na
 
 r
 
 THE FOWLER
 
 THE FOWLER 
 
 "Our Soul is escaped even as a Bird out of the 
 Snare of the Fowler" 
 
 BY 
 
 BEATRICE HARRADEN 
 
 Author of 
 
 " SHIPS THAT PASS IN THE NIGHT," " IN VARYING MOODS,' 
 "HILDA STRAFFORD," ETC. 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY 
 1899
 
 Copyright, 1899 
 BY BEATRICE HARRADEN 
 
 All rights restrvtd 
 
 SSntbersttg 
 
 JOHN WILSON AND SON, CAMBRIDGE, U.S.A.
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 PART I 
 
 CHAP. PAGE 
 
 I. A VISITOR TO THE CASTLE I 
 
 II. THE DEPUTY CUSTODIAN 6 
 
 III. AT THE KING'S HEAD 17 
 
 IV. THEODORE BEVAN ' . 27 
 
 V. ENTER NURSE ISABEL 33 
 
 VI. A MEETING ON THE MOORS 40 
 
 VII. <THE ETERNAL BATTLE' 49 
 
 VIII. NORA'S FATHER 57 
 
 IX. CONTAINS A LITTLE GEOGRAPHY 63 
 
 X. ATTRACTION AND REPULSION 72 
 
 XI. THE HISTORIAN AWAKES 79 
 
 XII. THE ANCESTORS GIVE TROUBLE 89 
 
 XIII. A GREAT RESPONSIBILITY 94 
 
 XIV. AN AFTERNOON AT THE EAGLE CLUB .... 99 
 XV. KINDRED SPIRITS 107 
 
 XVI. THEODORE BEVAN INTRUDES Il8 
 
 XVII. NURSE ISABEL DELIVERS A MESSAGE 125 
 
 XVIII. A PAGE FROM A JOURNAL 136 
 
 XIX. GREAT-UNCLE'S BIRTHDAY PARTY 138 
 
 PART II 
 
 I. THEODORE BEVAN AGAIN 149 
 
 II. THE HISTORIAN AGAIN 157 
 
 III. OUT OF HARMONY 17! 
 
 222S39S
 
 vi Contents 
 
 CHAP. PAGK 
 
 IV. WORDS OF WARNING 176 
 
 V. NURSE ISABEL TAKES AN OUTING 185 
 
 VI. THE NET TIGHTENS 191 
 
 VII. ANOTHER PAGE FROM A JOURNAL 2OI 
 
 VIII. A CONFESSION OF LOVE 204 
 
 IX. A KICK AND A BETROTHAL 213 
 
 X. MRS MARY SHAW AS COMFORTER 224 
 
 PART III 
 
 I. THE MICROMETER 237 
 
 II. THE FIRST STEP 247 
 
 III. MADGE CARSON IN DISTRESS 252 
 
 IV. THE HISTORIAN LOVES AND WORKS 265 
 
 V. A HEART'S OUTPOURING 277 
 
 VI. COWARDICE . . 287 
 
 VII. THE REINSTATEMENT OF NURSE ISABEL .... 290 
 
 VIII. THE NET IS BROKEN 300 
 
 PART IV 
 
 I. THE SELLING OF THE PUNCHBOWL 313 
 
 II. A LETTER FROM HOME 320 
 
 III. RENEWAL 325 
 
 IV. GOOD NEWS 330 
 
 V. WEDDING GUESTS 340 
 
 VI. NATURE'S PROMISE 344
 
 THE FOWLER 
 Part I 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 A VISITOR TO THE CASTLE 
 
 IT was about eleven o'clock on a summer morning when 
 a little man of rather eccentric appearance crossed the 
 moat of Graystoke Castle, and finding a bell hanging 
 outside the quaint old gate-house, pulled it violently. 
 No one answered. He rang once more, and still could 
 not gain admittance. 
 
 " It is a relief to find that no one is living at high 
 pressure here," he said. " I will smoke a cigarette, and 
 wait patiently." 
 
 He lit a cigarette and leaned against the fence. He 
 was unusually short and slight of stature; thin-drawn 
 lips, clean-shaven face, and double eye-glasses attached 
 to broad black ribbon were his other characteristics. 
 He might equally well have been taken for a young 
 boy or a little old man, until you looked into his face 
 and knew that he could never have been young that, 
 he was probably born at the age of thirty-six, and had 
 remained there ever since. 
 
 He threw away the end of his cigarette, and pulled 
 the bell again, this time with undue violence. Then a 
 bolt was drawn, and the old gate swung slowly back, and 
 a woman stepped forward. She seemed vexed at being 
 disturbed.
 
 The Fowler 
 
 " What a noise you made with the bell ! " she said. 
 " You nearly frightened me out of my wits." 
 
 "I wished to frighten you into them," he said, quietly. 
 " I have been waiting here more than twenty minutes. 
 However, I do not make a complaint, but merely a 
 statement. If you have no objection, I should like to 
 see the Castle. I came for that purpose, and it would 
 be satisfactory to carry out my intentions." 
 
 The woman looked at him and took an instinctive 
 dislike to him, and, wishing to be well rid of him, deter- 
 mined to ask her lodger to show him over the Castle. 
 She left him standing in the courtyard whilst she tapped 
 at Nora Penhurst's door. 
 
 " Miss Penhurst," she said plaintively, " there be some 
 one wanting to see the Castle, and I 'm in the midst of 
 churning." 
 
 "Then of course you must not be disturbed," said 
 Nora Penhurst, smiling ; and she threw aside the book 
 which she was reading, and glanced at the tiny mirror. 
 
 And then she stepped out into the courtyard, brandish- 
 ing in her hand the key of the Castle. She had a gallant 
 appearance and a noble bearing : health and happiness 
 and strength had claimed her for their own. 
 
 The stranger glanced at her with some curiosity. 
 
 " You are the custodian ? " he asked, a little doubt- 
 fully. 
 
 " I am only the deputy custodian," she answered, 
 " but we all have to make a beginning ; " and without 
 further comment, she led him across the spacious court- 
 yard and unlocked the great door of the dining-hall. 
 She seemed to know her subject well, and had made 
 herself familiar with the history as well as the archae- 
 ology of the Castle, which had been the home of one of 
 those lords of the Marches in Edward the First's reign. 
 
 2
 
 A Visitor to the Castle 
 
 It was an almost unique specimen of a mansion of the 
 thirteenth century, built originally for domestic life, and 
 fortified afterwards ; so that it could tell a tale of 
 peaceful daily life and of troubled times of foray and 
 bloodshed. 
 
 The stranger listened to all she had to say, and 
 appeared to be greatly interested ; but now and again 
 he smiled cynically, as though he doubted the deputy 
 custodian's statements; and he asked so many pressing 
 questions that it was evident he wished to probe her 
 knowledge to its utmost quick. Nora Penhurst bore 
 with him for some time, granting him that kind of 
 sublime indulgence which a lion would show to a 
 mouse. For every question she had her answer, and 
 when he tried to trip her up, and make her contradict 
 herself, she utterly refused to fall into the pit. At last 
 he became intolerable over some detail about the tracery 
 of the windows of the withdrawing-room, and Nora 
 lost her patience. 
 
 " Little wretch," she thought, as she looked down at 
 him from her heights, " you are not going to snub the 
 deputy custodian, I can tell you ! " Then she said 
 aloud : 
 
 " Of course I merely quote from the guide-book. And 
 the guide-book merely quotes from Britton's l Architec- 
 tural Antiquities.' Other authorities are mentioned in 
 the pamphlet published by the vicar of this parish. I 
 believe he has given about twenty-five years of study 
 to the subject. But no doubt you can come and put 
 us all right." 
 
 The stranger bit his lip, and then answered frankly : 
 
 " Most people think they can do that, especially if 
 they have not studied the subject. Only I did not 
 really mean to doubt your statements. It is the old 
 
 3
 
 The Fowler 
 
 story of my abominable manner : a trouble which pur- 
 sues me everywhere." 
 
 " How very sad for you ! " said the deputy custodian, 
 with a gravity mingled with sarcasm which did not 
 escape the notice of the visitor to the Castle. " But 
 come now," she added, genially, "you must see the 
 frescoes on the walls of the dining-hall. They are 
 very interesting. You will find an account of them 
 on page 8 of the guide-book, or else you can ask the 
 custodian to enlighten you. She is rather busy with 
 churning to-day, but no doubt, if you persuade her, she 
 will give you the benefit of her eloquence." 
 
 " I prefer to trust to page 8 of the guide-book," said 
 the stranger, " or to your own generosity." 
 
