen to me that hasn't already hap- 
 pened? " 
 
 " Ah, yes, yes! . . . Just the fact that all 
 these years you haven't had any serious affair 
 that you've never had any shows what it will be 
 when you do." 
 
 "What will it be, dear? How shall I know? 
 Shall I turn green, or blue, lose my appetite, 
 or " 
 
 " Oh, you can jest at scars it only shows how 
 untouched you are! Honestly, haven't you yet 
 seen a woman you want to marry? " 
 
 " None but you." 
 
 "Never! I wouldn't marry you, Barry, unless 
 you were in love with me. Another man I might, 
 but not you. . . ." 
 
 She drank a third glass of champagne, and put 
 her hand on his. 
 
 " But do stay with me till you fall in love! I 
 won't bore you. You know I'm very, very fond 
 
 74
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 of you. But love ! On ne badine pas avec 
 V Amour! . . ." 
 
 Elizabeth's eyes had grown brightly misty. 
 
 " We shall have many little dinners like this," 
 she said. " I adore dining with you. It's just as 
 it used to be I wouldn't have believed that it 
 could be ! But you are the same. I love you, 
 because you are so good. I feel that you under- 
 stand me, that you really know, no matter what I 
 say or do; and you treat me, too, as another 
 human being, not just as a woman " 
 
 Here she bent forward and kissed his cheek. 
 
 " Elizabeth ! " he murmured. 
 
 Roberto came in to put the dessert on the table. 
 Elizabeth had not eaten much; but now she took 
 some fruit and ate it thirstily, and drank yet 
 another glass of champagne. 
 
 " Elizabeth we must always be together," 
 murmured Carleton. 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 " Till the deluge ! Come, let us go up and 
 have coffee! . . . How sweet that jasmine is! " 
 
 She got up, and paused, leaning against the 
 casement. 
 
 75
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 " Let us go this way," Carleton said. 
 
 She took his arm, and they went out on the bal- 
 cony and down the steps into the garden. The 
 night was rather dark, in spite of the stars and a 
 ridiculously young moon that tilted its thin, silver 
 line above the long, tiled roof of the tool-house at 
 the foot of the garden. There were many night- 
 moths about, and bats, and a few fireflies in the 
 grass. The air was cool. Clouds were gathering 
 that looked like rain. Elizabeth pressed close to 
 Carleton and shivered. 
 
 " You're cold," he said, stopping. " Come 
 back." 
 
 "No. Let's go on; but we won't sit down. 
 The air is chilly. . . ." 
 
 They stopped a moment by the fountain, and 
 Elizabeth suddenly bent down and plunged her 
 hands into the water. 
 
 " Ah, how cold it is! " she cried. " Give me 
 your handkerchief, Barry I " 
 
 She shivered as she dried her hands. 
 
 " Come in now," he said authoritatively, and 
 he put his arm around her and drew her away. 
 
 " You need somebody to take care of you, that's 
 clear." 
 
 76
 
 Elizabeth suddenly bent down and plunged her hands into 
 the water."
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 " The jasmine ! " she murmured, stopping once 
 more. " It's too sweet I don't like it! . . ." 
 
 They went on, out of the garden and round by 
 the hall to the library. Here coffee was set out, 
 and Elizabeth poured it, and began to smoke in 
 silence. Her colour had faded by now, and the 
 sudden reaction from her mood of expansiveness, 
 which was hers alone, had come. 
 
 " England," she said finally in a low voice. " I 
 wonder how it would do for you the summer 
 there. Would you like it, I wonder? " 
 
 "Why not? Or perhaps," said Carleton, 
 " some little place up here in the hills? Are the 
 Langhams to be with you? " 
 
 "No why do you ask?" 
 
 " I wondered if they were a permanent attach- 
 ment." 
 
 " Not in the least. I should like to give Clara 
 a home something she's never had, poor child! 
 But I could not stand Augusta nor could she 
 stand me. She would be glad to be rid of Clara; 
 but Clara will not leave her. She has resolved 
 never to marry." 
 
 "Out of devotion for the mother? But I 
 
 thought you said " 
 
 77
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 " Oh, it was only my hope that she would marry 
 Morelli. . . . Barry, I may as well tell you 
 about the Langhams now, for you'll hear the 
 pretty story from some of our gossips soon." 
 
 " Ah ! there is a story, then. She looks it." 
 
 " Augusta ? Yes. Oh, she has or had an 
 international fame. And it isn't to be lived down. 
 The name doesn't mean anything to you ? " 
 
 Carleton shook his head and she talked on with 
 nervous rapidity. 
 
 " Well, you wouldn't remember. It was fifteen 
 years ago that the thing happened, at Mentone. 
 Charles Langham shot and killed a young Italian, 
 Giulio Malaspina, and killed himself. Both died 
 instantly. Malaspina had made himself fearfully 
 conspicuous with Augusta. You can imagine what 
 she was then, to look at. He was madly in love 
 with her and so, unfortunately, was her husband. 
 He was a man of intensely emotional nature, so I 
 heard, and more than a little unbalanced mentally. 
 At least his jealousy is supposed to have unbalanced 
 him quite. That he was insane at the time, 
 Augusta has firmly insisted; and there is more or 
 less evidence to bear her out, I suppose, in the way 
 
 78
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 it happened. Whether Langham's suspicion of 
 her was founded or not, I don't know; but, in any 
 case, she was incredibly foolish. Of course, she 
 was ruined socially. The scandal was everywhere. 
 Her own family absolutely threw her off Mr. 
 Craven among others. He never mentioned her 
 to me. This happened, of course, before my mar- 
 riage. But other people told me the story as 
 they ahvays do, you know." 
 
 Carleton nodded in silence. 
 
 " Clara, I am told, is exactly like her father," 
 Elizabeth went on. " The same excitable and 
 melancholy temperament, the same sensitiveness. 
 I have met people who knew him, and who, when 
 they ventured to speak of him, couldn't say enough 
 in praise of him. He seems to have had a charm- 
 ing personality, and friends everywhere. And this 
 was one thing that made it so impossible for 
 Augusta afterward. . . . Of course, if he 
 was insane, and had merely imagined it all, it has 
 been a terrible injustice to her. For the world 
 believes that she was responsible, at any rate, for 
 the tragedy." 
 
 " And Hara? " said Carleton. 
 
 79
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 " She believes, for all one knows, her mother's 
 version. She is consistent about it. She not only 
 insists that her mother shall be received every- 
 where she is, but she appears to think her possible 
 inheritance of insanity a reason for not marrying." 
 
 " Good Lord ! " murmured Carleton. " And 
 is that what she carries about with her? No won- 
 der she what a horrible story." 
 
 " Ah, I remember you never liked to hear 
 tragedies. But this, you see, you must have heard, 
 anyhow. All our dear people about here know it. 
 Some of them have even remonstrated with me for 
 having her stay here. It isn't that they're all so 
 awfully conventional, either; but she's disliked. 
 Augusta doesn't humble herself, as you see. Not 
 that they'd like her any better if she did. But 
 they'd like to humble her for one thing, on 
 account of her beauty, I suppose. It's a pity she's 
 had to waste it all these years, isn't it, living in 
 the shade?" 
 
 " A great pity," said Carleton harshly. 
 
 Elizabeth looked at him with sharp scrutiny. 
 
 " I'm sorry I told you to-night," she said petu- 
 lantly. " I remember you always used to be upset 
 
 80
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 by that sort of thing ' hard-luck stories,' as you 
 called them. It is hard luck for Clara. 
 You haven't said how you liked her playing." 
 
 " I liked it very much," said Carleton with an 
 effort. " But wasn't that Bach thing rather heavy, 
 for the audience? " 
 
 " She doesn't do it for the audience. Anyhow, 
 it conies to be educated. This is the third Friday 
 I've had her play the Bach thing. They're begin- 
 ning to listen to it now. I saw that you really 
 listened." 
 
 ' Yes. I'm partly educated. Chicago's a mu- 
 sical place, you know. I belong to the half of it 
 that subscribes to concerts." 
 
 The sentimental mood was quite gone. Eliza- 
 beth tried to recapture it, but in vain. Again and 
 again she regretted the move that had, she 
 thought, spoiled it all; but to this she made no 
 further allusion. The effect on Carleton had 
 rather frightened her. An instinct that lurked 
 (when it did not rage) in her, a perpetually watch- 
 ful jealousy, was roused by his visible discomfort. 
 
 81
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 AD Carleton himself was surprised by the 
 impact of this story about Clara. He had 
 a vivid imagination, which often played 
 him the trick of involving his sympathies in other 
 people's affairs. But to start the picture-making 
 in his brain, some interest in the other people was 
 required. Well, and did not Clara interest him? 
 He had to confess that she did. He had said to 
 himself, by the time she had finished playing, that 
 afternoon, that she was an exquisite thing to look 
 at. The steady attention which he gave her at 
 that time might be laid to the account of the music, 
 as he was aware, when he seized the opportunity. 
 She was, then, very charming to look at. And 
 her manner pleased him. It had a softness which 
 seemed at first like shyness, and gave her a foreign 
 air. Her personality completely escaped the gen- 
 eral obviousness of her countrywomen the qual- 
 ity that was writ large on, for example, Mrs. 
 Langham. Clara had no desire to hit one between 
 
 82
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 the eyes. She had the grace of women who have 
 been docile to control, who have learned to express 
 their individuality thoroughly within set limits. 
 There was rhyme and rhythm in her. She was 
 poetry, as opposed to the prose of ordinary 
 
 This was the imagination at work! Carleton 
 realized it and pulled himself up with a laugh. 
 But he went on thinking about her. It was after 
 he had parted from Elizabeth. They had talked 
 for an hour longer in the library, mainly about 
 Craven's literary remains a volume of essays and 
 an unfinished history of the Italian Republics, 
 which was being prepared for the press by his 
 English executor. Then she had gone to write 
 some letters, laughingly confessing, as she bade 
 him good-night, that she kept up her old habit of 
 promiscuous correspondence. 
 
 " Not all of my friends drop me as you did," 
 was her last word. 
 
 Carleton thought he had replied to this before. 
 He went outdoors and walked about the garden, 
 smoking slowly. The sky was overcast now, and 
 rain was in the air. He resolved to go down next 
 day to the Ufizi. 
 
 83
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 Clara was still in his mind. He went over the 
 story that Elizabeth had told, filling out the bare 
 sketch, picturing the tragedy. . . . Fifteen 
 years ago she must have been about eight at the 
 time. And afterwards between that time and 
 this what had her life been? "Living about" 
 with a mother who was " socially ruined " and dis- 
 owned by her family. And how had she got her 
 education, her manners, her way of meeting the 
 world? She seemed like a girl who had been 
 sheltered 
 
 And yet, did she, after all? No, she had none 
 of the light-heartedness that should have been 
 hers. Her sadness was real, and there was a 
 deeper reason for it than the hindering of her 
 musical ambition. If she was stopped there, and 
 if she felt that she could not marry, and must go 
 on living with her selfish beast of a mother, there 
 could not be much in life, truly, for her. And she 
 was full of life, full of possibilities. 
 
 But was there any reason why she should not 
 marry? That question seemed not to have been 
 answered definitely. But someone must be able 
 to answer it. Someone must know what her 
 
 84
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 chances were, supposing that the father's insanity 
 were proved! Her chances! Carleton shivered 
 as he thought what those chances might be. He 
 thought of a man whom he had known at college, 
 and later a brilliant mind wrecked by periodic 
 frenzy. Poor Colby was the victim of misplaced 
 optimism on the part of his parents. There was 
 the taint of insanity on both sides of his house. 
 His sister had killed herself out of fear of the 
 family curse. 
 
 These things were rather too awful to think 
 about. And to think of them in connection with 
 that charming girl! He knew that her father 
 might be as mad as a hatter, however, without 
 necessarily involving her. That outbreak of homi- 
 cidal frenzy, that tragedy at Mentone, might have 
 no consequences for her. . . . No, that was 
 not quite right. Consequences there must be. She 
 had been living in the shadow of them ever since. 
 And if there were also the blacker shadow of 
 
 T" f"*1 ** 
 
 1 C. I ^^ 
 
 Carleton threw away his cigar half-smoked and 
 started for the house, intending to read something 
 cheerful for an hour or so. As he mounted the 
 
 85
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 steps he heard the carriage; and he overtook Mrs. 
 Langham and Clara, returned from their dinner, 
 in the hall. Mrs. Langham, wrapped in a cloak 
 of brocade, was ascending the stairs. Clara had 
 stopped to take off her wrap, which was slipping 
 off her shoulders. She had dropped a long, filmy 
 scarf. Carleton picked it up, and took her cloak, 
 which she trailed on the floor. 
 
 " I drop everything," she said with a light sigh. 
 " Oh, how tired I am!" 
 
 " You are always tired, Clara," said her mother, 
 sweeping majestically ahead. 
 
 Clara went up slowly, her hand on the stair-rail, 
 her head bent. Carleton now saw her in formal 
 evening-dress. Her beautiful young shoulders 
 were bare, and her arms. She had a string of 
 small pearls round her throat, and a jewelled but- 
 terfly in her hair. Carleton adored women in 
 white; Clara apparently never wore anything 
 else. Her cloak was white also, her scarf, her 
 long gloves. She had one glove on, and held 
 the other in her hand; and presently she 
 dropped that, too, unheeding, and Carleton 
 picked it up. 
 
 86
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 Mrs. Langham stopped opposite the library 
 door. 
 
 " It's much too early to go to bed and besides, 
 I am hungry," she announced. " Do come in, Mr. 
 Carleton. Is Elizabeth about? " 
 
 Carleton opened the door for her, and waited 
 for Clara. She hesitated a moment, then said: 
 " I think I'm too tired." 
 
 " Yes, child; go to bed," called her mother. 
 
 Clara took her wraps from Carleton, and gave 
 him a glance that said various things. It was 
 lightly melancholy, questioning, appealing. It 
 struck him that she guessed she had been talked 
 over and also that she was decidedly not without 
 coquetry. He followed Mrs. Langham into the 
 library, and at her request rang the bell. 
 
 " I am simply starving," she said pathetically. 
 " We have been to dine with some Italian friends 
 of Clara's and they don't dine, according to our 
 ideas. That's what Morelli says: 'You go to 
 see beautiful old plate, beautiful dishes, nice peo- 
 ple, but not to dine oh, no ! ' And I drank tea 
 afterward, and now I shall not sleep." 
 
 Roberto appeared, and she asked him in a
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 fatigued tone for something to eat. He listened, 
 bowed, and disappeared, in a manner which con- 
 veyed a sense of imposition. It was not usual at 
 La Fontanella to ask for meals at eleven o'clock 
 at night. 
 
 " Do you think you could light the fire? " en- 
 quired the lady of Carleton. " He won't come 
 back for half an hour." 
 
 Carleton, amused at being found available 
 after all, put a match to the logs laid ready in the 
 great stone fireplace. 
 
 " Mrs. Craven has gone to write letters," he 
 observed. 
 
 " Ah, well, I shan't disturb her," said Mrs. 
 Langham. " Perhaps you will share my supper? " 
 
 "No supper, thanks; but I shall be glad to 
 stay." 
 
 " Very well, provided you will smoke, or some- 
 thing. I couldn't stand your just sitting and look- 
 ing at me; it would destroy my appetite. Get 
 Roberto to bring you some whiskey and water." 
 
 " I shall obey." 
 
 Carleton rearranged the logs, and the flame shot 
 up about them. Mrs. Langham had been stand- 
 
 88
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 ing on the stone step under the chimney-piece. 
 Now she moved down, and in a moment more 
 threw off her purple mantle, which she had held 
 about her. She wore a dress of black velvet, 
 embroidered at irregular intervals with gold 
 figures; her black hair was braided into a crown 
 above her low forehead. 
 
 She sat down in a high-backed brocaded chair, 
 and the train of her dress tumbled about her feet 
 in deep folds. 
 
 " Really, who would think it could be so cold 
 in May? " she said, looking at the fire, and pre- 
 senting her profile to him. 
 
 Carleton looked at her, and felt himself rather 
 an inadequate audience. It was like a glittering 
 show being given to empty benches. He felt apol- 
 ogetic. 
 
 "And how did you and Bessie get on?" she 
 demanded suddenly. 
 
 " Quite peaceably, thank you." 
 
 Carleton gave a little more attention to the 
 fire, and then sat down on the step and lit a cigar. 
 
 " I call her Bessie because, somehow, it suits 
 her. She's girlish don't you know ? But I think 
 
 89
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 you must have quarrelled, else why were you 
 moping about the garden alone? That's the worst 
 of seeing old friends again. One oughtn't to try 
 it, really." 
 
 " Perhaps there ought to be a time-limit," sug- 
 gested Carleton. " Say ten years. Not to know 
 anybody longer than ten years." 
 
 " Good heavens, why ten? I should say five 
 or three. As a matter of fact, one year would be 
 enough for most people, including relatives. Rela- 
 tives, of course, include husbands and wives. 
 But, you know, people do get shockingly 
 out of date. And there is nothing more disheart- 
 ening than to meet persons you've known well at 
 one time and hear them say exactly the same 
 things, and all that. People don't get any new 
 ideas after a certain age. And even gossip, you 
 know, scandal, and so on there's nothing new 
 about that, either. People all do the same 
 things." 
 
 She was looking down at Carleton now, her 
 eyes a shining line of black between thick lashes. 
 
 " It is a dull world," he said cheerfully. 
 
 " Well, it is. The amount of ennui it contains 
 90
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 is something frightful. It is a beast of a world. 
 If you are not bored, it is only because you're 
 something worse. . . . Did you know my 
 cousin James? " 
 
 " Craven, you mean ? Oh, yes, a little." 
 
 " I remember him a long-winded old gentle- 
 man when I was at home. He was my mother's 
 second cousin, or something. He must have been 
 a hundred when he died." 
 
 " He was about eighty, I think." 
 
 " Well, that is old enough ! Fancy having a 
 husband of eighty ! Poor, dear Elizabeth was an 
 angel to him, I don't doubt. She really is a good 
 creature. Clara is fond of her else I suppose 
 we shouldn't be here. . . . Ah, yes, there is 
 another reason, too, for I am terribly poor this 
 year, and hotels are so expensive. My lawyers in 
 America write me the most discouraging letters. 
 They are stupid, old-fashioned people. I should 
 like to get a new one. Do you know any very 
 good one ? The trouble is, my property is mostly 
 in the South East Virginia, or is it West? Some- 
 times I think I ought to go back to see about it; 
 but, then, I know nothing of business. You are in 
 
 91
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 the Government, aren't you, or in politics of some 
 sort?" 
 
 Carleton laughed. " I am or was an 
 humble newspaper man. Now I'm nothing 
 at all." 
 
 " But Elizabeth said She didn't say much 
 
 about you, to be sure, so we were the more curious. 
 But I'm sure she said you were in politics." 
 
 " Well, the newspapers have more or less inter- 
 est in that sort of thing. Oh, I suppose I helped 
 elect a Mayor perhaps a Governor. But what 
 does that amount to? There's no glory in it" 
 
 ' You Americans are so modest ! One has to 
 find out about you from somebody else. Now, 
 even an Englishman will tell you what he has done 
 and a Frenchman or Italian will tell you much 
 more. How do you like Morelli? " 
 
 ' Very much at first sight. I should think he 
 must be an able fellow." 
 
 " He is. But there is so little chance for a live 
 man here in this dead old country. He can't pos- 
 sibly make any money. I've been urging him to 
 go somewhere else. Do you think he'd get on in 
 America ? " 
 
 92
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 " Professionally, you mean ? I should think he 
 would. He's clever with people, I see." 
 
 " Yes, but he hates the practising part of it. It's 
 the theory he likes that's what he's always say- 
 ing. He wants to have a laboratory and write 
 books, and get laws passed to benefit the working- 
 people, and all that. What he ought to do is to 
 marry a rich woman. But instead he wishes to 
 marry Clara." 
 
 At this point Roberto entered with a large tray. 
 He moved a table to Mrs. Langham's side, and set 
 the tray on it with more noise and less grace than 
 he usually thought proper. 
 
 " Ah, salad, too really, that's quite nice ! 
 Grazia tanto, Roberto, e porta whiskey per il 
 Signore, prego." 
 
 Roberto gave Carleton a special bow, and 
 fetched the whiskey with alacrity. 
 
 Mrs. Langham poured herself a glass of claret, 
 and began to eat, with the stalwart appetite Carle- 
 ton had previously remarked in her. Suddenly 
 she looked almost content. The glow of the fire 
 had a good deal to do with it; she showed a cat- 
 like enjoyment of the heat. 
 
 93
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 " Yes," she went on presently, " and Elizabeth 
 has tried to make the match. It's a mistake, for 
 Clara, too, ought to marry a rich man. Her little 
 money is only enough to dress her and pay for her 
 music. But " she shrugged her generous shoul- 
 ders, polished, white, frankly exhibited " when 
 people make up their minds to do a foolish 
 thing " A mouthful of chicken stopped the rest. 
 
 " Do you think she will marry him? " Carleton 
 found himself asking, to his great astonishment. 
 
 " I think so. When a man makes up his mind 
 to marry a woman he can always do it if there is 
 no other man. . . . Such is your strength 
 brutal creatures that you are ! or our weakness." 
 
 Another glass of claret; and two velvet-black 
 eyes looking down at Carleton over the rim. 
 
 " Then we are responsible, whatever happens 
 v/hether we marry you or not? " 
 
 "Eh? Exactly, you are responsible. The 
 stronger person is always to blame if he does not 
 control the weaker. And if he does, and makes 
 mistakes, he is still to blame. But the last is better 
 than the first. It is better for a woman to be mar- 
 ried to a strong man, no matter what comes of it. 
 
 94
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 We are all slaves at heart ! But you American 
 men do not understand that! American women 
 want equality and by that they mean the right to 
 treat their husbands as the Ruspoli tries to treat 
 hers. It is a pity that wife-beating has gone out of 
 fashion. There would be fewer nerves if it was 
 the custom now. But people are all made of straw 
 and paper nowadays. ' Nowadays ! ' I 
 
 talk like a grandmother, don't I ? And you never 
 talk at all, do you?" 
 
 " Sometimes I like to listen." 
 
 " I can't see why you should want to listen to 
 me. Elizabeth says I do nothing but scold 
 
 * rail,' as she puts it, abuse everybody and every- 
 thing. Well, so I do. I read a story by Tolstoi 
 the other day I like Russian stories, when they're 
 not about peasants or politics. This was called 
 
 * Two Generations.' There was a father, a Russian 
 of the old school, a real eighteenth century person 
 a tremendous gambler and drinker, making love 
 to all the women, full of life and gaiety really a 
 delicious creature ! Then his son, twenty years 
 later, a correct, respectable young man he visits 
 a woman who had had a love-affair with the father, 
 
 95
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 had been loved and left, all in a rush, and was still 
 in love with his memory ! Well, the son 
 
 wins the old lady's money at cards, in a correct, 
 respectable manner, and goes away. . . . 
 That's all of the story; isn't it pretty? I wish I 
 had been born a Russian. It's a fascinating coun- 
 try. Have you ever been there? I love every- 
 thing Russian people, books, music. I can never 
 get Clara to play Russian music though, to be 
 sure, it's generally Polish. She bores people to 
 death with her everlasting Bach." 
 
 " I didn't see you this afternoon." 
 
 " No all those old cats of Elizabeth's catch 
 me ! And then, as I say, Bach bores me. Clara 
 plays well, though; don't you think so? I can't 
 think where she gets her ability to work. I could 
 never work in my life. Do you believe in work, 
 like all good Americans?" 
 
 " I don't think I believe in anything." 
 
 " Oh, you are a man without convictions the 
 modern sort ? What a pity ! I wish we could go 
 back a hundred years and get some. That's the 
 reason I like Russians they believe in all sorts of 
 things. And Catholics. There's a nice English- 
 
 96
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 man here who is determined to convert me. He is 
 endlessly amusing. I think I shall end by being 
 converted. It is such a civilised religion plenty 
 of emotion in it, and all the reason you want I 
 should not want any. What new religion have you 
 now in America ? I think I will smoke have you 
 a cigarette? " 
 
 She rose, having finished her supper, and walked 
 down the length of the room, while Carleton was 
 searching for Elizabeth's cigarettes. He found 
 them, finally, and took them to Mrs. Langham, 
 who was standing before the star picture of Cra- 
 ven's collection a fourteenth-century altar-piece, 
 a Madonna in pearl and gold, delicate and ex- 
 quisite as a perfect flower. 
 
 "It's beautiful, isn't it? Why don't people 
 paint like that nowadays, instead of daubing their 
 paint on and expecting you to guess what they 
 mean? The Uffizi is to have it at Elizabeth's 
 death. To think of the fine things Cousin James 
 got together here ! And now they are Elizabeth's. 
 I wish I had them. I wonder what she will do? " 
 
 " I don't know," said Carleton, looking at a 
 bracelet, set with rubies, on Mrs. Langham's wrist. 
 
 97
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 It was a round, very feminine wrist; her hands 
 were small, rather plump, and wonderfully fine in 
 texture; her feet were small, with excessive insteps 
 and heels, and she walked and held herself " very 
 tall." 
 
 She laughed. " Well, if you don't know now, 
 I daresay you will soon. . . . This has been 
 very nice. We must have another talk soon. And 
 then you must do some of the talking. Will you ? 
 Good-night." 
 
 She gave him her hand, with a smile so gracious 
 and pleasing that he found himself bowing over 
 her fingers, not ungracefully. It was something 
 like rendering homage to royalty a formal salute, 
 not a kiss. This he told himself as he departed to 
 bed conscious that he had enjoyed the frivolous 
 end of the evening, and quite in the mood of 
 charity toward the very handsome mother of 
 Clara.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 BUT this was a mood of brief duration; it 
 did not, in fact, survive the night. What 
 did survive, and woke with him on a 
 morning of pouring rain, was the recollection of 
 Clara's look, as they stood in the corridor. Not 
 only her expressive glance at him, but her whole 
 appearance, was extraordinarily vivid; her grace, 
 her fragility. She was like a flower-piece set for 
 some festal occasion, and drooping in too close an 
 air. She should not have gone out, after playing 
 in the afternoon. " You are always tired, Clara." 
 Poor little girl ! 
 
 No wonder she was tired, with that mother, 
 with that tragedy in her past, with her work and 
 her too sensitive nerves no wonder she was sad ! 
 It was quite enough, without thinking of the 
 darker shadow. Carleton did not want to think 
 of that, and the result was that he thought of 
 nothing else, until he had made up his mind to 
 
 99
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 Poor Elizabeth ! She had lived beyond the time 
 for the ordinary experience of a woman without 
 being touched by it. And now, Carleton could not 
 but feel, she looked to him to give it to her. And 
 it must be given in its perfection, too her long 
 waiting demanded that ! A romantic love the 
 love of youth was what she wanted. She was 
 too unsophisticated to see the use of what she 
 might in reason expect. 
 
 Expectation! That was her attitude toward 
 him, try as she would to hide it. ... What 
 had become of the idle peace and sweetness of his 
 first hours at La Fontanella ? 
 
 He found Elizabeth in the library, busy with a 
 voluminous mail, and looking tired and depressed. 
 She dropped her letters when he appeared, and 
 turned to the fire, assuring him that he wasn't in 
 the way. 
 
 "Are you going out in spite of the weather? " 
 she asked. " You can have the closed carriage if 
 you like but the galleries will be as cold as a 
 tomb. I'm going to lunch to-day at Mrs. Blan- 
 don's you know, the little Englishwoman you 
 
 101
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 talk to Elizabeth about it. Perhaps they together 
 could do something to help Clara. If they were 
 married, she might come and live with them. She 
 was undoubtedly morbid and imagined a lot of 
 things. He wished that he might talk with her 
 frankly about her life and herself. Perhaps he 
 might. There was no harm, at any rate, in show- 
 ing his interest. Meantime, there was Elizabeth. 
 He was beginning to feel uncomfortable about 
 Elizabeth. It was all very well to think of taking 
 her on a basis of friendship. But, as a matter of 
 fact, he had come over with an almost definite idea 
 of marrying her. She knew that; other people 
 suspected it. Indeed, all that stood in the way was, 
 he became convinced, what Elizabeth called his 
 honesty. He had not made love to her warmly 
 enough. Well, he was not warmly in love with 
 her. But he was very fond of her, and perhaps in 
 time she would be content with that. However, it 
 was an embarrassing position. If Elizabeth had 
 been tremendously in- love with him, even, it might 
 be easier. But he thought that she was more in 
 love with her idea of love than anything else. And 
 that being so, who could content her? 
 
 100
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 liked yesterday. She asked me to bring you. She 
 says you have the most sympathetic eyes she ever 
 saw. Look out for her she's a desperate flirt. 
 I hear you and Augusta had a midnight 
 supper last night. Aren't you getting rather gay? 
 How do you like her now ? " 
 
 " She's a gorgeous creature. But, after all, 
 looks aren't everything. I don't think I should 
 want her around much of the time. Clara, now, 
 would be much more companionable. Tell me a 
 little more about her, will you ? I mean about this 
 idea of hers that she is that she ought not to 
 marry and all that. . . ." 
 
 Carleton had begun in a light tone, but it broke 
 down as he touched the theme of his thoughts. 
 He became grave and frowned at the fire. Eliza- 
 beth shivered a little, in spite of the warmth of the 
 room. She closed and opened her eyes wearily. 
 Her eyelids were pink, and it struck Carleton 
 uncomfortably that she had been crying. 
 
 " I don't know very much about it," she said. 
 " Clara hasn't talked much to me; but I've put 
 several things she has said together, and indirectly 
 well, her mother talks more about it. Augusta 
 
 IO2
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 feels deeply aggrieved at Clara's attitude. It 
 reminds her constantly of " 
 
 " Good heavens ! But never mind her! You 
 practically said last night that he was probably 
 not insane at all Langham, I mean. Now, if he 
 wasn't, all this idea of Clara's " 
 
 " Yes, but nobody knows. At least, Augusta 
 probably knows more than anyone else, and she 
 insists that he had shown unmistakable signs of 
 insanity before, and that she lived in terror of her 
 life; in fact, that Malaspina was trying to defend 
 her when he was killed." 
 
 " But someone must know definitely people 
 who knew them at that time " 
 
 " It may be. But I don't know. You see, all 
 this happened many years before I knew anything 
 of them; and what people say about it now is 
 vague." 
 
 " But there must be records somewhere evi- 
 dence taken at the time, that would show some- 
 thing. . . ." 
 
 'There may be; but no one has investigated, 
 so far as I know." 
 
 " But someone ought to investigate when 
 103
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 perhaps the course of her whole life depends on it! 
 Hasn't she any other relatives?" 
 
 " I think Clara would recoil from the idea of 
 having it all brought up again." 
 
 " Perhaps she would, if she implicitly believes 
 in her mother. But does she? " 
 
 " I don't know. If she doesn't, she pretends 
 to." 
 
 ' Yes, but this marriage Mrs. Langham 
 
 practically said last night that Clara was to marry 
 Morelli " 
 
 "Oh, I know; but she ignores Clara's feelings 
 as far as possible. No one knows what Clara will 
 do. I know Morelli has asked her to marry him, 
 and, as you can see, he is with her a good deal. 
 He would promise anything to marry her, under 
 any circumstances, I believe. I don't know whether 
 she hesitates because she thinks it wrong to marry 
 or because she doesn't care enough for him. What 
 Augusta would like would be to have her marry a 
 rich man. But it makes her furious when Clara 
 says she won't marry at all." 
 
 " Then her mother tells her that she has this 
 104
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 possible inheritance of insanity, and at the same 
 time expects her to ignore it is that it? " 
 
 " Augusta isn't very logical when her own 
 wishes are involved." 
 
 " ' Logical ' is a mild word for it. ... 
 But, look here, all this vagueness ought to be 
 cleared away. Someone should find out whether 
 there was anything wrong back of Langham, in 
 his family; also, whether anyone but his wife ever 
 thought him insane. She doesn't strike me as a 
 person who would risk her life, if she did think 
 him so. ... Also, what the police records 
 show about the circumstances of the tragedy. 
 . . . You say it was at Mentone, fifteen 
 years ago. Do you know the month? " 
 
 " No," said Elizabeth in surprise. " Do you 
 think of investigating? " 
 
 "Don't you think we might do it together? 
 Clara needn't know anything about it at least, 
 not now. But you are a relative, and if you could 
 go to her and show conclusively that her mother 
 had lied " 
 
 Elizabeth seemed deep in thought. She was 
 105
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 silent for some moments. Finally, she said : " I 
 doubt if anyone could show conclusively, even if 
 she has. The line between sanity and insanity 
 isn't always very clear, in the case of that kind of 
 temperament. Clara herself " 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " I may tell you, Barry. Indeed, it's no secret 
 at least, Augusta told me quite frankly " 
 
 " Tell me, then." 
 
 " Well, there have been times when Clara her- 
 self wasn't quite herself." 
 
 "What times? How?" 
 
 ' Twice she has had to spend some months away 
 from everyone, in a kind of sanitarium. Nervous 
 strain resulting in intense melancholia was the 
 medical explanation which explains about as 
 much as they generally do. She had been over- 
 working, I suppose. But for weeks she wouldn't 
 speak to anyone. She showed a deep dislike to 
 her mother. She would sit for whole days with 
 her eyes closed " 
 
 Carleton got up, and began to walk about the 
 room. 
 
 " I don't see that there's anything abnormal in 
 106
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 any of those things. That she should be melan- 
 choly and dislike her mother " 
 
 " That's what I say, Barry. The line isn't easy 
 to draw. . . . But what is certain is that 
 she's of an excessively nervous temperament 
 abnormally high-keyed. I suppose it's partly for 
 that reason that I haven't meddled. I've never 
 dared to question her I haven't even questioned 
 Augusta. . . . Then, I have had a feeling 
 which, apparently, in a way, you have, too that 
 Clara's romantic disposition may be playing a big 
 part in all this. I don't know, but I think she sees 
 herself as a kind of victim of Fate. At any rate, 
 she understands the dramatic value of the position ! 
 . . . If you could see how she torments 
 Morelli ! I don't mean to be unkind, I love 
 Clara, and think her a most fascinating creature, 
 but she is sometimes quite diabolical. I can 
 always tell when she's going to vow herself to 
 hopeless spinsterhood, for then she makes herself 
 ten times as pretty as usual! ... I can't 
 take it quite as seriously as you do, Barry, for I 
 know her better and I hope all this will have a 
 natural end in her marriage." 
 
 107
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 " And you think there's nothing in the insanity 
 story?" 
 
 " Ah, I don't know what to think. I think she's 
 young, and ought to be happy." 
 
 Carleton came back to her. 
 ' You're a clever woman, Elizabeth, and sweet, 
 too," he said, with abrupt conviction. " You're 
 sweeter than you used to be and gentler. . . . 
 Elizabeth, dear, will you marry me? " 
 
 She rose quickly, with a cry of exasperation. 
 " What a man ! " Her hands instinctively went 
 up to hide her reddened eyes. "No! " she said 
 emphatically. " And now I must finish my letters. 
 Are you going to Mrs. Blandon's with me, or are 
 you going to town ? " 
 
 " I am going with you. And on the way you 
 will give me your reason for that very short and 
 unpleasant answer." 
 
 " My reason is such a good one that I shall 
 never tell it to you. No, on second thought, I'll 
 tell it to you now. If ever you want a woman to 
 marry you, don't say so in the morning, when she 
 is looking her worst and in the middle of a 
 prosaic talk about other people." 
 
 1 08
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 " It seems to me that's a very good time to 
 say it." 
 
 " Well, that proves that you know nothing at 
 all about women." 
 
 She sat down at her desk and began opening her 
 remaining letters hastily. 
 
 " Good-by, then," said Carleton, moving toward 
 the door. " At what time shall we resume the 
 subject? " 
 
 " The carriage will be at the door at one 
 o'clock." 
 
 At one o'clock, accordingly, they set off. Eliza- 
 beth looked ten years younger, in a light dress and 
 a small hat covered with flowers and tied on with a 
 spotted veil. She was talkative and excited, as 
 always when anything that interested her was 
 going on. The carriage held two snugly. It jolted 
 down the long hill, over roughnesses made or left 
 bare by the storm. The rain poured in sheets 
 down the windows. Elizabeth had a foreign way 
 of using some perfume lilac, or at least some- 
 thing light and springlike. 
 
 Carleton felt himself by this time quite at the 
 109
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 mercy of circumstance. He had begun by intend- 
 ing one thing, had changed his intention several 
 times, and now could not feel that he had any 
 worth mentioning. He left himself to chance. He 
 was aware, however, that his head ached, and that 
 he wished he were not going out to lunch and talk. 
 
 " I wish we could ride on together, forever 
 ride," he said. 
 
 " You mean drive? It doesn't sound so poetic, 
 but think of riding in this rain ! What's the trou- 
 ble don't you want to go ? You look tired. Are 
 you boring yourself too much with people? You 
 know I don't want that I told you that you must 
 do exactly what you pleased and no more. I can 
 send you straight back in the carriage, if you like, 
 and they need never know you thought of coming. 
 I shall have a cab home, anyway. You can get 
 some kind of a meal at the house. . . . Clara 
 will be there, probably." 
 
 He was conscious that Elizabeth's side-glance 
 at him was a good deal sharper than her voice. 
 
 " I'll let you know when we get there, if I may," 
 he said. " At any rate, I shall have had the drive 
 with you." 
 
 no
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 "Ah, the drive with me! . . . If you 
 desert me I shall bring another man home with me 
 when I come. He is to lunch at the Blandons', 
 and I thought of bringing him back to dine. He's 
 an American professor, just over. I like them 
 fresh out of the academic atmosphere. I met him 
 the other day, and he is rather nice." 
 
 " That settles it I shall certainly go back. I 
 wouldn't for anything deprive you of the profes- 
 sor. But you ought at least to be a little kind to 
 me now." 
 
 " Kind? Am I not doing my utmost to be kind 
 to you?" 
 
 " But your utmost, apparently, is to leave me to 
 myself. I don't want to be let alone all the time. 
 That's not exactly what I came over for, Eliza- 
 beth." 
 
 " Never mind what you came over for, Barry 
 dear. We've discussed that before, and you tried 
 to explain. So let us take it for granted that I 
 know what you came for." 
 
 "Then, if you do, you may as well tell me, 
 mayn't you? " 
 
 ' Tell you what you came for? " 
 in
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 " Tell me if I may have what I came for." 
 
 She was silent, turning her face to the blank 
 window. 
 
 ' You came for many things, Barry. Some I 
 could give you, perhaps. But I'm afraid to try, 
 for I fear I should fail. Because " 
 
 He waited. 
 
 " I couldn't risk failure ! " she cried, facing 
 him and drawing away as far as possible into the 
 corner of the seat. " And I can't feel that you 
 need me. What you do need, I don't know you 
 don't seem to know yourself." 
 
 " Peace and quiet," he murmured. 
 
 " I'm not at all sure that you would find me a 
 quiet or peaceful person." 
 
 " You seem so." 
 
 u Perhaps it's the quiet of despair or resigna- 
 tion- or death ! I don't feel peaceful, I assure 
 you ! No, if it's peace you want " 
 
 " It's life new life I want." 
 
 "Ah, well that's different " 
 
 She looked at him, her eyes shining, her cheeks 
 flushing behind the veil. 
 
 That was the moment. And just there the Ira- 
 112
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 pulse that had carried him on ebbed and failed. 
 An overwhelming physical weariness came upon 
 him. His eyes had lost their vividness, his face 
 looked haggard. 
 
 "Why do you make me think about myself? " 
 he demanded. " I can't help seeing what a miser- 
 able beast I am a perfectly useless animal. I'm 
 thirty years old, and what shall I ever be good for 
 now? What have I ever been good for, if you 
 come to that? I used to get pleasure out of life, 
 and that was reason enough for me for living; but 
 now I feel like an empty sponge wrung dry! 
 How can I have the face to ask for anything when 
 I've nothing to give in exchange? " 
 
 He dropped his head with a long sigh. And 
 Elizabeth closed her eyes, not to see his limp 
 figure and perhaps for another reason. 
 
 The wheels grated on a stone pavement, and in 
 a moment the carriage stopped. 
 
 " Don't try to get out," Elizabeth said hastily, 
 gathering up her skirts and opening the door on 
 her side. She slipped out, and the door slammed 
 after her before Carleton could speak. He caught 
 a blurred glimpse of her as she dived into a door
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 opening casually in the wall. Then the carriage 
 started again. 
 
 Carleton wished that he had got out, had made 
 an effort over himself and met these people. He 
 began to realise that he must make some effort, 
 unless he wanted to be reduced to the condition of 
 a jelly-fish. It might be agreeable to be a jelly- 
 fish; but it would undoubtedly be hard to stop 
 being one. He felt that already he had got rather 
 far on the way to total spinelessness. 
 
 There seemed not much of his original being 
 left, except aches. A brutal ache at the base of 
 the brain was the chief sensation of life at present. 
 
 Wouldn't it be a good thing, now, to clear out? 
 Elizabeth couldn't really want him around, he 
 thought. He must be an unmitigated nuisance. 
 It wasn't decent of him to stay on in this state. 
 
 But perhaps it wouldn't be decent to clear out, 
 either. He had committed himself to Elizabeth, 
 as far as he could. He had offered himself to her 
 several times was it two or three times ? Per- 
 haps if he kept on doing it he might attain, in time, 
 to the proper amount of intensity. Then she would 
 be pleased, possibly, to give an answer. At present 
 
 114
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 he was hung up, like Mahomet's coffin, between 
 earth and heaven. A faint smile touched his lips 
 as this figure suggested itself. If Elizabeth 
 let him fall back to earth, what should he do? 
 Burrow into it somewhere, if possible, like the 
 Worm of the fable. " Lass' mich schlafen!" he 
 growled, in Fafner's phrase, and fancied he could 
 feel the cool, dark mould settling over him as he 
 turned himself for another nap. . . . And 
 heaven? Well, La Fontanella could hardly be 
 heaven, after all.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 ATER the rain came a week of delicious 
 weather, warm and lazy, with a cool wind 
 at nightfall. June began, but summer still 
 held off her hand, and the spirit of spring lingered 
 in freshness and cool colour. But it was the south- 
 ern spring and the Italian country. It was a reviv- 
 ing of old desires, a wakening of infinite reminis- 
 cences. It was rich and deep. It was sweet, with 
 the eternal, pathetic sweetness of passing youth 
 seen by middle age. 
 
 At La Fontanella the time went by swiftly and 
 easily. People came and went, and were pleasant 
 or tiresome as the case might be. There was 
 always someone at luncheon, generally two or 
 three at dinner. Carleton drove about the coun- 
 try and revisited his old loves in church or gallery. 
 Elizabeth wrote letters, made and received visits. 
 Clara worked at her music and began to show some 
 interest in Carleton. Mrs. Langham bewailed her 
 entanglement in an endless legal correspondence, 
 
 116
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 when all she wanted was a simple matter of a little 
 more money. 
 
 In the course of the week the professor became 
 domiciled at the villa. His name was Matthew 
 Harris, and he came from a New England girls' 
 college. He was a bachelor of forty-eight; tall, 
 spare, carefully dressed, with a pointed beard and 
 elegant eye-glasses. He knew nearly everything 
 that can be learned from books, and had written 
 several books about books. When he had been a 
 few days about, everybody liked him. He was so 
 happy that he became lovable. He proved to be 
 romantic and to have a congealed fountain of joy 
 in life within him, that now, in a mild atmosphere, 
 began to thaw out. He paid lyric compliments to 
 Mrs. Langham, and admired Clara ; but his main 
 devotion was to Elizabeth. 
 
 " She's fascinatingly complex," he said to Carle- 
 ton. " Her mind is at once frank and elusive. 
 Like a skein of silk there's just one right place to 
 begin. Make a mistake, and you get a hopeless 
 tangle. But the tangles are fascinating, too." 
 
 Elizabeth seemed to like being untangled. She 
 gave a e;reat deal of time to Mr. Harris. 
 
 117
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 " Isn't he delicious ! " she demanded of Carle- 
 ton. " He knows all about books, and nothing 
 else. He's like Miranda on the desert island 
 ready to fall down and worship." 
 
 " He is rather girlish," said Carleton. 
 
 " Ah, you're envious of him ! He does enjoy 
 himself." 
 
 But Carleton was enjoying, too not himself, 
 exactly, but other people and things. Some of 
 Clara's Italians interested him in themselves, and 
 also because anything connected with Clara now 
 somehow interested him. They were young peo- 
 ple, very modern, fluent in English, and in every- 
 thing else, apparently. The two that Clara seemed 
 most intimate with were cousins both intense and 
 melancholy creatures. The girl, unmarried at the 
 age of twenty-six, chafed against the conventional 
 bounds of her life, and talked passionate anarchy. 
 The man, with a brilliant university record in 
 philosophy and a poetic temperament, was un- 
 happy because his family expected a worldly career 
 for him. Clara was eloquent to Carleton about 
 this young fellow's predicament, and she was very 
 charming to him, and, in different ways, to others 
 
 118
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 who came. Carleton saw that she had a number 
 of devotees. He perceived, too, before many days, 
 that under the gay mask of Morelli's customary 
 manner something like to desperation was con- 
 cealed. 
 
 At the beginning Morelli talked to him pleas- 
 antly and frankly talked about Clara, even, in an 
 impersonal way. Carleton learned that they had 
 met first in London, where Morelli was doing some 
 laboratory work, about eight months before; and 
 that Morelli was much interested in her musical 
 talent in fact, was rather over-enthusiastic about 
 it. In these talks Carleton was judging him, with 
 the deeper interest because of Clara. He saw in 
 Morelli a man destined to practical success, gifted 
 and level-headed, but with an emotional streak 
 capable of knocking him off his feet temporarily, 
 as it had done in the case of Clara. 
 
 As Carleton saw more of Clara, he found 
 Morelli less accessible, and began to see in his 
 manner traces of the moody irritability natural to 
 a lover on probation. Clara, too, showed more 
 and more some sort of strain. She worked long 
 hours at her music, and would come in to luncheon 
 
 119
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 looking white and exhausted; then she would be 
 silent and abstracted, and her face expressed a 
 more intense melancholy than Carleton had ever 
 before seen on a human countenance. He thought, 
 also, that she avoided being alone with Morelli. 
 And he saw the kind of thing in her that Elizabeth 
 called " diabolical " a changeableness, physical 
 as well as mental, a way of flushing suddenly into 
 beauty quite radiant, when she chose. 
 
 Some of these beautiful moments had been for 
 him ; in particular, once when she played for him 
 alone in the music-room. They had had a long 
 talk about art in general, and music in particular. 
 Then she played some emotional music of Bee- 
 thoven, and that Chopin nocturne that has the move- 
 ment of the sea in it, the incessant muffled rise and 
 fall of the blind waves. She had been much inter- 
 ested in Carleton's ideas, and had talked fast and 
 freely herself; expression had excited her. Her 
 cheeks and lips were vivid with colour, her eyes 
 alight. And as, after the final note of the noc- 
 turne, she looked up at Carleton, she was so 
 beautiful that he simply gazed at her in a maze 
 of pleasure, not even conscious that he was silent. 
 
 1 20
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 He found that her eyes were of a green colour, 
 like sea-water, with the same opaqueness a little 
 way below the surface; they were soft as velvet. 
 Her brows and lashes were black, like her hair; 
 she was snow-white and rose-red, like the maiden 
 in the fairy-tale. At least, this is what Carleton 
 would have said, if he had said anything at that 
 moment. As it was, he sat with his arms folded, 
 and looked at her. And Clara touched a note 
 or two idly, and ran a delicate rill-like scale up 
 in the treble, and then suddenly closed the 
 piano. 
 
 " It must be tea-time," she said, and glanced 
 over Carleton's head. 
 
 Morelli was standing in the doorway. 
 
 "Ah, how long have you been there?" de- 
 manded Clara imperiously. " I don't like people 
 to look at me unawares." 
 
 Carleton got up, feeling that the spell had been 
 painfully broken, and astonished at her roughness. 
 Morelli was smiling. 
 
 " Forgive me," he said with smooth grace. " I 
 came by Mrs. Craven's request to say that tea is 
 ready." 
 
 121
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 " Don't let Mrs. Craven make a servant 
 of you," said Clara, and walked out past him 
 haughtily. 
 
 Morelli, very pale, followed without looking at 
 Carleton, who felt extremely uncomfortable. But 
 the scene was not over yet. Having been a witness 
 to Clara's temper, he had to see her repentance 
 also. Before she had reached the gate of the 
 courtyard, she stopped, turned to Morelli, who 
 was nearest her, and put out her hand. 
 
 " Forgive me, Gennaro, I was horribly rude," 
 she said, with the grieved and shamed look of a 
 child. u But I have been so bothered to-day, my 
 nerves are fairly on edge." 
 
 Morelli touched the offered hand with his lips; 
 and Clara sighed and walked swiftly out on the 
 terrace. It had not taken a minute; but Carleton, 
 following a few steps behind with Morelli, who 
 did not speak to him, felt oddly that it had 
 changed their relations. As to Clara, he did not 
 know exactly what he felt for her, or she for him. 
 On the face of it, she was angry with Morelli for 
 having interrupted their talk; but very probably, 
 having made peace with the offender, she would 
 
 122
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 now visit that anger on him, Carleton, as the 
 ultimate cause. 
 
 There were several visitors at the tea-table 
 under the cypresses, and Clara was surrounded by 
 them. When Carleton had a chance to observe 
 her, he saw that all the colour had died out of her 
 face. She looked now as indifferent as was con- 
 sistent with listening at all to the woes of a viva- 
 cious lady, who had rented the villa of an Ameri- 
 can countess, and had found that she could not 
 pluck a flower in the grounds without accounting 
 to the Countess's steward, nor pass her own gates 
 after ten o'clock at night. 
 
 Mrs. Langham returned in the carriage, accom- 
 panied by her poodle Fidelio, as the visitors were 
 about to go. As she stepped out and came across 
 the terrace, trailing her embroidered violet dress 
 and posing her head against the lace parasol that 
 slanted over her shoulder, Carleton thought of a 
 flaunting peacock and of Maupassant's world of 
 gold, purple and marble. That ought to be 
 Augusta's world; no mists, no mysteries, but 
 everything hard, clear and splendid. But, unfor- 
 tunately, there were mists in her skies; there was 
 
 123
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 decidedly a cloud on her brow, and her Voice had 
 the harsh complaint of the peacock under its arti- 
 ficial softness. She sat down in the chair that 
 Elizabeth had left to accompany her guests to their 
 waiting carriage; and though she was thus nearest 
 to the tea-equipage, it devolved upon Carleton, as 
 she never did anything for herself, to give her a 
 cup of tea. 
 
 " It's quite undrinkable," she said languidly, 
 setting down the cup after one taste. " Of course, 
 it's been standing an hour or so. Will you 
 please ask Roberto to get some made fresh for 
 me?" 
 
 44 Let me go," said Morelli quickly. 
 
 Clara was standing with Elizabeth in the door- 
 way. Morelli joined them, and the three went in 
 together. 
 
 Carleton was for some moments inattentive to 
 the lady left to him. But she, too, was silent, and 
 devoted herself to punching holes in the gravel 
 with the thin ferule of her parasol; Fidelio sitting 
 by on his haunches, his red mouth half open, and 
 observing the world cynically. Carleton noted the 
 sprays of purple flowers embroidered on the lace 
 
 124
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 of the parasol; its handle was silver, set with 
 amethysts. She wore a plumed hat, and long 
 grey gloves wrinkling up to meet the frills of her 
 sleeves. The labour of how many fingers was 
 represented by this scheme of decoration, concen- 
 trated on this one among many settings for her 
 coldly voluptuous charm! She was undoubtedly 
 a costly creature ! 
 
 " I've been thinking that you ought to have a 
 different frame," he said suddenly. " Something 
 like this, but bigger, more formal. There ought 
 to be long flights of marble steps, and marble 
 balustrades with peacocks on them, and swans 
 somewhere below on the water. And you should 
 wander about always in the gardens, where it 
 would be always afternoon " 
 
 " That's very poetic," said the lady, punching 
 more holes. " But it's impossible, like all poetry. 
 This is a world of prose, my dear creature. And 
 to prove it, I am about to ask you some most pro- 
 saic questions. Do you think, for instance, you 
 could help me to make some money? " 
 
 " But, dear Mrs. Langham, I don't know how 
 to make money." 
 
 I2 5i
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 " Oh, yes, you do ! Elizabeth has been 
 telling me. I know you have made a good 
 deal." 
 
 Carleton inwardly confounded Elizabeth's busy 
 tongue; but he spoke slowly to control his irri- 
 tation. 
 
 " I did make some not very much at one 
 time, but " 
 
 "Well, could you not tell me how you did it? 
 I don't know anything about the American mar- 
 kets " 
 
 " But, neither do I now. Stock conditions 
 change, as you are probably aware. For three 
 months I haven't looked at a market report, and I 
 hope never to see one again. So that any informa- 
 tion I had at the time I was speculating would be 
 perfectly useless now." 
 
 Mrs. Langham raised her eyes in softness they 
 were like Clara's and looked at him carefully, 
 quite unconvinced. 
 
 " But if you knew how then, you must know how 
 now. And why did you stop?" she enquired 
 curiously. 
 
 " Because I had enough." 
 126
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 "Enough? But, then, you must have made a 
 great deal ! " And her eyes opened wide. 
 
 " Enough for myself that isn't very much." 
 
 " Oh! " Her gaze became reflective; then, as 
 her own wish recurred, despondent. " It seems to 
 be incredibly difficult to do anything about money. 
 I have had another perfectly stupid letter from my 
 lawyers. ... I thought perhaps, as Eliza- 
 beth's friend, you might " 
 
 " I would, of course, do anything I could. But 
 well, if, for instance, I wanted very much to 
 make some money for myself just now, I should 
 have to go back to America, watch things carefully 
 for some time before going in, and then stay on the 
 spot and watch them ten times as hard. Do you 
 see? And, of course, I couldn't advise anybody 
 else to take risks that I wouldn't take for myself." 
 
 " I see," she said reluctantly. " What a fright- 
 ful nuisance it all is ! " 
 
 The tea came, and Carleton carefully poured out 
 a fresh cup and put in the sugar and lemon as she 
 had previously directed. She took it with an 
 expression of resignation. 
 
 " I suppose I must go to some fearful little hole 
 127
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 this summer and economise," she said pathetically. 
 " Fortunately, Clara can manage much better than 
 I can and she doesn't mind those places. Of 
 course, she has her music; otherwise I'm sure she 
 couldn't bear them. And she looks forward to 
 being very successful some day; and that's a great 
 thing for her. I wish I had something to look for- 
 ward to. What do you think of her chances as a 
 professional? " 
 
 " I can't judge," said Carleton curtly. " There 
 are so many considerations " 
 
 "Oh, I know; but I asked you what you 
 thought." 
 
 " I should think that, as far as talent goes, and 
 temperament, she had a good chance. She has 
 evidently worked hard, and she has the equipment 
 that no work can give. The question would be of 
 her strength, it seems to me." 
 
 1 Yes, so they all say," commented Mrs. Lang- 
 ham absently. " It's a pity she couldn't have had 
 my constitution. She will be very unhappy if she 
 doesn't succeed. But, then, who is not unhappy in 
 this world? Are you happy, Signer Philoso- 
 pher?" 
 
 128
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 " I am quite as happy as I deserve to be." 
 
 "Oh, deserve! What has that to do with it? 
 Does your Providence keep a shop, and hand out 
 so much happiness over the counter in return for 
 so much goodness? " 
 
 " No ; or if it does, it gives short measure, I'm 
 afraid. There's much more goodness than happi- 
 ness in this world. Don't you think so? " 
 
 " I don't know much about either," said the 
 lady, smiling. " Perhaps I don't believe in either. 
 People act as they must, and get what they can, 
 I suppose. That's what I judge from my own 
 experience. It's all chance." 
 
 She looked at him with grave fixity, and he 
 waited eagerly for something that would give him 
 a lead; but she went on slowly drinking her tea. 
 He was trying to project himself into her mind, to 
 see her as she probably saw herself. It was not in 
 the least probable that she would ever talk to him 
 about what he wanted to know; but he made up 
 his mind to try. She liked to talk that was in his 
 favour. The first thing was to seem more inter- 
 ested in her and more sympathetic to her point of 
 view. For the moment he wished that he had not 
 
 129
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 been so decided about the money-making propo- 
 sition. He could not have done what she asked, 
 of course; but he might have given her some 
 advice, and, incidentally, have found out more 
 about her and Clara. 
 
 How would Clara like it? Would she like this 
 prying interest of his, or would she resent it? It 
 seemed odd that this was her mother! And yet 
 there were points of resemblance, physical, at 
 least, but not many. Clara's inheritance clearly 
 came mainly from her father; and Carleton could 
 not help being actually glad of that. There were 
 worse things than an unbalanced temperament. 
 
 His conversation with Mrs. Langham went no 
 farther at the moment, for Elizabeth returned. 
 But a little later Elizabeth referred to it, and 
 showed that she knew its purport. She told him 
 then that Augusta was really in dire straits for 
 money. She had anticipated her next quarter's 
 allowance, she was in debt, how much she herself 
 did not exactly know, and for the next few 
 months they must live on Clara's little income. 
 
 " And Clara is restless and unhappy. She won't 
 stay much longer with me. It is a trying situation 
 
 130
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 for her. She begged me not to lend her mother 
 any money; but Augusta has not asked for any. 
 Poor girl! And poor Gennaro! I'm afraid she 
 doesn't mean to take him, after all." 
 
 They were standing in the hall, just before din- 
 ner, and now the others began to appear Mr. 
 Harris and Morelli, then Clara, and lastly, Mrs. 
 Langham. At table Carleton was beside Clara, 
 and was at once too much absorbed in her to pay 
 any heed to the others. 
 
 He saw that she was in an intensely nervous 
 state. She ate almost nothing. She did not touch 
 the wine; but her face flushed, and she talked 
 rapidly and in an excited way yet in a voice so 
 low as to be almost inaudible to for example 
 Morelli, on the opposite side of the table. Carle- 
 ton took a cool, matter-of-fact tone, and watched 
 her carefully the twitching of her long fingers, 
 the brightness of her eyes as she looked sidewise 
 at him under drooping lids. His characteristic 
 calmness of aspect seemed to please her. He was 
 sure by this time that she liked to be with him, and 
 that his quiet manner made her more expressive. 
 
 He had been saying that he envied her the com-
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 binatlon of mental and physical work in her art. 
 " One kind of strain must offset the other. It's a 
 more symmetrical, all-round kind of thing. A 
 writer hasn't that he has to hunt up some other 
 kind of bodily exercise. It's a quieting thing, I 
 should think, to be able to use the hand and the 
 brain together as a painter does also." 
 
 ." I daresay it ought to be. One gets tired 
 enough. But that doesn't always mean rest," said 
 Clara. " I think one has to be happy in order to 
 rest, don't you ? " 
 
 Carleton considered for a moment, observing 
 at the same time the pure outline of her face 
 which, in spite of its pathetic look of experience, 
 had not a line as yet. How young she was ! 
 
 " I've been reading a learned German's theory 
 of happiness," he said. " He thinks that happi- 
 ness depends upon the exercise of energy and what 
 he calls the volitional surplus. Now, the volitional 
 surplus " 
 
 "Never mind it!" interrupted Clara. "That's 
 just like a learned German! How could he pos- 
 sibly know anything about happiness?" 
 
 " By the justly famous Teutonic method. He 
 132
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 would first carefully observe the phenomena of 
 happiness In different classes of individuals, and 
 investigate the causes. Then he would tabulate 
 his results and reduce them to a mathematical 
 
 formula, such as " 
 
 " Oh, pray don't be Teutonic ! But tell me your 
 theory of happiness." 
 
 " I haven't any. But I could give you some 
 facts, and perhaps from them we could construct a 
 theory. For instance, I am happy at this moment. 
 Now, why am I happy? " 
 
 " I'm sure I don't know. But I suppose it's 
 because you have nothing to make you unhappy at 
 the moment; and so you're at peace." 
 
 " You are mistaken. I'm not at peace. Happi- 
 ness isn't peace. But I'm happy because I can sit 
 here, and look at you, and talk to you." 
 
 " I can't construct any theory on those facts. 
 There aren't enough. At what other times and in 
 what other circumstances have you been happy? " 
 " I think I've never been happy before." 
 " I'm afraid you're frivolous. You haven't the 
 proper scientific spirit. I shan't pursue the investi- 
 gation any further." 
 
 133
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 " But you have a theory of your own. You 
 said " 
 
 " I didn't say anything about happiness. I said 
 one had to be happy in order to rest. And by that 
 I mean, not to be tormented by people and things. 
 I should like to go far away, away from everybody 
 and every place I've known." 
 
 " To Africa, for instance? " 
 
 " Anywhere." 
 
 ' You're quite heartless to say that. But, fortu- 
 nately, you can't do it." 
 
 "No, it isn't fortunate for me; or for other 
 people, either. I don't make anyone happy." 
 
 " You might." 
 
 " No, I couldn't possibly. And people make me 
 desperately unhappy." 
 
 "And do you think you would find a better 
 order of people somewhere else ? " 
 
 " I should like not to find any at all." 
 
 " Oh, a desert island, perhaps? " 
 
 ;< Yes, something like that." 
 ' With a grand piano on it, and a French dress- 
 maker? " 
 
 " And a good maid, and a cordon bleu" 
 134
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 " What frightful selfishness, to want to keep all 
 those good things to yourself ! And to keep your- 
 self to yourself that's worst of all." 
 
 " Oh, I shall do it yet. I shall run away. Surely 
 I have a right to be happy if I can." 
 
 " Yes, but not alone." 
 
 " But that means not at all. You don't under- 
 stand." 
 
 " I understand that you're in a Byronic mood 
 to-night, and that you have a romantic tempera- 
 ment." 
 
 Clara shivered. " Don't talk about tempera- 
 ment, I beg you. I haven't any at all; I have only 
 temper. I have a very bad temper; but only when 
 people exasperate me. Now, you must admit that 
 people ought not to exasperate me." 
 
 " Certainly not. But, also, you ought to be 
 charitable in a reasonable degree." 
 
 Decided exasperation showed in her glance at 
 him. 
 
 " Don't preach to me, please; I can't bear it. 
 It's nothing but platitudes and I don't want you 
 to be tiresome too." 
 
 " But, of course, I am tiresome. Haven't you 
 135
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 just said that you'd like ne^er to see me 
 again? " 
 
 " No, I did not say that." And now her eyes 
 dwelt on him with enchanting softness. ' You are 
 not connected with the things I want to get away 
 from." 
 
 " I'm not connected with anything. I'm merely 
 nobody." 
 
 " No, not that, either." 
 
 She hesitated; and at this moment, to Carleton's 
 intense disgust, the high voice of Mr. Harris 
 addressed itself to him, and the talk became 
 general. 
 
 136
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 A) they rose from the table Clara said eagerly, 
 " Let us have coffee out on the terrace 
 it's so stifling indoors." And she went 
 quickly out through the hall, Carleton following. 
 
 " Perhaps you ought to have a wrap," he 
 suggested. 
 
 " No, no; this is all I want." 
 
 She had a gauzy white scarf round her shoul- 
 ders, and as she spoke she threw it over her head 
 so that its folds delicately framed her face. It 
 was an unusually warm night. At nine o'clock the 
 twilight had just ended. The moon had nearly 
 filled its circle; it was rising above the cypresses, 
 and the whole place was clearly lighted. Clara, 
 declining coffee, seated herself on the wall, and 
 looked down into the valley, where the shapes of 
 things, and even the colours, refined and rare, were 
 magically visible. In the grass at the foot of the 
 wall, fireflies were thick; they swam hazily about 
 in the depth of air over the hillside. Far below, 
 
 137
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 the lights of the city lay like a paler swarm. A 
 cool breath floated down from the pine-woods of 
 the higher hills, and for a moment blew strongly; 
 and in its current the green, winking fire-craft 
 eddied helplessly about. Clara put out her hands 
 to bathe in the breeze and lifted her face to it, 
 closing her eyes sensuously. 
 
 " Oh, how delicious ! " she murmured. " How 
 wonderful it is, after the heat how it revives 
 one! I've always loved this night-wind. It feels 
 like water as it ripples over your fingers, doesn't 
 it? I'll tell you what it's like the water of the 
 green lakes that you see in the sunset, with gold 
 islands in them ! ... It will soon be time to 
 go away." 
 
 "To go away? Why?" 
 
 " Florence will be terribly hot. This is the 
 beginning of the hot weather. I can't bear the 
 heat; it withers me up. . . . Look! it must 
 be fiesta to-night the city is illuminated. Gen- 
 naro ! Do you know what all those lights are 
 for?" 
 
 Morelli came, with a coffee-cup in one hand and 
 a cigar in the other. 
 
 138
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 " It is Fiesta San Somebody or Other," he said. 
 
 "Not San Giovanni?" 
 
 " Oh, no this is only some small saint ! We 
 make more of our patron saint than this." 
 
 " St. John I suppose he is a good Christian 
 saint, not the pagan kind they have in Germany? 
 You know, there they celebrate St. John's Eve in 
 midsummer a real pagan festival. Everyone can 
 do as he likes while the fires of St. John burn ! " 
 
 " We are pagan enough. Shall we say that this 
 is St. John's Eve, and celebrate him? " 
 
 " Oh, that would be robbing Saint Somebody 
 Else! But, let us go somewhere and walk; shall 
 we?" 
 
 " Good ! From the top of the hill we can see 
 the illumination better." 
 
 " Come, Mr. Carleton, we'll go to the top of 
 the hill. Come, everybody, and see the illumina- 
 tion!" 
 
 Clara slipped to her feet and flitted through the 
 cypresses. So quick was she that she seemed fairly 
 to be running. 
 
 " Come, Mr. Carleton ! " she called again over 
 her shoulder. And as Carleton hurried after her 
 
 139
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 Morelli fell back. They reached the gate as the 
 others were just coming out of the shadow of the 
 cypresses. Clara opened the postern-door at the 
 side of the big iron gates. 
 
 " Come," she urged. " We can't wait for them. 
 My mother will take a year to get up the hill. She 
 can't walk in high heels." 
 
 And out she flew. Carleton had to take long 
 strides to keep up with her. The road was steep 
 and full of small stones. It made a sharp turn 
 just above the villa and then wound between high 
 walls, half in black shadow, half in white light. 
 Clara held up her muslin dress over her white 
 slippers. She took three steps to Carleton's one, 
 and kept always a step ahead, on the lighted half 
 of the road. The gauze scarf eddied cloudily 
 about her head, and one end of it floated backward 
 and now and then touched Carleton's shoulder. 
 
 " Chose allee! " he thought of her. And at the 
 same time the feeling of her restlessness hurt him. 
 Suddenly she stumbled over a stone, and he caught 
 her arm. " Don't try to run up-hill they can't 
 catch you ! " he said in a half-tender, half-laughing 
 tone, as he would have spoken to a child. 
 
 140
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 " Oh, it is rough ! " she sighed plaintively. She 
 stood still for a moment, breathing fast. " It is 
 steep, and I've made you run, too ! " 
 
 " But I like running." 
 
 They went on more slowly, but still several turns 
 of the road in advance of the others. 
 
 " How close it is ! " She glanced from side to 
 side. " These walls shut off the air. And they 
 crowd in so all the little fields and old houses. 
 Sometimes it makes me long for the wilderness 
 something really fresh and new." 
 
 " Then you should come to America," said 
 Carleton. 
 
 " Yes, I suppose that is wilderness. But it is all 
 vague to me. You see, I never have been there 
 at least, since I was a year old. And I have never 
 wanted to go back. After all, I suppose it is not 
 really beautiful as this certainly is." 
 
 " The real wilderness is the mountains, the 
 desert." 
 
 " Ah, T should like to see them ! But I suppose I 
 never shall. . . . And yet, why do I say 
 that? I ought to be able to do some of the things 
 that I want to do. I hate people who are always 
 
 141
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 being crushed by circumstances. There's -nothing 
 so deadly uninteresting. Do you believe in free- 
 will or in predestination? " 
 
 " I don't dare to believe in either just now." 
 
 " Coward ! I could believe in anything, on such 
 a night as this. Even in the Land of Heart's 
 Desire, ' where nobody gets old and bitter at 
 heart' " 
 
 The road divided, its main branch leading on 
 and upward to the little town that made a stone 
 cap for the peak of the hill. They took the nar- 
 rower way, and came out on the crest of a long 
 spur. There was a stretch of road free of trees; 
 then came the black shadow of the pine-woods. On 
 the open road the moonlight poured down, quite 
 spoiling the spectacle they had come to see. In 
 the valley the dome was indeed clearly visible, its 
 outlines marked by tiny beads of light; and there 
 were lines of lamps along the buildings near it. 
 But the whole seemed no more than a festival of 
 glow-worms. 
 
 " We have the real illumination up here," said 
 Carleton. 
 
 Clara sat on the low retaining-wall, one hand 
 142
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 supporting her as she leaned to look down, the 
 other holding the scarf across her breast. Her 
 pose, the turn of her face, with downcast eyes, the 
 light cloud-like film about her head, made Carle- 
 ton exclaim suddenly : 
 
 " You are exactly like a Lippo Lippi Madonna 
 how wonderful ! " 
 
 Clara smiled. Then she gave a little cry and 
 dropped the end of her scarf. A firefly had got 
 entangled in the folds, and shone out for a moment 
 in greenish-gold light. 
 
 " Oh, let it stay there ! " begged Carleton, as 
 she tried to shake it out. " It looks like a star in 
 the cloud ! " 
 
 " Yes, but I don't like crawling things ! " 
 
 " But it doesn't touch you do let it stay." 
 
 She looked doubtfully at the creature wandering 
 in its transparent labyrinth; then, as the rest of 
 the party appeared, she called them to see it. 
 
 " Look, I am illuminated, too ! " 
 
 " How pretty! You do look like a saint," said 
 Elizabeth. 
 
 Mrs. Langham shrieked. " Horrid creature, 
 do let it go it will sting you ! " 
 
 H3
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 She sat down rather heavily on the wall, 
 trying to disguise the fact that she was out of 
 breath. 
 
 " No, it won't," said Clara. " I should like 
 some more. Mr. Carleton, do see if you can catch 
 some more for me. I ought to have as many lights 
 as the Duomo ! " 
 
 " At least there should be seven," said Mr. 
 Harris, and he quoted gallantly: 
 
 '* ' The Blessed Damozel leaned out 
 
 From the gold bar of Heaven .... 
 
 She had three lilies in her hand 
 
 And the stars in her hair were seven." " 
 
 Carleton, as he brought back another firefly, 
 imprisoned in his hand, murmured to himself: 
 
 " ' Her eyes were deeper than the depth 
 Of waters stilled at even." " 
 
 And Mrs. Langham said languidly: 
 
 ; ' Well, really! I don't think we need have 
 climbed up here to see this, do you? " 
 
 " Oh, we came for the climb," said Clara. 
 
 ' Well, of course, if you enjoy it ! This wall is 
 damp, Clam ; you will take cold." 
 
 144
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 " It is damp," said Elizabeth calmly. " Rather 
 bad, I'm afraid, for your rheumatism, Augusta." 
 
 " Rheumatism, nonsense ! " Mrs. Langham's 
 tone was decidedly acid. " But certainly it is too 
 damp for comfort." 
 
 " Let us go down," said Clara, rising and shak- 
 ing out her glittering captives. 
 
 Morelli turned and led the way. His silence 
 was so unusual as to be noticed by at least three of 
 the company. He saw evidently that Clara pre- 
 ferred Carleton's companionship. And indeed 
 she lingered now until the others were well started 
 down the hill. 
 
 " One ought never to get my mother to do any- 
 thing she doesn't want to do," she said moodily. 
 " She can be more uncomfortable than anyone I 
 ever knew. And she hates views. . . . They 
 spoiled it all, didn't they? " 
 
 " Not for me." 
 
 "No, really?" 
 
 " It was only five minutes out of my hour." 
 
 " How I wish I were as calm as you as bal- 
 anced! You are as calm as a rock and I'm 
 variable as the light, quivering aspen ! Any breath
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 of wind shakes me everything disturbs me. Oh, 
 how I hate to go back down there ! " 
 
 She had gone a few steps along the road, and 
 now stopped. She turned to look up at Carleton, 
 and the scarf blew back from her head and hung 
 round her bare throat. Her face thrilled him, and 
 her low, vehement tone. He felt rather uneasy, 
 too. Was there to be some disastrous effect of 
 her nervous excitement, of the strain he had seen 
 her trembling under? 
 
 " But I am acting like an idiot," she said, and 
 hid her face in her hands, though not for the relief 
 of tears. 
 
 ' You need not go back just now," he said. " I 
 daresay you don't want to." 
 
 He would have liked to say much more than 
 that. Things that were quite irrelevant to the 
 matter in hand, if you came to that. She was really 
 too pretty to need to' make herself appealing in 
 any other way! He was irritated with her for her 
 childishness, and for the way it moved him. 
 . . . All very well to say that her situation 
 was a hard one that her mother was a thorn in 
 the flesh that Morelli's stormy courtship was 
 
 146
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 disquieting. He could see all that. He pitied 
 her yes, decidedly; but why, after all, should she 
 appeal to him? It was evident that she was quite 
 undisciplined; part of her discomfort, no doubt, 
 came from this unchartered freedom. There 
 ought to be a strong hand over her whims and 
 caprices. If there had been, he thought, she would 
 never have got to this state of nerves. 
 
 He stood in silence till she looked up, then took 
 her hand firmly and led her back to the wall. 
 
 " You'd better rest a little. We can easily over- 
 take them if you wish." 
 
 He spoke rather more colourlessly than usual; 
 with all his mixed feelings about Clara, he was 
 deeply moved by this sudden nearness. From 
 strangers they had almost at once become intimate. 
 She had thrown down the barriers of conventional 
 reserve. In her lack of reason and control she 
 was strangely, irresistibly interesting to him. She 
 had appealed to him, and therefore she was ten 
 times as attractive as before. Her very beauty 
 was no more a picture, but a warm, compelling 
 human force. His feeling for her, its expression 
 made possible, became more intense. Pathetic,
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 unhappy, emotional, beautiful, exasperating he 
 felt a keen desire to control, chastise, and console 
 her! 
 
 She clenched her hand on the edge of the wall, 
 bruising herself with the sharp stone. 
 
 " What shall I do? " she whispered. And in a 
 moment repeated, "What shall I do? I don't 
 want . to break down again. ... I am 
 afraid. . . ." 
 
 " There must be someone to help you," said 
 Carleton rather roughly. " If there is no one here 
 
 that you trust " 
 
 ' There is no one anywhere." 
 
 " But that's nonsense. There must be. What 
 you need first is a more reasonable way of living 
 a good physician " 
 
 She made a hopeless gesture. 
 
 " I have had so many ! . . . But I must 
 do something. I have taken so much sleeping 
 medicine, and I cannot sleep. . . . They can- 
 not do anything for me. . . . And all the 
 time my head is so terribly clear, that's the worst 
 of it. . . . I have been fighting for so long 
 
 . but if I give up now " 
 
 148
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 Her head drooped, and her breast heaved with 
 a long, despairing sigh. 
 
 " Give up ? Don't talk such ridiculous non- 
 sense ! " 
 
 " Oh, it isn't. . . . You know, it's the 
 faces. Whenever I shut my eyes I see faces ! Hor- 
 rible ones ugly ones and beautiful ones that are 
 horrible, too. . . ." 
 
 " Don't talk in that way, for Heaven's sake ! " 
 
 11 Very well, I won't. But " 
 
 " It's absolutely absurd to let your nerves get 
 the upper hand of you to that extent. What's 
 become of your will? . . . You've been work- 
 ing too much, staying in the house too much, seeing 
 people too much. What you need is physical life, 
 and a lot of it. Can't you go and live outdoors 
 somewhere walk, ride, get rid of this idiotic idea 
 of yourself " 
 
 He stopped, acutely conscious of the rough- 
 ness of his tone and her drooping, despondent 
 look. 
 
 " Isn't there anyone that you could go to 
 anyone that you like to be with? " 
 
 " No. I cannot go away from my mother 
 149
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 just now. I mean we haven't money enough, and 
 I can't think where I should go, anyway." 
 
 " Is there no one that you care for more than 
 you do for yourself? " 
 
 That's a curious question ! he thought. 
 
 " Oh, yes ... that is " 
 
 " That is " 
 
 " I am very fond of Francesca Rasolli " 
 
 " I don't mean that. Is there no one you love? " 
 
 Clara shook her head slowly. 
 
 " No one at all unless it is Francesca. But it 
 isn't that I care about myself at all, you know ! " 
 
 " No, but you can't get rid of yourself. If you 
 were obliged to think of someone else someone 
 that you loved you might be happy and at 
 peace, as you said." 
 
 Clara sighed and shook her head. 
 
 " I can't love people," she said. 
 
 " I don't believe you are as perverse as that. 
 . . Don't stand in your own light, at any 
 rate. Love as much as you can." 
 
 She laughed under her breath, and Carleton felt 
 an impulse to shake her, and to take her in his arms 
 and kiss her into reason. 
 
 150
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 " I can't love any of those people down there," 
 she said suddenly. " I hate them ! " 
 
 " No, you don't. You didn't hate Morelli this 
 afternoon, when you begged his pardon with tears 
 in your eyes." 
 
 " Oh, I don't want to talk about them." 
 
 She shivered, and looked about her rather 
 wildly. 
 
 "Are you tired? " demanded Carleton. " Can 
 you walk on farther? " 
 
 "Oh, I'm not tired!" 
 
 " Then take my arm. . . . You will not 
 mind if they have to wait for you? " 
 
 " No, I don't mind. Elizabeth is good to me. 
 And they are used to me, you know. They make 
 allowances, don't cross me, and all that. And 
 that's one reason I can't bear to be with them ! I 
 can't bear it. ... And I must go away from 
 here, for I distress everyone by staying." 
 
 They were walking along the hill-crest toward 
 the pine wood. Carleton halted. 
 
 " But you are not warmly enough wrapped," he 
 said. 
 
 " I am quite warm."
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 " You were shivering." 
 
 " I assure you, I'm not cold." She wound the 
 scarf about her head and neck and took his arm 
 again. " Shall we walk far? " 
 
 " Till you are tired." 
 
 They went on into the wood. Its shade looked 
 black from without, but within it was broken by 
 moving flecks and patches of light. The pine 
 boughs met over the narrow road and swayed and 
 murmured in the breeze. Then the trees thinned 
 and there was another clear stretch. Out of the 
 shadow they came into the moonlight. The liquid 
 air was soaked with it brilliant, thick. The 
 colours of earth and sky were like those of enamel 
 and precious stones pale, yet deep blue and dusky 
 green; and where a tree stood against the sky, it 
 seemed cut in bronze. 
 
 Clara walked silent, as if in a dream; and Carle- 
 ton seemed to himself burdened with a double 
 consciousness his own and hers. In his anxiety 
 to say and do the right thing, he strove to realise 
 what she must be feeling the state of her brain, 
 excited by drugs and sleeplessness to a point cer- 
 tainly not quite normal. It was all very well to 
 
 152
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 take a moral attitude toward her lack of self- 
 control; but to make that moral attitude effective 
 was another thing. Preaching probably wouldn't 
 do it. The " terrible clearness " she had spoken 
 of, and all this outburst of hers, meant simply that 
 she w r as for the moment irresponsible. She had 
 lost the feeling for reality. She was walking in a 
 cloud-world, in which only one thing was definite 
 to her her own self. Otherwise, she could never 
 have treated him, a stranger, as she was doing as 
 though they were two disembodied spirits, free of 
 time and circumstance ! He felt a certain giddi- 
 ness mount to his own brain with the strangeness 
 of it, and the sense, too, that she was changed for 
 him. She was near, her sweetness had the power 
 of something that might be possessed and at the 
 same time she was inexpressibly remote. And he 
 felt pain for her, too. She seemed to him cruelly 
 wronged by circumstance. A passionate will to 
 help and protect her sprang up in him. She must 
 be protected from others, and infinitely more 
 difficult from herself. . . . But how to 
 touch without hurting her or himself with her 
 that mental maze in which she was wandering? 
 
 153
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 How to quiet that morbid sensibility and bring her 
 back to the line of the normal? That her brain 
 was wrong he did not for a moment believe; but 
 that she had crossed the indefinite border, into that 
 Debatable Land where the nerves and the will play 
 at cross-purposes the land that leads down into 
 the desert of solitude he felt with terror. She 
 must be brought back to life, to sane human rela- 
 tions, to joy. But who could do it? He was afraid 
 now even to speak. Here was the tangled skein, 
 and to touch the wrong thread meant disaster. 
 Perhaps disaster only to himself and his relation 
 with her; but he was not going to risk that. He 
 did not know exactly what to do; but instinctively 
 mended his pace. . . . She walked lightly on 
 beside him, her hand! resting on his arm. Her 
 veiled head just came to his shoulder. Looking 
 down at her, he could see that her eyes were wide 
 open and gazed straight ahead. . . 
 
 The road they were following became narrower, 
 more irregular, and broken. Finally, at the brow 
 of the hill, it divided, and two paths led downward 
 on the different sides. Carleton stopped. He had 
 no exact idea how long they had been walking. 
 
 154
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 " I'm afraid it's too damp to go down," he said, 
 " and the path looks rough. We can go back till 
 we find the road going up, and climb a little 
 farther, if you like." 
 
 Clara sank down on a rock, and sighed deeply. 
 " Yes, let us go back, then. How far have 
 we come? I've never been in this place be- 
 fore." 
 
 " Nor I. We've walked about two miles along 
 this road, I think. Are you very tired? " 
 
 "No . . . yes, a little." She dropped 
 her face in her hands, and spoke uncertainly, like 
 a sleeper suddenly awakened. Her figure looked 
 limp, her dress trailed in the dust of the wayside, 
 and she shivered in the damp air that rose from 
 the valley. 
 
 " But you must be tired," she said. " I ought 
 not to have let you come so far." She was making 
 an effort to speak in her ordinary tone, but evi- 
 dently her regained consciousness of him confused 
 her. " I am very sorry. . . ." 
 
 " Oh, I should like to go on indefinitely ! But 
 we can't at least, in this direction. And, as it is, 
 I'm afraid that if you're a little tired now you'll 
 
 155
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 be too much so by the time we get back to the 
 house. It must be an hour's walk." 
 
 " So much? " she exclaimed. " I had no idea 
 we had come so far. But I can't be too tired ! I 
 think after this I can sleep." 
 
 " Then I shan't feel guilty at having brought 
 you so far." 
 
 " Oh, I am the guilty one ! You came because 
 of me; and I am very grateful to you." 
 