 Nora Penhurst relented, and without any reluctance 
 she pointed out the faint traces of the frescoes and 
 related the history of them ; and then she took the 
 stranger up into the musicians' gallery, where, in the 
 old days, pleasing harmonies were made for the ban- 
 queters below; and after that, she led him through a 
 narrow passage and up a steep flight of steps until 
 she reached the priests' rooms, where she showed him 
 the views from the windows. 
 
 " To my mind," she said, enthusiastically, " that is 
 the most beautiful part of all. I remember when I 
 went to Warwick Castle, my greatest pleasure was in 
 looking out of the windows on to the Avon, and in 
 seeing those splendid old cedars. And so here, although 
 I admire every stone of this dear old place, I like best 
 to look at Nature framed in these picturesque windows. 
 I have spent many happy hours in these rooms." 
 
 "Nature has never interested me greatly," he re- 
 marked. " Human nature, yes : there indeed you have 
 a rare field for observation and conjecture, and " 
 
 4
 
 A Visitor to the Castle 
 
 He stopped suddenly, for there she was standing in 
 the sunshine, a charming, fair presence, and, for the 
 life of him, he did not know how to catalogue her. He 
 prided himself on his quick and subtle use of the mental 
 microscope, but this time, the specimen for analysis could 
 not be finished off in a mere moment. Who was she ? 
 and what was she doing in the gate-house of the old 
 Castle ? 
 
 " But I have kept you a long time," he added, taking 
 off his eye-glasses and readjusting them deliberately ; 
 41 and I have already taxed your forbearance. So now I 
 wish you good morning. Will you receive the money 
 for my admission ? Thanks, I do not require any 
 change. It can be divided between the custodian 
 and the deputy custodian." 
 
 Nora stared at him, and said scornfully : 
 
 " For whom do you take me ? " 
 
 " I understood you were the deputy custodian," he 
 remarked, quietly. " I am sorry if I have made a 
 mistake." 
 
 Then he opened the gate and crossed the drawbridge, 
 whilst Nora stood lost in amazement. 
 
 " What a little wretch ! How dared he ! " 
 
 But she was one of those happy people who have a 
 true sense of humour, and before another minute was 
 over, she was laughing heartily over the incident.
 
 The Fowler 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 THE DEPUTY CUSTODIAN 
 
 NORA PENHURST was one of those who seem to stroll 
 through life carrying everything before them, but carry- 
 ing it gallantly and unaggressively. At school she had 
 always borne off the prizes, whether for sewing or 
 learning; she was not specially diligent, but she was 
 specially gifted. She never cared for her success, nor 
 did she appear to be conscious of it ; and she was very 
 much loved. The little ones came to her for help, and 
 felt that her laurels had not put a barrier between herself 
 and them. And that is very rare. She had a wonderful 
 way of stating things simply, and a truly regal way of 
 sweeping away difficulties. When she passed on to a 
 High School, history repeated itself there. All honours 
 fell to her, and she wore them with that easy grace 
 granted only to the few. And again no one grudged 
 her these laurels, so quietly won and so modestly borne. 
 They called her " the girl with stripes and stars," and 
 were as proud of her as generous-hearted English girls 
 know how to be. Even when she gained the Beresford 
 Scholarship for Grantham College there was no ill-will 
 felt. Amy Birch, who was just as clever as Nora, but 
 had not the nerve and health which are, after all, the best 
 qualifications for success in examinations even she did 
 not grudge Nora her success. 
 
 u Dear old Nora ! " she said, through her tears of dis- 
 appointment, " if any one else but you had got it, I 
 should have hated her. But with you it is different. 
 
 6
 
 The Deputy Custodian 
 
 Failure is not meant for you, and no one wants it 
 for you." 
 
 " I am so sorry," Nora said, half crying. " It does 
 seem a horrid shame. And you know you are much 
 cleverer than I am; but I am so strong, and examina- 
 tions do not appal me. You have been working too 
 hard and fretting too much, and you are overwrought, 
 whereas I have never felt better in my life." 
 
 " You look your dear, splendid self," said Amy Birch, 
 drying her tears ; " and I think the only thing to be done 
 now is to get leave to go out by ourselves and have 
 an ice ! " 
 
 And history repeated itself at Grantham. Nora was 
 there for three years, and at the end of that time was 
 bracketed equal with the first on the list in the Classical 
 Tripos. All her comrades rejoiced in her success, al- 
 though she had worked far more leisurely than they 
 themselves. She had given plenty of time to bicycling 
 and golf and dressmaking. She was very particular about 
 her appearance, and could not bear to wear anything 
 dowdy. The afternoon before her Tripos, her friends 
 found her finishing off a new dress. 
 
 " Yes, my dears," she said in her light-hearted way, 
 " I dare say you think me very frivolous ; but both father 
 and I agreed that I could not possibly tackle those Greek 
 papers in an old frock. I should have been thinking of 
 that frock the whole time. In this lovely gown my 
 mind will be free for the Greek ! " 
 
 She was very merry, and had an unusual sense of fun. 
 It was not academic, and some of the more sober- 
 tempered students thought it out of place ; but it was 
 very human, and scholars are at last learning to know that 
 scholarship and humanity have something in common. 
 That is a wonderful discovery that a man or a woman 
 
 7
 
 The Fowler 
 
 can be a scholar, and yet be a true human being. We 
 shall one day hear of a philosopher becoming a human 
 being ; and after that, anything is possible ! 
 
 Nora was human in another respect, too; she was 
 fond of men. 
 
 " Plato and Aristotle and ^Eschylus are all very well 
 in their way," she said ; " but I do like to see some of 
 my undergraduate friends." 
 
 So on visiting days she received these young men in 
 the general reception-room ; and, judging from the fun 
 and light -heartedness, the conversation was not always 
 strictly classical. 
 
 " Now I am ready for any amount of work," she 
 would say after a spell of fun. " I feel braced up for 
 those old gentlemen of the past." 
 
 Then she would shut herself up in her study, and 
 accomplish in a few hours what others mastered with 
 difficulty in several days. 
 
 At last her college days were ended. She had gone to 
 Grantham with honours, and with honours she left, and 
 at once obtained work as a classical teacher in two or 
 three of the High Schools of London, and lived at home 
 with her father in St George's Square, Primrose Hill. 
 She was extremely happy in her home-life, and had a beau- 
 tiful friendship with her old father, who had been every- 
 thing to her all her life father, mother, playfellow, 
 and faithful chum. She was successful as a teacher, 
 partly because there was nothing of dry bones about her 
 scholarship, and partly because she had a wonderful way, 
 quite her own, of imparting knowledge to her pupils. It 
 was just as though she took people up in her strong arms 
 and said, " Here, I '11 carry you any distance. It is no 
 trouble to me." Her pupils all knew that she was a 
 distinguished scholar, and they admired and respected 
 
 8
 
 The Deputy Custodian 
 
 her ; but, for all that, it was her humanity that won and 
 held them and she belonged to them all equally, to the 
 idle and the eager, the stupid and the clever. She dressed 
 well for them too, and would no sooner have thought of 
 
 ' D 
 
 putting on a dowdy frock for her Latin prose lesson, than 
 of wearing an unbecoming dress at a dance. Girls ap- 
 preciate this kind of attention, and Nora's pupils boasted 
 a good deal about the delightful appearance of their classi- 
 cal mistress. She was known to have a wholesome in- 
 fluence over all the girls with whom she came in contact, 
 and being thus happy and successful in her professional 
 work, things had gone very well with her. Failure in- 
 deed, had not come near her, and sometimes her father, 
 Roger Penhurst, used to shake his head and think that 
 she was a little too self-confident at times, and that per- 
 haps she needed to make the acquaintance of some kind 
 of adversity. Then he would dismiss such thoughts 
 from his mind, and be astonished at himself for desiring 
 any such experience for his beloved Nora. 
 
 " What an old fool I am to wish to anticipate the 
 inevitable!" he would say. "Life will bring its own 
 lessons in its own good time." 
 
 So the years had passed by, fraught with duties easily 
 performed and pleasures perhaps too easily won, and 
 to-day Nora was sitting in the garden of the old Castle, 
 leaning back in an easy-chair, and dividing her attention 
 between examination papers and afternoon tea. The 
 Castle collie, Carlo, lay at her feet; the black cat sat 
 blinking at her ; the hens and chickens came creeping 
 round cautiously, pecked at the crumbs, and retreated. 
 Nora was dressed in a plain black skirt and a soft shot- 
 silk blouse. She wore no hat, and the sunlight played 
 with her brown hair. She was fair of complexion. 
 There was nothing specially remarkable about her fea- 
 
 9
 
 The Fowler 
 
 tures, but a lovely expression of frankness lingered in 
 her eyes and around her mouth. It was that which was 
 the secret of her beauty that and her gallant bearing. 
 She looked like a ship in full sail, riding confidently over 
 the waves, strong in build and buoyant in possibilities. 
 
 But she was sleepy, and, having yawned several times 
 over those examination papers, she pushed them impa- 
 tiently from her, fell a-thinking, and dozed. Strangely 
 enough, she recalled what her old father had once said 
 to her about failure, and then, without any rhyme or 
 reason, she suddenly began to dream of the little stranger 
 who had visited the Castle yesterday. When she awoke, 
 she remembered her dream. 
 
 " I rather wish I could have seen him again," she said 
 to herself; " at least he is different from other people, 
 and behaves in an unexpected manner. I certainly 
 never thought he would make me a present of three- 
 pence, and yet it was so neatly done, too, as a bit of 
 revenge for my refusing to be annihilated by him. I 
 should like to see him again, if only to tell him that 
 people like himself cannot annihilate people like me." 
 
 Then she looked up, and there he stood before her, as 
 though in answer to her reverie. 
 
 " Well," she said, smiling somewhat sleepily. 
 
 " Well," he answered. 
 
 Without any further remark he sat down on the bench, 
 and glanced at the tea-table. There was nothing in- 
 trusive about his manner; he seemed for the moment 
 like a child who is sure of being kindly treated, and 
 simply comes in a natural way to claim such kindness. 
 This was the impression produced on Nora. She rose 
 leisurely, and carried the teapot into the kitchen of the 
 gate-house, and returned with a clean cup and a fresh 
 brew of tea. 
 
 10
 
 The Deputy Custodian 
 
 " Thank you," he said, and he at once helped himself, 
 and took no further notice of his hostess, who sank back 
 into her chair, mystified and amused. 
 
 " I wonder if he thinks this is a tea-garden," she said 
 to herself. " It would be interesting to know." 
 
 She turned once more to her examination papers, tied 
 the corrected ones into a bundle, and waited quietly for 
 further developments, glancing now and again at her 
 mysterious companion, who sat there, apparently quite 
 at ease, and oblivious of her presence. The situation 
 was too much for Nora's gravity. Her mouth twitched 
 several times, and finally she laughed aloud. 
 
 " You seem merry," he said, looking up. 
 
 " Thanks, I enjoy pretty good spirits," she answered, 
 brightly. 
 
 " In spite of an afternoon's hard work ? " he said, 
 glancing at her papers piled up before her. 
 
 " Probably because of it," she replied, genially ; " for 
 when you have corrected fifty-three essays on Ambition, 
 and have only forty-seven left, you may well feel in good 
 spirits." 
 
 She at once regretted this reference to her own work, 
 but he did not seem to have noticed her remark. 
 
 " Every day," he said, after a pause, as though he 
 were continuing some conversation which had gone 
 before, " life becomes more complicated, and the ques- 
 tions which we have thrust from us for so long now 
 force themselves upon us with irresistible violence. We 
 are startled out of our lethargy ; we begin to think for 
 ourselves, and act for ourselves. We are no longer 
 frightened by time-honoured traditions; we are no 
 longer held back by the limits placed by the absurd 
 previous generations. I sometimes wish I were a 
 woman, if only for the sake of experiencing the sensa- 
 
 ii
 
 The Fowler 
 
 tions of satisfaction which seem to possess her when 
 she sees the waves of possibilities rolling to her feet. It 
 must be thrilling ! " 
 
 Nora raised her head from her examination papers. 
 
 " It is thrilling," she said in her strong, rich 
 voice. 
 
 The little stranger relapsed into silence, and helped 
 himself to another slice of bread-and-butter, and threw 
 some crumbs to the fowls. It is possible that he was 
 expecting his companion to make some further remark, 
 but she gave no outward signs of wishing to enter into 
 conversation, though he knew from her bright glance 
 that she had plenty to say for herself if she chose to 
 begin, but that she probably would not say one word 
 unless she felt so inclined. The point was to make her 
 feel inclined ; and he turned many subjects over in his 
 mind, not subjects in which he himself was particularly 
 interested, but which he knew were of immense impor- 
 tance to many of the thinking public, especially to those 
 who considered themselves modern. He himself was 
 neither ancient nor modern nor mediaeval, but instinct 
 told him that Nora was modern, not of the type usually 
 seen in so-called up-to-date drawing-rooms, and some- 
 times written about in up-to-date novels, but funda- 
 mentally modern for all that, with new tendencies, new 
 ideals, and new necessities. He had felt yesterday that 
 he wished to know something about her; now he was 
 determined to know a great deal about her. He looked 
 at her, and knew that she was strong and self-reliant ; 
 and he had already felt the force of her quiet sarcasm on 
 the previous day, and he saw, from the amused expression 
 now lingering about her mouth, that she had some sense 
 of fun, and that she was probably commenting silently 
 and humorously on his coolness in thus intruding upon 
 
 12
 
 The Deputy Custodian 
 
 her solitude, with no attempt at excuse or apology. He 
 knew all this, and he enjoyed the situation immensely. 
 
 " This is indeed a rare resting spot," he said, pres- 
 ently, looking at the old Castle and the quaint gate- 
 house, and the sweep of the country in the distance, and 
 the river glistening in the sunshine. " That is one of 
 the things which we do not understand sufficiently well 
 in these days, to know how to rest and not to bore 
 ourselves." 
 
 u And yet it is the people who know how to rest who 
 do continuous good work," said Nora. 
 
 " Wonderful things have been said and done by rest- 
 less souls," he answered. 
 
 " And still more wonderful things have been said and 
 done by them when circumstances have conspired to- 
 gether to enforce rest upon them," Nora replied. 
 
 " Then you believe in the Gospel of Rest ? " he 
 asked. 
 
 " Absolutely," she answered, " and if I had the money 
 and wished to be philanthropic, I should start a House 
 of Rest for Tired Humanity. But I have not any 
 money, and I have n't any desire to be philanthropic." 
 
 u It would be an experience," he said. 
 
 " Experience is n't everything," she answered. 
 
 " It is everything," he replied. " And I think no 
 one should be frightened of experiences, no matter what 
 they are, no matter how unhappy or how happy. Re- 
 garded from that point of view, life may be regarded 
 as altogether satisfactory. There is no question then 
 about life being a burden ; we are caught up on wings, 
 and have to carry no burdens. You, like the rest of us, 
 must have often felt the burden of living." 
 
 " I cannot say that I have ever known much about 
 the burden of living," Nora said, " though I have heard 
 
 '3
 
 The Fowler 
 
 these mysterious words used frequently by my friends. 
 I have always put them in the same category as those 
 mystic phrases of the Theosophists. My dearest friend, 
 who, during the last epidemic of women's books, wrote 
 one of the most miserable and most successful, was al- 
 ways talking about the c burden of living.' I must say, 
 however, that since the success of her book, her spirits 
 have considerably improved : but I believe it is a known 
 fact that six editions have a wonderful effect on nervous 
 depression, altering one's whole way of looking at exist- 
 ence. I never thought much of the book until I saw 
 what good it had done her. We went away for a week 
 together last Easter, and she fairly surprised me by her 
 frivolity. I cannot imagine what will become of her if 
 she writes another book as dismal and successful as the 
 last. She is in Sweden at present, amongst a little group 
 of Ibsen friends ; and, thanks to your present of three- 
 pence yesterday, I was able to write her a letter which I 
 am going to take to the post-office in a few moments." 
 
 He smiled almost imperceptibly, and there came an- 
 other pause. Then he said : 
 
 " You are lucky not to be feeling weighed down like 
 most of us, and still luckier in being spared the neces- 
 sity of writing a depressing book to improve your animal 
 spirits. Things must certainly have gone very easily 
 for you." 
 
 " Yes, they have," said Nora, eagerly. " To begin 
 with, I have had the happiest home life that ever fell to 
 the share of mortal maid. I have the most splendid old 
 father, quite different from anybody else's father, I am 
 thankful to say, and I have inherited from him an appre- 
 ciation of life, and a genius for enjoying myself and 
 finding pleasure in everything, even in the mere fact 
 that I live and am strong, and can work and play to my
 
 The Deputy Custodian 
 
 heart's content, without any effort, without any restraint. 
 I have enjoyed myself with people, and with books, and 
 with myself. The city is mine, and the country is mine 
 too. The best musicians have played for me ; the best 
 actors have acted for me ; the best painters have painted 
 for me : in the country the birds have sung for me, the 
 heather has bloomed for me, and for my sake, the gorse 
 has taken unto itself a still more golden hue. I have 
 been up at daybreak enjoying the early freshness of the 
 morning, breathing in contentment and happiness ; I 
 have wandered in the woods and bathed myself in the 
 greenness of the trees, and I have stretched myself on 
 the ground and tried to make the birds and squirrels be- 
 lieve that I was really part and parcel of the woods ; I 
 have learned how to call the birds " She stopped. 
 " But I have no right to trouble you with a list of my 
 pleasures and accomplishments," she added. 
 