 With this calm and prosaic conversation, they 
 started back. And now Clara, who had walked as 
 though on air, began to show weariness. Her 
 steps dragged, and occasionally she stumbled. 
 " I'm so glad to be tired! " she said, and laughed 
 a little. Carleton held her hand more firmly in 
 his arm. He was immensely relieved that her 
 nervous pitch had been so easily lowered. Appar- 
 ently he had done the right thing, after all. She 
 was safe for the time. And the question that now 
 filled his mind was of her attitude toward him. 
 Had he been anything more than a temporary 
 makeshift, a mere impersonal silence by her side? 
 Could this experience, that meant so much to him, 
 mean nothing to her? Had it been chance that 
 
 156
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 had given it to him, or some need in her that she 
 might not be conscious of, that had impelled her 
 toward him, even as he had been drawn to her? 
 He could guess nothing from her manner. They 
 were almost silent on the homeward walk. He 
 left it to her to talk or not, and she said nothing, 
 except, two or three times, " I'm so sorry I've been 
 such a trouble to you ! " And again, " I would go 
 faster, but I am so tired ! " 
 
 Trouble! Yes, she had troubled him, deeply, 
 and this temporary quiet that she had gained 
 brought no peace to him. For it was but tempo- 
 rary, he felt. She would be in need again of some 
 support, some guidance if not of him. And why 
 not of him? Perhaps it was just himself that she 
 did need. 
 
 She needed, at any rate, a person with some will 
 and common sense. She needed to live sensibly. 
 She needed what all women needed happiness 
 and love. Love! It would be easy to give her 
 love; but that alone would be only a torment to 
 her. She herself must love, must give herself, and 
 be properly taken care of, and properly controlled, 
 as all women should be. Then these thorns of hers 
 
 157
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 would disappear she would be all sweetness, all 
 colour, and joy! The graceful white creature, so 
 slender and maidenly, so delicate and warm ! 
 
 She clung to his arm as they went down the steep 
 road, and stumbled in pure weariness. He would 
 have liked to take her up in his arms and carry her 
 over all the rough places in her path.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 ELIZABETH sat awaiting them in the hall, 
 and they were coldly received. Clara 
 made a brief, halting explanation. 
 
 " I could not think what had become of you 
 it is nearly twelve o'clock," said Elizabeth, 
 scanning severely the girl's dishevelled appear- 
 ance. 
 
 Clara, thus treated as a culprit, looked down, 
 rather affrighted, at the hem of her dress, and her 
 shoes covered with dust, and put up her hands 
 nervously to pin back a loose lock of hair. Then, 
 with a piteous glance at Carleton and a faint 
 " Good-night," she fled upstairs. 
 
 Elizabeth summoned Roberto to close the house, 
 and led the way into the library, Carleton meekly 
 following. 
 
 " Really, Barry, I think this is too bad 1 " She 
 faced round upon him when he had shut the door. 
 " I think you ought to have been a little more 
 
 159
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 responsible. What do you suppose Dr. Morelli 
 thinks, and Clara's mother? She was almost in 
 hysterics till I sent her off to bed." 
 
 Carleton suppressed a smile at this picture. " I 
 am awfully sorry it's my fault. We walked on 
 a little way, and got into the wood, and I didn't 
 
 know the place " 
 
 ' Then I think you might have had more con- 
 sideration for me." Her tone was still cold, sharp, 
 and angry, and her face looked astonishingly hard. 
 She remained standing, and still held about her 
 the wrap she had worn on the walk. Carleton 
 realised suddenly her long watch, and now felt 
 genuinely penitent. 
 
 " I beg your pardon a thousand times," he said. 
 '' I see how it must seem to you. But perhaps if I 
 
 could tell you all the circumstances " He 
 
 paused, considering how far it would be right to 
 Clara to tell them. 
 
 Elizabeth made an impatient gesture. 
 
 " Oh, the circumstances ! I know them well 
 enough. Clara had a caprice for walking, or talk- 
 ing, or staying out! But you should not have 
 allowed her to do it. You might have realised 
 
 1 60
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 how it would look. You kept us all waiting here 
 for you an hour, till Morelli had to go, and I sent 
 Mrs. Langham up, and now I have been waiting 
 another hour. . . . Of course, I don't believe 
 it was your fault, either, to begin with only that 
 you were weak about it. As for Clara she is a 
 perfect coquette, and perfectly heartless ! " 
 
 " Oh, really, Elizabeth ! " protested Carleton, 
 " you misunderstand the whole thing. I don't 
 think you'd be angry with her if you knew. The 
 poor girl was simply wild with nerve-tension. She 
 hasn't been sleeping, she's been taking fool drugs, 
 and I think that long walk was absolutely what she 
 needed. She's tired out now, and she'll probably 
 sleep. ... As for coquetry, I can only 
 assure you that she hadn't any thought of me in 
 what she did. She treated me with perfect 
 impersonality." 
 
 " Did she, indeed! And how do you know? 
 How do you know what or how much she thought 
 of you ? You did not expect her to make love to 
 you directly, I suppose? Don't be absurd, Barry." 
 
 " Forgive me, Elizabeth, but in this case I think 
 you are a little absurd," said Carleton quietly. 
 
 161
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 " I daresay. But do you think I haven't seen 
 what has been going on? . . . She talked to 
 nobody but you at dinner; this afternoon she took 
 you off alone to the music-room, and when I sent 
 Morelli for her she was angry; to-night she rushed 
 off with you, ahead of the rest of us; then she 
 keeps you out for two hours because of her 
 nerves and still she has no thought of you! 
 She treats you perfectly impersonally! Frankly, 
 where is the absurdity in your attitude or 
 mine?" 
 
 Carleton had been looking steadily at Elizabeth; 
 but now he dropped his eyes not from a sense of 
 guilt, but because it hurt him to see her like this. 
 She was fairly beside herself with the rage of jeal- 
 ousy. Instinct ruled her, and there was no use in 
 appealing to her reason. And, besides, her instinct 
 might be right. But, no less, this expression of it 
 was unpleasant to Carleton ; and it also made him 
 deeply uneasy. Elizabeth's imperious way of call- 
 ing him to account could only mean that she felt 
 she had a claim on him that was practically a 
 monopoly. And, indeed, had he not given her 
 such a claim? 
 
 162
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 He moved, and spoke sharply, not willing to 
 think of this at the moment. 
 
 " I don't believe we'd better continue this talk 
 now. It's late, as you say, and you're tired. I am 
 very heartily sorry for having caused this disturb- 
 ance. I do keenly regret that part of it. It was 
 an unfortunate accident. But in the same cir- 
 cumstances I should undoubtedly do the same thing 
 again." 
 
 And now his deep-set eyes met hers steadily, and 
 his face had the expression of calm resolve, to 
 which its physical formation square chin and 
 heavy jaw gave a certain grimness. Now it was 
 Elizabeth who quailed. She moved to a chair that 
 stood near, and clasped her hands for support on 
 its back. Her lips trembled. 
 
 " You would not consider my feelings, then, 
 at a ll 
 
 The change from the imperious to the appeal- 
 ing was not accomplished all at once, but Carleton 
 perceived that it was coming, and beat a hasty 
 retreat, not to be outflanked. 
 
 " I have too much consideration for them to 
 trouble you any longer to-night," he said, still keep- 
 
 163
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 ing a firm front. " To-morrow I hope you won't 
 think quite so hardly of me." And he went to the 
 door and held it open for her. 
 
 Elizabeth searched his face desperately. No, 
 there was no sign of softness, or of distress. He 
 was not going to yield in the least. She motioned 
 a dismissal to him, and bowed her head. But 
 Carleton could not go in quite that way. He came 
 back to her, put out his hand. 
 
 " Won't you forgive me? " he asked, and under 
 the humility of his voice there sounded the unmis- 
 takable note of indifference. It was involuntary; 
 he would have been glad not to know it himself, 
 much less had he any wish to express it. But under 
 its cruel power Elizabeth could not help trembling. 
 She gave him her hand. 
 
 " Good-night, Barry," she said in a low, agi- 
 tated tone. The anger of her aspect had become 
 drooping and almost voiceless bitterness. Her 
 unspoken appeal was that he should justify him- 
 self, take her in his arms. It was his tenderness 
 that her jealous paroxysm had unreasonably tried 
 to provoke, and now her misery made another 
 attempt. 
 
 164
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 But now Carleton was less vulnerable; and he 
 dared not show pity as if it had been tenderness. 
 He was up in arms to resist just this demand. Not 
 one step farther could Elizabeth move him. But 
 it was with an uncomfortable feeling of cowardice 
 that he kissed her cold fingers and left her. 
 
 He went to his room, but with no idea of sleep- 
 ing. He honestly meant to think, and to settle his 
 course of action, for he realised that this night 
 marked an important change of some sort; but 
 instead he found himself living over again the time 
 he had spent with Clara. Details of her look, her 
 manner, and speech, came back one by one. Some 
 were clear and vivid as light; some he had to 
 search for, like the faded lineaments of the saint 
 in the gold picture on his wall. But it was always 
 her image that preoccupied, that filled his mind 
 and his sense. She had really taken possession of 
 him. No woman had ever so impressed him. She 
 had set her mark clear and deep on his imagina- 
 tion. Her unhappiness touched his heart. Per- 
 verse, childish she might be, but that unhappiness 
 was desperately real. Her beauty thrilled him in 
 remembrance it was appealing as it was exquisite. 
 
 165
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 It was warm and sensuous with all its delicacy. 
 The danger in the situation had sunk for him out 
 of sight. Here was only a beautiful and interest- 
 ing girl whom he might know intimately. There 
 was no question of past or future. Just to realise 
 her absorbed all his faculties. It was delicious to 
 be so absorbed, and he let himself go. An emo- 
 tional interest so keen was like new life to him. 
 And if before he had been like a shell stranded on 
 some dry beach, now a warm, living tide of feeling 
 was flowing in upon him, enveloping him with 
 liquid, mysterious murmurs, floating him out on 
 a sea of infinite possibilities. . . . 
 
 In this state of being, he fell asleep; and it was 
 broad day when he awoke with a sense of happi- 
 ness for which at first he could not account. In 
 fact, he could not account for it at all, since on 
 examination it vanished in perplexity. Why, 
 indeed, should he be happy? The thing that con- 
 fronted him now was his position with Elizabeth, 
 and the fact that he must have some kind of expla- 
 nation with her. The present situation at La Fon- 
 tanella was quite untenable. There must be a new 
 order of things; and this in itself was disqui- 
 
 166
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 eting, for what could he definitely hope for just 
 now? 
 
 He admitted to himself that he dreaded to see 
 Elizabeth, and he put off seeing her as long as 
 possible. He knew that she was to be found in the 
 library, unless, indeed, she might be even more 
 accessible on the terrace, perhaps. Therefore, 
 he carefully secluded himself in his room and 
 wrote letters. He had not before written a letter 
 since leaving America. And now, though he took 
 the occasion to write to his mother, he was mainly 
 concerned with two other people. To one, a suc- 
 cessful alienist whom he knew personally, he wrote 
 a full account of Clara's history as he knew it, and 
 asked for an opinion. The second person was a 
 man of fifty, of wide social acquaintance, living in 
 Washington; and Carleton asked him if he had 
 known Charles Langham, or if he knew anyone 
 who had known him. 
 
 Then, luncheon being announced, he went down 
 with his letters in his hand, feeling somewhat like 
 a truant schoolboy. He found Elizabeth with 
 the Blandons and the inevitable Mr. Harris, in 
 the hall; and she greeted him with conventional 
 
 167
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 cheerfulness. He was on the alert for Clara's 
 coming; but as they went directly into the dining- 
 room, and he perceived the table laid for five, it 
 was evident that neither she nor her mother were 
 to be seen. Nothing was said about them; and 
 Carleton was a good deal disturbed. He won- 
 dered if Elizabeth's treatment of Clara the night 
 before had meant a painful break, and miserably 
 hoped not. Elizabeth was unusually vivacious, 
 and Carleton's preoccupation was not remarked, 
 except by Mrs. Blandon. That lady demanded 
 his opinion on various domestic problems with a 
 strong flavour of autobiography, such as: Should 
 a husband open his wife's letters? Should there 
 be perfect confidence between husband and wife, 
 or wasn't it a better policy to have some reserves? 
 Should a man who liked to amuse himself quarrel 
 with his wife because another man fell in love with 
 her? Carleton's responses did not please. 
 
 ' Your thoughts are wool-gathering, Mr. Carle- 
 ton. May I have three guesses where they are? I 
 can guess, too, why you haven't come to see me, 
 though I have asked you " she counted on her 
 fingers " one, two, three times. I wonder where 
 
 168
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 that pretty Miss Langham is to-day do you 
 know?" She eyed him with frank malice. 
 
 " We must ask Mrs. Craven," said Carleton; 
 and he addressed Elizabeth : " We have been 
 wondering, Mrs. Blandon and I, where Miss 
 Langham is." 
 
 " I believe she has gone to see the Rasollis," 
 Elizabeth responded as coolly. " And Mrs. 
 Langham has an attack of nerves. She lost her 
 maid this morning; and she has to find another in 
 a hurry, as she is packing." 
 
 " Oh, going away? " exclaimed Mrs. Blandon. 
 44 Isn't that a pity we shan't have any more of 
 that dear delightful Bach! Where are they 
 going, Elizabeth dear?" 
 
 " I don't exactly know yet. Clara wants some 
 place in the hills, where it will be cool and she can 
 work. . . . We shall all be flitting soon, I 
 suppose. When do you go to England? " 
 
 Carleton was left in quiet for some moments, 
 but not exactly in peace. Packing! That meant, 
 no doubt, that there had been a quarrel. He felt 
 wretched about it; and slow anger rose in him 
 against Elizabeth for having made him and her- 
 
 169
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 self ridiculous. What did she mean to do with' 
 him, anyway, supposing it in her power to dispose 
 of him? And did she think that she could dispose 
 of him? Could she, as a matter of fact? 
 
 Apparently she was no more in haste than he 
 for a meeting. After luncheon she said that she 
 and Mrs. Langham were going to drive to town 
 on business. And in due time Mrs. Langham 
 appeared, and bestowed on Carleton a cool bow 
 as she got into the carriage. He was left, with 
 the knowledge that they would bring Clara back 
 with them, to the tender mercies of Mrs. Blandon, 
 who poured coffee for the three men on the ter- 
 race, and made herself entertaining to two, at 
 least, of them. Her husband apparently was 
 entertained by everything she said or did; and 
 Mr. Harris was embarrassed and pleased at hav- 
 ing to defend himself from the charge of deserting 
 her for Mrs. Craven. 
 
 Presently Carleton broke away, and went wan- 
 dering about the house and garden first into the 
 music-room, where it was cooler than outside, 
 then out to the bench in the shade by the fountain. 
 The garden was beginning to show the effect of 
 
 170
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 several hot days; and now, especially in breathless 
 mid-afternoon, its varying greens seemed faded a 
 tone lighter, and their surfaces slightly crisped. 
 Even the endless murmur of the water pouring 
 from its shell had a tired sound. 
 
 He hardly knew how the time passed till their 
 return; it seemed long, yet the noise of the car- 
 riage-wheels surprised him. He went out to meet 
 them. Mrs. Langham had just gone into the 
 house; Clara and Elizabeth stood for a moment 
 hand in hand as the carriage turned to go to the 
 stable. On seeing Carleton, Elizabeth, whose face 
 showed emotion, went quickly in, and in a moment 
 Clara followed. But first she put out her hand to 
 Carleton, and said: 
 
 " Do you know we are going away, to-morrow 
 or the next day? . . . But I want to thank 
 you for last night. I want to tell you 5t helped 
 me to decide something important." 
 
 She looked at him with a bright, soft gaze, and 
 was going on. But Carleton kept her hand. 
 
 "You are going?" he almost stammered. 
 "But where?" 
 
 " I don't just know yet, till I have answers to 
 171
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 some letters. . . . But I must go in here 
 comes the tea." 
 
 Roberto carried the table and its furniture out 
 under the cypresses, and Carleton waited there for 
 the three ladies. Mrs. Langham did not appear 
 again. Elizabeth came first, and made the tea; 
 and she said to him, with a kind of nervous soft- 
 ness, " I want to have a talk with you, Barry, 
 before dinner do you mind? " 
 
 " Gladly," he answered. " I want it, too." 
 
 But he was watching for Clara with all his eyes 
 and mind, and Elizabeth did not find it easy to 
 talk about indifferent matters during the few 
 minutes they were alone. 
 
 Clara came, and Carleton got up to place a 
 chair for her. At the same time the bell at the 
 gate rang, and some visitors came in some Ital- 
 ians whom Carleton had not seen before two 
 men and a woman. Instantly the conversation 
 became voluble, staccato, punctuated by gay laugh- 
 ter from the little Contessa, who smoked one ciga- 
 rette after another rapidly, and who looked like a 
 slim, neat, bright-eyed bird. They talked half in 
 Italian, half in French, the latter to include Carle- 
 
 172
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 ton, who, however, easily dropped out, as he pre- 
 ferred. He was not sitting near Clara, and felt 
 the more free to look at her. She was pale, but 
 he was struck by the quietness of her look. It was 
 almost peaceful a peace out of pain; it was as 
 though she were resting after a struggle. Her 
 fingers were busy with the lacework she liked to 
 do, and she kept her eyes on it a good deal, only 
 lifting them with a smile now and then to make a 
 brief comment or answer a question. 
 
 Elizabeth and the other three kept up the bur- 
 den of the talk. At least, Carleton saw that it 
 was a burden to Elizabeth, and that she grew 
 more nervous as the tea-drinking was prolonged. 
 He wondered what his talk with her would mean, 
 what she wanted of him. And then he forgot all 
 about her. Clara was there soon she would be 
 gone. Where, and could he follow her? His 
 glances at her grew more frequent, more pro- 
 longed. He was not conscious of studying her, 
 or even of feeling the grace of her bent head, her 
 hands and figure. It was simply that he could not 
 help looking at her. His thoughts, without coher- 
 ence or order, whirled about her as a storm-centre.
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 Gradually from their chaos an idea or, rather, a 
 single feeling emerged, clear and powerful. It 
 was the feeling that she was now near to him, 
 that all the possibilities of life lay folded in her, 
 that it was possible she might be the nearest and 
 dearest of all beings to him forever. And he was 
 so strongly moved that he totally forgot his sur- 
 roundings, even himself. All his soul was in his 
 eyes as he gazed at the girl a gaze of fixed intens- 
 ity, a deep look that concentrated many thoughts 
 in its burning light. 
 
 How long it lasted he could not know, for he 
 was not aware of himself till the interruption came 
 his name imperiously uttered by Elizabeth. She 
 had put out her hand to take his empty cup, which 
 he had been holding indefinitely, and as he met 
 her eyes confusion came upon him. She got up 
 instantly, asking her visitors to go into the garden 
 to see the pink lotos. Clara rolled up her lace 
 and went with them. Carleton stayed behind. 
 He did not want even to talk with Clara at that 
 moment. He waited for Elizabeth to come back 
 and say what she had to say to him; and presently, 
 after her people had driven off, she did come. She 
 
 174
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 held herself, it struck Carleton, unusually straight, 
 and as she sat down and motioned him into a seat 
 facing her, her attitude was erect and rigid. 
 
 "Let us have it out, Barry! " she said breath- 
 lessly. " And first, I am sorry for last night. You 
 will believe me in that, for you must know I am 
 sorry to have made an idiot of myself. I was 
 jealous, as you, of course, could see. I have made 
 it all right with Clara. She is not going because 
 of that at least, I think she has quite forgiven 
 me. And you will forgive me, too, won't you? 
 I I understand now. Last night I only 
 suspected I didn't see how serious it was. Now 
 I know." 
 
 She stopped, breathing quickly; and the hard 
 lines of her face showed what she suffered in con- 
 trolling herself. The fluency of her words made 
 them seem almost like a speech learned by rote; 
 and yet she seemed absolutely sincere. 
 
 " Don't, Elizabeth ! " he begged. " You are 
 right in one thing, though there was nothing to 
 suspect." 
 
 " No, for what I suspected is certainty. Oh, 
 Barry, don't deny that you are in love with her ! " 
 
 175
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 He would perhaps have denied or extenuated, 
 but she forestalled him. 
 
 " Don't deny it, or I shall think badly of you 
 and Heaven knows I don't want to do that! Do 
 you think I can't see it now, when you look at her? 
 Why, all the world might see! . . ." 
 
 Now she paused, and he might have denied, but 
 could not or would not. 
 
 " As for anything between us two," Elizabeth 
 went on quickly, " of course, that counts for noth- 
 ing. It was folly I knew it at the time; I knew 
 it meant nothing, though Heaven knows I tried 
 hard to believe in it! " 
 
 She half-laughed, hysterically, and then the 
 weeping-fit seized her by the throat. 
 
 " I am a fool," she cried; " but don't think too 
 little of me ! Don't talk to her of me. . . . 
 I'm not ashamed of caring for you, Barry; nor 
 even that you tried to care for me and couldn't. 
 . . . I shall care for you still, and all the more 
 for that. And I am glad, glad that it is not worse 
 that we didn't make a worse mistake. 
 I don't grudge you to her, Barry. . . ." 
 
 "Elizabeth!" he murmured wretchedly. 
 176
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 " No, I can't talk any more now ! " she cried, 
 and turned to flee. Then she made a desperate 
 attempt to recapture her dignity, her magna- 
 nimity. 
 
 " I want to talk to you later about Clara," 
 she said faintly. " Good-bye, now " 
 
 They were standing in the cypress-shade, and 
 yet in face of the blank windows of the house. 
 But Elizabeth put up her arm, drew his head 
 down, and kissed him. 
 
 177
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 ELIZABETH released him as the lover of 
 Clara. Thus for her he was both free 
 and bound. His most definite sensation 
 was thankfulness to be free. If she could but let 
 it rest there ! But that, perhaps, would have been 
 to ask too much of Elizabeth. 
 
 It was true, too, that he was " taken " netted 
 by the charm of a girl. It was true that Clara 
 moved him as Elizabeth never had done as no 
 other woman had done. But he would much have 
 preferred to be let alone, and that Elizabeth 
 should recognise that she was not exactly con- 
 cerned in this affair. But perhaps she could not 
 be expected to see that all at once. He was not 
 eager for this further talk with her. He did 
 not want to talk about Clara. But Elizabeth 
 wanted it. 
 
 To begin with, in their talk later that night, she 
 tacitly accused Carleton of having deceived her 
 about the import of his adventure with Clara. 
 
 " Not that it is, I suppose, any of my business 
 11 7.8
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 now. Not that it matters ! " she said passion- 
 ately. " Except yes, it does matter, for it 
 destroys my idea of you, and I did want to keep 
 that. You had always been honest with me, 
 Barry!" 
 
 Carleton looked his despair. " You will have 
 to take my word, Elizabeth, that I told you the 
 truth." 
 
 " But, Barry, she broke to-day with Morelli 
 absolutely! What else does that mean but that 
 something happened to make her sure? 
 But I will believe you ! It hurt me so much to 
 think that you would evade, and shuffle, and hide 
 the truth and from me. Why should you hide 
 it from me? Do you think I want anything but 
 your happiness? Don't I give you up without 
 question even before you could show that you 
 wanted it? . . . What would you have done 
 if I had not seen? " 
 
 " I don't know," said Carleton. 
 
 " Don't you ? But I can't see how you can 
 doubt. There isn't any doubt, is there, Barry? 
 No, there can't be I saw! But you do love 
 her? " 
 
 179
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 " Let us take it for granted, as a working 
 hypothesis, that I do. At any rate, I am suffi- 
 ciently interested in her." 
 
 " It isn't exactly the same thing! " 
 
 The place was that of their interview the night 
 before, and the hour was almost as late; for they 
 had been dining out, with Mr. Harris, on the other 
 side of the city, and the three had had a long drive 
 home. Elizabeth was quite gorgeous to-night in 
 green gauze, with some opal chains; and her face, 
 flushed with excitement, wore its tragic mask. It 
 was dramatically bitter, as in the old days, when 
 James Craven represented the barrier to bliss. 
 She was as ready as ever to see barriers. In life's 
 steeplechase Elizabeth would never take a hazard. 
 
 It was plain, however, that she thought Carle- 
 ton should profess himself ready for any and all. 
 Perhaps her vanity could be soothed by seeing him 
 rapt away in a mad infatuation. At any rate, she 
 seemed irritated by his reserve. 
 
 " I thought you would want to talk to me about 
 her," she said. 
 
 " I thought you were going to talk to me," he 
 parried. 
 
 1 80
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 " Ah, yes ! I must do the talking ! You are as 
 niggard of your words as if you were coining your 
 heart!" 
 
 " That's what I should have to do to please 
 you, Elizabeth! But you said, if you remember, 
 that you wanted to talk to me." 
 
 " And so I do." She sighed, and set her mouth 
 in its bitter line. " But it is hard to be set aside 
 so quickly. Not even to be confided in ! . . . 
 Ah, I'm afraid I shall always lag superfluous on 
 the stage! I seem never to see when I am super- 
 fluous." 
 
 " Perhaps you're too ready to see it." 
 
 "What do you mean?" she asked quickly, 
 with a glance rather wild and suspicious. 
 
 " Only that you can never be superfluous to 
 me." 
 
 " Oh ! " Her exclamation, her laugh, were 
 bitterness distilled its very essence. Gall and 
 wormwood twisted her mouth awry. " Pray, 
 don't be gallant, Barry! And let us leave my 
 stupid self out of it. Oh, I know it isn't your fault 
 that it got in ! Now we'll put it out in the cold 
 wretched thing ! and shut the door on it." 
 
 181
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 She got up from her chair beside the window 
 an'd walked the length of the room and back. Her 
 spangled dress undulated over the floor and glit- 
 tered festively; and the restlessness of the little 
 points of light glancing all over her was repeated 
 in the glinting blues, and greens, and reds of her 
 opals, and in her eyes and motions. 
 
 " Well ! " she said sharply, as she came back 
 and seated herself. 
 
 Carleton remained standing, and leaned against 
 the window-frame, looking now out at the moon- 
 lit garden and now at Elizabeth, who sat silent 
 for some moments, looking at the floor. 
 
 " It is rather hard to talk as I meant to, since 
 you won't say anything," she finally said. " What 
 I had in mind depended on the supposition that 
 you were very serious about Clara; that you 
 well, would want to marry her. What on earth 
 are you smiling for ! " 
 
 " In wonder, Elizabeth, at your speed." But 
 Carleton corrected this irony, and became as grave 
 as she. " Say that I am very serious that I do 
 want to marry her. What then?" 
 
 "What then? But I don't like your tone! 
 182
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 ' Say ' it * take it for granted ' I don't un- 
 derstand you I Am I imagining the whole 
 thing?" 
 
 " No. No, you're not imagining it. But " 
 
 Carleton moved suddenly, and went out on the 
 narrow little balcony overlooking the garden. It 
 had become clear to him that he could not possibly 
 talk about Clara now at least, to Elizabeth 
 and also that he could not let her talk to him. He 
 knew what was in her mind what had been in 
 his own. But Clara's misfortunes, her unhappi- 
 ness, could not be discussed between them. The 
 poor girl's soul could not thus coldly be held to 
 the light and turned this way and that! What 
 Elizabeth thought mattered, after all, nothing. 
 She could not give any real light. The taper of 
 curiosity had no place here. Better darkness and 
 silence. 
 
 A throb of pain bred the desire to escape, to be 
 alone. And he turned back, to free himself of 
 Elizabeth's clutch. 
 
 " Tell me just one thing when are they going, 
 and where? " 
 
 " You mean to go with them? " 
 
 '83
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 " Not exactly with them probably after them." 
 
 " Shall you speak first to Augusta? I fancy she 
 expects it." 
 
 Elizabeth had been wounded, and in that speech 
 she showed her teeth. 
 
 " I don't know," said Carleton. " But at least 
 you won't anticipate me? " 
 
 It was a question in form, a demand in meaning. 
 
 " I don't know," she answered slowly. " If 
 
 Augusta asks me In any case, I could only 
 
 give my impression, and tell her that I am not in 
 your confidence." 
 
 She rose, and her whole attitude breathed 
 offence, hostility. Carleton looked at her sadly. 
 He realised by now her abysmal want of tact. 
 But it hurt him to see that he had hurt her. 
 
 " We seem to have quarrelled," he said. " Was 
 that necessary? " 
 
 " I'm afraid it was," Elizabeth answered with 
 the same hardness. " It's my fault, of course. 
 I've always been quarrelsome. ... I would 
 have been content with half a loaf, Barry; but 
 you don't give me even a crust. It's a little hard, 
 
 all of a sudden, to be shut out so completely " 
 
 184
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 She took up her wrap from the chair. 
 
 " Good-bye, then," said Carleton gravely, offer- 
 ing his hand. 
 
 She looked at him, startled. 
 
 "Not not, of course, really good-bye? You 
 don't think of " 
 
 " Of course, I shall go away." 
 
 " Yes, I know, when she goes. But not till 
 then ! Stay on a few days give me time to get 
 over this a little; I couldn't let you go like this. 
 You'd think of me always as a jealous, horrible 
 old woman ! Say you will stay a little after they 
 are gone only a day or so. I won't try to keep 
 you long! " 
 
 " If you wish, I will stay. I don't enjoy going 
 like this." 
 
 " Then we shall be reconciled only not to- 
 night! I must try to understand you or to get 
 used to the idea that I can't understand you, and 
 that I don't matter to you. That's the bitter 
 thing. I've lost you for I was something to you 
 once. How I wish you had never come back! " 
 
 Carleton, when he had finally achieved solitude, 
 185
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 was almost fain to wish it himself. It was very 
 painful to him, this breach with Elizabeth for it 
 must be that, he saw, even if they were to be 
 " reconciled." Elizabeth could not bear to be 
 deposed from her place of chief interest. He 
 must go away, and instead of the haunting, pleas- 
 ing memory of her that he had had, all these years, 
 there would be the melancholy picture of his defec- 
 tion. Yes, it might have been better if he had not 
 come back. 
 
 But then he might never have seen Clara 
 poor, sweet, unlucky Clara, who needed his help, 
 and should have it, and all he could give, himself 
 into the bargain, if she would. 
 
 Yes, but why should she? Who was he, after 
 all, that a charming girl should take him in 
 exchange for herself? He appraised himself as 
 he must appear to her a man of thirty, neither 
 handsome nor brilliant, with no money or worldly 
 position worth mentioning, and no prospect of 
 being anything else than he now was. No, no, 
 decidedly there was nothing here to tempt her! 
 Morelli might have been the better match. 
 
 But she had definitely broken with Morelli. 
 186
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 And that must have been what she meant by her 
 sweet speech to him: that last night had helped 
 her to decide something important. And her look 
 of peace and calm, after she had acted on that 
 decision, proved that it was a right one. Perhaps 
 that was what she had been thinking or feeling out 
 on that long, silent walk with him. Perhaps her 
 restless misery of the day before had been due to 
 Morelli's pursuit, to her own uncertainty. 
 
 As to Elizabeth's idea that he had influenced 
 Clara in any direct way that it was interest in 
 him that had moved her he rejected it totally. 
 Yet he had helped her somehow; she liked and 
 trusted him. And she was unhappy. In spite of 
 her attractions, she was not in the way of any 
 brilliant worldly fortune. And, from what he 
 knew of her character, he thought that she did not 
 care for that. She had the artist's temperament 
 and resources. So far, then, she might be content 
 with what he could give if she cared for him. 
 
 But, then, she was ambitious, they said, and she 
 herself had said it; she wanted a " career." That 
 was natural enough. She wanted some kind of 
 expression; she was a creature full of life, desir-
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 Ing experience, desiring to escape from an uncon- 
 genial air. It was doubtless for this reason that 
 she had thought of marrying and had given 
 Morelli some hope and then had not been able 
 to care enough for him. 
 
 Tf this was the explanation, what became of the 
 obstacle of the family history? What of that hor- 
 rible shadow of madness that had hung over her? 
 This was all vague to him. By turns it se-emed to 
 envelop her in fear and then to fade quite away. 
 Was it, perhaps, under the influence of this fear 
 that she had given up the idea of marriage? Had 
 she thought to defy it, and then found that she 
 could not? 
 
 There was only one way to get the answers to 
 these questions from Clara herself. And only 
 if they should become intimate, if he could tell her 
 that he cared for her, and she perhaps could come 
 to care for him. Otherwise questions would, he 
 felt now, be impossible. 
 
 As to the formal interview with Mrs. Langham, 
 suggested by Elizabeth, his imagination revolted 
 at it. The convention of declaring himself a 
 suitor for Clara's hand was not in place here. 
 
 188
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 Marriage might not be the outcome. At any rate, 
 Clara must be wooed, not under the eyes, figura- 
 tive or actual, of any onlooker. She was lonely 
 of soul ; she slept within a circle of fire, or a high 
 wall of thorns. One did not approach her by a 
 door politely opened. 
 
 He feared to approach her at all. She seemed 
 to him like some infinitely delicate winged creature 
 of the night, to be marred or broken at a touch. 
 He rejoiced that she was going away from Eliza- 
 beth's neighbourhood. For in relation to her, 
 Elizabeth seemed to be all blundering foot and 
 heavy hand. But yet her going frightened him. 
 He hesitated to follow her without her leave ; and 
 supposing she did not want him near her? Mrs. 
 Langham, too, might make some trouble about 
 the conventions. Apparently she thought now 
 that some sort of apology or explanation was due 
 from him. He was resolved not to make any, 
 however; and yet he must have the mother's coun- 
 tenance. He could not ignore her, much as he 
 disliked to recognise the convention of her guar- 
 dianship over Clara. In the end, therefore, he 
 made up his mind to have some sort of talk with 
 
 189
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 Mrs. Langham before their departure, which was 
 set for the next day. 
 
 But this was more easily resolved on than 
 secured. A great deal of turmoil appeared to 
 attend Mrs. Langham's preparations for moving. 
 Two new maids, according to Elizabeth's report, 
 were tried and dismissed, and meantime the 
 unfortunate lady had to put up with the services 
 of Clara's woman, who could not do her hair so 
 that she was " lit to be seen." For this reason 
 or some other, she remained practically in- 
 visible. 
 
 " Nerves," murmured Elizabeth when Carleton 
 asked. " And the hot weather. But I daresay 
 she'd see you." 
 
 " It isn't a formal audience I want," he objected. 
 " I'll take my chance." 
 
 This was about noon, and he counted on seeing 
 Clara first. But Clara, it developed, was to spend 
 the day in making farewell visits. She did not 
 appear until eight o'clock. Then, after much 
 uncertainty, Mrs. Langham found herself equal 
 to coming down to this last dinner at La Fonta- 
 nella. She was frankly triste, and managed with 
 
 190
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 unusual good-will to make her gloomy mood seem 
 graceful. 
 
 " I can't bear the idea of leaving this sweet 
 place, and all you nice people," she said plain- 
 tively. " I feel as if I were being dragged off to 
 a desert. I do really hate the country. I shall 
 have nothing to listen to but crickets and Clara's 
 eternal music. There will be nobody but tourists 
 and peasants. I can't think why she wants to go 
 to such a place. I do wish you were all coming, 
 too." 
 
 " I wonder, if I should knock at your door 
 sometime, whether I should be admitted?" said 
 Mr. Harris romantically. 
 
 " Do try it, my dear Mr. Harris," said Mrs. 
 Langham indolently. Leaning her bare elbow on 
 the table, she inclined her Roman head toward 
 him and bent on him the full splendour of her 
 dark eyes. Mr. Harris visibly blushed. " I'm 
 sure it would be most charitable of you to try." 
 
 " N-not that," he stammered. " I should come 
 like a beggar, asking alms." 
 
 "Oh, beggars horrid creatures! Don't come 
 like that, but walk boldly in and ask for dinner." 
 
 191
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 " I'll be as bold as I can." 
 
 " Really, do you think of coming up to Bagni? 
 I thought you were going to England." 
 
 " Oh, I shall, later. But I think I may put in 
 a few weeks in the Tuscan hills first. I hear your 
 destination is a charming, quiet place. Do you 
 know Montaigne spent a summer there? And 
 Heine? And " 
 
 " No, really? I thought it was quite uncivil- 
 ised." 
 
 " Is anything in Italy uncivilised? I can't 
 imagine it." 
 
 Clara had scarcely spoken up to this point; but 
 now she leaned forward and addressed Mr. 
 Harris. 
 
 " It is quite civilised enough. Francesca Ra- 
 solli goes there every summer, and she says it 
 is charming and quite off the track of tourists. I 
 hope we shall see you. We are going to have a 
 queer old stone house, and I don't dare ask any- 
 body to stay in it till I see it, but " 
 
 Mrs. Langham interrupted bluntly. 
 
 " Good gracious, child, we can't have people to 
 stay with us. We shall be lucky if we can get food 
 
 192
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 for ourselves I don't suppose there's a cook in 
 the place. Mr. Harris will be quite comfortable 
 at the hotel, I daresay." 
 
 " I shall be quite happy if I may just look in on 
 you now and then," said Mr. Harris, looking 
 gratefully at Clara. And then, that his allegiance 
 to Elizabeth might not be thought to waver, he 
 turned to her with a reference to England. 
 
 Clara became silent again and looked sad. She 
 sat between Elizabeth and Carleton, and there 
 could be no talk of the sort Carleton was impatient 
 for. The meal seemed hours long, and in fact 
 there was an extra course of sweets in elaborate 
 and curious form the farewell offering of the 
 chef to the departing guests. But when it was 
 over, Elizabeth managed immediately to leave 
 Carleton alone with Mrs. Langham at one end of 
 the terrace. 
 
 " What a day this has been ! " she sighed. 
 " That's the worst of these late springs the hot 
 weather pounces on you suddenly. After all, I 
 am glad we are going, pleasant as this has been. 
 Do you go to England, too? " 
 
 The tone of this enquiry made Carleton think 
 
 193
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 that she was deliberately smoothing his path 
 
 very likely on a hint, or something broader, from 
 
 Elizabeth. 
 
 " I don't think so. In fact, I think I shall stay 
 
 in Italy this summer." 
 
 " Oh, really ! I should have supposed a bracing 
 
 atmosphere say St. Moritz would be better for 
 
 you." 
 
 " But I don't want to go to St. Moritz. What 
 
 I should like to do is to what Mr. Harris contem- 
 plates." 
 
 " But he contemplates Elizabeth." 
 
 " I mean I should like to go to Bagni." 
 
 " Elizabeth won't forgive me if you desert, 
 
 too." 
 
 " But in any case I should not go to England." 
 Carleton remained grave and Mrs. Langham 
 
 flippant. 
 
 ' You alarm me. You know Elizabeth doesn't 
 
 like people changing their minds." 
 
 " I can't help that. But I'm quite sure my plans 
 
 don't seem important to her. I hadn't made up 
 
 my mind, you see, anyway. I haven't had any 
 
 mind since I got here." 
 
 194
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 " No, really? You have done remarkably well 
 without one, then. I should not bother getting it 
 back if I were you." 
 
 " But I have got it back. One sign of it is that 
 I know what I want to do." 
 
 " That's a bad sign since in this world one 
 can't often do what one wants to do. Is that the 
 only sign you have? " 
 
 " At present the only one. ' I hope, however, 
 that I may develop wit enough to accomplish what 
 I want." 
 
 " Oh, if it depended on that ! But these things, 
 dear Mr. Carleton, depend on Fate." 
 
 " My going to Bagni, for instance? " 
 
 "Oh, are we still talking about that? I can't 
 see what else your going depends on." 
 
 " Supposing it depended on the chance of seeing 
 you and Miss Langham? For I should certainly 
 not go if I were not to see you." 
 
 " But why shouldn't you see us? I'm sure we 
 shall be only too glad to see anybody you in 
 particular." 
 
 This doubtful cordiality was as much as Carle- 
 ton needed at present. 
 
 195
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 " Then I shall hope to go," he said. 
 
 Clara had not come out with the others, and he 
 had been watching the doorway for her, wonder- 
 ing if she meant he was not to have a chance to 
 speak with her alone, or if he might find her on 
 search. Elizabeth, at some little distance, was 
 listening to Mr. Harris over the coffee-cups. 
 Carleton, forced to wait Mrs. Langham's pleas- 
 ure, found the quarter of an hour that she was 
 now pleased to keep him frightfully long. She 
 talked on in a bored way about the nuisances of 
 travelling in Italy; and finally abruptly rose and 
 gave him her hand. 
 
 " I shall very likely not see you in the morning 
 we start at some barbaric hour. So, good-bye! 
 or, rather, a rivederla, since we may meet 
 later." 
 
 Carleton walked beside her to the door. She 
 called out to Elizabeth : 
 
 'Where is Clara, do you know? She must 
 come up early. I am frightfully tired, and I'm 
 going to bed. Good-night, dear." 
 
 Without waiting for an answer, she went on 
 with slow grace. Mr. Harris hurried after her. 
 
 196
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 " Mrs. Craven says she thinks Miss Langham 
 went to the music-room to sort out her music. 
 Shall I give her any message? " 
 
 " Oh, no, thank you." Carleton, standing in 
 the hall, saw her radiant smile at Mr. Harris, and 
 wondered. Why should she care about that 
 fellow? She gave the flattered professor her 
 hand and a farewell that, compared to Carleton's, 
 was quite emotional. Was it, he wondered, meant 
 as a snub to him? 
 
 He went out by the side-door into the court- 
 yard, saw a light in the music-room, and walked 
 slowly toward it. His heart was beating hard 
 he admitted to himself that he was afraid ! 
 