 The little stranger seemed lost in thought, and then he 
 said: 
 
 " Surely, surely you are an anachronism." 
 
 " I have always thought," continued Nora, more to 
 herself than to him, " that there was only one thing 
 which could break my spirit and wound me beyond all 
 healing : to live on and yet not to care for life to live 
 on and be listless, taking no interest in one's surroundings, 
 having no part in one's rich inheritance of appreciation 
 for all things beautiful in nature and art and human com- 
 panionship, and everything, in fact, that life has to offer. 
 I could bear any deprivation, any grief, except that grief; 
 for indifference means paralysis of the soul, and I should 
 dread that illness beyond any other." 
 
 " Then it follows, as a matter of course," her com- 
 panion said slowly, " that this is the illness which will 
 certainly come to you in the fulness of time. It comes 
 
 '5
 
 The Fowler 
 
 to most of us : some of us recover, and others of us 
 never recover. Which will you do, I wonder ? " 
 
 " It shall never come to me," she answered, almost 
 savagely, and she rose from her chair and looked down 
 at him with fierce determination. 
 
 " Ah, do not boast," he replied, smiling, as he too rose. 
 "And when it comes, treat it merely as an experience. 
 Then you will be caught up on wings."
 
 At the King's Head 
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 AT THE KING'S HEAD 
 
 IT was an open secret in Graystoke that the Punchbowl 
 was courting the King's Head. The Punchbowl did 
 not do things in a hurry, but that was the way in Gray- 
 stoke, and what a happy contrast with the undignified 
 haste of the rest of the world. The King's Head did 
 not give unqualified encouragement. There were sev- 
 eral objections to the Punchbowl : the position of the 
 inn was bleak and lonely, whereas the King's Head 
 nestled cosily in a sheltered quarter of the village. Still, 
 there was something to say for the Punchbowl, and there 
 was a great deal to say for Mr William Parrington. 
 And then, even in the bustle of a busy life, Mrs Mary 
 Shaw was lonely; though she still rejoiced in a great- 
 uncle, a great-great-aunt, a father, and a son. Her son 
 was a good little lad, but she had a firm conviction that 
 he would grow up to be a bad man, following the ex- 
 ample of his father, who had deserted his wife more than 
 twelve years ago. 
 
 " Ah, Wullie is a good lad," Mrs Mary Shaw would 
 say with a sigh, " and tc think that he '11 grow up to be 
 a bad man ! He has his father's own face, and the 
 same terrible pleasant way about him. There 's no 
 escaping being your father's own son." 
 
 These remarks were generally made in Wullie's pres- 
 ence, and he always laughed. Mrs Shaw laughed too, 
 for she was a cheery soul, and took things very much 
 as they came. Life had not been easy for the landlady 
 2 17
 
 The Fowler 
 
 of the King's Head, but she had made something merry 
 out of it for herself and others, stretching out her hands 
 to help every one and everything. She must have had 
 an excellent nervous system, for the grumblings of her 
 three generations of " ancestors " never gave her one 
 moment's irritation. " Great-great-aunts, great-uncles, 
 and fathers always grumble," she said. " It be some- 
 thing for them to do, bless 'em, and I don't see why 
 they should not enjoy themselves : folks must have an 
 occupation." The dogs in the village were rather exact- 
 ing ; indeed Ship, the blacksmith's collie, had almost taken 
 up his quarters at the King's Head, and lay full length be- 
 fore the entrance, angry if any one dared to disturb him. 
 Mrs Shaw did not allow him to be interfered with. 
 
 " That's his way," she said. " People can't be 
 broke of their habits." The carpenter's cock too was 
 very demanding. He strutted up and down, and crowed 
 loudly when any one came to the inn, so that Mrs 
 Shaw said he was as handy as a front-bell. But in 
 return for this service he expected to have refreshments 
 at least every hour; and if no one attended to him, he 
 sneaked into the kitchen and grabbed at what he could 
 find, very much like the rest of humanity. 
 
 " That's his way," Mrs Shaw said, with her usual 
 good-humour. 
 
 The children were always lying in wait for cakes and 
 " fat-rascals," and other local dainties ; and their per- 
 sistence would have tried the patience of most people. 
 But Mrs Shaw said : 
 
 "That's their way, bless 'em. It's natural enough." 
 
 She seemed, indeed, to have an almost sublime respect 
 and indulgence for every kind of human characteristic ; and 
 there was no bitterness even in her memory of her hus- 
 band, who had left her so cruelly a few months after her 
 
 18
 
 At the King's Head 
 
 marriage. In fact it was said by David the blacksmith 
 that if any one had dared to criticise Mary Shaw's hus- 
 band in her presence, she would have answered as usual : 
 
 " Ah well, that was just his way poor creature ! " 
 
 But for all her cheery manner of looking at life, and 
 in spite of the immense comfort of having three genera- 
 tions of ancestors, and one descendant who in a few years 
 would be sure to turn out badly, and in spite too of being 
 the hostess of the King's Head, where, during some part 
 of the year, a brisk business was done, and where even 
 the teetotallers came to drink an occasional glass of port : 
 in spite of all these advantages, Mrs Mary Shaw often 
 felt lonely, and sometimes retreated into the arm-chair 
 and threw her apron over her face, which was her mode 
 of expressing weariness of the flesh and spirit, combined 
 with a subtle realisation of the vanity of everything human 
 and the uselessness of going on day after day striving 
 and for what ? 
 
 It was on one of these occasions, when Mrs Mary 
 Shaw had been resting in the arm-chair, covering her face 
 with her apron, that Mr William Parrington strolled 
 quietly into the kitchen and took possession of the other 
 arm-chair. Mrs. Shaw thought she was alone, and con- 
 tinued her meditations beneath the apron. Mr Par- 
 rington at length coughed. The apron dropped, and 
 discovered Mrs Shaw's winning face, which bore suspic- 
 ious traces of tears. 
 
 " Well, I never ! " said Parrington. " Is business bad ? " 
 
 "Never was better," said the hostess of the King's 
 Head, somewhat proudly. 
 
 " Has Wullie turned out a rascal already ? " asked the 
 host of the Punchbowl. 
 
 "No, he's a good lad so far," said Mrs Shaw, smiling. 
 
 " Is the last brewing a failure ? " asked Parrington. 
 19
 
 The Fowler 
 
 " I never make no failures," said Mrs Shaw, scornfully. 
 
 " Then what's the matter with you ? " he persisted. 
 
 " I was just thinking of life," said Mrs Shaw, pen- 
 sively. " That 's all." 
 
 "That was what I was thinking of yesterday," said 
 Parrington. 
 
 Then there was silence between them for a few min- 
 utes, and the host of the Punchbowl drew his chair a 
 little nearer to Mrs Mary Shaw. 
 
 " As the years go on," he said, " people get rather 
 lonely, I 'm beginning to think. I m lonely enough 
 over there in the Punchbowl." 
 
 " I don't wonder. It 's not a situation as I cares any- 
 thing about," said the hostess of the King's Head, bright- 
 ening up again. " It catches them east winds something 
 dreadful." 
 
 " Is that all you have against the Punchbowl ? " asked 
 Parrington. 
 
 " That's all I can think of at this moment," answered 
 Mrs Shaw, pretending to shiver. 
 
 " Very much obliged," replied Parrington. Then he 
 added quaintly, " Have you got anything against me, 
 Mrs Mary Shaw?" 
 
 "No, Mr. Parrington," she answered, her face now 
 wreathed in smiles. 
 
 " There's no east wind set in against me ? " 
 
 " None," she answered, laughing. 
 
 " Well," he said. 
 
 " Well ? " she asked, though she knew perfectly what 
 was coming. 
 
 " Well," he continued, " if I was you, I should get mar- 
 ried again, and I should marry Parrington. You might do 
 better and you might do worse. Just you think it over. 
 When you feel tired, and settle down for a little quiet 
 
 20
 
 At the King's Head 
 
 thinking, you just turn the matter over in your mind. 
 Parrington will take care of you." 
 
 Mrs Mary Shaw looked up at Mr Parrington's kind face, 
 and there were two tears of gratitude in her eyes. She her- 
 self took care of every one, and it was a new language to 
 her to hear that some one was going to take care of her. 
 