 197
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 CLARA stood by the piano, looking over 
 a heap of loose music, among which were 
 a good many manuscript pages. The 
 chosen ones she tossed over to her maid Julie, and 
 Julie arranged them in a neat pile. Clara had a 
 pink rose in her hair, and an Egyptian scarf shot 
 with gold hung in heavy, shimmering folds over 
 her shoulders and arms. She greeted Carleton 
 with a smile. 
 
 " I've just been saying good-bye to your mother 
 and I thought perhaps I might not see you, 
 either, in the morning, or at least might not have 
 a chance to speak to you," he said gravely. 
 
 " No, we go so early. I am glad to see you. 
 It has been so pleasant here, hasn't it? And Eliza- 
 beth has been so more than kind. She has been 
 so good to me ! I don't know why she should be. 
 I am only glad on her account to be going away, 
 for I am a troublesome person." 
 
 198
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 She spoke in quick, soft sentences, her eyes on 
 the music, which she went on sorting. 
 
 " I don't think anyone except yourself can be 
 glad that you're going. . . . But perhaps 
 you'll find the change and the higher air a good 
 thing. You'll walk and live outdoors more, I 
 hope." 
 
 "Yes; and they play tennis there, and I shall 
 ride, perhaps. And I hope to do some work. Did 
 I tell you I am trying to write something a little 
 opera? " 
 
 She looked up and laughed quite gaily. 
 
 " No, are you, really? Do tell me about it." 
 
 " Oh, very likely I shall not do anything with 
 it. I have written some songs, but I never tried 
 anything so large as this. It's short two acts, 
 or, rather, one, with an intermezzo on the theme 
 of Andersen's story, ' The Little Sea-Maid.' Am 
 I not ambitious? " 
 
 " You are very secretive, I think. Why didn't 
 you tell me before? " 
 
 " Why should I ? It doesn't amount to any- 
 thing yet, and probably never will. It is only a 
 young-lady attempt, a way of passing the time." 
 
 199
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 " I should like immensely to hear more about 
 it. Perhaps I may, if I am so fortunate as to see 
 you at Bagni." 
 
 She raised her head with a quick motion and 
 looked sharply at him. 
 
 " At Bagni? Do you think of going there? " 
 
 " Yes, I think of it. I told your mother that I 
 hoped to go, and she was good enough not to 
 freeze me out, though I can't say she welcomed 
 me very warmly ! " 
 
 " But I thought you were going to England? 
 Perhaps you are going later." 
 
 " No, I'm not going at all." 
 
 Clara held a few last sheets of music in her 
 hands and gazed at them ; then gave them to Julie 
 and dismissed her with the sheaf to finish packing. 
 She sat down on the piano-stool and looked up at 
 Carleton. 
 
 "And Elizabeth? Does she know you are 
 not going? " 
 
 " She knows it quite well. She knows I am 
 going to follow you, if I am permitted." 
 
 " Permitted ! " She appeared quite aghast. 
 
 " I mean by that, if you will say that I may 
 come to see you sometimes." 
 
 200
 
 Clara stood by the piano, looking over a heap of loose music."
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 " But, of course of course, we shall be glad 
 to see you. Why should you ask with all this 
 formality? " 
 
 For reply, Carleton looked straight into her 
 eyes. She bore this look for a long moment, then 
 hid her face in her hands. 
 
 " Oh, I am sorry ! " she said passionately. 
 
 She turned away from him, her face still hid- 
 den, and leaned against the keyboard. Carleton 
 waited, hardly daring to look at her. The scent 
 of the rose in her hair, the trembling glimmer of 
 gold on her shoulder, came to him blurred, yet 
 poignant. At last she looked up, and her eyes 
 were wet and misty. 
 
 " I don't want you to come ! " she cried. 
 
 " You don't mean that, do you ? You won't 
 forbid me?" 
 
 " I can't forbid you. But I don't want you to 
 come now." 
 
 " Then, if you don't want me, I can't, I sup- 
 pose," said Carleton dully. 
 
 " No, I don't mean that I don't want you. I 
 mean I don't know what I mean. . . . Yes, 
 I do know, too. I mean that I ought not to want 
 you to come." 
 
 201
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 "Oh, if that is all!" 
 
 A flash of joy lit up his face, and he made an 
 impetuous dash at her hand, which she snatched 
 away. 
 
 "All I But it is everything ! Oh, I am sorry ! " 
 
 She looked so the picture of grief that Carleton 
 did not dare look happy. 
 
 " There's nothing to be sorry for," he pro- 
 tested. " Nothing that you can help, at least." 
 
 " No, I can't help it now. But I might " 
 
 " What might you have done? " 
 
 "I needn't have done what I did! You are 
 sorry for me now, and I wanted you to be. I can't 
 help wanting people to care for me, and be 
 interested in me and I try to make them! 
 And then it all ends in unhappiness and I am 
 ashamed! " 
 
 Again the tears brimmed over her eyes, and she 
 struck her hand roughly against the wood and 
 sprang up. 
 
 " Elizabeth was right to speak to me as she did, 
 and to be angry! I deserved it! I had a bitter 
 scene to go through yesterday, too. It's all my 
 
 fault. And now you Elizabeth " 
 
 202
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 " It isn't your fault. It's nothing you've done, 
 or haven't done. It's nothing you can change. 
 You can't help being beautiful and lovable." 
 
 " Oh, that's just what I'm not! I am hard and 
 selfish. And it's just for that reason that I try to 
 be attractive. I have an awful thirst for admira- 
 tion and affection. I try to get more than I ought 
 to have. And sometimes I get it and I am 
 punished! " 
 
 Carleton saw Morelli in his mind's eye, and 
 behind him a vague crowd of ghostly lovers; he 
 did not exactly like being relegated to the com- 
 panionship of these shades. 
 
 " You won't be punished through me," he said 
 quietly. " Nor have you got anything more from 
 me than you ought to have. Nor shall I offer you 
 anything you ought not to have nor anything 
 you don't want. If that is understood, may I come 
 to Bagni ? For my own great pleasure, and on my 
 own responsibility? I'm not exactly a spring 
 chicken, you see, and I have looked out for myself 
 for a great many years." 
 
 " Ah, now you're laughing at me," said Clara, 
 flushing. " I don't deserve that, at least." 
 
 203
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 " Nor do I deserve that you should think so, 
 do I?" 
 
 " I must go now," Clara responded. She dried 
 her eyes and looked rather implacably at Carle- 
 ton. " That wasn't a pretty speech of yours." 
 
 " No, but I don't in the least want to make you 
 pretty speeches. I shall not make any when I 
 come to Bagni." 
 
 "'When' you are very confident! And if 
 you are going to make unpleasant speeches, why 
 should I want you to come? " 
 
 ' There is a golden mean, isn't there? " 
 
 "Yes, yours silence! You're safer there!" 
 
 " Then, may I come and be silent? " 
 
 " I rather like silence." 
 
 Clara looked round the room vaguely, and 
 repeated, " I must go now. Good-night." 
 
 " Will you play something before you go? " 
 
 " Something short and easy? " 
 
 Slipping down on the stool, she struck some 
 rough, crashing chords in the bass. Then she 
 played a Tarentelle, full of devilish leaps and 
 bounds, the contortions and convulsions of the 
 spider-bitten. With a reckless air she demanded: 
 
 204
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 "Do you like that?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 Clara's eyelids drooped. She became medita- 
 tive, demure, meek. Then she began to play a 
 quaint, plaintive melody, and in a voice light, 
 sweet and exquisitely true, she sang: 
 
 " Fair Daffodils, we weep to see 
 You haste away so soon; 
 As yet the early-rising sun 
 Has not out-lived his noon. 
 
 Stay, stay, 
 Until the hasting day 
 
 Has run 
 
 But to the evensong, 
 And, having prayed together, we 
 Will go with you along. 
 
 " We have short time to stay as you, 
 We have as short a spring; 
 As quick a growth to meet decay, 
 As you, or anything. 
 
 We die, 
 As your hours do, and dry 
 
 Away, 
 
 Like to the summer's rain, 
 Or as the pearls of morning's dew, 
 Ne'er to be found again." 
 2O5
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 The song died away softly, in appealing sweet- 
 ness. Carleton had not heard her sing before. 
 
 "You beautiful creature!" he murmured. 
 
 " Do you like that? " she asked. 
 
 " I adore it. Won't you sing it again? " 
 
 "Oh, no it's late; really, I must go." She 
 rose and shut the piano. " It is good-bye to this 
 dear place," she said dreamily. " How sweet it 
 is here. How lucky Elizabeth is to be able to live 
 here always! How tired I am of wandering 
 about! " She went slowly toward the door, and 
 paused for a farewell glance. 
 
 " Good-bye, dear room ! " 
 
 They crossed the courtyard together and 
 entered the hall. 
 
 " And now I must say good-bye to you," said 
 Clara stopping, " for I shall not see you in the 
 morning. Pray don't come down. I hate people 
 to see me off ! " 
 
 " Good-bye, then, till we meet at Bagni." 
 
 " Ah, you may think better of that ! " 
 
 " I shall think better and better of it and I 
 shall think of nothing else, Clara." 
 
 Her last look at him was melancholy; but it 
 206
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 could not dim Carleton's happiness. He speedily 
 forgot all that did not chime with his mood; and 
 remembered only her exquisite colour against the 
 gold scarf, her light, plaintive voice, her subtle 
 eyes, her tears, her willingness to see him again. 
 And he wondered how soon it would be decent for 
 him to go. 
 
 207
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 THE Blandons were at La Fontanella the 
 last few days of Carleton's stay; per- 
 haps to play propriety. They had closed 
 their villa, and in a week they, with Elizabeth, 
 were to travel to England, Mr. Harris following 
 anon; and they were all to be neighbours in Sur- 
 rey. They made those last days superficially gay 
 and easier for Carleton to get through. Never- 
 theless, it was not exactly a happy time. 
 
 La Fontanella had not yet begun to be disman- 
 tled, as it would be in part before Elizabeth left. 
 All its treasures kept their order, yet the place had 
 to Carleton a deserted air. Its peace and charm 
 for him were wrecked; now it was melancholy and 
 forlorn. 
 
 He thought more often in these days of James 
 Craven; and now part of the deserted look of the 
 villa seemed to come from the absence of that 
 quiet old figure, in the Roman cloak and broad 
 hat, pacing the terrace or sitting at a table covered 
 
 208
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 with books and papers in the garden. Craven 
 had loved, had made, in fact, every detail of the 
 chosen beauty of La Fontanella the place was 
 his creation. Carleton realised now how com- 
 pletely Craven had fitted into it, how it had 
 belonged to him. And he reviewed with unpleas- 
 ant feelings his own scheme of stepping easily into 
 the dead man's shoes. 
 
 He thought he saw Mr. Harris preparing to 
 make the same mistake, and sardonically he 
 watched the progress of the professor's wooing. 
 Mr. Harris was cerebral, conscientious, self- 
 conscious. He had spent all his mature years in 
 an atmosphere of somewhat defeminised feminin- 
 ity. Week after week, year after year, he had 
 lectured calmly on the science of poetry and 
 romance, to rows of girls who gave him never a 
 flutter nor thrill. And now in his middle years, 
 when he might justly have been thought immune, 
 romance had seized upon him. The charm of 
 Italy had laid violent hands upon him; the pleas- 
 ant lure of La Fontanella had taken him captive. 
 He had fallen in love with these things, and with 
 Elizabeth. 
 
 209
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 That Elizabeth was not displeased might be 
 guessed from the fact that she was virtually taking 
 him with her. Carleton was half consoled, half 
 disgusted. For the aesthetic fitness of things it 
 would have been better that Elizabeth should 
 resign herself to being lonely and Mr. Harris 
 remain a bachelor. Middle-aged ardours made, 
 somehow, just now an unpleasant spectacle ! 
 These things belonged to youth, to the spring. 
 Spring, youth, love they were one and the same I 
 And as to the belated flowers of a frozen clime, 
 poor, pale stunted blossoms they must be, hardly 
 deserving the name. Could one love at forty and 
 fifty, with life virtually lived, fixed in a mould o,f 
 habit, with all the legacy of memory and regret? 
 The pink flush of spring could not come back to 
 the brown boughs of autumn. Joy, passion they 
 were for the freshness of youth! To miss them 
 then was to miss them forever. Flower o' the 
 quince / 
 
 Carleton contemplated his own egotism un- 
 abashed. He saw it objectively it was a Fact, 
 in harmony with the great march of things. After 
 this fashion the world is made, and perpetually 
 
 210
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 made anew in the same image. Love what is 
 Love but the supreme self-assertion of the Ego! 
 The great demand, made under all the forms of 
 an offering, a sacrifice! 
 
 Selfish? Of course, he was supremely selfish. 
 Elizabeth now was to him almost as though she 
 had never been. He had never given her any part 
 of himself. All the past of his relations with 
 unloved women, superficial as the writing on a 
 slate, was washed out now. There was nothing 
 but the future. . . 
 
 It was like a resurrection, a new birth. A few 
 weeks since he had seemed dead, physically and 
 mentally. And now, to his own feeling, he had 
 cast that dead skin, like a lizard, and come out 
 fresh and agile. The sap of spring had risen and 
 rejuvenated the tree. But no ! that figure dis- 
 pleased him. For the tree had bloomed before, 
 and he never! This was his real springtime. In 
 spite of those bare spaces on his temples, those 
 lines and the seared look that comes of irregular 
 living, he was, after all, consumedly young! The 
 hurry and confusion of youth and spring were in 
 his pulses. An intense restlessness came upon him 
 
 211
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 so soon as Clara had gone. "I let Lisa go, and 
 what good in life since? . . ." 
 
 La Fontanella was empty to him now. He 
 longed to be gone after her. Withal, he was 
 rather abashed to find out how clearly the situa- 
 tion was understood. Mrs. Blandon did not spare 
 him. 
 
 " How oddly it has all turned out! " she cried 
 with her candid malice. ' You know, we all 
 thought it was to be a romance you and dear 
 Elizabeth a long-lost friend from over-seas, and 
 all that. And now we have two romances instead 
 of one, and it seems that I discovered Mr. Harris 
 just for Elizabeth. I am awfully good at that 
 discovering people for other people. But I don't 
 see exactly what good it is to me." 
 
 ' You seem to get a lot of amusement out of it," 
 Carleton suggested. 
 
 " Oh, amusement, yes but amusement is so 
 trivial. What I like is interest; but, of course, 
 one can never be really interested in other people's 
 affairs. Frankly, though, I am more interested in 
 yours than you might think." 
 
 " It's very kind of you." 
 212
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 " In other words, ' Mind your own affairs ' ? 
 But the great trouble is, I've got none of my own 
 just now. I do envy you ! " 
 
 Her inquisitive gaze, critical, satirical, became 
 quite intolerable to Carleton. He could not see 
 anything essentially humorous in the situation, 
 unless it were Mr. Harris. For the moment the 
 obvious fact escaped him that the love-affairs of 
 other people are always rather ridiculous, when 
 they are not tragic, and sometimes even then. He 
 felt a possible element of tragedy in his own case, 
 and Mrs. Blandon's jocularity grated fearfully 
 upon him. He did not like her pitying allusions 
 to Morelli, who, she said, had rushed off some- 
 where away from Florence. Still less could he 
 bear any reference to Clara. His desire to escape 
 from this atmosphere of curiosity and gossip 
 became overwhelming. 
 
 He stayed but four days after the departure of 
 the Langhams, and for the first two of these he 
 did not see Elizabeth alone. It was painful to 
 him to see her at all. She went about her usual 
 avocations calmly enough, but with a joylessness 
 of aspect that seemed to fling a weight of reproach 
 
 213
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 on him. And he felt the weight; he reproached 
 himself. Yet, as he looked back on the history of 
 their relation, it all seemed to him inevitable, and 
 he could not but feel that he would act in the same 
 way again, if it were to be lived over. He had 
 been honest, after all, to himself and her. 
 
 When the day for his leaving was actually set, 
 Elizabeth made an effort over herself not to 
 appear unhappy. And this seemed to touch the 
 spring of her old kindness for him, and set it flow- 
 ing again. She softened, the hard mask was put 
 aside, she showed herself to him frankly sad, but 
 no longer bitter nor exigent. They had a long 
 talk the day before he was to go, on a late after- 
 noon in the garden. 
 
 To begin, Elizabeth was remorseful for her 
 behaviour of the past week. She mourned over 
 her own selfishness and egotism, and Carleton's 
 spoilt pleasure. 
 
 " And I did want you not to go away, hating 
 me, and this place, and all! You won't believe it, 
 but that really is what I wanted you to stay on for 
 a little longer to see if I could not give you some 
 pleasanter recollection to carry away. . . . 
 
 214
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 More egotism ! For you will forget all about me, 
 and in a few weeks it won't matter to you whether 
 I am pleasant or unpleasant. And, even so, it has 
 been horribly hard for me to show even this 
 amount of decency ! Ah, I am badly trained or, 
 rather, I am not trained at all! I am a spoilt 
 child at my age! I can't help sulking. 
 Are there people, do you think, who really can 
 command themselves, and behave prettily when 
 they are boiling inside? I can't believe it. Yet I 
 know that most people behave better than I." 
 
 " Elizabeth, no one is better, more sweet ! Why 
 should you think you have any amends to make to 
 me? It shows your sweetness that you should 
 think so. ... It is so much the other way 
 that " he paused and retreated from this quak- 
 ing ground. " No ! It is not that, either. You 
 cannot feel that, and it is false sentiment for me 
 to feel it. You don't feel that I have behaved ill, 
 do you, Elizabeth? " 
 
 He put his hand on hers appealingly; and she 
 with both her hands seized his in a pained grasp 
 and bent her head low. The broad brim of her 
 hat hid her face from him, all but the sensitive, 
 
 215
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 thin-lipped mouth and pointed chin. It was a 
 long moment before she could speak. 
 
 " No, Barry, no it was all inevitable." 
 
 He looked at her, much moved. Her sad, pas- 
 sionately gentle voice and clinging hands brought 
 back that appealing Elizabeth whose charm had 
 dwelt with him so many years. And now that 
 she abnegated all claim, she had more than her 
 old power; her power and charm were real, and 
 in her sadness and loneliness she was deeply touch- 
 ing. He saw her closed lips quiver. Then she 
 spoke again. 
 
 " It is all right now. I care only that we 
 shouldn't part in anger, or coldness or disgust. 
 You must have been disgusted with me, and I did 
 deserve it. But yet I do deserve, too, that you 
 should think a little kindly of me, for I have 
 so real an affection for you, and always shall 
 have " 
 
 She raised her head and looked at him with 
 bright, sad, caressing eyes, and Carleton kissed her 
 hands and took them in his with a firmer clasp. 
 
 " And I for you," he said. " It has always been 
 so, ever since I first knew you. It made me 
 
 216
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 wretched to quarrel with you and lose you. But 
 now we shall be as good friends as ever perhaps 
 better." 
 
 " Ah, no," said Elizabeth. " At least, not for 
 some time. You will be too absorbed to have any 
 place for me. I do so hope you are going to be 
 happy! ... If you are not, I shall blame 
 myself because you met her here! " 
 
 Carleton laughed uneasily. " You mustn't take 
 that on your conscience ! That was Fate." 
 
 'Yes, Fate! It seems so to you, of course. 
 She is the only person out of all the world, I sup- 
 pose. . . . Ah, well, I shall croak like the 
 raven, if I'm not careful. I can't believe there is 
 such a thing as happiness in the world. But you 
 are full of faith, I daresay or at least you ought 
 to be." 
 
 " I believe in pleasure, in joy, and interest. The 
 first two are occasional, the last is constant, with 
 me, at least. I get as much out of life as one 
 ought to expect." 
 
 " Oh, if you pitch your expectations low! But 
 why not expect everything, as a child does? I 
 have done so all my life." 
 
 217
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 " I expect everything that I'm capable of." 
 
 " Yes, but how do you know what you are 
 capable of? I feel in myself even yet any amount 
 of unmapped country. Even now I can't help 
 feeling that things may happen, that somehow, 
 sometime I may come into the Land of Heart's 
 Desire." 
 
 She looked out into the falling veil of the foun- 
 tain dreamily. 
 
 " It is not of this earth," Carleton said gently. 
 " And for us who enjoy the earth so keenly, least 
 of all. Sometimes I think that for the religious 
 temperament there is happiness. St. Francis, 
 perhaps, was happy. Those who reach the last 
 refuge seem to leave unhappiness behind! But 
 to a pagan like myself the charm of temporal 
 things is all that seems real, and that is never 
 separated from the feeling of their evanescence, 
 from the feeling of the essential cruelty of life. 
 To be happy, one must be able to soar above 
 Death, to conquer it. But Death conquers me, 
 and I see all that gives me pleasure, that I love, 
 swallowed up in a black gulf " 
 
 Elizabeth shuddered. 
 
 218
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 " Don't say it ! I try to believe that it isn't so. 
 There must be some way given us to atone for 
 unkindness, coldness otherwise life is too cruel! 
 You are young, Barry, or you couldn't be so calm 
 about it wait till you have suffered! Perhaps 
 you will turn religious. It seems to me it is the 
 sensuous temperament that is religious. St. Fran- 
 cis and St. Augustine were both rakes in their 
 youth!" 
 
 " Yes, but it is in youth that the turn takes place 
 it's only youth that's capable of it, of the 
 passion of faith." 
 
 " Ah, youth, youth ! All the world belongs to 
 it and even the next world, according to you ! " 
 
 Carleton gazed with half-closed eyes at the 
 swaying veil of water, at the green foliage against 
 the purpling sky, and the tops of the black 
 cypresses boldly jutting into the blue gulf of air. 
 
 " Ah, but the fulness of this earth belongs to 
 us! What beauty, what sweetness! Here upon 
 this bank and shoal of time I'll jump the life to 
 come ! Only let me come back again to the earth 
 as one of those fat, green lizards in the wall, or 
 one of those gorgeous fish in the fountain I 
 
 219
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 should be content. A myriad of little lives like 
 that would please me. And the lizards are know- 
 ing fellows, too ! Do you remember Heine says 
 one of them looked just like a certain learned 
 professor at Gottingen? " 
 
 " Ah, you used to read Heine to me! Here by 
 the fountain. How he amused us, poor Hein- 
 rich! 
 
 " Aus meinem tiefen Schmerzen 
 Mack' Ich die kleine Lieder " 
 
 " And you used to sing to me," said Carleton. 
 " Won't you sing now? " 
 
 " I never sing any more," said Elizabeth. 
 
 But then, leaning a little away from him, and 
 watching the fountain, she sang under her breath 
 one of the Lieder, ending: 
 
 " Wenn du sagst, Ich Hebe dick, 
 So muss" Ich laeinen bitterlich!" 
 
 Then she looked at Carleton with bright, tragic 
 eyes. 
 
 " But you never did say it! Barry, you were so 
 wise! But I said it, do you remember? One day 
 here in the garden? " 
 
 220
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 " I remember. But you didn't say it for me, 
 myself." 
 
 " Who knows? But it doesn't matter now. And 
 you will have the reward of your wisdom. Oh, 
 forgive me!" she cried. "Help me not to be 
 bitter ! Ah, but you can't help me ! I am old and 
 bitter at heart. But if only I could keep from 
 being bitter to you. If only you would love me a 
 little, just a very little, I shouldn't " 
 
 In tears she sank on his shoulder. Barry kissed 
 her loyally. It was her real farewell to him. And 
 here by the little fountain, with the cool wind 
 rising and stirring the leaves about them, and the 
 warm sky glowing magically toward sunset, one 
 long episode of his life came to an end. 
 
 221
 
 PART II 
 THE HILLS
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 CLARA came along the road in the shadow 
 of the chestnut-forest, singing gaily. She 
 had a bunch of forest-flowers in her 
 hand wild forget-me-nots, tiny pinks and bache- 
 lor-buttons and her hat, of the light straw made 
 by the peasant-women, was pinned to the side of 
 her short skirt. Ahead of her, where the road 
 turned into the little Piazza. San Martino, were 
 two barefooted, almond-eyed children. They 
 stopped and stared at her shyly. The girl had a 
 pailful of wild strawberries, tiny scarlet drops of 
 pure sweetness and fragrance; it represented the 
 morning's work of the two children in the forest. 
 Clara caught sight of it and hailed them, pausing 
 in her song. 
 
 " Buona sera, ragazzina mia, volete vendere 
 questi fragoletti? " 
 
 The girl stammered assent, looking up askance, 
 with half-timid, half-bold eyes. Clara beckoned 
 
 225
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 them to follow her, and went on into the Piazza, 
 warbling lightly: 
 
 " Where the bee sucks, there suck I: 
 In a cowslip's bell I lie " 
 
 She walked with an elastic, easy step, swinging 
 along as though she were still treading the springy 
 turf of the forest-floor instead of the stone-paved 
 roadway. Her black hair was blown back from 
 her face by the light breeze. She had a fresh 
 colour, and she smiled contentedly, and tilted her 
 head from side to side in time to the gay melody. 
 The two children followed warily, paddling in the 
 dusty grass by the roadside, for the cobbles were 
 hot to the foot. 
 
 It was mid-day, and the Piazza, which was 
 little more than a terrace near the top of the hill, 
 was almost deserted. Two yawning bathwomen 
 sat before the door of the bathing-establishment, 
 whose trim stucco front made one side of the 
 Piazza. On the opposite side, where through a 
 wide archway the road went its winding way down 
 the hill, the keeper of the wine-shop sat before his 
 door, playing cards with three companions. Be- 
 
 226
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 tween was an enormous wall of stone, through the 
 midst of which a long flight of steps led up to the 
 hotel on the hill-top. At the foot of this wall was 
 a fountain, where a woman was drawing water in 
 a copper jug. The fourth side was made by a row 
 of low stucco houses, a continuous facade of light 
 buff-colour, and a low wall, lined with a row of 
 great plane-trees, from which one looked down 
 sheer three hundred feet into the narrow valley. 
 The plane-trees shaded half the Piazza; but the 
 other half was a dazzling glare of sunlight on 
 grey stone, white stone and stucco. 
 
 Clara went to the door of the house nearest to 
 the row of plane-trees and opened it. The door 
 was composed of two great shutters, and these, as 
 well as the shutters of the windows, were closed 
 against the sun and dust. Clara went in and got 
 her purse, a frivolous affair of silver links, and 
 paid the children their price, with ten centesimi 
 over for luck, and a piece of red ribbon for the 
 black-haired girl. The cook, a young, light-haired 
 woman, brought a dish for the strawberries, and 
 Clara sent the smiling children away with a prom- 
 ise to buy all the strawberries and mushrooms they 
 
 227
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 could bring, tntti giorni. Then she went into the 
 house, and the cook, Ida, closed the shutters of the 
 door, and informed her that the Signora was tak- 
 ing her collazione in the sala di pranzo. 
 
 Within its thick walls the house was cool as a 
 well. It was deep and narrow like one, too; for 
 it was built into the steep side of the hill, and from 
 one story and a half at the front, facing the 
 Piazza, it shot down four stories at the back. It 
 was all stone, and concrete, and plaster, in dull, 
 cool greys and greens; and the stairway that led 
 down into dimness had the gleam of water at the 
 bottom, where a spring filled a small reservoir 
 sunk in the floor. 
 
 The double doors of the main living-room were 
 open on the entrance-hall; and Clara glanced in 
 for a moment on a scene of confusion. A grand- 
 piano stood in the middle of the floor, its lid 
 heaped with half-emptied trunk-trays. Trunks 
 were ranged about the walls. Drifts of tissue- 
 paper littered the floor. The chairs were buried 
 under mounds of wearing-apparel, and the tables 
 covered with hats, slippers, lacquered boxes, 
 and other trifles of elegance. Fidelio, the poodle, 
 
 228
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 lay on his purple cushion under the piano and 
 growled discontentedly as he perceived Clara. 
 She threw up her hands and turned to go down- 
 stairs. 
 
 In the dining-room, one flight down, Augusta 
 Langham sat at table, with her new maid wait- 
 ing upon her. In this room, also, there were 
 trunks, half-unpacked. From it chambers opened 
 on either side, and at the back a wide door gave 
 on a balcony which overhung the deep ravine and 
 faced the high green hills. Mrs. Langham sat 
 with her back to the view. She wore a purple 
 morning-gown ; her hair was carefully waved and 
 dressed. She was trying to eat an omelette, but 
 when Clara came in she gave up the attempt and 
 sent the maid, an Englishwoman of severe appear- 
 ance, for fresh coffee. 
 
 " That's good I'm hungry," said Clara, sit- 
 ting down. " I've had a jolly walk in the woods. 
 And I've got some wild strawberries for you. Did 
 the cream come ? The woman promised it for this 
 morning." 
 
 " I believe so," said Mrs. Langham dejectedly. 
 
 " I had trouble enough to get it I . , . 
 229
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 We don't seem to have got very far toward set- 
 tling, do we? " 
 
 Mrs. Langham sighed deeply, and threw her- 
 self back in her chair. 
 
 " How can we? There is no place to put any- 
 thing, no one to do any work! Clara, how could 
 you think we could get on in this place? " 
 
 " But I think we can get on very well. I 
 like it. . . . What is there for break- 
 fast?" 
 
 " Bread butter figs an uneatable omelette. 
 How you could conceive of taking one of these 
 peasants for a cook ! " 
 
 " But, Mama, we had a good dinner last 
 night you know we had! I daresay she has 
 something else down there. How nice those little 
 pats of butter look on the vine-leaves ! " 
 
 Clara began eating, with the spirits born of 
 fresh air and exercise. The English maid came in 
 with a dish of chicken, rice, and tomatoes, and the 
 coffee. Then she put the strawberries on the table 
 and Clara fell upon them eagerly. 
 
 " Oh, how delicious ! Just smell them ! Now, 
 I think this is an awfully good meal 1 " 
 
 230
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 " Field, you can go up now and unpack," said 
 Mrs. Langham languidly. 
 
 The Englishwoman gave an audible sniff as 
 she went out and closed the door, and Mrs. Lang- 
 ham nodded tragically across the table. 
 
 " That woman will be absolutely useless," she 
 said. " And the worst of it is, I feel like apolo- 
 gising to her for things, nasty as she is. She's 
 used, you see, to a big establishment." 
 
 "Well, why did you take her, then, Mama? 
 I think myself she's useless. You should have got 
 somebody with less pretensions." 
 
 " Yes, that's all very well, but it doesn't seem 
 to occur to you, Clara, that a person who wasn't 
 used to doing things well would be of no use to 
 me. I couldn't possibly get on, for instance, with 
 anyone like Lucie. This woman can dress my 
 hair and she understands clothes, and she's a good 
 masseuse but when it comes to waiting on table 
 and sweeping, I simply don't think she'll do it." 
 
 " Well, Mama, I don't think we need more than 
 three women in this little house to look after us. 
 Lucie is perfectly willing to do her share. And 
 if Field can't bring in your meals and sweep out 
 
 231
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 your room, I think you'd better get somebody 
 else." 
 
 " Get somebody else ! Up in this hole ! How, 
 pray, am I to get anyone else? Shall I take a 
 peasant out of the fields to dress me? You talk 
 like a fool, Clara." 
 
 Clara shrugged her shoulders and poured out 
 the coffee. The barking of Fidelio was sharply 
 audible above. 
 
 "Yes, that's another thing! Fidelio can't 
 bear her. And, do you know, Clara, there is no 
 place here where he can be dry-cleaned ! " 
 
 Clara burst out laughing. " Then he must 
 have a bath ! " she cried heartlessly. " Now, 
 Mama, you've got house-nerves. You come out 
 into the woods, or take a carriage and we'll drive, 
 about four, when it's cooler. It is a most roman- 
 tic, charming place ! " 
 
 " I cannot see it, Clara. And anyhow what's 
 the use of romance when you're uncomfortable? 
 I can't see how I'm to get on here. There is no 
 place to put my clothes no press, no closets, noth- 
 ing but a dressing-room with hooks around! I 
 could not sleep last night fancy a wool mattress 
 and a great sack of corn husks under it. Then 
 
 232
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 if you take the only drawing-room for your piano, 
 and I have to sit and listen to those scales and 
 things, I shall go mad. Really, I shall." 
 
 Clara stopped eating, and contemplated her 
 mother's down-cast head for some moments. 
 
 " Mama, were you never uncomfortable before 
 I mean, what you call uncomfortable, like 
 this? " she enquired finally. 
 
 " No, child," said Mrs. Langham, pathetically. 
 " I have always hated the country, and bare rough 
 ways of living, and I've always gone to good hotels 
 or lodgings, when I hadn't my own house. 
 Really and truly, I never in my life had so com- 
 fortless a place as this." 
 
 Clara meditated. 
 
 " Well, I suppose it is hard on you," she ad- 
 mitted. " But then, you see, we can't help it. We 
 really haven't got the money to live well just 
 now." 
 
 Mrs. Langham made an impatient gesture. 
 
 " But this is absurd of you, Clara ! As if we 
 hadn't been hard up before ! The bills are always 
 paid somehow in the end, and those people are 
 quite used to waiting for their money." 
 
 " But some of them aren't paid yet," said Clara 
 
 2 33
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 in a low tone. " And what I can't stand is people 
 dunning us. ... If we live here this sum- 
 mer you can catch up, and be comfortable again 
 next winter " 
 
 " Well, I am willing to live here, though I 
 don't believe I shall survive it. But not in this 
 house, Clara ! We might at least have a house 
 with a garden and a sitting-room for me, and some 
 good beds. I'm sure that isn't much to ask. And 
 this place is really as damp as a tomb." 
 
 " It won't be damp when we get it sunned out 
 once, at least these upper rooms won't be. And, 
 Mama, it is as good as we can afford. You know 
 I calculated very carefully, and my money will 
 just cover expenses as it is." 
 
 ' You are a good little bourgeoise, Clara, but 
 you have no imagination. How am I to get 
 through the summer with no amusement, nothing? 
 It's all very well for you, you have your everlasting 
 music. But when I'm bored I'm afraid I am not 
 a very cheerful companion you may not be able 
 to stand me." 
 
 ' Well, I must manage to, somehow, I suppose," 
 said Clara absently. 
 
 234
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 She gazed out over her mother's head at the 
 skyline of the wild hills, tufted thick with chest- 
 nut-trees, showing no sign of human domination 
 except here and there the powdery smoke of a 
 row of olives, or a winding hedge-row, the way 
 to some hidden little town. The deep blue sky 
 was soaked with warmth. The noise of the 
 stream running in the ravine came up fresh and 
 loud in its spring fulness. The peace and sweet- 
 ness of this outlook were reflected in the girl's 
 face; she seemed still in a kind of trance of en- 
 joyment. Mrs. Langham gazed at her moodily, 
 continued her meal in silence for some time, then 
 resumed her theme. 
 
 " You know, Clarchen, it really would have been 
 so much more sensible for you to be with the Rasol- 
 lis this summer. The Contessa would gladly have 
 had you. And I could have gone with some of 
 my friends " 
 
 " But, Mama," said Clara rather impatiently, 
 " you know quite well that would not do. In the 
 first place I could not wait about for the Rasollis, 
 and I could not be at the hotel I must have some 
 place to work. And as for your going why, you 
 
 235
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 could not go travelling about without money, and 
 you have not got any. You seem to forget that." 
 
 " I am not apt to forget it, with you to din it 
 into my head every day," said Mrs. Langham 
 sulkily. 
 
 She spread her hands out before her and looked 
 at her rings rings of diamonds, square emeralds 
 and rubies and two great sullen sapphires. 
 
 " What it amounts to," she said after a moment, 
 " is that you have arranged the summer entirely 
 for your own convenience. This wretched house 
 is merely a workshop for you. And I am simply 
 a pendant, a kind of chaperone ! " 
 
 Clara shrugged her shoulders. " Show me 
 some way that we can do better on less than a 
 thousand francs a month," she said. Then having 
 finished her coffee, she looked enquiringly at her 
 mother and rose. " I must go and see if I can get 
 that room cleared out. Lucie will help. I must 
 get to work to-morrow." 
 
 Mrs. Langham got up and folded her morning- 
 gown majestically about her. 
 
 " Will you please tell somebody to order a 
 carriage for half-past three ! I shall die if I 
 
 236
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 don't get out of this tomb," she announced, and 
 retired upstairs to her bedroom and a French 
 novel. 
 
 Clara followed more slowly, and, avoiding the 
 living-room, where she heard her mother sharply 
 giving instructions about Fidelio's meal, she went 
 out on the balcony that ran along the entire back 
 of the house. There were two similar balconies 
 below, on the two lower stories. Below the foun- 
 dations of the house was a narrow terrace where 
 there had once been a garden. The cracked dry 
 basin of the fountain was still there, and the box- 
 hedges, and a few flowering shrubs; but the grass 
 grew long and thick about them all. Beyond this 
 the hill plunged steeply down to the water-course 
 fringed with trees; and almost on the other side 
 of these trees the higher hills shot steeply up. 
 There was room for but a foot-path and a long 
 narrow field of grain, a garden-patch, a tiny grey 
 house the holding of some peasant-farmer. Two 
 or three other little farms nestled in nooks of the 
 hill-sides, in clearings of the great chestnut-forest 
 that lay like a dense green mantle over all these 
 slopes. But the whole effect was solitary, wild, 
 
 237
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 fresh. All the civilisation of the place lay on the 
 other side of the Piazza. Here was nothing 
 more modern than the campanile of the grey 
 village on the opposite hill peak: nothing more 
 sophisticated than the blurred tablet let into the 
 wall of the house, which stated that in fifteen hun- 
 dred and seventy this edifice had been built by 
 Luigi Momoli, for his soul's good. 
 
 Clara sat down in a garden-chair, one of their 
 importations, and looked at the tablet, and at the 
 hills and the sky. Meditatively she admitted the 
 bareness of the place, the primitive way of living 
 which their little casa implied. For herself she 
 liked it deeply. She liked simplicity in living, 
 bare floors, bare walls, few servants, meals of two 
 courses; quiet, a rural solitude to wander in, space 
 for brooding and for dreams. She hated hotels, 
 upholstery, parade, noise, glitter and restlessness. 
 She had never, so far in her life, been able to live 
 as she liked, even as nearly as this. A long pro- 
 gression from one capital or fashionable watering- 
 place to another, a perpetual change of base, a 
 constant effort to live like richer people these, 
 by no will of her own, had been the outward con- 
 
 238
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 ditions of her life. Her real life, almost all her 
 enjoyment, had been entirely in herself. Her con- 
 stant effort had been to withdraw herself from 
 her material surroundings and to concentrate on 
 her own individual interests. It was only by an 
 intense concentration that she had accomplished 
 what she had; only by a definite imposition of her 
 own will that she had managed to get any possible 
 conditions for her work. She had to deal with a 
 stronger egotism than her own, but a weaker will; 
 a will, in fact which crumpled at sight of resistance 
 and became mere impotent discontent. 
 
 She wondered now, with sudden misgivings, if 
 this present experiment of hers were to end in fail- 
 ure. If so what would be the result? She frowned, 
 and her face took on a look of determination. 
 Her mother must be made to stand it; there was 
 nothing else to be done. She had made up her 
 mind that no more debts should be incurred, by 
 herself at least. Therefore they must live in 
 a place that offered no temptations to extrava- 
 gance. And she had been able now to force this 
 because she held the purse-strings, her own income 
 being paid over directly to herself. 
 
 239
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 But she foresaw struggles; a good deal of dis- 
 comfort for her mother and therefore for herself. 
 That was in fact the best she could hope for, in 
 the present situation. If they could get through 
 the summer without an absolute crash, Clara felt 
 that she might think herself fortunate. 
 
 240
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 THEY drove out at four; for Mrs. Lang- 
 ham, absorbed in her novel, was late in 
 dressing. The vehicle, an open cab 
 with one horse, awaited them in the Piazza, and 
 a little group of idle spectators had gathered there 
 also to see what might be seen. The season had 
 hardly begun yet for the Baths ; these two forestiere 
 were almost the first, and moreover they were un- 
 usually spectacular. With native susceptibility to 
 beauty the country-people stared frankly at Mrs. 
 Langham and her daughter, as the ladies got into 
 their cab and were driven slowly through the arch. 
 
 " What a funny little place," said Mrs. Lang- 
 ham patronisingly. " One would think they'd 
 never seen a foreigner. I can't say I like being 
 down so near them as this. The hotel now 
 When do you say the Rasollis come? " 
 
 " Not till the middle of July," Clara answered. 
 
 " Well, I hope those English friends of Eliza- 
 241
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 beth's will call on me. If they have a villa 
 there will probably be something to be got out of 
 them. Tell the man to drive through the town, 
 will you ? Let us see all there is to be seen." 
 
 With the brakes down the carriage proceeded 
 on the winding road, which, though it tacked back 
 and forth half a dozen times during the descent of 
 the hill, was still a steep grade. After a moment's 
 endurance of the screeching of the wheels Clara 
 clapped both hands over her ears and cried, " I 
 can't stand that noise I'll meet you at the foot of 
 the hill." 
 
 She jumped out of the carriage without waiting 
 for it to stop, and took the footpath, which made 
 short-cuts connecting the loops of the road. She 
 had not dressed for parade. Her white dress was 
 short and plain, she wore a wide-brimmed flapping 
 hat; her whole appearance was of freshness, sim- 
 plicity and ease. She moved with more vigour in 
 this clearer air. There was something almost 
 athletic about her long light stride as she half-ran 
 down the path. She wore heelless white shoes, 
 and her feet touched the earth firmly and with an 
 elastic spring that sent the soft colour again into 
 
 242
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 her face. She glanced from side to side as she 
 went, with pleasure in the charm of the place. This 
 hill-side had not the remote and lonely look of the 
 view from her balcony ; it was civilised, cultivated. 
 It had hedges of box, clumps of wonderful cy- 
 presses, a villa-gate or two overgrown with 
 flowers, and farther down small houses occupied 
 by the townspeople. From it one looked down 
 into the larger valley where the green river ran 
 and the houses of the town clustered about the 
 bridge. At the foot of the hill the road passed 
 between two rows of buildings into the village 
 square. Here Clara got into the carriage again. 
 