 " But then there be all the ancestors, Parrington," 
 she said, reluctantly. 
 
 11 I'm not afraid of all the ancestors as ever you or me 
 had or was likely to have," said Parrington, decisively. 
 
 " And then there be Wullie," she said. " He 's as good 
 a lad as ever breathed bless him; but of course he'll 
 be a terrible trouble yet, and how would you like that ? " 
 
 " Wullie won't be no trouble to no one," said Par- 
 rington. " I'm not afraid of Wullie. There is only 
 one thing I am afraid of." 
 
 " And what is that ? " she asked. 
 
 " Losing you," he answered ; and without another 
 word he hastened away, leaving the hostess of the King's 
 Head gazing into the fire and smiling, for she had always 
 liked William Parrington, and though he had his one 
 great weakness of considering his own inn superior to 
 hers (which was obviously ridiculous), yet she knew that 
 he had compensating excellences, combined with a dis- 
 tinguished appearance and a handsome grey beard. He 
 had always been kind to her and good to Wullie ; and 
 David the blacksmith declared that he believed Parring- 
 ton had been waiting for Mary Shaw these many years, 
 until by lapse of time she should be free to marry again 
 
 She was very pensive after Parrington's proposal, and 
 looked with great anxiety at her ancestors, and still 
 greater anxiety at Wullie. 
 
 Then one day she took counsel of Wullie whilst he 
 was cutting wood for her. He was devotedly attached 
 
 21
 
 The Fowler 
 
 to her, and thought her the most wonderful person that 
 ever lived, and he understood all her fun, and shared all 
 her worry when the ancestors quarrelled and grumbled 
 beyond a reasonable limit. 
 
 " Wullie," she said, " would you have Parrington if 
 you was me ? " 
 
 " That I should," said Wullie, emphatically. 
 
 " You would n't be much of a trouble to him ? " asked 
 Mrs Shaw. 
 
 " Not till I be growed up," said Wullie, who was 
 steeped in the traditions of the family. 
 
 Then one day she gave a few hints to her great-uncle, 
 who sat on the front bench smoking a long clay pipe. 
 
 " Great-uncle," she said, " what would you think if I 
 married again ? " 
 
 Great-uncle was reading the Bible at the time, but he 
 put it down and said : 
 
 " I should think you was a damned fool, Mary. 
 That 's what I should think. And who 'd there be to 
 make my porridge, I 'd like to know ? " 
 
 Great-uncle seemed to think that settled the matter, 
 and returned to his long clay pipe and his Bible. 
 
 The same day she said to her great-great-aunt, little 
 Miss Renaldson, who looked exactly like a shrivelled-up 
 cucumber : 
 
 " Aunt Rebeccah Renaldson, what would you say if I 
 married again ? " 
 
 Aunt Rebeccah put down her knitting, and took off 
 her horn spectacles. 
 
 "I shouldn't say nothing, Mary Shaw," she 'an- 
 swered, with true ancestral gravity, " for I should never 
 speak to you no more. And where 'd you be then ? " 
 
 " Where I am now, I expect," answered Mrs Mary 
 Shaw. 
 
 22
 
 At the King's Head 
 
 "It can't be done," continued the great-great-aunt, 
 shaking her head. " And besides, who 'd there be to 
 wash and dress me, and put me to bed, I'd like to know ? 
 Folk can't always be thinking of themselves. We aren't 
 put in this world to think of ourselves. You just remem- 
 ber that, Mary Shaw." 
 
 " She don't let me forget it," thought Mrs Shaw. 
 " But there now, it 's her way ! " 
 
 After this the hostess of the King's Head took no 
 further counsel from her relations, but turned the matter 
 over in her own mind, now deciding in favour of Par- 
 rington's proposal, and now dismissing every idea of a 
 second marriage. Parrington could never bring her to 
 the point, and often when he thought he had really con- 
 quered all her misgivings, she would say mischievously : 
 
 " No, Parrington ; it be of no use. I can't abide them 
 east winds." 
 
 Then Parrington would leave her angrily and not come 
 to the King's Head for a few days, and during that time 
 she would go about singing like a lark and full of fun 
 and merriment, until the end of the fourth day, when 
 she would sit quietly in the arm-chair, her apron over 
 her head, and Wullie would whisper sympathetically, 
 "Mother, shall I tell Parrington to come ? " Then she 
 would laugh and give Wullie a hug, telling him not to 
 dare to tease her. " As if I cared for the horrid man," 
 she would say, recklessly : " fifty year old and bald too ! " 
 But to-day, when Wullie came back from school, he 
 found his mother sitting quietly in the arm-chair, with 
 her apron over her head a sure sign, as he knew, of 
 extreme mental distress ; and she would not be coaxed 
 into any fun, and she did not hug him as usual and tell 
 him that he was becoming a terrible bad boy. She 
 just sat there quietly, concealing her kindly features, 
 
 23
 
 The Fowler 
 
 and even allowing the bread in the oven to take its 
 chance. 
 
 Wullie stood looking puzzled, and realised that things 
 had indeed come to a crisis. 
 
 "I'll go and find Mr. Parrington," he said to himself; 
 "that'll bring mother round." 
 
 As he was departing on this errand he met Nora, 
 coming along towards the King's Head, in company with 
 their little lodger, to whom his mother had taken a great 
 dislike. 
 
 " Well, Wullie," Nora said, smiling at him kindly, 
 " and how is your mother ? " 
 
 " Oh, Miss Nora," he said, " she be awful down in the 
 dumps to-day, and there she be sitting with her apron 
 over her head." 
 
 Then Wullie glanced at her companion, whom he 
 also disliked, and he drew a little nearer to Nora's side. 
 Nora noticed the movement, and wondered whether the 
 stranger was conscious of the boy's shrinking, but he 
 appeared not to have even noticed his presence. 
 
 " I'll come in and cheer up your mother, Wullie, my 
 lad," she said. And the boy ran off gladly. Then she 
 turned to the little stranger and said : 
 
 " All the same, you will never be able to persuade 
 me that acts of courage are prompted by feelings of 
 bounce. . . ." 
 
 He smiled deprecatingly, and passed into the inn and 
 upstairs to his sitting-room. 
 
 Nora paused for one moment on the threshold, and 
 many conflicting thoughts about him came into her mind ; 
 but the last thought was relief at being free from him, 
 and she gave herself a mental shake, and went into the 
 kitchen of the King's Head, where she was always a 
 welcome visitor. She had known Mrs Mary Shaw for 
 
 34
 
 At the King's Head 
 
 several years now, and felt herself almost to be part of 
 the village community. Mrs Mary Shaw, on her part, 
 believed that there was no one in the world like Miss 
 Nora, or Miss Nora's dear old father. 
 
 " There ain't another person like him in the world to 
 my thinking," she would say to Nora ; " and I am sure 
 I ought to know, seeing what experience I do have with 
 ancestors and suchlike people." 
 
 This sentiment alone was a great bond between Nora 
 and herself, but Mrs Mary Shaw was fond of her for her 
 own sake too, and always cheered up when Nora's gal- 
 lant figure strolled into the quaint old kitchen of the 
 King's Head. 
 
 " Why, what 's the matter to-day, Mrs Mary ? " asked 
 Nora, brightly. " What has gone wrong ? Has n't Par- 
 rington been to see you ? " 
 
 The apron came down from the face at once. 
 
 " Oh, there 's nothing much the matter with me, dear 
 Miss Nora," said Mrs Mary, smiling dejectedly, " only 
 I was that horrid the last time Parrington was here, and 
 the nasty man has been and kept away five days, one 
 more day than usual. Not that I miss him, and yet I 
 do ! And I feel as if I did n't know what to say about 
 marrying him. Tiresome man always bothering me ! 
 And now keeping away one day longer. Not that I 
 want him, dear Miss Nora ! No, I don't want him. 
 Still would you marry him if you was me? I can't 
 say as I 'm not fond of Parrington sometimes. He 's got 
 pleasant ways about him, to be sure, and a particular 
 handsome beard, but then there 's that Punchbowl. I 
 can't abide the Punchbowl with them horrid east winds. 
 And then he don't deserve consideration, keeping away 
 one whole day longer. Oh dear, how I wish I was dead ! 
 That would settle the matter ! " 
 
 25
 
 The Fowler 
 
 She looked up and, catching Nora's eye, she laughed, 
 and Nora laughed too, and said : 
 
 " If I were you, Mrs Mary, I should certainly have 
 Parrington. You know he is very fond of you and very 
 patient with you." 
 
 " And so he ought to be ! " said Mrs Mary, defiantly. 
 
 " Of course," replied Nora, " but for all that, I 
 should n't tax his patience too much. If I were you, I 
 should brave all my ancestors Aunt Rebeccah Ren- 
 aldson included, and I should have Parrington. Poor 
 Parrington ! " 
 
 Then they both laughed again, for it was a well-known 
 fact that Mrs Mary Shaw delighted in teasing Parring- 
 ton, and he put up with all her vagaries, knowing, no 
 doubt, that in her heart of hearts she was really attached 
 to him. Nevertheless, he punished her sometimes by keep- 
 ing away ; though this was the longest absence on record. 
 
 At this moment Wullie ran in, brimming over with fun 
 and mischief. 
 
 " Mother," he cried, " cheer up, cheer up ; here be 
 Mr. Parrington coming down the lane, and carrying a 
 posy in his hand. Cheer up, mother ! Put yer cap 
 straight. Here be Parrington a-coming with his best 
 flowers." 
 
 " Well," said Mrs Mary, in a dignified way, " and 
 what 's that to me, I 'd like to know ? Here, Wullie, 
 give me the little looking-glass, quick ! Miss Nora, dear, 
 tell me, do my cap sit quite straight ? " 
 
 They had just finished tidying her hair and taking off the 
 melancholy apron, when Parrington arrived on the scenes. 
 
 " Good evening, Miss Penhurst, mighty glad to see 
 you," he said. " Good evening, Mrs Mary Shaw, glad to 
 see you too. Thank you, I '11 take a glass of port wine." 
 
 26
 
 Theodore Bevan 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 THEODORE BEVAN 
 
 THEODORE BEVAN had just come back from a walk 
 with Nora Penhurst. He had met her on the moors, 
 and, as a matter of course, had joined companionship 
 with her. And now he sat in the parlour of the King's 
 Head, and made some entries in a mysterious book 
 which he always kept locked when he was not using it. 
 The key was attached to his watch-chain. The book 
 was, in fact, his journal, the receptacle of all his private 
 thoughts and inmost aims. He smiled as he wrote, put 
 down his pen and thought awhile, and then covered 
 several pages with his neat, precise characters. 
 
 "Obviously gifted with a keen enjoyment of every- 
 thing which life presents," he wrote. " I have probed 
 her, and found that she is interested in everything in 
 nature and in knowledge, in questions of the great world 
 to which she certainly belongs, and in the affairs of this 
 little village, where she is resting during her holidays; 
 for this much I have gathered that she is a teacher, 
 and certainly not of the dry-bones genus. An interest- 
 ing personality in these days when most people are 
 miserable, or else claim to be so. But her turn will 
 come, and all these vital interests will pass from her. 
 Then she will not talk of the heather being so purple, 
 for it will not be purple to her, and she will not find 
 honey and flowers by the wayside. She will not even 
 notice the flowers. And she will learn something of 
 life's burden at which she now scoffs so imperiously. I 
 
 27
 
 The Fowler 
 
 have never before met any one quite like her. It would 
 be an interesting experiment to find out whether I could 
 influence such a healthy character as hers. I will try. 
 I certainly cannot regret that I came to this out-of-the- 
 way place to see that old castle : and, for the present, I 
 shall not move on, since I find that she is staying here 
 for some time yet. Nothing has amused me so much 
 as the way in which she has received my enforced com- 
 panionship, sometimes resenting my presumption, and on 
 other occasions taking a humorous view of the situation, 
 saying to herself, no doubt, 4 Ah well, it is a distraction.' 
 She is attracted to me one moment, and repelled from 
 me- the next. Certainly it is an experiment worth try- 
 ing." Here he closed and locked his journal, and tak- 
 ing up his pen once more, he wrote the following 
 letter : 
 
 " To the Deputy Custodian. 
 
 " Greatly to my regret I find that considerable pres- 
 sure of work will prevent me from enjoying the society 
 of the deputy custodian on the morrow. I trust, how- 
 ever, that on the following day, events may return to 
 their normal course, and that this most irksome inter- 
 ruption may be the first and last of the kind. Life 
 being so short, we, who have any claims whatsoever to 
 ordinary intelligence, must surely feel that congenial com- 
 panionship is one of those experiences which we dare not 
 curtail unnecessarily. If we hesitate, the moment passes. 
 
 " I send, together with this letter, a book which seems 
 worth consideration. It is not of the kind that makes 
 a stir in the world ; but there are two or three remark- 
 able chapters in it. I need not point them out. You 
 will easily detect them for yourself. 
 
 "THEODORE BEVAN." 
 28
 
 Theodore Bevan 
 
 He read the letter over, and smiled coldly as he put 
 it in an envelope and sealed it. 
 
 " I think that will do," he said ; and then he put away 
 all his papers tidily, drew the bowl of flowers nearer to 
 him almost caressingly, picked out one or two faded 
 ones, threw them away, and became engrossed in a 
 book. 
 
 It was a curiously plastic face, with many varied ex- 
 pressions. At one moment he might have passed for a 
 suffering saint, and the next moment any one might have 
 judged him to be a poet, weaving beautiful thoughts and 
 fairy fancies, and the next moment he might have sat 
 for a ruffian, a stranger to every gentle emotion ; but for 
 all that, it was not a face alive with animal passions : 
 it was coldly, subtly cruel, with the steely glance worthy 
 of one of those relentless Inquisitors. Tiny of frame, 
 he seemed capable of immense strength, for his hands 
 and wrists were powerful. One might have imagined 
 that he could lift an ailing person very tenderly, or that 
 he might raise his arm to aim some fell blow. This 
 man might, perhaps, have nursed well ; or he might have 
 been heartless beyond all dreams of heartlessness. He 
 contracted no intimate friendships. His acquaintances 
 in London, where he lived, had various opinions of him 
 at various times ; but he had a curious mental sway over 
 most people, especially women, though men also came 
 under his influence ; and no one who had once known 
 him, could get quite free from him mentally. It was 
 just as though he wove a web and waited. 
 
 He rarely spoke of himself, and rarely alluded to his 
 affairs, though it was generally understood that he was 
 a man of independent means ; and he never referred to 
 any personal existence of his own, but occasionally he 
 spoke mysteriously of " long nights of toil and pressure 
 
 29
 
 The Fowler 
 
 of work." No one had ever seen the writings at which 
 he seemed to hint thus vaguely, but it was taken for 
 granted that he was one of the leader-writers on an im- 
 portant daily newspaper perhaps l The Times.' Per- 
 haps he was. He claimed nothing for himself; he 
 merely inferred. All the claiming was done by people 
 who believed him capable of anything ; and several times 
 when successful books had appeared anonymously, he 
 had been charged with the authorship, and he had merely 
 smiled and shrugged his shoulders, inferring by his man- 
 ner that people might think whatever they chose. He 
 evidently believed in the gospel of mystery. Acquaint- 
 ances who had been near him for three or four years, 
 knew nothing more about him at the end of that period 
 than at the beginning. He had a curious power of 
 divination : he seemed to realise when any one was 
 thinking unfavourably of him, and if his friends had 
 compared notes, they would all have found that he had 
 often arrived amongst them at the right moment to re- 
 move, by means of some specially kindly act, some 
 specially unfavourable impression. If he liked, he could 
 talk well about books and events and things. There 
 were some who said that his conversation was not deep ; 
 but most people felt that he could touch any depth that 
 he chose. There was one man, of genuine attainments 
 and scholarship, who said that Theodore Bevan was not 
 a scholar; and perhaps he was right, for surely true 
 scholars can recognise their own kith and kin, and can 
 separate them easily from vulgar pretenders who impose 
 on the multitude. He was unsparing of his strength 
 and interest when he wished to show a kindness ; but he 
 never spoke of his deeds of helpfulness ; only it always 
 happened, that others did so on his behalf. If ques- 
 tioned, he would say, " You are surely better informed 
 
 3
 
 Theodore Bevan 
 
 than myself." And he would pass on to the discussion 
 of some subject in which he had no personal part. He 
 enjoyed excellent health, but he was one of those persons 
 who sometimes look as though they had not one moment 
 more to live, and who are therefore objects of great in- 
 terest and sympathy. That alone is sufficient to give 
 any one power ; for we are so constituted, that, in spite 
 of our dogmas and doctrines, and all our theories about 
 life and death, after-existence or complete annihilation 
 in spite of all these differentiations, we unite in yielding 
 a kind of unconscious, tremulous reverence to him who 
 is thought to be stepping across the border-line into the 
 Unknown. At such a moment even ordinary people 
 attain to power, for that stepping across the border is 
 fraught with ineffable mystery. 
 