 The square was surrounded by low shops, ex- 
 cept one side, where the river ran beneath a wall 
 shaded by plane-trees. Next to this wall was the 
 cafe, before which were set out a number of little 
 tables. The place was pleasantly full of people, 
 sitting and sipping their vermouth and water, 
 lounging round the shop-fronts, leaning on the 
 wall, enjoying the cool of the day. 
 
 " I'd like to stop and have an ice there," said 
 Clara suddenly. 
 
 " Mercy, no, child, not there, among all those 
 
 243
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 people ! What ideas you have I We'll get some 
 tea at the hotel." 
 
 The cab rolled on through the square, attracting 
 some little attention in its passage, and out by the 
 single street of the village, which prolonged itself 
 into the country road; this again merging into the 
 single street of the farther and larger town. The 
 road was a little dusty and the sun struck on it now 
 and then. Mrs. Langham shifted her parasol. 
 
 ' You are getting terribly freckled, Clara," she 
 observed. " Your nose and the top of your cheeks 
 are quite covered. Why won't you wear a veil, 
 or at least not go about bare-headed like a 
 contadina? " 
 
 " I don't mind freckles, Mama," Clara said. 
 " And anyhow there is no one here to see me." 
 
 " Well, you never know when there may be." 
 
 Clara did not answer, but sat tranquilly in her 
 corner of the seat and watched the gentle pano- 
 rama of the roadside wall, terrace, embowered 
 villa, glimpses of the branching river. Her look 
 of brooding enjoyment was still there; she seemed 
 to have an inward source of pleasure which now 
 and then expressed itself in an abstracted smile. 
 
 244
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 "What are you smiling at?" finally enquired 
 Mrs. Langham after an interval of silence. " I 
 think if you have any cheerful thoughts you might 
 share them ! " 
 
 " Not thoughts exactly," said Clara. " I 
 wasn't thinking . . . It's so delicious the 
 air and all this greenness, and the quiet. I don't 
 know why it gives me so much pleasure, but it 
 does." 
 
 " Nonsense. I don't believe you were smiling 
 at that. It was something more definite. You 
 are so secretive, Clara ! I never know what you 
 are thinking. I hardly know what you are doing 
 any more. You might talk more frankly to me 
 about Morelli, for instance. I'm glad you did 
 break off with him, for I think you can do better, 
 but I don't yet understand just why you did." 
 
 Clara ceased to smile. 
 
 " I can't tell you any more about it," she said 
 quickly. " It was just impossible, that's all. I 
 don't want to talk about it, Mama." 
 
 " No, I know you don't want to talk about any 
 of your own affairs to me, at least. You are 
 getting more and more to be absolutely silent, 
 
 245
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 Clara. It's a frightful habit. You ought to 
 realise it, and try to break yourself of it if you 
 expect to live with other people. I don't think 
 you know what an effect it has on me, for instance. 
 You go about wrapped up in yourself like a 
 mummy. I am used to people who make them- 
 selves a little more agreeable. And if you and I 
 are to be shut up together for months, you must 
 try to do so." 
 
 Clara was quite clouded now. 
 
 " I see what you mean," she said after a pause. 
 " But I don't know whether I can do it. I hope 
 to do a lot of work this summer; and then I don't 
 seem to have much energy left to talk. I'd rather 
 just roam about in the woods and be quiet." 
 
 " Exactly. But I hope you see that's a per- 
 fectly selfish way of living and moreover it's bad 
 for you too. What's the use of all this ' work ' ? 
 You are not strong enough to carry it out and make 
 a real success of it. You would do much better to 
 marry, while you are young and pretty." 
 
 There was another pause, as after each of these 
 speeches of Mrs. Langham; calm, incisive, clear, 
 as they were. Then Clara asked: 
 
 246
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 " But what would you do, Mama, if I should? " 
 
 Mrs. Langham laughed slightly. 
 
 " It would make no great difference to me, child. 
 I can't tell you just what I would do, but on the 
 whole I should be quite as comfortable. You and 
 I never were especially congenial, you know. And 
 since you have grown up you have shut yourself 
 off more and more from me. You don't like my 
 friends and I don't like yours. Living together 
 is just a wretched kind of compromise, and makes 
 neither of us happy. Of course I should want to 
 see you often, if you were married. We should 
 get on very well, I'm sure, if we weren't tied to one 
 another." 
 
 Clara seemed to meditate on this; nerv- 
 ously clasping and unclasping her hands in her 
 lap. 
 
 " But I can't see how you could live all alone," 
 she said finally. " You seem so bored most of 
 the time. And yet when you have the kind of 
 people you like, you quarrel with them, you know 
 you do. There were the Mayhews in London, 
 and Madame Marum " 
 
 Mrs. Langham moved impatiently.
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 "Never mind them! There are plenty of 
 others. I don't expect to spend my lifetime with 
 any of them, anyhow. And if I often seem bored, 
 it's just because I'm tied down so much. You 
 don't realise it, but I have made a great many 
 sacrifices for you, Clara." 
 
 There was a long silence after that. Clara 
 looked vaguely out of her side of the carriage, at 
 the low scattered modern buildings of the town 
 through which they were now passing the library, 
 the English church, the Casino, the little shops 
 a town made for visitors. They reached the hotel, 
 and alighted for tea. They had the garden to 
 themselves a garden with a tennis-court and a 
 perfectly spick-and-span look and while they 
 were waiting Mrs. Langham walked about in- 
 specting the place. 
 
 " We should have done infinitely better to come 
 down here," she said with decision as she came back 
 and sat down. " This at least is partly civilised." 
 
 Clara looked up absently. 
 
 " Have you really made many sacrifices for 
 me? " she asked. 
 
 "Are you still thinking about that? . . . 
 248
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 Why, yes I have, Clara. Take this present ar- 
 rangement of ours, for instance. You know I pro- 
 tested against it all along." 
 
 ' Yes, but something like this was necessary 
 just now. But it seems to me that we have gen- 
 erally gone to the places you wanted " 
 
 " No, I don't think so. We have always had 
 to think of your music, and go to this place and 
 that for you to study. London, for instance, 
 you know I hate London. And Vienna we lived 
 there two years. I'm not complaining about that 
 of course it was my business to look after you. 
 But I'm only saying that I don't want to go on 
 doing it perpetually." 
 
 " And I thought I was looking after you ! " 
 cried Clara. ' You know I did, too I always 
 did the housekeeping and saw to the bills, and ar- 
 ranged about travelling and all that! You are 
 quite helpless, Mama ! I don't believe you could 
 get on alone you don't know what it would 
 be!" 
 
 Mrs. Langham shook her head wearily. 
 
 " I know quite well. I did it all when you were 
 little. . . . Don't talk about it any more. I 
 
 249
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 only wanted to get out of your head the idea that 
 I can't exist without you. By all means you should 
 marry, Clara, if you can ever make up your mind 
 to it. And remember that it gets more difficult 
 to make up your mind each year." 
 
 The tea came at this point very English tea 
 and muffins. When the waiter had gone and Clara 
 had poured the tea she said suddenly: 
 
 " Mr. Carleton will come up here soon." 
 
 u Will he? What has he to do with it? " 
 
 " A great deal perhaps. I do think I might 
 marry him." 
 
 " You might if you wished to, I suppose. But 
 I did not know you had thought of it." 
 
 " Yes, I have. I think perhaps I should like 
 to marry him." 
 
 " Do you really? " Mrs. Langham drank her 
 tea slowly and pushed the cup over to be refilled. 
 ' Well, I don't pretend to advise you, Clara. You 
 have made it very clear for some time past that 
 you wanted no advice from me. But I'm glad you 
 have told me this. It makes a difference, of 
 course, about his coming. . - . It is not ex- 
 actly a brilliant match." 
 
 250
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 " No, It is not brilliant. I don't think I care 
 about brilliance." 
 
 " You have forgotten the sugar. . . . 
 What do you care about, then, Clara? What do 
 you see in this particular man, for instance?" 
 
 " I don't know that I can tell exactly. But I 
 like him. He understands things." 
 
 " Oh, he's intelligent enough. And what is 
 more, he has a good deal of force, I think more 
 than he seems to care about showing. He might 
 do very well for you, I think. He does not seem 
 to want to work, but he can evidently when he 
 wants to. I daresay you might be rich after all, 
 if you wanted it." 
 
 Clara said no more, but drank her tea, looking 
 rather melancholy. 
 
 " But don't," Mrs. Langham went on with 
 more energy, " let it drag along, as you did with 
 Morelli. It's very hard on the man, and it's hard 
 on you too, Clara. I believe his being in London 
 with us was one thing that made you break down. 
 You take things too emotionally. If you could 
 make up your mind quickly it would be far better. 
 . . . About this Mr. Carleton I like him 
 
 251
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 too, though he has not shown any special interest 
 in having me like him. You made it too clear, I 
 suppose, that my influence didn't count much, one 
 way or the other. But I think he's the sort of 
 man who doesn't go dancing about after women, 
 anyhow. He's more like an Englishman than an 
 American. He has more of their quietness. And 
 that's a good thing for a woman. I don't believe 
 he'd spoil you, as most Americans do their wives 
 only you're rather spoiled already, you know, 
 Clara. All your whims, and moods and ca- 
 prices. . . ." Mrs. Langham began to feed 
 Fidelio with bits of muffin and lost her theme. 
 "Poor Fiddle! Poor disreputable doggy! 
 Couldn't get himself cleaned decently in this hor- 
 rid place! . . . What was I saying, Clara? " 
 " I I don't quite know, Mama," said Clara 
 apologetically. 
 
 'Well, what are you dreaming about? I was 
 talking of you ... I sha'n't take your Mr. 
 Carleton seriously as yet, however. You certainly 
 do not know your own mind particularly well. 
 Only try to be a little careful, Clara. Don't rush 
 along with your eyes shut. Don't roam about 
 
 252
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 with him at night again. You may despise con- 
 ventions, but they are useful things. You never 
 know when you may need them. At any rate you 
 ought to be very sure of yourself before you dis- 
 regard them." 
 
 Mrs. Langham finished her maternal lecture in 
 a calm semi-detached manner, and tossed another 
 bit of muffin to Fidelio. Clara gazed away from 
 her into the depths of a clump of laurels; turning 
 her head so that the drooping hat-brim hid her 
 whole face, as though she were conscious of its ex- 
 pression and the necessity for hiding it. It was 
 a frankly significant expression, one to be easily 
 read; it meant passionate weariness, bitterness, 
 revolt After a moment the girl dropped her head 
 on her arm, that rested on the back of the seat. The 
 shielding brim left visible only the knot of black 
 hair against the white neck, and a flushed cheek. 
 
 Mrs. Langham looked at her daughter with 
 something like the same weariness, but with exas- 
 peration as the most passionate element of feeling. 
 She went on slowly feeding the dog until the muffin 
 was entirely consumed. Then she said, drawing 
 on her pearl-coloured gloves: 
 
 253
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 " Well, I suppose we may as well go on." 
 
 Clara rose at once. She paid the waiter and 
 followed her mother out to the carriage. Mrs. 
 Langham suddenly recollected a number of things 
 she wanted in the town: some French papers, 
 which were not obtainable, some violet-water for 
 her bath, some tulle. Then they went to the li- 
 brary, where to her disgust she found nothing but 
 musty books, dating from the middle of the cen- 
 tury, when the place was in its prime. 
 
 " Only six o'clock! " she exclaimed when all the 
 errands she could think of were done ' Two 
 hours to get through before dinner! We must 
 drive farther on." 
 
 Accordingly they drove on through the town, 
 across another bridge, along the highroad which 
 ran by the river's edge, smooth, broad, bordered 
 by poplars whose leaves were turning and flashing 
 their white under-sides in the breeze. They passed 
 some workmen, who had just finished their day's 
 task of breaking stones for the repair of the road. 
 They passed a flock of goats with tinkling bells 
 driven by a bare-headed, bare-footed girl in a 
 crimson dress; then an old mill on the bank, and a 
 
 254
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 dam of rough stones over which the water poured 
 in a wonderful emerald-green fall. The river-bed 
 was full of stones and the water bubbled and 
 foamed against them. In the chestnut-wood that 
 rose from the roadside, undulating over the hill- 
 slopes, the wind played musically. Each hill of 
 the numbers fading into blue distance had its little 
 grey-brown town, each town its square campanile, 
 from which now the bells were ringing, chiming* 
 to one another across the narrow valleys; a sweet 
 peaceful chorus. The flavour of wood-smoke in 
 the air had a homely sweetness too ; it belonged to 
 the evening calm, the return of the people to their 
 evening meal, from the road, the fields, the mill 
 and factory. 
 
 The two women in the carriage were silent for 
 a long time. Mrs. Langham retired behind the 
 folds of her veil. Clara watched the river, 
 breathed the deep sweetness of the air, saw the 
 purple shadows gather over the hillsides, heard the 
 song of the bells, with a pleasure of the senses that 
 was half pain. When the pain got uppermost her 
 eyes would fill with tears; tears that she got rid 
 of without giving any sign. 
 
 255
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 ARLETON came to Bagni leisurely, 
 stopping at Pisa and at Lucca, and 
 walking the sixteen miles from Lucca 
 on, between ten o'clock and seven of a warm June 
 day. It was uphill all the way, and the roads 
 were dusty; so that in spite of taking it slowly, 
 long before he came to his journey's end he was 
 conscious of a salutary fatigue. He meant to get 
 back into walking form again as speedily as might 
 be. A month's physical indolence had satisfied 
 him In that way. It had been like a long calm 
 voyage in tropical seas. But the voyage must 
 come to an end, and what he looked to now re- 
 quired some effort. Happily effort was no longer 
 a terror to him. He could even foresee the time 
 when he should like it again for its own sake. 
 
 He had been in a solitary mood since leaving 
 La Fontanella. A mood to enjoy particularly the 
 quiet country he was passing through, the antique 
 
 256
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 charm of its cities, its rural freshness, which some- 
 how suggested ever the ancient model. In Pisa 
 he lingered some days. He spent two long pen- 
 sive afternoons in the sun-lit cloisters of the 
 Campo Santo, meditating on the old pavement of 
 grave-stones and the quaint frescoes; meditations 
 strangely inspired by the echoing organ-phrases of 
 " Urn-Burial," and illumined by the reconciling 
 beauty of the sarcophagi carved with gay creatures 
 of the sea and forest; and by the grace of the 
 Greek urn, with its light twining procession of 
 figures, which might almost have been Keats' 
 original. 
 
 The sweet spirit of these old memorials of 
 death sent him forth cheerful upon the road. There 
 in the humble life of the fields and wayside the 
 forms of things were still cheerful and even gay, 
 though their antiquity cast always the shadow of 
 immemorial time, even as the shadows of the 
 cloister had lain on the sunny grass of the Holy 
 Field. Thus the gayest note of all, the looping of 
 the grapevines from tree to tree all along the road 
 and up the slopes, suggesting a perpetual festival 
 of wine and rejoicing, suggesting the fruity Delia 
 
 257.
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 Robbia garlands this note too had the tone of the 
 ages, echoing from the pages of Montaigne and 
 who knew how much earlier? For centuries these 
 people had been looping their vines thus, tilling 
 the same fields in the same ways, living in the 
 same groups of weathered houses whose inaccessi- 
 bility spoke of the age of war and brigandage, 
 being gathered themselves finally into some hum- 
 bler Holy Field of the myriads that dotted the hills. 
 From beholding them and their lives sub specie 
 aeternitatis, or at least merged in the surrounding 
 beauty of the earth, Carleton reached the point of 
 beholding himself and his own life in the same 
 fashion. And this was the point he desired to 
 reach; to this his mood had been tending, ever 
 since, restless and disturbed, he had left La Fon- 
 tanella. 
 
 A certain calm and possession of himself had 
 always been a necessity of being to him. He 
 could not bear to be thrown off his balance for 
 long at a time; nor to have confusion and uncer- 
 tainty within, so that his feeling must be narrowly 
 personal. He was single-hearted. One emotion, 
 with the depth of his natural intensity and con- 
 
 258
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 centration, could suffice for him; and, constantly 
 fulfilled and satisfied, leave him philosophically 
 free. But it must be deep and deeply fulfilled! 
 It was the impossibility of this with Elizabeth 
 that had made their break inevitable. It was the 
 possibility which he instinctively felt in Clara that 
 had drawn him to her. 
 
 Thinking of her was a joy, but a troubled joy. 
 No amount of looking at his feeling for her sub 
 specie aeternitatis could make it as yet purely 
 serene. But it was striving toward purity, toward 
 serenity as an intermediate stage, toward satis- 
 faction. The Greek poet's image of earthly love 
 recurred to him as truth: In the beginning man- 
 kind were created complete in themselves. But 
 the gods perceived that with this completeness 
 man would be too strong, and they clove him in 
 twain; and ever since the two halves of each in- 
 dividual have gone about the world seeking one 
 another. When by chance they find one another 
 and are united again they become strong enough to 
 defy the gods! 
 
 The last day of his journey was one of pure 
 259
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 Iinpplness, As he began the long ascent from 
 Lucca his burden of half-melancholy thought 
 slipped from him and the Delectable Mountains 
 rose before him. Partly it was the physical stimulus 
 that lightened his spirits, and vague memories of 
 his long ramblings of earlier years, in Burgundy, 
 the Black Forest, the Swiss uplands. But it was 
 the thought that he might see Clara that night 
 or at least in the morning that made the world a 
 pleasant place. With his mind full of her he saw 
 more keenly the beauty of the country that brought 
 him to her. This freshness of the deep chestnut- 
 forest, spreading into every wrinkle of the hills, 
 clear of underbrush, floored with flowery turf and 
 reck, pierced by innumerable singing streams and 
 shadowy paths; the ring of great mountains climb- 
 ing higher and higher toward the north; the air, 
 sweet, poignant, lulling, delicious; the sky blue as 
 the Madonna's robe, with cloudlets like crowds of 
 putti: all this luring and youthful charm seemed to 
 him just the setting for her, for the beautiful girl 
 who had promised wasn't it a promise? to love 
 him. 
 
 He reached the hotel on the hill-top, passing 
 260
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 through the Piazza, about seven; tired, dusty, but 
 still happy. A bath and change of dress his 
 baggage had been sent on ahead and a dinner at 
 the table d'hote in company with some newly ar- 
 rived and agreeable English people, mellowed and 
 deepened his content, which yet was not content, 
 for he was by no means minded to stay where he 
 was. He took coffee with the English family in 
 the billiard-room, which with the dining-room 
 made a sort of pavilion separate from the main 
 building and more modern; and played at billiards 
 afterwards, winning with an ease to which he was 
 used. All this time he was debating whether he 
 might go to see Clara that evening. He knew 
 now where she lived. The English lady, Mrs. 
 Mallot, had spoken to him about the Langhams, 
 as " those two wonderful Americans " ; and find- 
 ing he knew them, had taken him out on the ter- 
 race and pointed out the house, just visible from 
 the top of the long flight of steps. He liked Mrs. 
 Mallot at sight; her quiet unemphatic speech and 
 manner, her charming speech, her vitality and 
 friendliness. She looked about forty, and told 
 him she was a grandmother. With her were her 
 
 261
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 two brothers, ruddy, sound-looking men, who bore 
 their age with pleasant ease. 
 
 Carleton finally strolled out and down the steps 
 into the Piazza. It was the dark of the moon 
 that moon so wonderful on the heights above La 
 Fontanella but the sky was amazingly full of 
 stars. The houses round the Piazza seemed to 
 have gone to bed. The wine-shop was closed. 
 Only a gleam showed here and there behind a 
 shutter. Some of these gleams came from the 
 windows of Clara's house. Carleton wandered up 
 and down the Piazza with his cigar, looking at the 
 chinks of light. It occurred to him to send in a 
 note to ask if he might be received, late as it was; 
 but perhaps she would think it indecent precipita- 
 tion. He had promised in effect not to bother 
 her. He could not risk boring her by appearing 
 at the wrong time. 
 
 While he lingered and looked Clara's piano 
 broke out brilliantly the Chopin Impromptu in 
 A. The glittering music seemed to his enchanted 
 ear to be gaily played, in lightness of heart. But 
 it ended abruptly and there was no more, though 
 he stayed an hour longer. 
 
 262
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 In the morning he heard the piano again. For 
 two hours she worked, phrase by phrase, over a 
 Chopin concerto; and at the end she played some 
 strange music, full of far-reaching chords and 
 Oriental harmonies. The patient man spent his 
 morning thus within earshot and eyeshot of the 
 house, which kept its shutters obstinately closed, 
 presenting a blank mysterious front and suggest- 
 ing an eager interesting life within. Finally, 
 toward noon, Carleton's watch was rewarded. He 
 was sitting on the bench under the plane-trees, 
 talking to the keeper of the wine-shop, when the 
 door of the house opened and Clara came out, in 
 her short walking-dress and broad hat, followed by 
 Fidelio. She turned toward the road leading into 
 the chestnut-forest, and Carleton overtook her in 
 the middle of the Piazza. Her greeting of him 
 was all he had hoped for. She was startled, as 
 he took her unawares, but her perturbation was of 
 good omen. She blushed as though the hot sun- 
 light had touched her cheeks; the colour and ex- 
 pression of her face wavered, as though seen 
 through a column of shimmering air. That was 
 for a moment only. 
 
 263
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 " You mustn't stand in the sun," Carleton said. 
 " May I walk on with you? " 
 
 " I was going into the wood. Fidelio has to 
 have an outing before his dinner and I too." 
 
 They went on together. 
 
 " You've been at work this morning. I heard 
 you." 
 
 " Yes. . . . Mama says my playing gets on 
 Fidelio's nerves she declares that he especially 
 hates Chopin ! I hope you weren't afflicted long? " 
 
 " Oh, I've been about here all the morning. 
 Last night too, I heard you playing. I didn't 
 dare go up and knock." 
 
 " You came last night? Why didn't you come 
 in? Mama will weep for joy when she knows 
 you are here. What do you think of the place? " 
 
 " I think it is heavenly. And you do you 
 like it?" 
 
 " I love it it is so fresh and quiet. But Mama 
 is unutterably bored. There she is on the balcony, 
 see?" 
 
 The winding road had brought them in sight of 
 the back of the casa. There on the upper balcony, 
 under a gay awning, in a reclining chair, Mrs. 
 
 264
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 Langham was visible. She was clad in a volumi- 
 nous white neglige, and was reading something in 
 yellow covers. 
 
 " Poor Mama ! She is reduced to reading 
 novels half the time. There are no people yet, to 
 speak of. I hope you will go and talk to her soon." 
 
 " Gladly," said Carleton. 
 
 Gladly would he have done anything she sug- 
 gested, in that soft, quick, hesitating voice, the 
 words coming out with a little rush, then a half- 
 breathless pause. Her way of speaking seemed to 
 him unutterably charming. Never had she seemed 
 so beautiful as now. Her colour was bright and 
 less transient ; it seemed to have been fixed by the 
 sun. She was, in fact, a little burned, a little 
 freckled. She looked stronger and, in her short 
 dress, more girlish. There were some crimson 
 poppies on her hat, and a little bunch of them 
 drooped at the back against her black hair. She 
 had a crimson belt, to match. As she walked by 
 his side she seemed to him like a little girl, less tall 
 than he remembered her. Then he saw that her 
 white shoes were without heels, that this most 
 adorable height was her own ! 
 
 265
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 He absorbed every detail of her appearance in 
 those first few moments of delighted vision. Her 
 white blouse was open a little at the neck. She 
 wore a chain of red coral and seed-pearls. Her 
 eyes, when she looked up, were more green than 
 he had ever seen them definitely, wonderfully 
 green under their black lashes. A marvellous bit 
 of colour and life she was ! The determination to 
 appropriate her grew stronger in him each moment. 
 
 She had a dog-whip with a clasp at the end in 
 her hand, and showed it to Carleton with a smile. 
 
 " I have to fasten Fidelio up occasionally. He 
 is fearfully quarrelsome, and he seems to think the 
 dogs about here are canaille, hardly fit to live. He 
 nearly killed one the other day." 
 
 " He looks fearfully opinionated," said Carle- 
 ton. 
 
 " He is as proud as Lucifer! " 
 
 " An aristocrat in the false sense. He must be 
 an uncomfortable person to go about with." 
 
 " Oh, he is ! Almost as bad as an Englishman 
 travelling. He really behaves like a beast if his 
 comfort is interfered with." 
 
 They were out of sight of the houses by now, 
 266
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 and the cool shade of the wood enveloped them. 
 The road was checkered with bits of sunlight, but 
 on either side the trees stood so thick as to make 
 almost unbroken shadow. On one side the slope 
 was downward, on the other up, up as far as the 
 eyes could pierce; and the road, too, climbed by 
 a slow grade, with many windings. Then it dipped 
 again suddenly and brought them, at the head of 
 the ravine, to a mill, with huge, dripping water- 
 wheel, and the rush of the stream down on the 
 rocks. Meantime they went on talking lightly, 
 quickly, with the ease that pleasure in one another 
 gives. Clara wanted to hear the details of his 
 journey at least, she led him to talk about them 
 and then about his earlier European experiences. 
 And here they found they could compare impres- 
 sions of many places and things, Clara having been 
 so much a nomad. Perhaps it did not much 
 matter what they talked about, since all these dis- 
 coveries of similarities of taste and intellectual 
 sympathies, or of equally enchanting differences, 
 were a foregone conclusion; given the original 
 impulse toward one another, the original impres- 
 sion, too strong to be disturbed by any adverse 
 
 267
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 discovery. Enough that they found they liked the 
 same things Nature, simple living, primitive art, 
 modern music, and, especially, Life ! 
 
 On that first walk they became sure of this much 
 and perhaps of much more that was un- 
 expressed. Then Clara had to hurry back for 
 luncheon with her mother. She asked Carleton to 
 come to tea at half-past four, after which they 
 would make some sort of excursion driving, 
 probably. He lingered a moment at her door, 
 deeply reluctant to leave her. His fascinated gaze 
 had to have some excuse. 
 
 " You're looking so well and happy ! Is that 
 the happiness -only a mood, too? " 
 
 " Who knows? I am always hoping it will last. 
 It's like all the Delia Robbia experiments if I 
 only could get the right glaze ! " 
 
 She laughed, and withdrew behind the shuttered 
 door. 
 
 " Till half-past four, then," cried Carleton, and 
 sighing deep and loverlike, he betook himself up 
 to the hotel. 
 
 268
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 NOW began for Carleton a brief season of 
 idyllic charm. Tacitly whatever there 
 was of doubt, perplexity and shadow in 
 his relation to Clara was put aside. She made 
 him welcome. She was all charm and sweetness. 
 She was light-hearted as he had never before seen 
 her; she sang and laughed, as they made their 
 daily excursions in the forest. 
 
 It was understood that they spent their days 
 together, after Clara had got through her 
 morning's work. But it was also understood that 
 they could not go about alone. On carriage excur- 
 sions Mrs. Langham chaperoned them. But they 
 both preferred walking, and Mrs. Langham vould 
 not walk. In this emergency Carleton managed'to 
 enlist Mrs. Mallot on his side. With a love of 
 exercise and a wiry incapacity for fatigue this lady 
 combined a generous interest in her fellowmen and 
 a passion for old furniture. All these things joined 
 
 269
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 to make her a willing companion to Carleton and 
 Clara. For their long walks and climbs always 
 had for objective some little town, where there 
 was almost always a casa mobiliata in which could 
 be found an inlaid table, or a chair, or bit of em- 
 broidery that pleased Mrs. Mallot's eye. Then, 
 while she made her bargain, the other two could 
 talk, sitting, perhaps, in the dim little church, or 
 awaiting her before the tiny cafe where the inva- 
 riable vermouth, and nothing else, was to be 
 obtained. She always gave them a generous al- 
 lowance of time; and they had other chances along 
 the road while she pretended to botanise. Carleton 
 had taken her into his confidence, and she warmed 
 his heart by her sincer^ enthusiasm for Clara. 
 
 Her two brothers were often of the party. They 
 were leisurely, quiet men, with a kind of ripe 
 bloom of aspect and manner, an eminently social 
 cheerfulness. On more intimate acquaintance they 
 disclosed an astonishing variety of experience. The 
 elder was a Catholic, and had been a Trappist 
 monk in Spain ; the younger a Methodist mission- 
 ary in China. Mrs. Mallot had spent her girlhood 
 in the East, and had lived for months at a time in 
 
 270
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 a harem, the guest of one of the princesses. She 
 now had a number of children, nearly all married 
 and settled. Carleton's liking for her grew stead- 
 ily, and she encouraged him to talk to her about 
 Clara on the occasions when Mrs. Langham or 
 someone else carried the girl off. 
 
 These occasions, at first rare, became increasingly 
 frequent. The English friends of Elizabeth a 
 sharp-nosed dowager, Lady Mervine, who did not 
 make calls, and Sir Anthony, her son began invit- 
 ing the Langhams to tennis and tea. In this way 
 they met the little world of villa people; and some 
 of these began to haunt the house, notably a hand- 
 some youth of twenty-two, Marchese Malvini, of 
 a striking and rather brutal Neapolitan type. The 
 hotels were filling up. A dance and a concert were 
 given at the Casino down in the town. Mrs, 
 Langham was rather strenuous in amusing herself, 
 and Clara was more and more engaged. 
 
 Carleton became conscious that he was capable 
 of jealousy. The elder brother of Mrs. Mallot 
 remarked to him one day, a propos of nothing in 
 particular, that he could not see how anyone ven- 
 tured to marry American girls, since, with all their 
 
 271
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 charm, they had so much individuality. Carle- 
 ton wondered if he had thought of marrying 
 Clara! 
 
 He became violently jealous of Sir Anthony, a 
 stout and eminently placid man, because he danced 
 (abominably) with Clara some three or four times 
 in an evening. He watched with keen suspicion 
 young Malvini's incessant visits, till it dawned on 
 him that Malvini was attracted more by Mrs. 
 Langham than by Clara. 
 
 He was aware that an irrational amount of emo- 
 tion went into these jealousies; and when Clara 
 was with him he was still quite happy and almost 
 at peace. She seemed happy to be with him. She 
 enjoyed their exploration of the forest-depths and 
 the remote villages where the summer-people never 
 penetrated, infinitely more than the small social 
 activities of these people. Sometimes he visited 
 her at the house. They sat on the balcony and he 
 read Wordsworth and Heine to her; or she played 
 for him, and sometimes sang, Schumann-Heine 
 and Grieg, or perhaps something she had set her- 
 self. Her music was a most poignant pleasure to 
 hirr especially he loved her singing, and sitting 
 
 272
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 where he could see her face, which was then more 
 than ever the face of a Madonna, he felt himself 
 assailed on all sides by her varied charm, and sink- 
 ing fathoms deep in love. 
 
 They had wonderful days, when piercing the 
 ring of hills immediately surrounding them, they 
 visited some less primitive, larger, but still un- 
 frequented town, where a faded gilded picture, 
 Scuola di Giotto, or Byzantine carvings from the 
 dawn of art, illumined the silent churches. Days 
 of pure gold these were, with the fresh beauty of 
 the flowery country, the delicious air; with pleas- 
 ant, easy talk by the way, or silence, and a rural 
 meal of bread, cheese, fruit and wine to break the 
 journey; with the gaiety and the deep, sweet dis- 
 quiet of two human creatures drawing nearer and 
 nearer to one another. 
 
 Carleton's heart leaped to see how she bloomed 
 in his companionship. She looked another crea- 
 ture from the fragile girl of La Fontanella. She 
 seemed strong in body and soul. She could walk 
 easily six and seven miles a day, climbing over 
 rough paths; and for long after his arrival there 
 was not a sign of her former melancholy moodi- 
 
 273
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 ness. She seemed even to have shaken off the 
 oppression of her mother's personality. 
 
 Carleton could not but see, however, that if she 
 did this it was by an effort; the depressing influ- 
 ence of that personality remained, for the time in 
 the background, but perpetually trying to show 
 itself. Seeing Mrs. Langham daily, as he now did, 
 he rapidly came to consider her as a kind of mias- 
 matic fog, hanging about some dark slough and 
 sullenly threatening disaster. She began to loom 
 portentous in his imagination. The perception of 
 her colossal selfishness and hardness grew upon 
 him. The sight of her carefully tended beauty 
 became hateful to him. She seemed ridiculous, but 
 also terrible. He could never be long in her com- 
 pany without seeing in her the woman whose folly 
 had cost two men's lives. Instead of being crushed 
 or even softened by that tragedy, she had been 
 hardened by it in her self-indulgence and narrow 
 egotism. Apparently she had forgotten all about 
 it; at any rate, she wished to forget it, or to have 
 it forgotten. A superior dramatic sense or clever- 
 ness, Carleton reflected, would have led her to 
 recognise and use it. She might have wrapped 
 
 274
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 herself in it, as in a sombre pall, magnificently. 
 She might have been effective as the wronged 
 woman, the real victim of the tragedy. But clever- 
 ness seemed as remote from her as any kind of 
 largeness. Therefore, in trying to ignore her past 
 she had only fixed attention on it, and made herself 
 appear what she insisted she was not. Therefore, 
 she was not effective, except as a scourge to those 
 connected with her. There was no real force behind 
 her ruthless self-assertion. Her beauty all her life 
 long, he felt, had been an empty, and so a cheap, 
 lure. But it had been a power her only power 
 and now it was all she had left; and it, too, was 
 failing her slowly, perhaps, but with a dreadful 
 sureness. Augusta was growing stout. And some- 
 times, taken unawares, as the informality of their 
 present domestic arrangements allowed, she ap- 
 peared to Carleton imperfectly got up. Then 
 she appeared merely a dreadful old woman. 
 
 He tried to see her good points; her frankness, 
 lack of sentimentality, and her entire willingness to 
 live and let live. But even these he could not see 
 except as the results of her egotism and want of 
 imagination. Gradually he was coming to detest 
 
 275
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 her. And yet she was the mother of Clara; and 
 constantly, in spite of himself, he was watching for 
 some point of resemblance between them. He 
 could not find any, except a very slight physical 
 likeness; but the search had a fearful fascination. 
 He had always disliked to see a girl handicapped 
 by the constant presence of even the best of moth- 
 ers, since the future thus in a measure indicated 
 for her could almost never be anything but a han- 
 dicap. But in this instance his revolt was pro- 
 found. He kept assuring himself that Clara did 
 not and never could really resemble her mother, 
 even physically. Mrs. Langham v/as a big woman 
 and phlegmatic; Clara was small-boned, delicate, 
 nervous. Mentally, temperamentally, they were 
 opposite as the poles. But this handicap of Clara's 
 acted in curious fashion actually as a spur to his 
 ardour. He felt a passionate pity for her, a pas- 
 sionate desire to make up to her for what had been 
 unfortunate in her life. More and more he felt 
 that she, with any drawback she might have, with 
 any danger even in herself, was a thousand times 
 dearer and more to be desired than he had ever 
 thought any woman could be. He was willing to 
 
 276
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 take any risks with her and for her. Let her only 
 be his, and whatever the past or the future should 
 threaten them with should be boldly faced. 
 
 Meantime, he saw that he stood in their house- 
 hold as a recognised suitor of Clara. He was 
 accepted on that plane without any words about it. 
 Mrs. Langham rather ostentatiously kept away 
 from the usual maternal attitude. She showed no 
 solicitude, no extraordinary interest in him. She 
 had, indeed, the entirely detached attitude that 
 might have been hers toward the recognised lover 
 of some other woman. But she took him for 
 granted his constant presence and companionship 
 with Clara ; and Clara also took these for granted. 
 He felt that something must have been said about 
 him between them, though their curious relation, 
 or lack of relation, made him uncertain of the 
 extent of confidence Clara could give to her 
 mother. There could, of course, be no tender 
 confidence between them. There was no love 
 between them. That was clearly obvious. Between 
 them was a great gulf fixed. They were spiritually 
 like two strangers, thrown by accident into a prox- 
 imity equally painful to both. 
 
 277
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 Their disagreements in domestic life Clara quite 
 frankly revealed to Carleton. She took them, 
 however, lightly and philosophically. She told 
 him about her housekeeping, which, on the whole, 
 she enjoyed. Troubles with the cook and trades- 
 men, and the discomforts of " Mama " and Fide- 
 lio and the English maid, who finally gave warn- 
 ing, she depicted with humour. He saw that she 
 could take small worries easily, and could free 
 herself from their atmosphere by going to work at 
 her music, or getting out with him into the woods, 
 where always she seemed happy and at peace. 
 
 He got her to join the tennis-club at the lower 
 town, and to play with him, though she played very 
 badly. She protested that the Italian air, even in 
 these hills, was not favourable to anything so vio- 
 lent, and pronounced in favour of croquet, at 
 which she was an expert. But Carleton insisted on 
 the tennis, and she gracefully yielded. Her sweet- 
 ness was really a miracle to him. He had not 
 thought, when they parted at La Fontanella, that 
 he could so easily have gained so much ground 
 with her. It almost seemed that some force must 
 have been working for him in his absence. For in 
 
 278
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 these weeks since his arrival at Bagni he had had 
 no reason to think that first impression of her a 
 mistaken one. There had been some change in 
 her, and that change was favourable to him. 
 
 Thus he was happy very, very happy in spite 
 of occasional thorns. He knew that some time 
 soon he should tell her that he loved her. And 
 now he felt deeply sure of her. It was not a confi- 
 dence that was in any way liable to be expressed 
 it lay too deep for that, in a kind of instinct and, 
 indeed, he sometimes doubted superficially, as he 
 was superficially jealous. But the depths of his 
 feeling were not stirred as yet by anything but his 
 love. 
 
 Deep as this lay the source of his happiness and 
 well-being. It was no wonder that in this atmos- 
 phere, physical and moral, his nervous health came 
 back. He began to feel that he never had been 
 ill, tired, spent. Outdoor life and happiness his 
 prescription for Clara were giving him back the 
 buoyancy of youth. He ate and slept wonderfully. 
 Sometimes he went off on long tramps alone; and 
 in the solitude of the forest the impulse came on 
 him to sing, to shout, to throw himself on the moss 
 
 279
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 and roll, for sheer vigour of spirits. It was a renas- 
 cence of his joy in life; and life seemed to him 
 now infinitely good, infinitely rich; its troubles and 
 griefs but like foam on the surface of a full, pour- 
 ing tide. 
 
 He had almost forgotten Florence, Elizabeth, 
 America, all outside this little spot of earth that 
 held his delight. Then, one day, coming back 
 alone from a twenty-mile walk, he found at the 
 hotel some American letters, forwarded from Flor- 
 ence. With an unpleasant shock he recognised on 
 one the name and handwriting of Crittenden, the 
 specialist in nervous diseases, to whom he had writ- 
 ten weeks ago from La Fontanella. He remem- 
 bered at once the text of his own letters, and 
 realised that this reply would be an expert opinion 
 on Clara's chances of inheriting insanity. The 
 shadow that had been put far from him for these 
 weeks came down black and frightful. His hands 
 actually trembled as he held the letter. 
 
 He put it down deliberately, and bathed and 
 dressed for dinner. And meantime he reassured 
 himself thus: Crittenden had had from him only 
 
 280
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 a layman's account of the case, and not a full 
 account, either, of course. Therefore, he could 
 not give a final or even a very definite opinion. 
 And with his habitual caution, it was more than 
 likely, after all, that he would give no opinion. 
 Fortified by this conclusion, Carleton read the 
 letter. 
 
 Crittenden began with some friendly comment 
 on Carleton and Italy, and proceeded thus : 
 
 ' The heredity of insanity is a slippery subject, 
 and in all likelihood you will not be much enlight- 
 ened by the following well-meant remarks : More 
 and more we are limiting heredity to purely 
 somatic elements. Matters of function, of emo- 
 tion, of changing circumstance, of stress and strain, 
 of nutrition, of training, do not come under this 
 head, and therefore are foreign. Characteristics 
 that are evolved and controlled by these last-named 
 factors are temporary, and at most point to a 
 predisposition. Indeed, a large part of what is 
 commonly called heredity is no more than predis- 
 position working in a favourable environment. In 
 the case of your girl there is no necessary taint of 
 
 281
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 insanity at all. The father may or may not have 
 committed murder. If he did and for the reason 
 of a wife's infidelity, he should be regarded as the 
 victim of a temporary aberration or excitement 
 produced in part by a temporary deviation from 
 his normal good health and in part by the ancient 
 prejudices of society, which considers such a form 
 of violence as salving the murderer's ' honour.' It 
 is an analogue to the honour-saving virtue of a 
 duel. And there is just as much insanity in a 
 duel as in such a murder. 
 
 " The girl, as you say, has attacks of melan- 
 cholia; also, if you didn't say it, she suffers from 
 neurasthenia. She was almost certainly picked out 
 for such a condition. She was sensitive, emotional, 
 led a sedentary life, doubtless was irregular in her 
 habits, did little physical work. Such people need 
 much less than a murder in the family to fit them 
 for the Simple Life House. If they haven't a 
 reason, they'll develop enough industry to make 
 one. Moreover, their abnormality frequently 
 develops a wondrous love for self-pity, for the pity 
 of others; and under stress of this emotion will 
 suffer all sorts of self-inflicted miseries. As a rule, 
 
 282
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 your girl should come under this caption. When 
 she refused marriage, if she loved the man, she 
 was not really influenced by altruistic ideas; she 
 was merely playing a star part. This interpreta- 
 tion may not please you, but it is pretty apt to be 
 true. If the silly thing would only marry the right 
 sort of male animal, who would know how to pet 
 her with one hand and slap her with the other; if 
 she were not so rich as to suffer from ingrowing 
 money; if she had two to four babies whom she 
 was to care for with her own white hands; if she 
 developed regular habits of work and play of a 
 surety she would not be troubled with melancholia 
 and maunderings about such a trifle as having a 
 murderer in the family. 
 
 " However, if the father of your fool girl had 
 the real thing in homicidal mania, founded upon 
 a real nervous lesion, there would doubtless have 
 been an hereditary taint, a possible septic sickness 
 or injury, and a train of well-defined symptoms, 
 with a central fact of clearly expressed delusion of 
 persecution. And in that case there would be a 
 possibility of the inheritance descending in the 
 direct line, or perhaps skipping one generation and 
 
 283
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 reappearing in the next. But this possibility con- 
 stitutes no more of a chance than the present state 
 of the universe justifies one in taking . . ." 
 
 That was the substance of the letter as it bore 
 on Clara. The effect of it on Carleton was tre- 
 mendously disturbing. Not that it affected in the 
 least his position toward Clara or his feeling for 
 her. Indeed, the weight of Crittenden's judgment 
 was on his side in favour of his own instinctive 
 optimism. But it stirred the whole thing up again, 
 when he had almost succeeded in feeling that it had 
 no real importance, no necessary bearing on his 
 relation to Clara. And that last paragraph, that 
 proviso, that possibility, made it wretchedly plain 
 that it was important, that it must be taken into 
 account. 
 
 It amounted to this: If Charles Langham had 
 had " the real thing in homicidal mania," his 
 daughter was liable to a fate much worse than 
 immediate death. And who was to say whether or 
 not he had had the real thing? He had been fifteen 
 years in his grave. There was but one witness to 
 his real condition at hand ; and it was to her inter- 
 est to make out that he had been a maniac, or at 
 
 284
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 least to becloud the whole matter. This was what 
 she had done, and doubtless would continue to do. 
 
 And Clara, then, must continue to live as she 
 had lived, with that possibility hanging over her? 
 
 If she must, at least he would share it with her. 
 He would protect her as far as possible, stand 
 between her and that fear if he could. He would 
 marry her as soon as possible. And if it came to 
 the worst, they could die together. 
 
 He went out of the hotel, forgetting his fatigue 
 and his dinner, and rushed down the hill. He 
 never knew exactly where he wandered that night ; 
 but he ended up at the little cafe by the river's 
 edge some hours later. He persuaded them to 
 give him some food, and sat there in the solitary 
 square, eating and listening to the rush of the river, 
 too tired now to think any more. 
 
 285'
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 EARLY the next morning he went down 
 and asked for Clara. Lucie told him 
 that she had gone into the wood with 
 Fidelio ; and he followed her, welcoming this piece 
 of good fortune. It had been arranged that they 
 were to walk that afternoon, with Mrs. Mallot, 
 to a place deep in the hills, a town which they had 
 not yet visited ; but Carleton had no mind to wait 
 till the afternoon. He went slowly along the road, 
 glancing from side to side through the trees; but 
 he might, after all, have missed her if it had not 
 been for Fidelio. That superior animal was pres- 
 ently to be observed, rooting delicately in the fallen 
 leaves and spines of last year's chestnut-burrs, at 
 the base of a flat rock. He barked as Carleton 
 approached, and sniffed at him suspiciously, for 
 they had not yet become friends. On the other 
 side of the rock Clara was lying full-length on the 
 
 286
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 moss, her feet crossed, her hands clasped under 
 her head, staring up at the patches of blue sky seen 
 through the chestnut boughs. She sat up when she 
 saw Carleton, and looked at him rather abstract- 
 edly. 
 
 " Good-morning," he said. " This is great 
 luck, finding you here. I was afraid you might 
 be at work." 
 
 " I was," she said, still absently. " I was com- 
 posing something I wanted to write " 
 
 " Forgive me, but I wanted so much to see you. 
 It seemed an endless time to wait till this after- 
 noon. Shall I go away, or may I stay a little 
 while?" 
 
 " Well perhaps just a little while," she con- 
 ceded with a remote smile. " But this mustn't be 
 a precedent, you know else I shall get nothing 
 done, and then I shall be in a bad temper. I am 
 terribly indolent by nature, and you mustn't encour- 
 age me." 
 
 He sat down on the moss, a little below her, but 
 near. She clasped her arms about her knees, and 
 looked about her, sighing vaguely. 
 
 " I really was working hard when you came 
 287
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 though you mightn't have thought it to look at 
 me," she murmured. 
 
 " I didn't think it, or I suppose I should not 
 have dared to address you ! You are very good to 
 take my interference so kindly." 
 
 "Oh! . . . It is sweet out here, isn't it." 
 It was wonderfully sweet, and he looked for 
 some moments in silence down the shadowy slope, 
 at the foot of which the brook ran, unseen but 
 noisy. Clara's liquid greenish eyes showed a soft 
 contentment. Her hat lay beside her on the 
 ground; her hair was a little rumpled, and some 
 bits of dry moss were caught in it. Her feet were 
 pressed into the deep, soft cushion of moss on 
 which she had been lying, and Carleton remem- 
 bered she had told him that she wore heelless 
 shoes so that she might " feel the earth." She 
 put up her hand now to pin her hair back and to 
 disengage from its glistening black threads the 
 fragments of moss and bark. Then she dipped 
 her fingers into the living moss, touched it caress- 
 ingly, half unconsciously. Her enjoyment of the 
 earth was like this deep, constant, but silent. She 
 almost never spoke of it. 
 
 288
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 " What was it you were composing? " Carleton 
 asked after a little. 
 
 " Oh, a setting for an Irish song I have a fancy 
 for: it's about a child stolen by the fairies. 
 
 " Come away, O human child ! 
 To the woods and waters wild, 
 With a fairy hand-in-hand, 
 For the world's more full of weeping 
 than you can understand." 
 
 She hummed the refrain softly, and then said: 
 
 " There's wonderful material in the Irish music. 
 I don't care for any music unless it's national. 
 That's the trouble with us Americans we have 
 no national quality. Some people have tried to 
 make something of the Indian music, but it's too 
 simple, too primitive. I've heard some wonderful 
 negro music not the ' plantation ' sort, but wild, 
 barbaric, the real thing! But that is African, of 
 course, not American." 
 
 " You are interested in something American, 
 then?" 
 
 " Oh this is only something that ought to be, 
 you see, not anything that is." 
 
 289
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 " But do you think you ever could be interested 
 in America going back there, I mean? " 
 
 His heart beat absurdly as he asked that ques- 
 tion. 
 
 " Oh, I don't know. Why should I? Go back, 
 I mean." 
 
 " I don't know . . . unless you went with 
 me. ... I don't mean that I think particu- 
 larly of going back . . . but only to be with 
 you, wherever it may be." He stopped, and then 
 added, in a lower, trembling voice: " If you can 
 care for me, I want you to live with me . . . 
 forever." 
 
 Clara sat quite still, not looking at him, for a 
 moment. Then she laid her hand on his and said 
 softly, "You dear!" 
 
 He kissed her cheek, a light, glancing kiss, for 
 she turned quickly. 
 
 " I don't know," she said. 
 ' Yes. . . . Yes, you do know, dear. It 
 must be ... if you can love me." 
 
 " I do like you very much more than anyone." 
 
 " Enough to marry me, Clara? " 
 
 " Yes if that were all." 
 290
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 " If it were all? But what else is there? That's 
 all that matters." 
 
 " No." 
 
 She was very grave. Her eyes met his clearly, 
 without hesitation. 
 
 " I will marry you if I can. But I'm not sure 
 that I can." 
 
 " Why? Do you mean that you're not sure of 
 yourself? " 
 
 " Yes, I mean that, partly. I'm not sure 
 whether I dare to." 
 
 "Is there something you distrust about me?" 
 
 " No, no. I could trust you with anything ! " 
 
 "Then . . . trust me with all." 
 
 " But I'm not sure that it is right that I should 
 right for me to you. It's too much. I 
 should be a burden " 
 
 "Clara! . . ." 
 
 Her eyes filled with tears, and she shrank from 
 him. 
 
 u It's true you would find it so ! There's so 
 much about me that is unhappy " 
 
 " Clara . . . what does it matter? " 
 
 " Don't say that." 
 
 291
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 "But I must say it, if I feel it. Nothing on 
 earth matters to me beside you. If you will love 
 me, I shall thank you all my life long." 
 
 " Ah, who knows? You might come to feel me 
 only a burden . . ." 
 
 " Clara, my dearest! " 
 
 She protested, with hands outstretched against 
 him. 
 
 " No, no ; you don't see ! Perhaps you are will- 
 ing to take the risk, but you don't see what it would 
 mean to me ! You don't see what it means to me 
 that there should be a risk." 
 
 " I do see. And I take that risk, too. I see 
 that it hurts your pride to think that you might 
 owe anything to me. And I am content to be your 
 debtor always." 
 
 " Oh, it isn't that ! It's because you could give 
 me so much and I'm afraid I shall make no 
 return " 
 
 " Let me be the judge of that." 
 
 She was silent for some moments, still grave, 
 still resistant. 
 
 " How can I let you be the judge and decide it 
 all?" she then asked passionately. "/ must 
 
 292
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 decide, and you must not try to bend my judgment 
 to yours." 
 
 " Mustn't I? " he asked softly. " But at least 
 I may plead my own cause. The severest judge 
 allows that." 
 
 " No, you mustn't plead. I shall have to decide 
 by myself." 
 
 " Of course, in the end, you must. It is all a 
 question of your feeling." 
 
 " No, not feeling ! Feeling isn't everything. I 
 must think! " 
 
 Carleton took her hand, that was pulling rest- 
 lessly at the moss, and put it to his lips. 
 
 " I told you in Florence," he said, u that you 
 should not be troubled that I would not force on 
 you anything you didn't want. I'll try to keep my 
 word." 
 
 "Oh, I'm troubled; but that's not your fault. 
 You have kept your word. I wish to marry you 
 it's what I would choose if I could. I will marry 
 you if I can." 
 
 She said this with soft sincerity, looking at him 
 with eyes that were all the more beautiful for their 
 signs of tears. 
 
 293
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 " My dearest, my beautiful one! I have loved 
 you a long time, Clara." 
 
 " Have you? How long? " 
 
 " Since I first saw you." 
 
 "No, you didn't love me then! You were in 
 love with Elizabeth then." 
 
 " I never was in love with her, or with any other 
 woman ! I fell in love with you the first time 
 I saw you, though I didn't know then it was 
 love." 
 
 " Oh, shame ! That's just getting out of it. 
 But you don't mean, really, that you have never 
 been in love? " 
 
 " I mean it really. Oh, of course I've been in- 
 terested in other women. But I never told any 
 woman but you that I loved her." 
 
 "Really?" She pondered this. "You are a 
 very sincere person, aren't you? That's what I 
 like about you and your strength. I think you're 
 very strong." 
 
 " You do like me a little then? " 
 
 " Oh, I like you tremendously! " 
 
 " But you're not in love with me not the least 
 bit?" 
 
 294
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 " No. . . . No, I think not. I've never 
 been in love." She paused to consider. " Should 
 you like me better if I were in love with you? " 
 
 " I like you so much exactly as you are that I 
 can't say." 
 
 " Then I shall never change ! I shall always 
 like you just as I do now, never any more 1 " 
 
 "Nor any less? You must promise that. 
 As for me, though I like you now as much as pos- 
 sible in fact, to a quite incredible extent I'm 
 sure that I shall go on liking you progressively 
 more till I'm seventy or eighty." 
 
 " Oh, no that would be quite too much ! I 
 shouldn't know what to do with you. But what 
 is it you like me for? " 
 
 " Oh, I like your eyebrows, and the way you do 
 your hair, and your singing, and your always wear- 
 ing white, and the curve of your chin. Then you 
 are exactly the right height, and you have a won- 
 derfully charming profile " 
 
 " You are frivolous. I was serious with you 
 and talked about your soul." 
 
 " Yes, because I'm an ugly man, and there's 
 
 nothing else to talk of. If I were pretty " 
 
 295
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 " You're not ugly. Anyway, it's much better to 
 be ugly than pretty for a man. You are exactly 
 the kind of man I think handsome." 
 
 Carleton bowed till his forehead touched the 
 ground. 
 
 " Yes, really you are! Your eyes are wonder- 
 fully blue and I like them set deep in, like that. 
 It makes you look like a fighter. You are very 
 strong, aren't you? " 
 
 " Rather. I went in for athletics in college. 
 Ran pretty well, you know, and was useful in foot- 
 ball, and so on. But I'm afraid I'm no good at 
 fighting. I'm not a man of action, my Clara. I'm 
 afraid I shall never do anything spectacular for 
 you, though, by Jove! I'll try, if you want me to." 
 
 " I'm not sure that I do, Barry." 
 
 It was the first time she had called him by his 
 name. He looked at her eagerly, entranced, and 
 kissed her hand, holding it still clasped in his. 
 
 " I think I like you best just as you are, too." 
 
 "Oh, Clara, don't say that! It makes me feel 
 what an inglorious person I am. I wish I were 
 somebody very dazzling, for your sake. 
 It's so uneven an exchange ! " 
 
 296
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 " I like you best as you are," she repeated 
 gently. " You are what I think best in the world. 
 I don't care for what you call ' dazzling.' It 
 doesn't dazzle me. You are so much more 
 than that! And I like it that we shall live very 
 quietly . . ." 
 
 Suddenly she rose on her knees and put her 
 hand on the rock to help herself up. 
 
 " But I didn't mean to say that ... as 
 though it were all settled ! . . ." 
 
 "But it is settled!" 
 
 Carleton got up, holding fast her right hand, 
 half-lifting her, and took her into his arms. 
 
 " Do you think I'll let you go now? Not for 
 all the world and a few stars thrown in ! " 
 
 He had turned very pale, and his voice shook. 
 In a moment he did let her go, so far as that pas- 
 sionate clasp was concerned, and she moved away 
 from him. But-his eyes rested on her still with a 
 possessive look, into which at the hint of defeat 
 had flashed the fierceness of combat. 
 
 She stooped for her hat, he caught it up and 
 gave it to her, and they went up the slope to the 
 road. 
 
 297
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 They walked in silence back to the Piazza, and 
 parted at the door of the house. 
 
 " You'll come to tea at four? " Clara said with 
 a look almost timid. 
 
 " Yes. And then we'll have our walk." 
 
 He could not tell just what her visible agitation 
 meant; whether he had offended or frightened her 
 by his impetuosity. Certainly he had broken the 
 letter of his agreement with her; but it was inevi- 
 table that this should have come, sooner or later. 
 It was impossible that he should be as passive as 
 he had half-promised to be. Clara could not be 
 left entirely to her own devices. He could not be 
 negative in his attitude toward her, nor had he 
 been so at any time during these weeks at Bagni. 
 He had been wooing her, and she had been con- 
 senting. And now she ought not to be disturbed 
 by a definite expression unless she had been 
 coquetting with him; and he did not believe that. 
 What disturbed her, doubtless, was the necessity 
 of an explanation, which she had hinted at and 
 then precipitately retreated from. But that, pain- 
 ful as it was, must be faced- they must face it 
 together. 
 
 298
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 After he had left her this feeling of pain was 
 merged and lost in the deeper feeling of joy. He 
 went over and over in memory every word of their 
 talk, each look and tone of Clara's, that light kiss, 
 that long moment when he had held her in his 
 arms. She had promised herself to him. True, 
 she had made a reservation and he had refused 
 to consider it. They were not yet in absolute 
 agreement; but nevertheless he was joyous, and 
 he became more so as the day passed, and she was 
 in his sight. 
 
 The town for which they were bound lay deep 
 in the hills, and far from any beaten track. They 
 had seen it at a considerable distance, from another 
 hill, and had been struck by its curious form, which 
 suggested a monastery or a military formation. 
 Charming was the mountain-path they followed, 
 skirting the nearest hills, and wandering up a long, 
 narrow valley, crossing on little bridges made of 
 halved tree-trunks from side to side of a rushing 
 brown brook; passing through copses of trees, by 
 wonderful cascades where the brook plunged from 
 one level to another, by little fields of turf and 
 nurseries of young trees, divided by ancient walls, 
 
 299
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 and vineyards; and at the head of the valley a 
 mill and peasant's house. Above this mill the climb 
 was steep, and the stream plunged over a rocky 
 bed, with only a pool here and there to rest in. By 
 one of these pools, under drooping trees, they sat 
 a little while; and Clara laughed at the black 
 dragon-flies skimming in crowds over the water, 
 and cried : " They are exactly like black cats ! " 
 
 For a long time she had been perfectly quiet; 
 but now suddenly her spirits rose. She became gay 
 and gayer. She ran on ahead, singing to herself 
 by snatches, and occasionally calling to Carleton 
 and Mrs. M allot: 
 
 " Look at my flowers ! Did you ever see any- 
 thing so blue? What a heavenly day! . . 
 See the sky through those olive-branches; it is 
 absolutely purple. . . . Look back! Oh, do 
 look back!" 
 
 At each turn of the path they must look back; 
 for framed on its hill-top at the mouth of the val- 
 ley was a wonderful clump of brown roofs and 
 walls, flanked by giant cypresses; and beyond this, 
 as they climbed, came lifting into view the real 
 mountain-peaks, bare and glinting in the sun. 
 
 300
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 By a lane between hedges covered with linen 
 laid to dry they finally reached the town. From 
 its highest point, the terrace before the church, 
 they could look round the whole circle of moun- 
 tains, range after range fading away into blue 
 distance. It was a perfect day; a strong breeze 
 sweeping a multitude of light clouds over the 
 mountain-tops, folds of mist softening all distant 
 outlines, yet the whole effect one of clearness and 
 brightness. The wind had the sweetness of the 
 leagues of solitary forest over which it came, and 
 the freshness of the sea that lay just out of sight. 
 
 Clara stood, breathing it in, and gazing, with 
 her gathered flowers dropping one by one from 
 her hands. Then she turned and gave all the 
 remaining flowers to Carleton, saying: 
 
 " ' Here's flowers for you : 
 Hot lavender, mints, savory, marjoram; 
 The marigold, that goes to bed with the sun, 
 And with him rises weeping; these are flowers 
 Of middle summer, and I think, they are given 
 To men of middle age ; You are very welcome.' " 
 
 And he was quick enough to reply : 
 301
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 " ' Now, my fairest friend, 
 
 I would I had some flowers of the spring, that might 
 Become your time of day . . . daffodils, 
 That come before the swallow dares ' " 
 
 Clara, laughing, turned and ran down the slope 
 into the little square of the town, leaving Carleton 
 to follow with Mrs. Mallot. They had bread 
 and cheese, beer and plums at a table set out before 
 the single place of refreshment; and a crowd of 
 children collected about them to stare, to whom 
 Clara presently sang a rollicking Irish ditty, much 
 to their amazement. She was aglow with colour 
 and light. Her eyes often met her lover's in a 
 long look; her red lips smiled at him. He had 
 no word alone with her that afternoon; she 
 arranged it thus, and he acquiesced. It was enough 
 for him, for the time, to be with her, to look at 
 her, and to feel the soft emotion that thrilled in 
 her, that lent a peculiar grace to each motion of 
 hers; and to know that he had roused this in her, 
 and it was for him. 
 
 302
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 BUT when the next day passed, and the 
 next, without a chance of seeing Clara 
 alone, Carleton became uneasy and rather 
 angry. The Rasolli family had arrived at the 
 hotel, and Clara seemed to be absorbed by them. 
 She could, however, so easily have managed what 
 Carleton plainly showed he wanted, that her omis- 
 sion to do so was ominous. If she did not want to 
 see him, it was because she meant to hold him off. 
 And he fancied that he perceived this in her man- 
 ner a sudden definite withdrawal from the inti- 
 macy that had been theirs for weeks past. She 
 was certainly more nervous, and she seemed actu- 
 ally to dread being left with him for a moment. 
 He pitied her obvious disquietude, but at the same 
 time he felt that the reason of it must be cleared 
 up by a talk between them. It could not be done 
 by her "thinking" in solitude; and he was hurt 
 
 303
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 and irritated by her attitude, her apparent fear of 
 him. 
 
 For the afternoon of the second day a drive had 
 been arranged. The Contessa Rasolli and Fran- 
 cesca, Clara and her mother, young Malvini and 
 Carleton, went in two carriages. Carleton was 
 with the two girls, and Malvini, who for some 
 time past had been almost inseparable from Mrs. 
 Langham, escorted the elder ladies. It was Mrs. 
 Langham's affair and her arrangement. 
 
 In other circumstances Carleton might have 
 enjoyed it. Francesca interested him and even 
 as it was he found himself liking to hear 
 her quick, vivacious talk. She was sombre 
 and passionate in look and character. Her 
 black hair was lit by russet gleams, and her black 
 eyes had a melancholy fire in their depths. She 
 was slender and graceful, with a definite simple 
 elegance in the way she dressed and carried herself. 
 Carleton wondered that she was still unmarried, 
 while she talked to him about the life of the Italian 
 women of her class. 
 
 " I wish they could do something," she said with 
 energy. "If they would get outdoors, walk or 
 
 304
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 ride, or do gymnastics, they would be less unhappy. 
 I would like to start something of that sort. The 
 women I know are morbid, melancholy you can 
 hardly imagine how much! And most of it, I 
 think, comes from staying in the house, and brood- 
 ing. I am melancholy, too because I haven't 
 enough to do. I envy Clara her music. But I can 
 do nothing, except learn languages and dance ! 
 . . . This is a sad country don't you find 
 it so?" 
 
 " I find it quite perfect beautiful and finished." 
 
 " Finished ! Ah, yes, that's the trouble. It is 
 finished! Nothing more to come or to do! And 
 for that reason it is hard to live in at least, for 
 those who want to live for men who have ambi- 
 tion, par example. For them it is a dead country." 
 
 " But, surely, modern Italy is live enough. Some 
 parts of it are almost American ! " 
 
 " Ah, yes, we try to be ! But there again every- 
 thing is overcrowded. There are so many more 
 men than opportunities. And nothing is paid 
 here. Teaching is worth nothing, writing is worth 
 nothing. No Italian author makes anything." 
 
 "Not D'Annunzio?" 
 
 305
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 " Oh, if you have a European public, yes! But 
 who else has? We think if a book sells five hun- 
 dred copies it is a success! And look at my poor 
 cousin. What is he to do with philosophy? And 
 he wishes a career, he has high desires! " 
 
 " Ah, well, philosophy the world has not much 
 use for that in any case." 
 
 " But some in your country make a success of 
 it. ... That's because you are so big and 
 free, and so many are educated. Isn't it so, Clara? 
 But you don't know you are hardly an American 
 at all. Imagine she has a great, splendid country 
 like that, and she knows nothing about it! " 
 
 " I like your country better, Francesca dear." 
 
 " How do you know? You should go and make 
 acquaintance with your own and take me with 
 you I We will make the voyage outre mer together 
 that is quite proper in America, is it not, Mr. 
 Carleton?" 
 
 Clara laughed. " Oh, if you will come too, I 
 will go ! Let us propose it to our mothers." 
 
 She looked darkly at the carriage ahead of them. 
 There the small Contessa's lace bonnet and the 
 sweeping plumed hat of Mrs. Langham, and the 
 
 306
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 handsome face of Malvini opposite, were partly 
 visible through a veil of dust. 
 
 " Let us go a little slower let them get ahead. 
 There's so much dust," she added, and spoke to 
 the driver. 
 
 Francesca glanced at her, then, unobserved by 
 Clara, she exchanged a swift look with Carleton. 
 And he felt that the Italian girl understood the 
 whole situation. He felt, too, her affection for 
 Clara. The two were evidently very good and 
 very intimate friends. He remembered what 
 Clara had said long ago that Francesca was the 
 one person she loved. And he warmed to her and 
 began to hope that she might help his chances with 
 Clara instead of hurting them, as he had at first 
 feared. 
 
 Clara was looking pale and tired. For two days 
 now she had had no walk; and when he had asked 
 her to go with him next day she had refused, on 
 the ground that she was going to a dance in the 
 evening. This sort of thing driving a few miles 
 at a slow pace, and stopping midway for tea was 
 what he detested, for himself and for her, and it 
 was being more and more thrust upon her. Even 
 
 307
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 town, and watched a game of tennis, and chatted 
 with their various acquaintances, and drove slowly 
 home, Carleton returning with Clara and the 
 Contessa, who fluently, in charming Italian-Eng- 
 lish, discoursed to him on D'Annunzio as a poet, 
 and on the peculiar beauty of Clara, which she 
 declared to be of a perfectly Italian type. " Me 
 piasche molto, Lei'' she said, laying her beauti- 
 fully gloved small hand on Clara's. 
 
 Carleton was struck anew by the intelligence 
 and charm of this family; but at the same time he 
 did not see why Clara should be absolutely 
 absorbed in them. She and her mother dined that 
 night with the Rasollis at the hotel; and Carleton, 
 roaming disconsolately about, was aked to join 
 them for coffee in the billiard-room. Later he 
 walked back with the Langhams to their house; 
 and at the door he said, " I suppose it's too late to 
 ask to come in." 
 
 Mrs. Langham said: " For my part, I should 
 be charmed, but I have a frightful headache 
 from the glare this afternoon, and am going to 
 bed." 
 
 And Clara hesitated, so that he gave it up. 
 39
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 dancing was better than this, though it involved 
 late hours and consequent fatigue and in this 
 Carleton was unselfish, for he did not dance. 
 
 " I hope you like outdoor things," he said 
 abruptly to Francesca. " Walking, and tennis, 
 and so on." 
 
 " Oh, I am not at all athletic," she confessed. 
 "I know I should like it, but really I don't! 
 Except I fence a little, and I adore dancing." 
 
 He sighed. " And I cannot dance ! I foresee 
 that I shall see nothing of you. You will be driv- 
 ing, and tea-ing, and doing society, and I shall be 
 tramping the hills alone, or with Mrs. Mallott. I 
 don't believe she'll desert me." 
 
 " But it is you who desert us! Isn't it, Clara? 
 How can you prefer tramping to tea with us? 
 Here is a bargain: If you will come and watch 
 us dance, we will watch you play tennis. Surely 
 that is as good as climbing hills." 
 
 " And we have climbed all the hills, besides," 
 said Clara. " Don't you think you'd like tennis, 
 for a change? " 
 
 " I don't believe I want a change," was his reply. 
 
 They stopped for tea at the hotel in the lower 
 308
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 " But at least you'll go out a little while to- 
 morrow afternoon? Even if you don't want a real 
 walk, you ought to have a stroll at least." 
 
 " Well, I will go. No doubt Francesca will, 
 too. Come to tea at half-past four." 
 
 She spoke quite coldly. And Carleton went 
 back to the hotel, vowing that he would see her 
 alone next day, and that " Francesca " should be 
 warned off. 
 
 He found her quite willing. She was sitting 
 near her mother when he went back to the billiard- 
 room. The Contessa, her fingers flying in some 
 silken crochet-work, was talking to Mrs. Mallot. 
 The two Crawfords were playing billiards. There 
 were some of the new people also in the room an 
 American family of daughters, and a fat German 
 baron with his wife. Carleton sat down beside 
 Francesca, and she managed so that he began at 
 once to talk on the subject uppermost in his mind. 
 He realised and was grateful for her interest in 
 him, and her practical way of showing it. He 
 knew that she had been studying him, and judged 
 that on the whole she approved him. She was 
 clever, he saw, and very much more mature than 
 
 310
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 Clara, and in spite of her frankness, her sincerity, 
 she struck him as infinitely ruse, beside Clara, or, 
 indeed, any other American woman he knew. She 
 had the subtlety, the complexity, that seemed to 
 him characteristically Italian. But now, putting 
 herself aside, she went straight to the point that 
 most interested him. 
 
 She began to talk of Clara, her improved health 
 and spirits, and her character, in a way that im- 
 plied her knowledge of Clara's relation to him. 
 And her kindness and tact were such that Carleton 
 found himself plunging into confidences. He told 
 her that he wanted to see Clara alone, and she 
 immediately arranged a plan for the next after- 
 noon. She seemed quite to understand that Clara 
 was trying to avoid that interview, and why. 
 
 " Clara is difficult," she said, nodding thought- 
 fully. " But one must not indulge her. She has 
 been too much indulged all her life. I mean she 
 has been allowed to follow out her moods. Her 
 moods take possession of her, rule her, drive her. 
 She has never had control, discipline. So she does 
 not always know her own will, her own mind. She 
 flies off the more one pursues, the faster she flies
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 and perhaps all the time she really desires not 
 to fly. She has the musical temperament, too 
 superficially it is unreasonable. But Clara has 
 depth she has reason if she will only use it. Of 
 course, her life her home, if one may call it so 
 has been the most unfortunate possible." 
 
 " Yes, but she can outlive all that," said Carle- 
 ton. 
 
 " Truly, I think so; but she should be separated 
 entirely from the mother. If necessary, she 
 should go to America as far away as possible. 
 Her mother is the worst person in the world for 
 her. She torments poor Clara in a thousand ways 
 oh, without meaning it ! Just now it is a question 
 of this young fellow, Malvini. It is partly this 
 that now makes Clara so moody. It is becoming 
 much talked about, and Clara fears I don't know 
 what, she has not said, but she is unhappy about it. 
 I think she is too sensitive to Mrs. Langham's 
 behaviour. But, after all, one can understand 
 that." 
 
 " I did not know she said nothing to me about 
 it about Malvini," said Carleton, frowning. 
 " Except that I knew she disliked his coming so 
 
 312
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 much to the house. . . . But I can't see why 
 that should make her unwilling to see me." 
 
 " But I can see," said Francesca, and her bril- 
 liant eyes seemed, in fact, to see everything. " It 
 brings up again all that is unhappy in her life 
 and that seems to stand in the way of her marry- 
 ing. She has truly a morbid feeling about her 
 mother; but it is a terribly strong one. And she 
 is proud, Clara ! She wishes to marry, but not at 
 a disadvantage " 
 
 "That is foolish! . . ." 
 
 "Perhaps; but it is very natural to a woman. 
 It is natural, too, to run away when some one 
 pursues with resolution! This, too, is dis- 
 turbing." 
 
 She smiled gaily. Carleton was finding her very 
 charming, and would have been glad to talk indefi- 
 nitely ; but now the Contessa rose, and, with many 
 farewells, carried her daughter off upstairs. 
 
 Their plan for next day was carried out. They 
 all had tea together on the balcony of the Lang- 
 hams' house; then the Contessa was left to chat 
 with Mrs. Langham, and the other three went off 
 to walk in the wood. As they came to the turn in 
 
 3*3
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 the road from which the balcony could be seen, the 
 Contessa was perceived, standing and signalling 
 vigorously in their direction. 
 
 " It is for me my mother wants me for some- 
 thing," exclaimed Francesca. " I must run back 
 for a moment." 
 
 " We'll go back with you," said Clara hurriedly. 
 
 But Francesca was already some paces away. 
 
 " Go on I shall overtake you in ten minutes ! " 
 she cried. 
 
 It would have been awkward to run after her; 
 Clara stood still for a moment, then turned and 
 walked slowly on. 
 
 " It was hardly worth so much trouble as that, 
 was it? " she asked coldly. 
 
 " Yes because it was necessary," said Carleton 
 with firmness. 
 
 " Why could you not have said so simply, then, 
 without this ridiculous manoeuvring with Fran- 
 cesca? " 
 
 " I did try to say so, and yoir showed plainly 
 that you were manoeuvring to avoid it." 
 
 " Haven't I a right, then, to avoid what I wish 
 to avoid? . . . You are ungenerous. I told 
 
 3*4
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 you that I must have time. Now you are hurrying 
 me, troubling me " 
 
 " I do not mean to hurry you if I can help it. 
 . . . It is true that I must trouble you. I feel 
 that that can't be avoided because of your feeling. 
 I must trouble you by talking to you now, because 
 I feel that you are not now in a position to ' think,' 
 as you said, to good effect. You must know exactly 
 my point of view, my feeling. Then, take what- 
 ever time you need to think it out, or feel it out. If 
 you wish, I will go away and leave you quite 
 free." 
 
 As she did not speak, he added, after a moment : 
 " That is quite fair, isn't it? " 
 
 " Yes, from your point of view," she said in a 
 low voice. 
 
 " Doesn't it seem fair, to you? " 
 
 " It seems useless because I do know all the 
 things that matter, and I am as well able to judge 
 now as I shall be later better, perhaps, for you 
 may only confuse me." 
 
 " I must risk that. We must talk things out, 
 Clara it's the only way to be clear." 
 
 She made a weary gesture. " I hate unnecessary 
 
 315
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 talking. It doesn't make things clearer it only 
 mixes them up." 
 
 " I am sorry, but as our views of what is neces- 
 sary don't agree, will you make this concession to 
 me?" 
 
 " I don't think . . . you ought to ask 
 concessions just now." 
 
 " But I do ask this one. I'm not acting quite 
 selfishly, Clara. This, in my judgment, is best for 
 you." 
 
 " But I can't see why you should be judge of 
 what is best for me. It hasn't come to that yet ! " 
 
 " Yes, indeed, it has. I have, to a certain extent, 
 a right to judge for you, or at least to influence 
 your judgment." 
 
 " No no, I can't see that you have! " 
 
 " Clara, you gave it to me three days ago, here. 
 Unless you were lying when you said that you 
 cared more for me than for anyone else, and that 
 you wished to marry me." 
 
 " Don't speak so roughly to me I If you don't 
 leave me, I shall certainly cry." 
 
 " Then cry, if you must, Clara. ... If 
 you will listen to me sensibly for a few minutes, I 
 
 316
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 will promise to be as brief as possible. And I will 
 go away to-morrow if you wish it." 
 
 Clara sat down on a rock by the roadside, and 
 said chillingly: 
 
 ' Very well, then, since I can't escape. . . . 
 But you weren't exactly telling the truth when you 
 said that you wouldn't force on me anything I 
 didn't want, were you? " 
 
 Carleton looked at her straight for a long mo- 
 ment, then asked quietly: "Do you really not 
 want it?" 
 
 She caught her breath, and said faintly: "It 
 isn't only a question of what I want, but of what I 
 can have. ... I am thinking that I have 
 made a great mistake. I told you that I was uncer- 
 tain but I ought not to have told you anything 
 at all. ... It is all too horrible." 
 
 She hid her face in her hands, shivering. Carle- 
 ton sat down beside her and tried to draw her 
 hands away, but she resisted. Suddenly she turned 
 and flung herself face downward on the rock, and 
 began to weep piteously. 
 
 " Clara ! Clara ! " he cried, half-distractedly. 
 " Don't do that ! For Heaven's sake, stop, my 
 
 3 1 ?
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 poor darling! I won't say anything more; I'll 
 go away anything you say ! Don't, you tear 
 my heart! My poor, poor little girl! . . . 
 Oh, Clara, forgive me! . . ." 
 
 He almost sobbed himself in his alarm and 
 repentance, and knelt by her, making futile efforts 
 to raise her, to catch sight of her face. She shrank 
 away from him, but presently sat up and put her 
 handkerchief to her face, still hiding from him 
 all but a reddened cheek and a disordered chev- 
 elure. 
 
 " Now, see what I have done made myself a 
 
 spectacle supposing anyone comes and what 
 
 will Francesca think? " Her voice was trembling 
 and plaintive, and Carleton's heart melted within 
 him. 
 
 " Forgive me, dearest," he pleaded. " I didn't 
 mean to distress you I had no idea you would 
 feel in this way. All I wanted to do, Clara, was 
 to show you that there is absolutely no reason why 
 you shouldn't marry me to-morrow, if you care to 
 for me. There is nothing, nothing on earth that 
 matters, that ought to matter, except your feeling 
 for me. . . . Much as I love you, I would
 
 "Glancing back, he saw her waver and sink down again upon 
 the rock."
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 not marry you unless you did care for me. . . . 
 I would not dare for I'm not good enough for 
 you, unless you're unreasonable enough to think 
 me good. But I know that I shall never be happy 
 unless I marry you. I know that you can be the 
 whole world to me if you will." 
 
 Clara shook her head. 
 
 " I'm afraid," she said faintly, " I'm afraid I 
 can't. I don't dare." 
 
 " Don't say that, my dearest " 
 
 " Yes I must say it. You know about me, 
 don't you? You know about my father " 
 
 " Clara, that's what I want to talk to you about ! 
 I'm convinced that you're deluding yourself, or 
 have been deluded. It isn't as you may think, my 
 dear one all that can't affect you " 
 
 " Ah, yes, it does, it does ! Sometimes 
 I think it's all a delusion, sometimes I don't believe 
 in it, and I try to go on as if it weren't there. And 
 then it comes back and crushes me ! I can't act as 
 if the thing had no existence, and if it has " 
 
 " Clara ! Clara, listen to me ! " he cried pas- 
 sionately. " I believe firmly that it has no exist- 
 ence. I'll tell you my reasons I'm sure that I can
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 prove to you there isn't one chance in a mil- 
 lion " 
 
 She pulled her hand from his clasp and sprang 
 to her feet. He rushed on : 
 
 " But if it were the other way I should love you, 
 want you, just as I do now. I want you, you, no 
 matter what misfortune or danger may come. And 
 I can take care of you, Clara. Your life shall be 
 peaceful I hope happy. And there shall be no 
 risk to any besides ourselves. . . ." 
 
 She stood with her face averted from his. Her 
 breast heaved in a silent sob. 
 
 " Will you leave me to myself now? " she whis- 
 pered. 
 
 Carleton took her cold hand and kissed it, and 
 went away deeper into the wood. Glancing back, 
 he saw her waver and sink down again upon the 
 rock. 
 
 320
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 THE dance that night at the Casino was a 
 livelier affair than usual. There were 
 almost a dozen dancing men, and not 
 more than two-score girls sitting demurely round 
 the walls under the chaperonage of their mamas. 
 The large room, in the Empire style, with much 
 white enamel, gilding, and red velvet, looked quite 
 gay when Carleton went into it, about ten o'clock. 
 The women were all in high dresses and hats, Con- 
 tinental fashion; but when they were not dressed 
 in white it was pink, or red; so that they looked 
 like a mass of roses or poppies in the brilliant white 
 and gold setting. 
 
 Carleton looked about for the particular group 
 to which at these affairs he attached himself, his 
 custom being to sit most of the time beside Mrs. 
 Langham, to talk to Clara when she came to rest 
 between dances, and to order their carriage for 
 them when they were ready to go. Mrs. Lang- 
 ham did not dance ; it did not suit her style. She 
 
 321
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 visibly preferred having her dancing, like other 
 forms of exertion, done for her. Carleton saw her 
 now at the upper end of the room, sitting in state. 
 She was by far the handsomest, the most striking 
 woman in the room. She had a man on either side 
 of her, and she was talking, with her indolent, half- 
 insolent look of patronage. Carleton did not 
 approach her, but stood aside, looking among the 
 dancers for Clara. She was not on the floor. Then 
 he glanced along the walls, from one white-robed 
 girl to another. He saw Francesca just rising and 
 gliding into the waltz with the stout Sir Anthony. 
 Francesca danced exceedingly well, Sir Anthony 
 incredibly badly. Francesca danced like an Ameri- 
 can girl, with an easy and graceful lightness, Sir 
 Anthony like an Englishman who despises dancing. 
 He made a few solemn turns with her, revolving 
 incessantly and ponderously ; then they gave it up. 
 Francesca cast a sparkling glance at Carleton as 
 she passed him. She was looking very well, in an 
 ivory-coloured dress. She sat down on the oppo- 
 site side of the room, where Carleton now per- 
 ceived the Contessa, engaged in a rapid conversa- 
 tion with another Italian dowager. He started, 
 
 322
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 skirting the wall, to go and speak to them. More 
 people were dancing now. He noticed a peculiarly 
 graceful girl in a red dress and hat dancing toward 
 him. Something familiar about her motion fixed 
 his eye ; and as she turned he saw that it was Clara. 
 She whirled past without noticing him. She was 
 dancing with Malvini. Carleton stood still and 
 watched her, quite stunned by her appearance. 
 
 He had never seen her before dressed in any- 
 thing but white. This startling poppy-red garb 
 was anything but beautiful, and it completely 
 changed her look. Her hair was done differently, 
 too more closely, more formally; and the red 
 tulle hat poised on her head in perfectly conven- 
 tional lines was not at all the kind of thing she 
 was used to wear, nor that suited her style. She 
 looked now quite stamped with conventionality, 
 quite like one of the correct damsels who lined the 
 walls, except that she had an animation that they 
 lacked. She was almost too animated. She was 
 much less beautiful than usual, but more brilliant. 
 She danced with a touch of abandon. It seemed 
 almost as though she wanted to make herself con- 
 spicuous; if she did, she was succeeding. 
 
 3 2 3
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 Malvini was certainly conspicuous among the 
 men. He was the only one who danced well, 
 and he was by far the best-looking. He had 
 a brutal kind of beauty the low brow, crisp, black 
 hair and bull-neck of a Roman of the decadence. 
 He was talking to Clara while they danced, look- 
 ing at her constantly, and smiling slightly. They 
 went on dancing till the music stopped; then Clara 
 went to her mother's wing, and Malvini sat down 
 beside her, and they talked during the interval. 
 And when another waltz began they rose and 
 danced that through also. 
 