 But Theodore Bevan was not stepping across, and he 
 often smiled secretly at the allusions made to his frail 
 health ; and when taken to task for thinking and study- 
 ing too much, and eating only oranges and dates for 
 breakfast, with perhaps a little brown bread added, he 
 would answer : 
 
 " Ah, I assure you my appetite is quite good, and as 
 for my health perhaps I am overdriven just now. 
 But in a few days I shall have got the better of an un- 
 usual pressure of work." 
 
 He often looked as though he had not eaten anything 
 for a week ; or, to be more correct, he looked like a 
 vegetarian just before the breakdown, in many cases so 
 inevitable ! But, as a matter of fact, he was blessed 
 with a particularly healthy appetite, and, when by him- 
 self, knew how to attack and conquer a solid piece of 
 beef; whereas, in company, he toyed with his food, and 
 seemed not to need the ordinary sustenance of everyday 
 life. At the King's Head he displayed no such asceti- 
 
 3 1
 
 The Fowler 
 
 cism, and when Mrs Mary Shaw came in to lay the 
 cloth and bring him his supper, he willingly put aside his 
 books and papers, without, however, directing even a 
 hasty glance towards her and her well-filled tray. 
 
 This was the man who came into Nora Penhurst's 
 life, and determined to teach her something about the 
 " burden of living."
 
 Enter Nurse Isabel 
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 ENTER NURSE ISABEL 
 
 NURSE ISABEL counted her shoes : seven pairs in all. 
 
 " I certainly must have another pair," she said to her- 
 self. " I did not realise that my stock had run so low." 
 
 She then put on her elegant coat and pretty hat, and 
 satisfied herself that her appearance left nothing to be 
 desired, which was indeed true. She was a most distin- 
 guished-looking woman, elegant and soothing in her in- 
 door uniform, which was of a unique kind, devised by 
 herself, and quite delightful in her outdoor apparel, which 
 betrayed no signs of her profession. 
 
 " There are three classes of nurses," she said repeat- 
 edly to herself: "those who are ' fetching,' those who 
 are scientific, and those who are neither fetching nor 
 scientific. And, thank goodness, I belong to the first 
 class ! " 
 
 " Nursing is a domestic form of acting," she some- 
 times said : " all good nurses would make good actresses. 
 I personally should have made my fortune as an actress, 
 if only my throat had been stronger. I have every- 
 thing in my favour : appearance, talent, charm ; but no 
 strength of voice sweetness, yes, but strength, no." 
 
 She was something of a philosopher too. 
 
 " The applause which would have been mine," she 
 said, "I have had to forgo. But, as usual, compensa- 
 tions have arisen, and I am grateful for them. And the 
 greatest compensation is the variety of parts which fall 
 to my share. Not so with the leading lady. Having 
 3 33
 
 The Fowler 
 
 once pronounced herself comic, she dare not be tragic ; 
 once labelled as the suffering heroine, she dare not be- 
 come an agent of wrong-doing. Now, at least, / am 
 free to fill any role. And I can do each equally well. I 
 can be the sweet saint, bending soothingly over some 
 embroidery, sitting in the sunlight when there is any, 
 and the patient does not want the blind pulled down ! 
 I can be silent for hours together, or I can talk cleverly 
 on ordinary subjects, such as Grieg, Ibsen, Rembrandt, 
 and the Chinese Empress. I can read the Bible with 
 reverent piety, or a racing novel with sparkling bright- 
 ness. I can laugh. I can weep. I can be cynical. I 
 can be fresh-hearted." 
 
 All of which was quite true. The only puzzle was 
 why she had not been able to put such extraordinary 
 talents to more than ordinary advantage. Some such 
 thoughts crossed her mind to-day, when she left her 
 lodging to go out and buy that eighth pair of shoes. 
 She was tired and out of spirits, out of conceit with the 
 whole world, and out of conceit with herself. She had 
 just finished nursing an irritable old lady, who had merci- 
 fully betaken herself and her irritability to another planet, 
 and Nurse Isabel determined to give herself a short holiday 
 and enjoy a little of outdoor life and shop windows. 
 
 But the noise of Oxford Street seemed almost too 
 much for her nerves. 
 
 " I am not myself to-day," she said to herself. " The 
 world seems to me a living mass of irritable old ladies, 
 all wanting the windows closed and the blinds down. I 
 certainly must not take another old lady patient yet, nor 
 another literary person. I don't know which class tires 
 me the most." 
 
 She looked at a tempting little pair of red kid shoes, 
 with black velvet heels, but did not care to take the 
 
 34
 
 Enter Nurse Isabel 
 
 trouble to go in and buy them. She must have been 
 unusually out of spirits to show such listlessness where 
 shoes were concerned : they were her speciality, her 
 most accentuated tendency, as the little stranger with 
 the broad eye-glass ribbon would have called it. She 
 gazed indolently at the shop-windows, observed the 
 latest tricks of fashion, and decided how she might best 
 modify them to suit her own individual charms; but 
 nothing gave her real pleasure this morning, and when 
 she saw the Forest Hill omnibus pass, she almost thought 
 she would go and see her mother, and just have a few 
 hours' restful change; but, unfortunately, she was not 
 at all fond of the suburbs. Her dislike of the suburbs 
 conquered her yearning for her mother, and the Forest 
 Hill omnibus passed on its way, and Nurse Isabel strolled 
 home even more listless than before. She did not even 
 criticise the other hospital nurses whom she passed on 
 her way : their cloaks, and bonnets, and the colour of 
 their uniform were matters of indifference to her to-day, 
 and she did not pity any one for being so obviously in- 
 ferior to herself. And that was quite unusual with her ; 
 for, in her normal condition of mind, she had the pro- 
 foundest pity for all humanity, especially hospital-nurse 
 humanity, for not being as charming as herself. 
 
 When she reached her lodging, she found a telegram 
 waiting for her, and at once went off to see the doctor, 
 who summoned her to his presence. 
 
 " I cannot refuse to take a case from him," she said, 
 as she hastened to his house. " However, most of his 
 patients are men, thank goodness, so there is no fear of 
 my being bothered with another irritable old lady. Per- 
 haps I shall have a cricketer, or a Life-Guardsman. I 
 wonder which it will be ? " And as she went on her 
 way, she tossed it up in her mind. 
 
 35
 
 The Fowler 
 
 The doctor heaved a sigh of relief when he saw her. 
 
 " I am so glad that you are disengaged, Nurse Isabel," 
 he said, contentedly. " Here is a case which I have 
 very much at heart, a case which needs a special kind of 
 nurse : some one artistic and cultured, some one with 
 refined ways and pleasing appearance, some one to soothe 
 a troubled spirit, and help to find that readjustment 
 which can be found, given only the right conditions." 
 
 Nurse Isabel, standing there in the sunshine, seemed 
 to combine all these marvellous gifts. 
 Fhen the doctor continued : 
 
 " He has had typhoid fever, from which he recovered, 
 but it has left him in a weakened condition ; and then 
 several heavy troubles, and one bad shock coming on the 
 top of his illness, have shattered his nervous system. He 
 is an historian. You probably know his name Brian 
 Uppingham, the well-known author of c The Intellectual 
 Evolution of Europe.' ' 
 
 " Ah," said Nurse Isabel, sympathetically, but her heart 
 sank. Alas ! where was her cricketer or her Life-Guards- 
 man now ? 
 
 " He has had a house lent him in Graystoke," said the 
 doctor, " a very charming and bracing place, and it is there 
 that I want you to go and to nurse him back to health 
 and possibilities of renewed work. He is already there, 
 having been taken down by a friend who has to leave 
 him on the morrow, and so I propose that you join him 
 immediately." 
 
 She received all the details and instructions with a 
 truly charming amiability of manner which exactly corre- 
 sponded with the savage disappointment of her mind. 
 
 " You are going to a delightful part of the country," 
 the physician said, as she was leaving, "and you must 
 not fail to visit that fine old castle."
 
 Enter Nurse Isabel 
 
 As she left him, she thought to herself, " Why, why 
 am I considered so charming ? Certainly one has to 
 pay the price of everything in this life." However, 
 she accepted the circumstances, always being something 
 of a philosopher, and hastened home to pack her clothes 
 and catch her train for the nearest station to Graystoke, 
 which, as far as she could make out, was situated about 
 eleven miles from even the ghost of a railway station. 
 
 " All the same," she said to herself as she was pack- 
 ing, " this literary person shall be the last on my list for 
 some time to come. If I did not need country air, and 
 if I were not afraid of offending that doctor, the his- 
 torian might sink into the tomb for all I should care. 
 