 Carleton had been noticed only by a nod as she 
 passed him. He did not approach her, but sat 
 down beside Francesca, trying to keep his eyes off 
 the figure in red, and talking mechanically. In a 
 few moments, while Clara was dancing, Mrs. 
 Langham rose, shook off her cavaliers brusquely, 
 and sailed across the room to the Contessa. Thus, 
 when Clara came back at the end of the waltz with 
 Malvini, they were all together. Clara took the 
 seat at her mother's side, and Malvini a chair next 
 to Clara. The two were talking rapidly in Ital- 
 ian, and Carleton was conscious of trying vainly 
 
 324
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 to follow their conversation through his own with 
 Francesca. Without looking directly at Clara, 
 he was conscious, also, of every slight motion she 
 made, of each glance she gave the man she was 
 talking to. It seemed to him that he had never 
 seen her try so obviously to please. She had never 
 seemed so conscious of herself. She was showing 
 herself off for Malvini's admiration, and his 
 admiration was so obvious that it appeared to 
 Carleton almost insulting. A gnawing pain, a 
 deadening sense of disillusionment and disgust 
 grew and strengthened within him. He made an 
 effort to concentrate his attention on Francesca; 
 and he did concentrate on her an intense gaze a 
 blue glow that reflected the mounting flame of his 
 anger. 
 
 Francesca got him on the floor for the next 
 dance, which was a quadrille. Every man in the 
 room was impressed for the occasion, and Carle- 
 ton's protests that he could not dance a quadrille 
 any more than a waltz were unavailing. Clara 
 was carried off immediately. Francesca was dan- 
 cing with Malvini, and Carleton found himself 
 standing next them with the Contessa. He was 
 
 325
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 pushed, and pulled, and beckoned through the 
 various figures of the dance ; and each moment he 
 felt a deeper and more consuming sense of his own 
 folly and of the general foolishness of the universe. 
 
 Mercifully it came to an end at last. He took 
 the Contessa to her seat, and was received with 
 frank hilarity by Mrs. Langham, who was in the 
 habit of mocking the runner's flying feet, though 
 not exactly with laughter sweet. 
 
 " Bless me if I ever saw such a spectacle! " she 
 cried. " You look like a mute at a funeral. You 
 take your pleasure sadly, Carleton! Pray, don't 
 let anyone tempt you into that sort of thing again. 
 Really, you haven't the figure for it." 
 
 The Contessa patted her partner's arm consol- 
 ingly. 
 
 " Mr. Carleton has much grace," she observed. 
 " He has the grace to oblige an old woman." 
 
 " Oh, all the grace in the world," returned Mrs. 
 Langham; " except the kind you use in dancing." 
 
 A rapid polka followed, and Carleton saw Clara 
 whirled off again by Malvinl. He saw that Mrs. 
 Langham was watching them, with a growing 
 anger smouldering in her cold, black eyes. He 
 
 326
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 saw that many other glances, critical, amused, sig- 
 nificant, followed those two figures, the most strik- 
 ing on the floor. Many a dowager raised her 
 lorgnette as they passed, and among these was the 
 Marchesa Malvini, a high-nosed lady in a stiff 
 aureole of white hair, who also raised her eye- 
 brows, and her shoulders, and said something 
 obviously unpleasant to the daughter who sat 
 next her. 
 
 Clara fairly romped through this dance grace- 
 fully, it is true, but still with a gaiety and freedom 
 too pronounced for the taste of the spectators. 
 Carleton sat, trying to make conversation with the 
 Contessa, but watching perforce Clara's flying 
 skirts ; watching, also, the storm gathering behind 
 Mrs. Langham's black brows. 
 
 When the music stopped and Clara came back 
 to her mother's side, Carleton heard Mrs. Lang- 
 ham say, in a low voice, but distinctly: 
 
 " You will sit out the next dance here with me, 
 and then we shall go home." 
 
 Clara smiled and shook her head. Her eyes 
 were sparkling, her face full of colour. She was 
 panting lightly.
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 " No, I have all the other dances engaged. I 
 can't go," she said. 
 
 " But you know I never stay after eleven." 
 
 " Contessa Rasolli will take me home." 
 
 " I wish you to go with me, Clara. You are 
 making yourself too conspicuous." 
 
 Clara's eyes flashed. 
 
 " You know what people will say if you take 
 me away now." 
 
 Mrs. Langham bit her lip. " You show a great 
 deal of regard for what people say! " she retorted 
 savagely. 
 
 Carleton heard and wished to hear only the first 
 sentence of this conversation. Francesca and her 
 mother were both talking to him animatedly; and 
 the other two sunk their voices so as to be inaudible 
 to anyone. What they were saying could not be 
 guessed from their faces. Clara was still smiling; 
 Mrs. Langham now looked a shade more indiffer- 
 ent than usual. 
 
 The outcome was plain, however. Clara refused 
 to go. And after the next waltz which Clara 
 danced and Malvini sat out beside Mrs. Langham 
 that lady rose to depart. What was the tenor 
 
 328
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 of her conversation with Malvini did not appear, 
 except that he had done the talking and she had 
 snubbed him. When he offered to take her out to 
 the carriage, she turned her shoulder on him and 
 took Carleton's arm. 
 
 Meantime Carleton had spoken to Clara, for 
 the first time that night. 
 
 " You are not going yet? " he asked. 
 
 " No, I shall stay a little longer with Francesca." 
 
 She looked at him with bright, impenetrable 
 eyes, and caught Francesca's hand nervously, 
 caressingly, in both hers. 
 
 " Good-night, then," he said, putting out his 
 hand. 
 
 "You are going? But, of course, it must be 
 stupid for you. Addio." 
 
 Her gloved fingers barely touched his, her eyes 
 barely met his. 
 
 " Shall I see you to-morrow morning? " he half 
 stammered. "I . . . may be going away 
 in the afternoon." 
 
 " Oh, I am so sorry. But I have I can't prom- 
 ise for the morning." 
 
 He looked at her . . . 
 329
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 Mrs. Langham's hand touched his arm. He 
 turned and went out of the room. 
 
 When he had put Mrs. Langham into her car- 
 riage and said a brief good-night, Carleton walked 
 up the hill to the hotel, and packed a bag; and 
 early the next morning he left Bagni. 
 
 His impulse of flight carried him only as far as 
 Pisa, where in a small and quiet inn he was for 
 three days alone with his reflections. He had left 
 no address at Bagni, no word for anyone that he 
 was going. 
 
 At first he did not reflect at all, but simply felt 
 a tumultuous sense of wrong and pain. Then, as 
 the storm subsided, he realised that for the first 
 time in his life he knew what loneliness meant. He 
 was unutterably, unbearably lonely ; empty of any- 
 thing that could interest or sustain him. Even 
 torment was better than this; and he began to 
 think of going back. 
 
 He had never for a moment meant not to go 
 back. It had never occurred to him to give Clara 
 up. He felt sure of her. But he was angry with 
 her, furious at what seemed to him her lack of 
 
 330
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 reason, her perfect lack of consideration for him. 
 She had treated him as, he vowed, she should never 
 treat him again. 
 
 This mood passed. His anger died away, and 
 he began to think. He went out and rambled 
 about the city in solitary musing; he spent hours 
 in the Campo Santo, or watching the flow of the 
 river. With every hour the desire to return to 
 Clara grew stronger. His brooding meditations 
 lost their bitterness and took on the look of hope. 
 He smiled as he remembered a sentence of Goethe : 
 " The boy Cupid clings fast to the skirts of Hope, 
 even when she is preparing with long strides to 
 depart." This was not the picture of his state! 
 His love was no longer the infant, needing Hope's 
 support, but full-grown, lusty, strong with every 
 ounce of his own strength ; stronger, indeed, than 
 he was ! He confessed now that he took strength 
 from his love that it gave him back his confidence 
 in himself and in life. But Hope, of course, had 
 not deserted him for a moment; only, perhaps, 
 averted her face. 
 
 As his calmness returned he began to see excuses 
 for Clara; he began to think his own impetuosity
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 foolish and to regret it. She had misunderstood 
 him, he thought, or she had misunderstood life. 
 She was afraid of both and yet she loved both ! 
 Or if she did not absolutely love him as yet, he 
 was sure she would he was determined she 
 should. 
 
 Still, her behaviour with Malvini remained a 
 sore wound to him. He could not understand that. 
 She had professed to him that she disliked the 
 young Italian, disliked his coming to the house, his 
 intimacy with her mother. She had never before, 
 so far as Carleton knew, shown any interest in 
 Malvini; yet she had tried that night to capture 
 his interest, and had certainly succeeded. She had 
 behaved recklessly, going beyond what even her 
 natural coquetry would account for. Why had she 
 done this made herself conspicuous with Mal- 
 vini doubly offended her mother if it was not to 
 hurt him, Carleton ? And if she wanted to hurt him, 
 to affront him, still she need not have behaved so 
 as to draw down upon herself the hostile criticism 
 which was perpetually suspended over their heads, 
 hers as well as her mother's, and on her mother's 
 account. Carleton was as sensitive to that criticism 
 
 332
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 of her, to that attitude of potential hostility toward 
 her, as she herself could possibly be. It had hurt 
 him to see, in the little clique of people at Bagni, 
 the inevitable trace of it. Two women going 
 about without adequate protection or money 
 enough to supply it with the breath of scandal 
 hanging about them yes, that was the situation! 
 Friendly as some of those people were to Clara, 
 none of them liked Mrs. Langham; and Clara 
 was made to pay for her mother's faults. Was it 
 this that made her break out shock them? Was 
 it impatience of them, anger at them? In a way 
 he could understand that; but still it did not explain 
 Clara's behaviour to him. 
 
 That was the point: Did she after all think of 
 throwing him over? Her effort to avoid him, her 
 emotion when he asserted his claim, pointed that 
 way. She had denied that he had any claim. But 
 her emotion meant something else, too. It must 
 mean that she cared for him. 
 
 When he had come to this conclusion and all 
 roads led to it he forgot the rest. It was in- 
 finitely true, as he had said to her, that nothing else 
 mattered. 
 
 333
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 He telegraphed to Bagni to have his mail for- 
 warded, and he wrote to Clara a long letter, 
 passionate and tender. He was determined now to 
 carry her away with him at once as far away as 
 possible, where in a new place she could forget all 
 that was unhappy in her experience. He would take 
 her home back to the big sordid living city that 
 he thought he had forsaken forever! Its throb- 
 bing struggle called him now, drew him by the 
 pulse of his new life. He forgot its ugliness; 
 now he saw it only as the one spot on earth where 
 he had a definite place, a definite work. And with 
 Clara flower of all charm ! beside him, he could 
 go back to that work with muscles strung, he could 
 hew out there something that would interest her 
 too! 
 
 * 
 
 Among the letters forwarded to him he found 
 one from Elizabeth, one from America in a hand 
 he did not recognise, and a note written at the hotel 
 in Bagni. He let the two letters lie unopened and 
 eagerly read the note, which was from Fran- 
 cesca. 
 
 334
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 "DEAR MR. CARLETON : 
 
 " Perhaps I am meddling, and you may think me wrong to 
 write this, but nevertheless I write! 
 
 " Clara is very unhappy. Some of the reasons I know, the rest 
 I guess. I have a piece of news for you: Malvini has been sent 
 away by his family. They had no desire that he should marry a 
 girl without fortune. It suddenly appeared to the Marchesa that 
 he was compromising himself not with the mother but with the 
 daughter! I could not have believed that Clara could scheme 
 like that, but she has done what she wished, to get rid of 
 Malvini. She tells me her mother will not speak to her. 
 
 " Poor Clara ! There is much more that she tells me, but not 
 in words. 
 
 " If we do not see you soon, I shall know that I have made a 
 mistake to write but no one else shall know it." 
 
 Carleton would have taken the next train for 
 Bagni, but that he counted on a letter from Clara. 
 He had told her that he would wait for her reply, 
 and he had to wait a day for it. He had not, how- 
 ever, promised that he would abide by what she 
 should say, otherwise this reply might have forced 
 him to break once more the letter of a promise to 
 her. 
 
 " DEAR BARRY: 
 
 " Your letter is a beautiful one and I shall keep it as long as I 
 can. It hurts me, though, because it is so much kinder and 
 sweeter than I deserve, and if it makes me feel too unhappy I 
 
 335
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 shall have to destroy it. I can't bear more than a certain amount 
 of unhappiness, and that is why I am writing you now, to say 
 that I can't see you again or not for a long time, at least, not 
 till all this is forgotten. I am less unhappy when I don't think 
 anything about happiness, or at least don't try for it. In that 
 way I sha'n't make anyone else wretched, anyway and that is 
 something. What I could not bear is to feel that I was making 
 someone else as unhappy as I am myself. You will think very 
 badly of me, I suppose, for a time at least, and perhaps you 
 will be unhappy for a time, but that is better than being so 
 always and so sometime I think you will say that I was right 
 right in the end, in ending this, however wrong I was in 
 beginning it. I know that I was very wrong, and I have no 
 excuse, except that I honestly hoped for a time that it would be 
 possible. 
 
 " But it isn't possible. You know my father died insane and 
 heaven knows what may come out in me. It must die with me, 
 at all events. The more I care for you, the more sure I am that 
 I dare not give you such a burden. It wouldn't make mine 
 lighter if you shared it, but a thousand times heavier. So, you 
 see, for your sake and mine too, it can't be. 
 
 " I have thought it all out now I have thought of nothing else 
 all these days and now I see more clearly than I ever did 
 before. I am glad you went away it is easier to write, and 
 besides your going helped me to see more clearly. You never 
 could bear with me, you see, even my ordinary faults, and yet 
 you are patient too you have been very good to me. 
 
 " Good-bye good-bye, and forgive me not for this, but for 
 what I did before. CLARA." 
 
 336
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 A the leisurely afternoon train climbed the 
 long slope toward the hills, stopping at 
 an infinity of small stations and not 
 thinking it worth while to get up speed between, 
 Carleton remembered his unread letters, and took 
 them out of his bag. 
 
 Elizabeth's was written from her English coun- 
 try house. It was a long letter, in pensive linger- 
 ing mood. It had an autumnal flavour. It had 
 the feeling of a long still autumn afternoon, with 
 falling leaves, pale misty sunshine; with a quiet 
 undercurrent of sadness, regret, resignation. 
 
 This was the first word he had had from her 
 since their parting; and its sweetness, with the little 
 tang of sharpness that she could not help putting 
 in, half-relieved, half-pained him. She wrote of 
 her pursuits, literary and social; of the Blandons 
 and Mr. Harris, who were settled in her neighbour- 
 
 337
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 hood; and Carleton learned that Mr. Harris had 
 gone direct, instead of lingering in Italy as he had 
 proposed. 
 
 Proposed? What might not Mr. Harris have 
 proposed and Elizabeth agreed to, by this time? 
 This gently melancholy letter, with its hint of 
 reminiscence of the warm summer, its hinted fore- 
 cast of chill winter, might be her way of prepar- 
 ing the announcement he expected. He was con- 
 scious of grudging Elizabeth to Mr. Harris. It 
 was not that he did not want her to be happy and 
 consoled; but of course that he did not think Mr. 
 Harris good enough. If she could be consoled 
 by him 
 
 The opening of the other letter put Elizabeth 
 out of his head. There was a brief note from 
 Forbes, the man to whom he had written at Wash- 
 ington, asking for information about Charles 
 Langham. Forbes wrote from some place in the 
 mountains. He had not known Langham, but he 
 knew a lady who had known everybody in Balti- 
 more for the last forty years, and he enclosed a 
 letter from her and said that Carleton might write 
 her direct if he wished. This was the letter, writ- 
 
 338
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 ten with extreme care and in the precise delicate 
 hand of an elder generation : 
 
 "Remember Charles Langham? Indeed, my dear Mr. Forbes, 
 I do, as anyone must who ever knew him. And I knew him 
 well. His mother, though older than I, was an intimate friend. 
 I was present at his wedding. I knew his romance. Indeed I 
 knew him from the time he came home from college, at twenty. 
 He was married at twenty-two. And let me say now that I 
 shall never for one instant believe that he was insane, in the 
 proper sense of that word. I know his family-history well on 
 both sides. There never was a whisper of anything wrong. His 
 father was killed in the War of Secession. His mother died a 
 few years since. She had been a remarkably strong woman 
 up to the time of the tragedy, but she never recovered from that. 
 He was her only son, he was idolised. Mrs. Langham showed 
 me the letter she wrote to her son's widow, offering to take the 
 child and bring her up; it was returned unanswered. 
 
 " Is it reasonable to say that a man of unblemished history, 
 with a brilliant college-record, a favourite in society, and, young 
 as he was, already noted in his native city for his talent as an 
 orator and his grasp of public questions is it possible to think 
 that such a man, against whom there was never a breath up to 
 the time of the tragedy, could be mentally unsound to the extent 
 of cherishing a delusion which cost two lives? Is it not more 
 natural to believe that he was temporarily maddened by the dis- 
 cover}' of treachery in the woman he (however foolishly) adored? 
 Any man of spirit might be so maddened by such a discovery 
 much more a man of Charles Langham's passionate tempera- 
 
 339
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 ment. This, I shall always believe, is the true explanation of his 
 terrible act. That Augusta was innocent, and he a maniac, ia 
 what no one will credit who knew them both. 
 
 " I knew Augusta slightly. She was a reigning belle in Balti- 
 more for two years before her marriage. She was, of course, 
 extraordinarily beautiful. But I was never attracted to her, even 
 though Charles begged me to like her, for his sake. She cared 
 nothing for women and would make no effort to please them. 
 She had a great many suitors, some more brilliant in fortune 
 than Charles, but none so personally brilliant. He swept her 
 off her feet; he had all the gifts that women love. He was an 
 ideal lover. I shall never forget the scene at their wedding, 
 when they stood together after the ceremony and he bent to kiss 
 her. It seemed that they must be blessed, with youth, beauty, 
 love for their portion. 
 
 " Well, we know the result. Augusta tired of life in Balti- 
 more, where a public career was opening to her husband. After 
 the birth of their child they went abroad to live. Seven years 
 later, in the prime of his young manhood, he was dead, with 
 murder and suicide to answer for at the bar of judgment 
 where, I am certain she shall yet answer for the heavier share. 
 
 " I loved Charles Langham. He was much beloved. With all 
 his impetuosity, his quick temper, I never knew a kinder heart. 
 He had but one serious fault he was too easily ruled by those 
 he loved. He sacrificed a career to his wife's wish, he sacrificed 
 all to her and how did she repay him? I will not write more 
 now, I feel too bitterly. Even now, more than twenty years 
 since I saw him last, I weep when I think of him. May the 
 earth lie lightly on him, poor boy! 
 
 "LYDIA EDGERTON." 
 
 340
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 The formal phrases of this elderly lady gave 
 Carleton the clearest picture he had of Clara's an- 
 tecedents. By so much as they cleared the pic- 
 ture they raised his heart, elated him. The 
 shadow sank and died away it was the past his- 
 tory of a woman's selfishness, a man's weakness 
 no more. The present was once more light to 
 him, and the future full of light. 
 
 Clara's letter, by its spirit, bade him come and 
 take her in spite of herself, and this he meant to 
 do. Once more she seemed to him all sweetness, 
 all charm. He forgot the things that had so 
 lately angered him. She was to him like a morn- 
 ing landscape : his rising love struck with light the 
 highlands of her nature and left all else in obscur- 
 ity. Love at its meridian would see more clearly, 
 and yet burn with a deeper fire. 
 
 He was welcomed back to the hotel by Mrs. 
 Mallot, Contessa Rasolli, and Francesca. After 
 dinner the Italian ladies took him up to their little 
 sitting-room, gave him coffee, begged him to light 
 his cigar, and Francesca said : 
 
 " Clara will be here soon. She spends her even- 
 ings here with us."
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 She beamed on Carleton with a look of happi- 
 ness. He had already thanked her. He won- 
 dered that she should have taken his cause so much 
 to heart; she was going almost too fast. 
 
 " Perhaps she ought to know first that I am 
 here," he said. " Or let me come in later, if you 
 will." 
 
 " No, you shall stay with me," the Contessa 
 said, laying her hand on his. " And Francesca 
 shall go to meet our Clara. She will not be 
 frightened away by you you shall see." 
 
 His heart beat uncomfortably fast while Fran- 
 cesca was gone. He could hardly attend to the 
 Contessa's kindly chatter. He put his cigar down 
 unsmoked and longed to get up and walk round the 
 room. It seemed an ominously long time before 
 the two girls appeared at the door. 
 
 Clara came in, and her eyes, in a wonderful look, 
 pierced to that heart of his, making it pound the 
 faster. She was beautiful, with the gold scarf 
 framing her pale face, that flushed at the clasp of 
 his hand on hers. The two ladies, their hostesses, 
 melted away into the next room. Clara yielded 
 both her hands, but murmured as she looked up at 
 
 342
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 him and the glittering drapery slid from her head 
 to her shoulders : 
 
 " This isn't right. . . . You should not 
 have come." 
 
 " It is right the only right thing." 
 
 He drew her with him to the sofa ; they sat down 
 together. He had not taken his eyes from Clara's 
 face, and now he cried with pain, " How tired you 
 look, dearest almost ill! Have you been ill, 
 Clara?" 
 
 " No not exactly. I haven't been very happy 
 that's all." 
 
 " Haven't you? And what have I been, do you 
 think? Oh, Clara, you will never drive me away 
 from you again? " 
 
 " I ought to," she said. " I tried to I did 
 mean to send you away for always." 
 
 " Did you think for a moment you could? I 
 don't believe it. ... You must altogether 
 stop caring for me first. . . . And you do care 
 a little?" 
 
 She looked at him; her eyes glowed. For the 
 first time he felt, " She loves me! " And he caught 
 her in his arms and kissed her lips. , , , She 
 
 343
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 drew away from him, all rose-colour now, glowing, 
 with downcast eyes. 
 
 " Do you really want me," she stammered, " in 
 spite of no, listen! in spite of everything? Do 
 you think you could care for me so much much, 
 much more than you pity me? Else I could 
 never " 
 
 Carleton turned pale. " Don't you know? " he 
 said, barely audibly. 
 
 She still held away from him, her hand on his 
 breast. 
 
 " But still I shall be unhappy I can't help it, 
 even if you -" 
 
 " No, you shall not be. There is no reason why 
 you should not be happy, and you shall be ! You 
 shall be light-hearted, my dearest, I promise you, 
 and I will sweep anything that troubles you out of 
 
 the way / will crush anyone " he stopped, 
 
 breathing hard, caught her to him, then sprang up. 
 
 " First read this," he said. 
 
 He had not dressed for dinner he had the 
 letter in the inside pocket of his coat. Clara took 
 it, with a wondering look, and read it, while he 
 paced about the small room. Before she had 
 
 344
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 finished reading, the tears began rolling down her 
 cheeks. The sheets of the letter fell in her lap, 
 and she hid her face and wept. 
 
 " You see . . ." Carleton said. " That is 
 the truth." 
 
 He knelt beside her. 
 
 * You know it is the truth, don't you? " he de- 
 manded. " Look at me, Clara. ... I have 
 felt all along that this was the truth of the story. 
 I would stake my life on it now. It can't be other- 
 wise. . . . You have been cheated out of your 
 peace of mind so far, but I swear you sha'n't be 
 cheated any longer. It's a lie a horrible wilful 
 lie that has been hanging over you all these years ! 
 You shall be rid of it now. . . ." 
 
 " But even so," said Clara pitifully, " even if 
 we didn't believe in that any longer, think what 
 there is behind me think what it means, all that 
 happened. ... I am afraid." 
 
 "Afraid of what? You are you. We'll for- 
 get the rest all that troubled you." 
 
 He took her hands and kissed them, and laid his 
 cheek on them, murmuring words of passionate 
 endearment. 
 
 345
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 She gently disengaged her right hand, and pull- 
 ing at a thin line of gold about her neck drew out 
 a jewel suspended by it and hidden in the bosom 
 of her dress. It was a tiny miniature, set with 
 brilliants and pearls. She unfastened the chain 
 and laid it in Carleton's hand. 
 
 He held it to the light, studying the face 
 young, bright in colour, brilliant with life and 
 spirit. Unmistakable was the impression conveyed 
 by this inch of painted ivory. Carleton could see 
 the man high brow, dark chestnut hair, hazel 
 eyes, sensuous mouth, cleft chin the smile, the 
 flash of the eyes, the proud carriage of the head 
 the likeness, too, to Clara. 
 
 " He had it done for me," Clara said softly, 
 "when I was seven. He was so sweet to me! 
 I've worn it always, ever since. I don't want to 
 forget him. I've written down every single thing 
 I remember of him, so as not to forget. Even 
 that day, when they took me away and told me he 
 was dead. And I have grieved for him oh, 
 nobody knows how much. ... I did love 
 him very dearly even a child of eight, you 
 know " 
 
 346
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 She took back the miniature, looked at it, and 
 clasped it round her neck again. She had 
 dried her tears. Now she looked at Carleton 
 broodingly. 
 
 ' Think how much it would have meant to me 
 if he had lived," she said. " And he knew it he 
 loved me too. He must have suffered to forget 
 me to take himself away from me. He 
 could not have done it, I think, if he had been 
 himself." 
 
 " I think so too if he had been calm and able 
 to consider. But he was not he was suddenly 
 thrown from his balance. But that means nothing, 
 beyond the fact. Tell me you remember nothing 
 that could not be so explained, do you? " 
 
 Clara shivered. " I remember that something 
 was the matter that day. We had been riding 
 together, he and I I had a little white pony 
 and his horse kept leaping and tearing about, and 
 set the pony off, so that it ran away with me. 
 . * . And he would not talk to me. . . . 
 We had some ices at the Casino and went back to 
 the hotel. ... I remember the flowers, though 
 it was winter. . . . And he held me and kissed 
 
 347
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 me and cried when he left me. ... I was 
 waked up in the night and dressed and taken away, 
 by my governess and a lady in the hotel. I didn't 
 see my mother for a long time afterwards. I re- 
 member that everyone looked scared. . . . and 
 that I was frightened to death. . . ." 
 
 Carleton got up and took another restless turn 
 about the room. His face wore its grimmest look. 
 
 "Who told you? "he asked. 
 
 " Oh, many people my governess, the lady, 
 I've forgotten her name and my mother, not 
 then, but long after. None of them told me every- 
 thing, of course, but somehow I learned it." 
 
 " Of course. ... I wish I had been there." 
 
 Clara smiled tragically. " Why, what could 
 you have done? You would have been a nice boy 
 of about fifteen ! " 
 
 " I would have taken you up and carried you 
 away away from everybody -as I shall do now." 
 
 " Ah who knows." 
 
 " Who knows what ? That I shall carry you 
 away? What do you say to America for a time 
 at least? It will be different from anything you've 
 known." 
 
 348
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 " What I say now is that we are keeping those 
 poor ladies out of their room for a most impolitely 
 long time. I must call them back." 
 
 She rose. A chill struck through Carle- 
 ton. 
 
 " Clara ! You for a moment you frightened 
 me. You change so your manner changes a 
 flash and you seem a thousand miles away! A 
 minute ago you were near me, and now how do 
 I know what you are thinking! " 
 
 " I am thinking," said Clara wearily, " that I 
 have been made to think too much. I have been 
 made to doubt too much to question too much. 
 I doubt and question everything everybody! If 
 I am changeable and I know I am and can't help 
 it the reason is what you know. I have seen 
 too much too much that is sad and dreadful too 
 much of life. Is it any wonder that I'm afraid of 
 it? Of myself my own moods my own 
 character yours too! Yes, I am afraid of 
 you! . . ." 
 
 " Already! And a little while ago, here " 
 
 "Yes, yes! . . . But we must not stay 
 longer. . . ." 
 
 349
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 " Very well. I will go. Let me take you down, 
 if you are going home. And I know what I have 
 to do, Clara, to-morrow." 
 
 " To-morrow? " She paused by the door lead- 
 ing to the other room. 
 
 ' Your mother. I should have talked to her 
 long before this." 
 
 " But wait! First I must be sure quite, quite 
 sure. . . ." 
 
 " No, or I shall never be sure of you ! " 
 
 " But she my mother will not forbid me. Her 
 consent is a formality." 
 
 " It is not her consent I want but a good deal 
 more. Something that no one has got from her 
 before, I daresay ! " 
 
 "What . . . do you want?" 
 ' The truth, simply. The truth about anything 
 that affects you." 
 
 "The truth! About? But she will never 
 answer you won't even listen to you ! " 
 
 " I shall make her. Do you think I can't see 
 clearly now that it's a question of your happiness 
 and mine? Do you think I'll let anything stand in 
 the way? She shall answer me." 
 
 350
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 " Oh, don't Barry, you forget you can't 
 treat her so " 
 
 " We won't talk of it." 
 
 He stood pale, frowning, set. 
 
 " Will you call the Contessa, please? I will bid 
 her good-night." 
 
 " But, I beg you, do not think of talking frankly 
 to my mother ! Only consider think what it will 
 
 mean to her " 
 
 ' Yes, and what it means to you and to me. 
 Oh, I'm selfish enough ! She must give way. It's 
 your peace of mind and mine against a tempo- 
 rary trouble to hers " 
 
 " But what good will it do ? " 
 
 " This that if she has lied to you and I 
 believe she has she must confess it. If she has 
 put this fear of hereditary taint in your mind 
 because of her own cowardice, she must say so and 
 clear it away. Is that too much to ask? " 
 
 " Too much yes," said Clara faintly. " She 
 is my mother, after all." 
 
 " Yes, and you need not fear I shall forget it. I 
 have some ability to put a thing clearly, without 
 unnecessarily wounding. Trust me in this, Clara." 
 
 351
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 " I cannot. I can't tell you to go to her." 
 
 " Then will you promise me here now, solemnly, 
 to marry me within a month? If you promise, 
 there is no need now of the other." 
 
 " I can't promise." 
 
 " No. Even now I am losing you. . . . 
 Clara . . . good-night." 
 
 He did not wait to make his adieux to the other 
 ladies; Clara had that task for him. Her face 
 struck them with consternation. 
 
 352
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 NOW, at last, Carleton fully recognised 
 what before he had only vaguely appre- 
 hended the fact that Mrs. Langham 
 was blocking his path Clara's path to happi- 
 ness; for he had all a lover's certainty that those 
 paths must be one. Not directly; for her direct 
 influence had been thrown, so far as he could see, 
 in his favour. But indirectly, by virtue of what 
 she had done in the past, she blocked him. She 
 stood there in the way like some huge, malign 
 figure of stone. She cast a shadow on Clara which 
 threatened to be permanent. 
 
 And Clara shadowed, oppressed, was Clara 
 uncertain of herself, uncertain of all things. Well 
 might she doubt life and her own capacity for it! 
 She had had too heavy a burden, as she said. The 
 sorrow of the world was not a vague abstraction, 
 as it should have been, to her youth, but a crushing 
 reality. She had been robbed of the joy of youth ; 
 
 353
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 it had been almost crushed out of her by the weight 
 that now threatened to divide her from him. He 
 had felt this night more sharply than ever the 
 struggle in her mind. He thought he saw that she 
 had really meant to give him up. And, for the 
 first time, fear invaded his soul. 
 
 And yet he felt now that she loved him, even 
 with the touch of passion that till to-night had been 
 lacking. Up to this time she had held herself 
 away from him, giving him affection, liking, confi- 
 dence mutely promising more much more but 
 still withholding it. But to-night 
 
 There was that streak of wildness in her. There 
 was intensity and passion at the bottom of all these 
 uncertainties and moods of hers. There was a kind 
 of violence which might hurl her on some desper- 
 ately mistaken course. Was he to lose her, after 
 all, when she had come to love him not, perhaps, 
 as he loved her, but still with her feminine fire, 
 clinging, poignant, sweet? 
 
 He felt the fear that held her back a fear that 
 reason could dissipate for the time, but that ever 
 returned, formless and terrible. It was the effect 
 of a habit of mind, fixed from her childhood. She 
 
 354
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 had been taught to see herself in a particular light, 
 and no effort of hers or of others had been able to 
 alter it materially. She had seen herself marked 
 out as a victim of fate ; she could not forget it. 
 
 ' Taught " was too definite a word for the 
 process, however. No one, he was sure, had ever 
 definitely told her that she was liable to the fate 
 that had overtaken her father. Least of all would 
 her mother say such a thing to her. She might 
 never have spoken to Clara on that subject. Never- 
 theless, it was she who had involved Clara in it, 
 had fixed the mark on her and darkened her whole 
 life and mind. 
 
 And she had done it out of pure egotism, the 
 instinct of self-preservation, undoubtedly the 
 strongest of the instincts by which she lived. 
 Carleton believed implicitly now in the correctness 
 of the general view of her and of the tragedy that 
 had come about through her. He did not doubt 
 that further evidence of the sort given by Mrs. 
 Edgerton's letter could be got further proof 
 against her. He did not doubt, either, that she 
 could, if she would, demolish the lie that she had 
 tried to rear up as a vain protection to herself. 
 
 355
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 It had not protected her; it had only injured 
 Clara. 
 
 She could say, if she would, that she had lied 
 about the circumstances of the tragedy and the 
 time preceding it; that there was no question of 
 homicidal mania or mania of persecution; that her 
 husband was under no delusion ; that her lover met 
 the fate he had risked; and that in the end she was 
 responsible for the situation and the result. 
 
 If she would say this, she must be believed; 
 Clara must believe entirely what now she half- 
 believed. She would be free. But would Mrs. 
 Langham, in any conceivable circumstances, admit 
 the truth? She must know it. She could not, as 
 Elizabeth had suggested, by dint of lying have 
 come to believe herself in the lie. She could not 
 really think herself the innocent victim she wished 
 to appear. But if she could be made to see that she 
 was injuring Clara so definitely, so deeply, would 
 she be moved to tell the truth? 
 
 She might have seen it, one would think, before ; 
 but she had deliberately shut her eyes. But now 
 if it were forced on her? She could scarcely be 
 withheld by the fear of changing Clara's feeling 
 
 356
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 for her. There was no feeling between them, no 
 affection ; only on Clara's side the sadness of real- 
 ising that there was none. 
 
 Mrs. Langham was not a person easy to read 
 from cover to cover. In outline she was legible 
 enough. Carleton felt that he knew her general 
 character, but not her mind. She had never been 
 unreserved with him; there had never been the 
 slightest approach to intimacy. That night at La 
 Fontanella, when she had talked to him over her 
 late supper in the library, was the high-water mark 
 of their acquaintance. It had never developed into 
 friendship, or liking, or even disliking; at least, 
 obviously. Here at Bagni she had treated him in 
 a casual way, but without the formality due a 
 casual acquaintance. She had simply let him 
 alone; talked to him lightly when the occasion 
 demanded it, and that was all. He felt that he 
 knew her no better than after the first days at La 
 Fontanella. 
 
 Now in imagination he tried to reconstruct her, 
 not as she appeared to him or the world, but as she 
 appeared to herself. What was her opinion of 
 herself, her justification, her theory of life? What 
 
 357,
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 philosophy had she, and what made it worth while 
 for her to dress, dine, drive, and undergo the daily 
 portion of ennui which life offered her? 
 
 He made allowance, first, for the fact that she 
 was not a definitely reasoning being, for the pre- 
 ponderance of instinct in her, and the strength of 
 the great impetus of life that carries us all on, 
 creatures of reason as well as creatures of instinct. 
 We live, not definitely because we wish to live, but 
 because we are alive. And if we have a strong, 
 healthy body, strong appetites and not much of the 
 pale cast of thought, we can live on through cata- 
 clysms that would wreck a reasoning craft; we 
 rise on the crest of the flood of life, while the 
 feebler organism is submerged. We float and 
 feed, not too scrupulously, and survive. We are 
 more or less thick-shelled; we resist the claims or 
 assaults of softer beings. We preserve ourselves, 
 as comfortably as possible. Well, there is a phi- 
 losophy of life ! It was hers, undoubtedly. 
 
 Carleton pictured her in her youth by the light 
 Mrs. Edgerton threw a great beauty, a belle in 
 a small city, courted, flattered, married in a rush 
 by a man whose emotion carried her off her feet 
 
 358
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 and left him later at her mercy. She ruled him 
 through his passion for her, and perhaps despised 
 him for it, being incapable of a generous response. 
 Then, taken out of a conventional and provincial 
 society, plunged into the freedom of European life 
 and manners, what wonder that she lost her head 
 never having had much to begin with and 
 eventually went down? It was fairly evident that 
 she had no great love for her husband, and that 
 she misjudged him, miscalculated both his strength 
 and his weakness. That he was weak in letting so 
 weak a woman rule him was clear ; but he had the 
 terrible strength of sincere passion. She seemed 
 to have no strength except her monumental selfish- 
 ness and real indifference to other people. How 
 much this was the cause and how much the effect 
 of the tragedy in her life was a question. She was 
 by nature cold and self-centred; but it was possible 
 that she had loved Malaspina as much as she 
 could love. 
 
 Then, supposing it to have happened: the two 
 men dead there, the scandal, publicity, the glaring 
 white light turned on her and forcing her to hide 
 herself in some corner, and following her wherever 
 
 359
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 she turned, in whatever obscurity she lived, even 
 to the present day. She could not but feel that, 
 and what had been its effect on her? 
 
 First, she had been cruelly punished, unduly 
 punished, unless the price she had to pay were 
 measured by the amount of suffering she had 
 inflicted. Langham's suffering had been more 
 than he could bear. She had borne hers, and per- 
 haps, given her character, in the only way she could 
 have borne it. She had hardened, hardened, till 
 she had a thick shell-armour enclosing and protect- 
 ing the smallest possible kernel of feeling sub- 
 stance. Or perhaps she had fossilised altogether 
 and was incapable of feeling anything more, except 
 physical discomfort. 
 
 Nevertheless, she was, of all the human beings 
 Carleton knew, the least happy, the least to be 
 envied. He realised, when he considered her as 
 she now was, that he was looking upon a wreck. 
 She painfully made herself look as little like a 
 wreck as possible, she abstained from any appeal 
 to the sympathies, she kept to herself whatever she 
 did feel but in spite of new paint and shining 
 brass she was a helpless, rudderless, unseaworthy 
 
 360
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 craft, fit only to lie in harbour somewhere and 
 she had no harbour. 
 
 Carleton did not wonder that she had chosen to 
 keep her child to herself, when everything else had 
 been swept away from her; perhaps it was because 
 she cared for the child, but in any case she would 
 not have given her up to her husband's mother, 
 writing as that lady probably had written. She 
 had kept Clara, perhaps, with some idea of finding 
 a refuge in her. If she had that hope, it had been 
 completely disappointed, and Carleton could not 
 think it Clara's fault. Clara was emotional, 
 expressive, needed affection; if her mother had 
 not won her affection, the fault could not lie with 
 the child. Either Mrs. Langham had not tried or 
 she had failed, for good reason, to make Clara 
 love her. Perhaps she had been handicapped from 
 the beginning by Clara's knowledge and by the 
 effect on her of her father's death. A child of 
 eight, with Clara's temperament, might know and 
 feel enough to make her not quite a malleable 
 substance, even supposing Mrs. Langham's hand 
 to have some skill. From what Clara had said, 
 and Elizabeth, he guessed that this was the case. 
 
 361
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 Clara had been all these years a critic of her 
 mother, unsympathetic, standing aloof. And that 
 it must have been difficult for Mrs. Langham to 
 live, even though she were not over-sensitive, in 
 that atmosphere, Carleton could well believe. 
 They had lived, those two, with that gulf between 
 them widening every year. They were unhappy 
 together why had they not separated? 
 
 Here again he fell back on Elizabeth's explana- 
 tion. Clara felt the tie of duty to her mother, and 
 knew that her presence was some sort of protec- 
 tion or, at least, check. Mrs. Langham might be 
 suspected of a certain recklessness. With no ties, 
 it was hardly to be predicted what she would do. 
 Clara had to some extent imposed her own will on 
 her mother; and Mrs. Langham had indemnified 
 herself by pieces of self-indulgence like her flirta- 
 tion with Malvini. Clara had put an end to that, 
 she was carrying things now with a high hand, and 
 Carleton saw that this unnatural state of things 
 could not continue. It was equally unfortunate for 
 them both. The natural end of it was his marriage 
 with Clara and departure somewhere well out of 
 range of Mrs. Langham. 
 
 362
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 It was Mrs. Langham's desire to be free, and 
 to see Clara married. She might, therefore, be 
 willing to sacrifice something she had hitherto 
 thought essential, if she saw that it stood in the 
 way of Clara's marriage. She might sacrifice her 
 elaborate lie. 
 
 It was quite natural, he thought, that she should 
 have lied. It was quite natural, in so complete a 
 catastrophe, that she should have tried to save to 
 herself some warmth of excuse, to shift a burden 
 of blame too heavy to be borne. She would not 
 think at that moment of Clara or the future ; but 
 only the terrible present would overwhelm her and 
 force her to defend herself. She would snatch at 
 any weapon. And when she had once taken up 
 that weapon she was never permitted to lay it 
 down, she must be forever on the defensive. Even 
 against Clara perhaps more than all against 
 Clara she must maintain it. 
 
 And she had to a certain extent been successful. 
 She had created a doubt, in face of the evidence 
 against her. It was possible for her friends to say 
 that she was a cruelly wronged woman. People in 
 general might refuse her the benefit of the doubt, 
 
 363
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 but they had to recognise that it existed, if only as 
 a hypothesis. Elizabeth apparently had not be- 
 lieved in it, but it had affected her. The issue had 
 been confused. The Doubt was there. Clara 
 stood in the shadow of it. It stood between her 
 and her lover, dreadfully palpable. 
 
 He came back to this that it must be swept out 
 of the way, with Mrs. Langham's aid or in spite 
 of her. The first would be difficult to manage, the 
 second more difficult still. But it must be done 
 somehow. And he came to the task with more 
 comprehension of her, with more feeling for her, 
 as the result of his night's vigil. 
 
 It was past three o'clock when he thought of bed. 
 He had been smoking, walking about his room, 
 sometimes lying down with his hands clasped over 
 his eyes. The dawn, showing grey at the windows, 
 surprised him. A longing for fresh air, stronger 
 than fatigue, came upon him. He went down- 
 stairs and let himself out. 
 
 In the silence and pale light the great hills 
 seemed to lie like a fairy-world new-made that 
 morning. The cold air had a divine purity; and 
 the shapes of trees and rocks swam liquidly in it 
 
 364
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 as if they were still quivering from the creative 
 hand. The sun would rise late, traversing a long 
 arc of sky before it showed above the tops of the 
 hills; but already at its approach colour was wak- 
 ing on the earth and in the air.
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 EARLY in the forenoon Carleton sent 
 down a note to Mrs. Langham, asking 
 her to see him some time that day; and 
 in reply she named the hour of four. Then he 
 wrote a line to Francesca, as she with her mother 
 breakfasted in their rooms, begging her to take 
 Clara out of the way for the time between four 
 o'clock and the dinner-hour. 
 
 The mail brought him this from Elizabeth : 
 
 "DEAR BARRY: 
 
 " Yesterday I had a letter from Augusta asking me to advance 
 her some money, and to-day a telegram making it more urgent 
 and I have sent the money. She intends to leave Bagni and join 
 some friend Madame Marum at St. Moritz, and in the fall 
 to go to Cairo with her. Clara is to be turned over to the 
 Rasollis. They have quarrelled, Augusta says, and even Clara 
 admits they are better apart she and her mother. Very likely 
 you know all this, but I judge from A's letter that you do not. 
 She writes that she has offered to come back and be present at 
 Clara's marriage to you wherever it is arranged to be, but that 
 Clara has given her no definite information on that point, and 
 you have said nothing. She thinks you may come to an agree- 
 
 366
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 ment by yourselves and at any rate it is impossible for her to 
 stay at Bagni any longer. 
 
 " I can see the situation, and what I propose is this: Let Clara 
 with her maid come to me here. A little later you will come on, 
 and you shall be married from my house, or in London, which- 
 ever you prefer and so get rid of all the Continental red tape, 
 and perhaps make it easier for Clara in other ways. Augusta 
 can come on for it, if you and she wish. At any rate I am 
 Clara's relative, you know, and if her mother's health doesn't 
 permit her to be here, the poor little girl will be safe under my 
 wing. Send me a line, or better wire to say that it's all right, 
 and I write to Clara urging this. Do you urge it too. It will 
 make me happier to do this for you will you give me what 
 happiness you can ? " 
 
 Carleton put this aside to be answered later, 
 with a pang of gratitude and affection for the 
 writer of the letter, sweet and kind creature that 
 she was! He saw Francesca at luncheon, and 
 learned that Clara was to drive with them to 
 Barga, starting at two and returning just in time 
 for dinner; learned, also, that the arrangement 
 had been settled by which Clara was to pass into 
 the Contessa's care. Francesca was obviously sur- 
 prised that he had not been told. He could see 
 that she was uneasy, apprehensive. Affairs had 
 got beyond her comprehension; the air was turbid 
 
 36?
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 and portentously obscure about them, and she, too, 
 felt the electric tension, the imminence of storm. 
 
 The hour of siesta found him tired enough to 
 sleep, and he woke refreshed. He prepared for 
 his interview by putting into his pocket some letters 
 those from Dr. Crittenden, from Mrs. Edger- 
 ton, and finally Elizabeth's offering to take Clara; 
 and at four o'clock he crossed the Piazza, just 
 waking to life again behind its shutters, and 
 knocked at Mrs. Langham's door. 
 
 He was shown into the salotto, where Clara's 
 piano stood in the middle of the floor, with an air 
 of filling the place. The prim chairs and sofas 
 ranged round the walls looked as comfortless as 
 on the first day. The balcony beyond, with its 
 awning, flowers, easy-chairs and tea-table, seemed 
 the only habitable spot. 
 
 Carleton waited a few moments; then Mrs. 
 Langham came in and gave him her hand, with a 
 smile almost friendly. She was looking, for her, 
 rather pale and tired. For once she was not on 
 parade, she was not on guard. Her loose violet 
 dress had a neglige air. She could not, it struck 
 Carleton, afford to be so informal, if she wished 
 
 368
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 to preserve the full effect of her beauty or the illu- 
 sion of youth. The texture of her aging skin now 
 betrayed itself, and certain faint, dragging lines 
 about the mouth and eyes. And yet, he was oddly 
 conscious she had never seemed so attractive to 
 him; he had never come so near liking her. Her 
 manner of receiving him perhaps also those long 
 thoughts about her in the night had put him in a 
 different attitude toward her. She offered him 
 tea he declined it, out of nervous feeling that her 
 bread just now would choke him. 
 
 "Then will you give me some?" she asked, 
 sinking into her low chair on the balcony. " I am 
 really done up packing and seeing to things. I 
 go to-morrow morning, to Switzerland. I am very 
 glad to see you before I go. I did not know your 
 leaving so suddenly quite what to make of it! " 
 
 She smiled, still in friendly fashion, and closed 
 her eyes wearily. Carleton gave her the cup 
 of tea. 
 
 " That's good and strong," she said. " I need 
 something to wake me up. I haven't been able to 
 sleep of late, and I've been taking morphine. This 
 air disagrees with me frightfully it is so depress- 
 
 369
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 ing, and this heat ! I could not endure another 
 week of the place. ... I am glad you have 
 come back! " 
 
 " I couldn't have stayed away very long," Carle- 
 ton said. 
 
 He was sitting near her, in a chair rather higher 
 than hers, so that he looked down on her. Her 
 languid figure, in the simple dress that pleased his 
 eye by its pure blue-violet colour, and the signs of 
 sleeplessness and fatigue in her face, made her for 
 the first time seem appealing to him. She drank 
 her tea slowly and left the pause to him. 
 
 " I suppose you know why I went, and why I 
 came back," he said. " I don't quite know why I 
 haven't talked to you about it before but we 
 seemed not much in the way of talking." 
 
 " No. I do not take the usual parental pose. 
 It's about Clara, of course, that you want to 
 speak? " 
 
 " Of course. You know that I want to marry 
 her." 
 
 " I supposed so." 
 
 " Yes. She has known it from the first. But 
 she has been uncertain." 
 
 370
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 ' Yes, I know. She has talked to me about you. 
 Not lately. In fact, not much since you came 
 but before. She is to marry you? " 
 
 " I wish I knew! By turns I'm sure of it, and 
 then in a flash everything seems uncertain." 
 
 " Ah girls ! If they knew their own minds " 
 murmured Mrs. Langham vaguely. " Didn't your 
 going away bring her to terms? " 
 
 This question, quite in her ordinary tone, jarred 
 on Carleton. He got up nervously and changed 
 his seat for one farther away. 
 
 " I didn't go with the idea that it would," he 
 said. " You are willing, aren't you, that Clara 
 should marry me? " 
 
 Mrs. Langham held out her cup to be refilled. 
 
 " Certainly I am," she said deliberately. " Else 
 I should hardly have received you as I have done. 
 
 . . I don't pretend in any way to dictate 
 Clara's choice or to choose for her in any impor- 
 tant matter. She is in most ways unusually mature, 
 and she knows, I believe, what she wants. But 
 certainly I approve of you, so far as I know you. 
 I know nothing against you. So far as I am able to 
 judge, I think you are as likely as anyone to make
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 Clara happy as we say. The fact that she thinks 
 so is, of course, my main reason for believing it." 
 
 " She does think so? " cried Carleton, that last 
 sentence quite obliterating the preceding ones of 
 cool commendation. 
 
 ' You must know as well as I," Mrs. Langham 
 answered him. " Clara does not make a confi- 
 dante of me but I have certainly understood that 
 she thought so." 
 
 Carleton gazed out at the hillside, on which the 
 faintly clouded sunlight lay moist and heavy; his 
 eyes lightened and softened with wistful tender- 
 ness. 
 
 " I hope I shall," he said with a slight tremor 
 in his voice. " It will not be for lack of trying if 
 I fail. . . . Clara knows that I have nothing 
 very brilliant to offer her, in the way of position 
 or prospects. Perhaps you know, too, about where 
 I stand " 
 
 Mrs. Langham nodded. 
 
 " Clara is absolutely unworldly. She really does 
 not care for money in the least. As to position, it 
 would be a burden and a bore to her to have to 
 keep up any great amount of society. She doesn't 
 
 372
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 like it. She likes to work at her music and be 
 alone, and she is indolent. Decidedly she would 
 not be the wife for a man in official position, for 
 instance. ... It seemed to me that in taste 
 you and she are very well suited. I cannot see why 
 she shouldn't be happy." 
 
 There was a silence. 
 
 " If only it depended solely on me, and on her- 
 self ! " Carleton exclaimed. " If there were noth- 
 ing definite just now to make her unhappy ! " 
 
 Mrs. Langham set her cup down on the table 
 with a little clash, and frowned. 
 
 " Clara makes herself unhappy at times," she 
 said coldly. " What definite thing do you mean? " 
 
 " You must know, Mrs. Langham. You know 
 that she has been made unhappy by a certain defi- 
 nite thing in her life. Perhaps you don't know 
 that she has threatened several times to break with 
 me has tried to do it for that reason. Even 
 now even now I do not feel certain of her. She 
 seems uncertain whether she can marry me." 
 
 " Clara is capricious," Mrs. Langham said. 
 Her lowered eyelids hid her eyes, and her face 
 looked like a mask in pale wax. " She has more 
 
 373
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 than her share of girlish whims. But I believe she 
 did not mean to be taken at her word when she 
 offered to break with you." 
 
 " Perhaps not. But this is not whim or caprice 
 that troubles her. You know what it is you 
 know it is a serious thing most serious, at least, 
 in its effect on her. She has suffered she is suffer- 
 ing. She even thinks, because of it, that she that 
 she perhaps ought not to marry." 
 
 Mrs. Langham sat up straight, and the frown 
 drew her black brows together. 
 
 " No, she does not think that! Why, she has 
 definitely engaged herself to you she has told me 
 that she wishes to marry you ! " 
 
 Carleton felt a pang of pleasure ; but his agita- 
 tion was not lessened. 
 
 " She told me, too, that she wished that she 
 would marry me if she could," he said in a low 
 voice. " But she has never promised absolutely, 
 without condition " 
 
 " She is like many another girl in fearing to bind 
 herself," Mrs. Langham said quickly. She was 
 breathing faster; the violet frills rose and 
 fell on her bosom. " She would make conditions. 
 
 374
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 . . . And I have known her before to use this 
 pretext to dismiss a man whom she had encour- 
 aged. If she uses it now, it is because she has 
 found that she doesn't care for you." 
 
 " No. No, it isn't that ! " he cried. " She does 
 care for me I am certain of that." 
 
 * Then, if she does ... I thought it was 
 all settled." 
 
 " No. Do you think I should have gone away 
 if it had all been settled? I went because this 
 uncertainty was tormenting her was more than I 
 could stand. . . . See this is the letter she 
 wrote me " 
 
 He carried it always with him the one letter 
 he had had from her. He took it out and unfolded 
 it, hesitating, and then with an appealing look gave 
 it to Mrs. Langham. Then to relieve his uncon- 
 trollable nervousness he rose and walked the bal- 
 cony from end to end, while she read. 
 
 Her hand holding the letter dropped in her lap, 
 and she stared out over the railing, her face set 
 and cold. He came back to take the letter from 
 her, and refolded it with jealous care. Still she 
 did not speak. But after some moments she rose 
 
 375
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 abruptly and said, pressing her hand over her eyes : 
 " This glare is hurting my head. Do you mind 
 putting the chair inside? " 
 
 He obeyed; but she did not sit down imme- 
 diately. Instead she walked about in the dimmer 
 atmosphere of the room, and he heard her sigh 
 heavily. He felt pity for her, the more as she 
 showed feeling for the first time to him. He 
 waited, standing by the door open on the balcony, 
 till she turned to him. 
 
 " Clara is wrong she is mistaken," she said in 
 a voice half-stifled. ' There is no reason why she 
 should not marry. She knows it is so she talks 
 of marriage this is only a mood " 
 
 " It is more than a mood at least, it is one that 
 she cannot get away from," he replied sombrely. 
 " It is perpetually coming back it seems to un- 
 derlie all her moods to be constantly in her 
 mind " 
 
 " She is wrong," Mrs. Langham repeated 
 quickly. ' There is no reason why she should not 
 marry. There is no good reason no chance 
 
 she Do you mean," she asked, turning on 
 
 him, " that you fear to marry her? " 
 
 376
 
 ' 'She walked about in the dimmer atmosphere cf the room, and 
 he heard her sigh heavilv. ' '
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 " I would marry her to-morrow even if I knew 
 that what she fears is true, that the chances were 
 against her. Even if I knew she was doomed I 
 
 would fight it out with her " He stopped. Mrs. 
 
 Langham looked fixedly at him. He went on: 
 " But she her feeling you can see from her 
 letter " 
 
 ' Yes, but but you must persuade her. This 
 is a shadow she is morbid she cannot possibly 
 be affected. It was long after her birth that that 
 her father that he developed that disease. She 
 could not it could not affect her " 
 
 Carleton pitied the agitated woman. She leaned 
 against the piano, her hands turning over and 
 rearranging a pile of music, her face hidden from 
 him. 
 
 " Forgive me," he said gently. " Believe me, I 
 would not hurt you if I could help it. But I can't 
 help it. It means too much to Clara and to 
 me. It may make the difference it may change 
 our whole lives I may lose her " 
 
 He stopped, unable for a moment to go on. 
 
 " No, not if she cares for you " 
 
 " You can say so, after that letter? " 
 377
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 " But you cam back ! You saw her last 
 night " 
 
 " Yes, I saw her, and she wept. She is suffer- 
 ing she will always suffer if this must go on. 
 . She said what she says in the letter about 
 the burden of it her fear. And think ! Even if 
 she marries now she will never dare to have a child. 
 Do you see she says it must die with her " 
 
 " She may be better off without children," said 
 Mrs. Langham with intense bitterness. " My 
 child has not been much comfort to me." 
 
 He ignored the last part of her speech. " But 
 not with the feeling that they are unnaturally 
 denied to her ! " he cried. " Not with the feeling 
 that she dare not ! " 
 
 The silence lay hollow between them. Mrs. 
 Langham at last raised her arms and let them fall 
 heavily by her sides. 
 
 44 This has gone far enough," she said. ;t We 
 cannot help it by talking. Clara must do her best. 
 I have borne much more than she ever can. 
 . . . My head ... I must go and lie 
 down. . . ." 
 
 " Not just yet," implored Carleton. " I must 
 
 378
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 ask you I must know certain things. You see 
 what it means to me. You must forgive me. I 
 want you to read this, if you will." 
 
 She took Crittenden's letter from him and 
 walked to the door to read it. He followed her, 
 watching her face. It flushed and darkened with 
 anger as she read that blunt, half-jocular comment 
 on her story. Once she crumpled the letter and 
 glanced at Carleton in rage. 
 
 " Crittenden who is he?" she demanded 
 harshly. " What has he to do with this? " 
 
 " A famous specialist. I wrote to him some 
 time ago." 
 
 " Oh, you wrote ! . . . Why do you give 
 me this? He says here just what I have been say- 
 ing, exactly that she should marry, that there is 
 no chance " 
 
 "Have you read it all the last paragraph?" 
 
 She read that, and paused, and folded the letter 
 mechanically. 
 
 " He says there is no chanc* practically none," 
 she repeated darkly. 
 
 "Practically! That is just the point. There is 
 a chance one chance in a thousand, perhaps, but 
 
 379
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 enough to darken her whole life, as it has done. I 
 can't bear it! I must do what I can to save her. 
 Can't you help me? " 
 
 She moved, turning her back to the light again. 
 
 " Help you? How can I? What can I do? " 
 
 " It is true, then, what Crittenden takes as the 
 unlikely hypothesis that this insanity existed 
 that Clara's father did die insane? " 
 
 " Certainly he did." 
 
 She raised her head and looked at him haugh- 
 tily. 
 
 " You see what hangs on this on your being 
 sure," Carleton said slowly. " If you were mis- 
 taken, all this falls to the ground." 
 
 " I could not be mistaken." 
 
 She faced him, pale, breathing fast, looking, for 
 all her high anger, like some creature hunted and 
 turning to make a show of defence. 
 
 380
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 CARLETON looked at her with momen- 
 tary despair; with determination hard- 
 ening as he perceived the expected 
 difficulty. 
 
 " Won't you sit down and listen to me? " he 
 asked. " I can't keep you standing " 
 
 " I'm not well I must go to my room," she 
 repeated. " I can't I can't go on with this any 
 longer." 
 
 " But to-morrow you are going away this is 
 my last chance to see you. Surely, for Clara's 
 sake ! Surely you care for her happiness ! " 
 
 "Of course I care for it! I care as much as 
 anyone." 
 
 " No, that's impossible. You can't care as much 
 as I do, for I care more than all the world for her." 
 
 " Yes love ! I know what it is ! " She laughed 
 bitterly. " You would do anything for her sac- 
 rifice anything so you think. But what it really
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 amounts to is that she must give up everything to 
 you ! I don't believe overmuch in love." 
 
 " You have had your life," he said. " Let her 
 have hers." 
 
 " My life ! " She threw back her head and 
 laughed. "Yes, I have had it, truly! . . . 
 My life ended many years ago ended just as 
 much as if I had succeeded in killing myself then, 
 as I tried to do. Oh, yes, I tried ! And 
 
 now you're bringing it all back to me. Is this kind ? 
 And I have never injured you I have helped you 
 as much as I could with Clara ." 
 
 Carleton took her hands, drew her forward and 
 put her gently into a chair. Her hands were cold, 
 she shivered, and two red spots glowed on her 
 cheeks. She looked haggard, old, and wretched. 
 If she still stood on her defence it was in the fash- 
 ion of a creature knowing its own weakness and 
 expecting to be crushed. But she did resist. Carle- 
 ton pressed on. 
 
 " Only one thing will help me with Clara," he 
 said, still gently, his face, with all its kindness, 
 showing the grim lines of resolution. " The 
 truth!" 
 
 382
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 ' The truth I But do you mean to say do you 
 think I " 
 
 " I do think you have made a mistake, and have 
 stood to it all these years, but that you can set it 
 right. I think you were mistaken in your idea 
 of insanity everything points that way to 
 me " 
 
 " Everything? But what can you know about 
 it? I am the one person who knows . . . 
 and nothing can convince me that my husband was 
 not insane. . . . I see what you mean about 
 Clara do you think I haven't seen it before? 
 But, I repeat, it can't be of so much importance 
 to her it can't really affect her. . . . And 
 in any case it is true. ... To shoot down an 
 unarmed man, as he did, without a moment's warn- 
 ing then, like a coward, not to stand to his pun- 
 ishment, but to leave all to me! " 
 
 She poured out the words in a strained voice, 
 hardly above a whisper sitting bolt upright in 
 her chair, her hands clenched on the arms, her 
 eyes flashing at Carleton. Then she collapsed 
 fell back in the chair, and covered her face with 
 her hands. 
 
 383
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 " I know," he murmured. " You loved him 
 Malaspina." 
 
 He could see her body vibrate to the sound. She 
 moved her head slightly. 
 
 " It killed me," she said hollowly. " I have 
 been as good as dead since then. ... It was 
 the act of a madman you can't deny it! " 
 
 " No, I can't deny it. It was a mad act and 
 cowardly. But men have been driven mad by 
 jealousy, sometimes by groundless jealousy. There 
 are plenty of Othellos but Othello was not 
 insane," 
 
 "What has Othello to do with it? . . . 
 My life had been threatened before I lived in 
 daily fear of an outbreak. . . . Mai Mala- 
 spina was urging me to leave him. . . . He 
 had just gone out of my sitting-room all was 
 arranged for my leaving Mentone the next day 
 when " 
 
 " You were going to leave your husband, then? 
 And he knew it, or suspected it? " 
 
 " He knew that I was afraid of him. He 
 watched me he may have guessed that I in- 
 tended " 
 
 384
 
 THe Eternal Spring 
 
 ' Then it is clear enough without any need of 
 insanity for an explanation! He was jealous 
 you were arranging with Malaspina to leave 
 him " 
 
 " Not ' with.' He Malaspina helped me 
 because he saw I was in danger " 
 
 ; ' Very well; but it comes to the same thing 
 or would, in the mind of a jealous man. But this 
 ' danger ' wasn't that, too, connected with Mala- 
 spina ? Your husband disliked Malaspina wanted 
 you to dismiss him you refused he threatened 
 you 
 
 She looked at Carleton in dull astonishment. 
 
 " Yes, that's true. He threatened me and 
 once he struck me. It was then I made up my 
 mind to go." 
 
 " And this quarrel this threat were on 
 account of Malaspina?" 
 
 "You ask . . .? Yes, they were. But he 
 was unjust to me all his violence there was no 
 reason " 
 
 " No reason, perhaps but some excuse for his 
 jealousy. You admit there was some excuse. You 
 didn't care for him. You did love Malaspina." 
 
 385
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 She stared straight before her, and her breast 
 rose and fell noiselessly again and again. 
 
 " Why am I talking to you like this? . . . 
 
 I did love him. . . . Yes, I loved him. 
 
 I loved him. ... And he was 
 
 killed all in a moment . . . shot down 
 
 . no chance to defend himself, to 
 
 speak . . ." 
 
 She sobbed tearlessly. 
 
 " Was that a thing for a sane man to do? And 
 you ask me to believe that he was sane? You say 
 that I had given him an excuse a reason for what 
 he did? . . . You are all cruel, you men, and 
 blind! . . . You talk to me, and pretend to 
 sympathise with me, and make me talk to you 
 and then you turn round on me and say that I am 
 responsible ! I am not he was raving crazy I 
 will swear to it " 
 
 She sprang to her feet, and Carleton rose, too. 
 
 " I can prove that he was not," he said. 
 
 ' You can prove -? " 
 
 " I have some evidence, and I can get more. I 
 know that he had no hereditary taint; and you 
 know that, too." 
 
 386
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 " How do you know? You " 
 
 " I have been making enquiries, of course, and 
 I shall make a great many more before I admit 
 your statement. I know that up to the time of 
 your leaving Baltimore and coming abroad to live 
 no one had ever suspected Mr. Langham of mental 
 unsoundness. That's true, isn't it? " 
 
 "Well if it is ?" 
 
 " I have expert opinion that homicidal mania 
 does not develop without some hereditary taint, or 
 illness, with well-defined symptoms, without some 
 delusion. There was no hereditary taint in his 
 case; there were no symptoms, except a possibly 
 exaggerated jealousy; there was no delusion for 
 it wasn't a delusion that you loved another man, 
 and that you were ready to leave your husband. 
 You've said it." 
 
 Her face was set in bitter lines. 
 
 " You turn my confidence against me. I might 
 have known it." 
 
 " No. I am only trying to show you a way out 
 of all this trouble." 
 
 " A way out? What way? " 
 
 " Simply that you admit your error. You see 
 387
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 you must see that you can't maintain it any 
 longer. ... I can understand well enough 
 how you came to make it. You were distracted, 
 you were crushed, your life had been ruined, you 
 were in despair ; you felt that this blow was unjust, 
 that it was out of all proportion to what had caused 
 it " 
 
 " Yes it was, it was," she whispered. 
 
 " And you seized on the explanation that saved 
 you from the load of blame and no doubt it 
 seemed to you the true one." 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " For a long time it was not questioned openly 
 and you became accustomed to it, so that to have 
 it questioned was like striking at you." 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " And when it comes to the point that you see 
 its terrible effect on other people on the person 
 who is nearest to you in the world you instinct- 
 ively cling to it, because you created it, and it seems 
 almost like a part of you. And yet it's a delusion 
 it's false you have deluded yourself and helped 
 to delude others. It has no real life. You must 
 help to take away the life you've given it. You 
 
 388
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 must take your share of responsibility for what is 
 past and gone." 
 
 She was silent. She put one hand on the piano- 
 case for support. He could guess nothing from 
 her face. 
 
 " See, it won't be hard," he said still more gently. 
 " It would be infinitely harder for you to keep up 
 the other thing. For you would have to prove 
 your side against me. And I should fight ! " 
 
 "Prove? Fight? How?" 
 
 " I would never leave you in peace. I'd follow 
 you to the ends of the earth. You'd have to say it 
 sooner or later." 
 
 ' To say what? What would satisfy you? " 
 
 " To say what you did. What it was, in those 
 last days at Mentone, that drove your husband to 
 do what he did. . . . There is something you 
 haven't told me." 
 
 His eyes, burning with the intensity of his will, 
 fixed hers, and his voice, still gentle in tone, had a 
 ring of hardness that came of his self-restraint. 
 
 " Tell me it shall be known only to Clara." 
 
 "Clara!" 
 
 " She must know, of course. It's the only thing 
 
 389
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 that will save her. You do it to save her from 
 suffering." 
 
 " I've made her suffer, you say! " 
 
 " Yes, but you can end it." 
 
 " No I can't end it. She will have all this to 
 think of as I've had. She perhaps she won't 
 care less for me, for she never cared for me, 
 but " 
 
 " I'll take her away. She will have a new life, 
 new interests. She'll forget at least, it will be 
 past " 
 
 " Yes, that's best. Take her away. ... I 
 don't know why you're waiting now. Haven't you 
 tormented me enough? " 
 
 " I want you only to tell me what you haven't 
 yet told me." 
 
 " I will tell you and then you'll leave me in 
 peace? " 
 
 " I hope so." 
 
 " Then I'll tell you though it's not such a tre- 
 mendous thing. . . . Langham knew that I 
 was going to leave him we had a fearful quarrel 
 about it he could not bear that I should separate 
 
 from him " 
 
 390
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 "For Malaspina?" 
 
 "Yes ... yes ... And I could 
 not get a divorce ... he could not marry a 
 divorced woman . . . Giulio . . . but 
 I was going. . . . Now, go leave me alone." 
 
 She began to sob, and put her handkerchief to 
 her face. 
 
 " That's enough . . . I'll tell Clara. And 
 you will you tell her that I am to " 
 
 "Ah, she'll believe! ..." 
 
 " But you'll speak to her you'll say some- 
 thing " 
 
 " I'll write it to her. And then I want not to 
 see her for for a time a year, two years I 
 don't know when I can see her! Elizabeth will 
 
 take her and you, she marries you But be 
 
 sure " She made a step forward and seized 
 Carleton's arm in a fierce grasp. " Be sure that 
 she loves you ! It won't do for you only to love her ! 
 Be sure that she loves you ! I shall write 
 that to her. . . . 'Be sure that you love him, 
 or you may go to wreck and ruin ! ' . . ." 
 
 She caught her breath, released him, pushed him 
 away. 
 
 39 1
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 " There, go ! . . . And you can write to 
 me. Tell me if you are happy. ... If not, 
 don't write. . . . Good-bye ! " 
 
 She turned from him with a whirl and flare of 
 her purple draperies ; and putting her hands to her 
 head, clasping the waves of black hair, burying her 
 fingers in them, she rushed from the room.
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 TO the tumult of the next day quiet suc- 
 ceeded a quiet that seemed strange and 
 at first was hardly realised. Mrs. Lang- 
 ham had departed; the Contessa and Francesca 
 were installed in Clara's house. Clara had given her 
 consent to go to England, and Carleton had sent a 
 wire to Elizabeth, with some wonder at the fate 
 that was to give Clara to him from Elizabeth's 
 hands. He began to breathe again. But one and 
 all of this small group of people that had been 
 shaken by the storm now past moved as yet in a 
 hushed fashion, and drew their breath in pain. 
 The harshness of the world, its chances, its judg- 
 ments, had touched them too nearly for any present 
 rejoicing. 
 
 The one whom it touched most nearly was 
 watched by the other three with solicitude in pro- 
 portion to their feeling for her. Her quiet, her 
 grave face, and wish for solitude, were natural 
 
 393
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 enough, and they let her alone. She went about 
 among them, talked a little about the trivial mat- 
 ters of the day, and said nothing about what was 
 in the minds of all. The short letter left for her 
 by her mother, and Carleton's careful explanation, 
 she had taken almost in silence. Gravely and 
 unemotionally she had agreed with him that it was 
 best to go to England and to be married early in 
 September, less than a month away. They had 
 discussed various plans for " afterwards." Carle- 
 ton suggested America for a year to begin with, 
 and she agreed to that also. He offered to go in 
 for any kind of life that she thought would interest 
 her. If she wanted more money, he thought he 
 could get it for her.' She smiled, and said she 
 could tell better after a year's trial as they were. 
 Her piano remained closed. She was com- 
 pletely inexpressive and quite idle. She wanted to 
 be always out of doors, and would walk by the 
 hour, with Carleton or Francesca, almost in silence. 
 If she was asked what she was thinking about, she 
 smiled and said she wasn't thinking at all. Carle- 
 ton, watching her, thought she was like some deli- 
 cate plant that had been crushed down by a chance 
 
 394
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 footstep, and was slowly raising its bruised leaves 
 again. She seemed to him like the sensitive grass 
 he had seen in the East which shrank away from 
 him as he approached, before he had come near 
 enough to touch it. 
 
 She did shrink from him in the first few days 
 after Mrs. Langham's departure. He saw that 
 she feared any show of emotion. She wanted to be 
 perfectly quiet. And when he met her wish she 
 rewarded him by drawing near him again, not in 
 speech, or caress, or look, but in spirit subtly; so 
 that he felt her confidence in him once more com- 
 plete, and could wait patiently for the rest. 
 
 Day by day she gave him more. Slowly she 
 emerged from her retreat, cautiously raised her 
 head. She was to go to England with Lucie in ten 
 days' time. Carleton had wanted to travel with 
 her, but she said that in view of Elizabeth's kind- 
 ness they must do in every way as she had sug- 
 gested, and Carleton reluctantly acquiesced. 
 
 " She is very good," Clara had then said dream- 
 ily. " What should I do if she had not offered to 
 take me in? You would have had to marry me 
 out of the street almost! " 
 
 395
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 " My dearest child! " he cried. 
 
 " She is very good to me," she went on, unheed- 
 ing him, " and all the more when you think what 
 I did. I took you away from her. Yes 
 don't try to deny it. ... I did. 
 And I'm not sorry, either! I'm sorry for her 
 for she did care for you, Barry. But I'm glad I 
 robbed her!" 
 
 To this glimpse of Clara's enchanting self he 
 responded in joy, that instantly she made him 
 restrain. 
 
 ' You're good to me, too," she said softly, her 
 eyes making their pure appeal of trust in him. 
 She took his hand in both hers and put it against 
 her cheek, a grave yet childlike caress. 
 
 That she did trust him perfectly each new 
 expression of her feeling showed. He saw with a 
 strange mingling of acute pain and pleasure that 
 she turned to him alone now out of all the world. 
 She clung to him. So should it be, so and no other- 
 wise would he have it, and yet the feeling of her 
 loneliness hurt him. That she felt it, and made 
 her mute appeal to him out of it, and leaned to 
 him with submissive softness, like a friendless child, 
 
 396
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 moved him so much that perhaps it was more pain 
 than anything else. Yet when she showed her 
 physical nearness to him, when her hand rested in 
 his, as she chose it to do more and more constantly 
 when they were alone together; when she leaned 
 against his shoulder or clung to his arm, joy made 
 all else forgotten. Her caresses were shy; and it 
 seemed to him that he could not be too gentle with 
 her. The breath of a kiss on her temple, her 
 cheek, her hair, he ventured now and then. She 
 set the note and set it to this pitch. 
 
 The days slipped by, and she began to show a 
 soft regret at leaving this nook among the hills, 
 and perhaps at interrupting their quiet companion- 
 ship, the reticence of which had its own peculiar 
 charm. It was the still pause of the full stream 
 before the leap. She faced the leap calmly, yet 
 showed some desire to linger on these last hours. 
 
 Signs of change were over all the country about 
 them. The autumnal ripening was advanced, the 
 gathering of the hill harvests begun. Autumnal 
 gold everywhere lightened the deep green of sum- 
 mer. The chestnuts caught a golden glimmer on 
 the spines of their full burrs, the grape-vines ran 
 
 397
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 everywhere in lines of gold. Fields shorn of their 
 crops showed yellow stubble, and the mounds of 
 shining hay grew higher and higher. The voices 
 of the streams had sunk to a minor note, the rivers 
 ran in diminished volume through their pebble- 
 beds. The whirr of the locusts sounded a perpet- 
 ual drowsy undertone; small, vivid green snakes 
 swarmed in the grass and on the roads; crowds of 
 white butterflies danced in the sun. The sky took 
 on a deeper, more purple tinge, the nights grew 
 colder, and a warning chill breathed from the 
 woodland depths. 
 
 One afternoon, almost the last they were to have 
 here together, they had come back from a long walk 
 through the forest, and paused at a spot above the 
 hotel to watch the setting of the evening star. The 
 place was a small, grassy terrace, walled with 
 stone, and called Due Fontane from two springs 
 that gushed out through the wall into a stone basin. 
 From it they looked down into the valley, where 
 the stream caught a line of light from the clear 
 sky, and over innumerable hill-slopes, some col- 
 oured by the sunset, some deep in shadow, all 
 
 398
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 painted mysteriously by the gathering veils of 
 twilight folds of blue vapour rising and drifting 
 across them. The smell of wood-smoke was in the 
 air, sweet with all the sweetness of the earth that 
 has peacefully yielded its harvest and is left to 
 repose. 
 
 The large star hung in the west, above the shoul- 
 der of the dark, wooded hill, its light almost lost 
 for a time in the radiance of the sky, but every 
 moment shining out more clearly. 
 
 Clara sat on the wall, Carleton stood beside her, 
 his arm half encircling her, and she leaned lightly 
 against his shoulder. Their day had been a happy 
 one. She had been content, almost gay, again. 
 She had sung, for the first time in weeks ; and now 
 she was humming over the melody that she had 
 set to the Dirge in " Cymbeline " : 
 
 " Fear no more the heat o' the sun, 
 Nor the furious winter's rages ! " 
 
 It had a quiet, lulling sweetness that suited her 
 mood and the mood of the evening. Her eyes 
 reflected the clear and peaceful light of the west 
 as she looked dreamily over the valley; she had 
 the listening look that showed her deep pleasure in 
 
 399
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 all this beauty of line, and colour, and murmuring 
 sound. In her hand was a bunch of scarlet flowers, 
 pulled from a deserted garden they had passed, 
 and she had put one flower in the black knot of 
 her hair, just behind her ear. Carleton gazed and 
 gazed at her, moving slightly a little away from 
 her, to see her the better. 
 
 " What are you looking at? " she asked. 
 
 " I don't know," he answered. " At a mystery 
 -you." 
 
 "Am I a mystery? Why?" 
 
 " I can't tell you why. Can you tell me why 
 you're so beautiful? " 
 
 " I'm not beautiful. I have only an effect of 
 beauty now and then. But I hypnotise people Into 
 thinking I am, because I want so much to be 
 thought so. I am frightfully vain ! " 
 
 " You have bewitched me, then. I thought so, 
 when I first felt your spell." 
 
 " Tell me what you thought of me, just at first ! 
 Do you know what I thought of you? " 
 
 " No tell me. I can bear it now." 
 
 " I should think you might. I thought you 
 amazingly good-looking ! " 
 
 400
 
 ' 'Do you think we're too happy f" , she asked after a moment in 
 a hushed voice. ' '
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 "Good heavens! Why?" 
 
 "Why? Because you looked so strong and 
 quiet " 
 
 " Oh, it was moral beauty, then, that you saw 
 in me? You must have been thinking Whitman: 
 * I could turn and live with animals, they are so 
 placid and self-contained not one is respectable 
 or unhappy over the whole earth ! ' 
 
 Clara struck his cheek with her bunch of flow- 
 ers, and his arm went round her again and drew 
 her close. 
 
 ' You must always like me as much as you do 
 now," she said. 
 
 " Never fear I shall like you too much." 
 
 " But it must be for always! Love me little, 
 love me long ! " 
 
 " For always." 
 
 " Why do I believe everything you say? I 
 never felt so to anyone before but it seems to me 
 you are true as steel and clear as the sunlight! 
 Your eyes are so honest dear blue eyes! You 
 never deceived anyone or hurt anyone, did you? 
 . . . I love you ! " 
 
 She threw her arms round his neck and put her 
 401
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 face against his cheek. Barry held her close. She 
 felt his breast tremble; a tear rolled down his 
 cheek and touched hers. 
 
 She started, and moved a little away from him. 
 
 " Do you think we're too happy?" she asked 
 after a moment in a hushed voice. " Perhaps 
 something will happen to us we shall have to pay 
 for it. I'm a pagan, you know, and I fear the 
 gods. I think they're jealous gods. Shall we 
 sacrifice something to them?" 
 
 " Don't, Clara, dearest ! This happiness is ours 
 it can't be taken from us ! " 
 
 " Ah, yes, it can ! How easily they could take 
 it ! I'm afraid of them, I tell you . . ." 
 
 She was silent, and he. 
 
 But the silence and his clasp of her were elo- 
 quent eloquent of the deep current that moved 
 these straws of speech. Clara felt it, swayed to 
 it and to him, to his kiss. . . . 
 
 Then she drew herself away, and with warm 
 eyes and lips put the space of words between them. 
 
 " How beautiful the world is ! " she murmured 
 vaguely, passionately. "How beautiful! And 
 how sad the tragedy of it, the tragedy of life ! 
 
 402
 
 The Eternal Spring 
 
 Her voice was tragic and shaken; but it trem- 
 bled not from the feeling of the tragedy of life. 
 The deep current ran and murmured in the hearts 
 of both. Its music was joy, hope, the song of youth 
 and love. 
 
 " Beautiful! " he said. " Life is anything you 
 may say of it . . . everything. . . 
 Look, Clara, see the star there! See how the 
 shoulder of the earth swings up to it! . . . 
 Can't you feel the earth turn as you look? " 
 
 Cheek to cheek they watched the dark, wooded 
 line of the hill rise nearer and nearer to the star. 
 
 "How small we are! What a pair of tiny 
 atoms!" murmured Clara. "And all this vast- 
 ness about us ! . . . And yet we live and are 
 happy, and nothing else seems to matter . . ." 
 
 The dark line touched the star. It sparkled for 
 a moment through the dotted row of trees; it was 
 gone. Their eyes dwelt on the spot where a 
 moment since it had seemed to be; glowing with 
 the light that has lit all happy lovers' eyes, looking 
 on the fair earth or heaven, since the world began. 
 
 403
 
 The Folly of 
 Others 
 
 With Pictures by Horace T. Carpenter 
 $1.00 postpaid 
 
 "Without exaggeration, there is enough human nature 
 within the small covers of The Folly of Others to supply a 
 dozen more pretentious efforts of the day with a vitalizing 
 effort." St. Paul Pioneer Press. 
 
 "Modern, alert, oftentimes piquant and spirited, straight- 
 forward, delicately touched with sentiment, these short 
 stories and sketches offer interesting glimpses of romance 
 and reality. There is the condensation, the elision of super- 
 fluous explanations, the confidence in the reader's intelli- 
 gence, which characterize the best short stories. Beyond 
 that there is variety of type and originality." The Reader. 
 
 "Neith Boyce, who is best known as author of The 
 Forerunner, has gathered together a number of her clever 
 short stories under the title of The Folly of Others. They 
 include eight little sketches and one fairly long novelette. 
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 by the little things of life." Collier's Weekly. 
 
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 The Forerunner 
 
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 Trollope was especially pleased with Hawthorne's compli- 
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 ground, cut off with all its houses, fields, woodlands, roads 
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 New York. 
 
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 "Neith Boyce is a new name on the literary roll call, 
 but if future efforts rise to the level of the present sample 
 of his, or her, work, any book bearing that name will be 
 eagerly welcomed. Daniel Devin, the central figure in this 
 vigorous yarn, is as absolutely real as it is possible to depict 
 a man with pen and ink. Devin's wife Anna is a startling 
 picture of a handsome, discontented woman, in love with 
 her husband's success, rather than with the man himself. 
 Throughout the book there are vividly contrasted pictures. 
 The story is brimming with life, movement and delicate 
 studies of temperament." The Philadelphia Item. 
 
 "The reader does not realize until the last page is reached 
 that there has been no plot, strictly speaking. The secret 
 lies in the clever handling of the character studies and the 
 easy, readable style, which attracts and holds the attention 
 from first to last. There is no superfluous delineation or 
 embarrassment of detail, yet each actor in this human, 
 realistic drama becomes incarnated in the flesh by the magic 
 of some mystic incantation at the author's disposal." 
 Buffalo Evening News. 
 
 "A novel of power is The Forerunner, by Neith Boyce. 
 The hero is a man we admire greatly; strong with the 
 strength that kills, loving action for itself, and money solely 
 for what it can buy. With the same energy he puts into 
 work, he loves a woman unable to understand his aims and 
 ambitions, selfish, yet not wholly to blame. Day by day 
 the catastrophe approaches; each attracts it onward in a 
 vain endeavor to ward it off; fate has brought two strong 
 natures together without giving them a chance to under- 
 stand one another, and they are powerless before the ap- 
 proaching doom." Chicago Tribune. 
 
 "Jox ~Duffiel6 $ Co.
 
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