 D 
 
 Historian indeed ! " 
 
 She gathered her clothes together, not forgetting the 
 Grecian evening dress on which she set great store, for 
 she affected classical costumes, feeling that she was seen 
 to best advantage in them, and she had long since adopted 
 the Grecian style of hair-architecture, which specially 
 suited her features. In less than two hours she had 
 finished her preparations, packed her box, written to her 
 mother, and enclosed in the letter a postal order for pin- 
 money, dressed the wounded hand of the little lad down- 
 stairs, and was soon leaning back in the railway carriage, 
 satisfied on the whole that she was leaving London. 
 
 "The country is good for the nerves/' she thought. 
 " In my leisure hours, I shall stroll in the woods, if there 
 is nothing more exciting to do, and I shall pick flowers 
 from the hedges, and I shall even learn a little botany, 
 and perhaps a little geology too. So if I get my nerves 
 into better condition, and add some flowers and rocks 
 to my general knowledge, I shall not do so badly 
 after all." 
 
 She was not interested in knowledge for its own sake, 
 37
 
 The Fowler 
 
 but she had a remarkable aptitude for picking up facts 
 and suggestions ; and many an intellectual person might 
 well have envied her her keen mind and quick percep- 
 tion. She was a genius at annexing other people's 
 sentiments and opinions annexing them so thoroughly, 
 too, that they seemed to be part of herself, and not the 
 property of some one else. 
 
 So this afternoon, when she was nearing the station, 
 she listened attentively to the disjointed remarks of an 
 old farmer, and learnt from- him many particulars of the 
 country, and gleaned information in her own masterly 
 way. 
 
 Then she leaned out of the window, and felt the 
 freshness of the air. 
 
 "What delightful air!" she exclaimed, "and how 
 good for one's' health." 
 
 " You be coming here for health, then ? " the old far- 
 mer inquired, sympathetically, for her face looked tired 
 and drawn. 
 
 " Yes," she answered, though she did not think it 
 necessary to add for whose health she had journeyed 
 thus far from London. No one could have found out 
 that she was a nurse ; she looked like an elegant lady of 
 ease, with the fag-end of a sorrowful history attached to 
 her ; she spoke like a leisured gentlewoman who has 
 spared the time from her idleness to cultivate a language 
 or two, a little music, a few politics, and to take an in- 
 dolent interest in the affairs of the passing moment. Her 
 very voice had at times a slight peevishness about it, 
 generally found in conjunction with wealth and ease. 
 She puzzled the footman who stood waiting on the 
 platform for a hospital nurse of the usual type. As no 
 one of this pattern got out of the train, he naturally 
 concluded that the nurse had not come ; and he was 
 
 38
 
 Enter Nurse Isabel 
 
 chatting with his friend, the station-master, and asking 
 particulars about the horse-fair, when an elegant lady 
 approached him and made inquiries as to whether a 
 carriage had been sent from the Moat House. He was 
 so much impressed with her appearance and manner 
 that he could not summon up courage to ask if she were 
 the hospital nurse. She waved her hand condescend- 
 ingly in the direction of her luggage, and waited until 
 he opened the door of the old-fashioned carriage, and 
 then she stepped in. 
 
 " I must have the top of the carriage pulled down 
 instantly," she said, imperiously. " I do not care to be 
 shut in like this." 
 
 The footman, mystified but quelled, obeyed her in- 
 structions. 
 
 And thus in the pleasant cool of the evening was 
 Nurse Isabel driven to the scene of her labours.
 
 The Fowler 
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 A MEETING ON THE MOORS 
 
 THE scent of the heather at six o'clock in the morning ; 
 health, strength, and good spirits, and one's life to one's 
 self. 
 
 That beautiful colour which you can never forget ! 
 And when you are in a distant land where the heather 
 does not grow, but where the colours in the sky are 
 legion, you search for that purple shade and you say : 
 " Ah, that is like the heather ! " Then the delicious 
 fragrance steals over your senses, together with the sweet 
 memories of your native land. 
 
 There was an unusual freshness in the air which was 
 in itself uplifting, and Nora strolled over the moors fol- 
 lowed by the three dogs from the Castle and the King's 
 Head. Now and again she bent to fling a stone or stick 
 for them, or stood to watch them scampering after the 
 rabbits. The joy of life was in them too : they did not 
 know anything about the burden of living. 
 
 " The burden of living ! " laughed Nora ; and her 
 thoughts wandered away from the heather and the clouds, 
 and all the gladness of the early morning, and those 
 forty-three essays on Ambition corrected and sent off 
 by yesterday's post wandered away to that strange 
 little man who had begun an acquaintance with her as 
 a matter of course. There was something in him which 
 attracted and repelled her too, but the attraction and re- 
 pulsion were never balanced so as to produce indiffer- 
 ence. One touch in him she liked immensely ; he never 
 
 40
 
 A Meeting on the Moors 
 
 attempted to account for himself in any way, and she 
 was never conscious that he tried to make her account 
 for herself. So far as each of them knew, they might 
 have dropped down from different planets on to this one 
 little spot on this planet, and, rinding themselves here, 
 of course began to talk. She had not even known his 
 name until last evening, when she had received that letter 
 from him in which he signed himself " Theodore Bevan." 
 She took it from her pocket now, and read it over again, 
 half amused at, and yet half annoyed with the quiet but 
 determined insistence of the writer; and she was just 
 on the point of tearing up the note, when she changed 
 her mind, and replaced the mysterious document in her 
 pocket. 
 
 " I must really show it to father," she said ; " I 
 wonder what he would think of my little stranger. He 
 would at once find a nickname for him." 
 
 Then her thoughts turned to her father, and the ex- 
 pression on her face betrayed how much she loved him; 
 not with the traditional devotion of a child to its parents, 
 but with the affectionate understanding and sympathy 
 of one human being for another human being, the re- 
 lationship coming in as an accident and yet as a bond. 
 She had inherited some part of his rich nature, together 
 with his keen delight in life, and his sense of humour. 
 That alone was an inheritance worth having suffi- 
 cient compensation, as he would have said, for Nora's 
 disadvantage in having had a father at all ! She had 
 written begging him to join her, and he had sent a 
 letter which she received last night, saying that perhaps 
 he would come, and perhaps he would not come ; in 
 any case, he would arrive at his own hour; and he had 
 added : 
 
 " I saw your little friend, Mrs Ellerton, yesterday.
 
 The Fowler 
 
 She asked me to remember to tell you that there is a 
 friend. of hers, Nurse Isabel, staying at the Moat House, 
 nursing some one or other, and that you were to be 
 good to her, as she is having a very dull time, and her 
 spirits are down at zero. All I can say is, that I am 
 sorry for the patient, if the nurse is depressed." 
 
 She smiled as she remembered his words, and she 
 crossed the moor, and left the land of heather for a 
 barer region of downs, furrowed and creased like a 
 weather-beaten old man's face. She was not sure that 
 she did not care more for this barren tract, with its 
 uncompromising frown, than for that fairer district with 
 its purple regal garment and yet not uncompromis- 
 ing either ; for the sun broke forth, and some of the 
 rays nestled in the deep wrinkles, and all the harshness 
 was tempered as though by magic: the stern realities 
 were softened by the idealities. 
 
 She had reached a little group of pine-trees which 
 was her favourite retreat. From this point she could 
 view the whole expanse of country so dear to her heart, 
 and here all the winds of heaven seemed to meet, and 
 blow strength into her. She watched the light and the 
 shadows of the clouds and the many varied expressions 
 on these barren moors, and the clouds themselves now 
 passing swiftly, now pausing lazily, whilst the sweet 
 fresh air swept through her, quickening all her pulses, 
 and confirming all her strength of brain and body. 
 
 Those who love Nature truly, never quite lose their 
 childlike impressions of her. What they have as chil- 
 dren observed in her and loved in her, what they have 
 as children compared her with and likened her to 
 that they still see in her and love in her with a persist- 
 ence which time cannot efface. She gathers them to 
 her, as in the old days. They are only little children 
 
 42
 
 A Meeting on the Moors 
 
 to her, for all their growth of mind and stature; they 
 come back to the nursery, time after time, and are glad 
 to play about, or else to rest; they may do as they 
 please if only they come; their playthings are waiting 
 for them, their cradle is waiting for them. It will 
 always be the same, year after year. So Nora this morn- 
 ing played in Nature's nursery, seeing pictures in the 
 skies, and fairy forms in the clouds, and rugged old faces 
 on the moors. She watched, and wove fairy fancies for 
 herself out of Nature's changing moods, until the dogs, 
 waiting patiently for her, looked up wistfully, and won- 
 dered why she lingered so long, and asked her in their 
 own eloquent, irresistible manner, to go on her journey 
 and not check their anxious activity. 
 
 But suddenly they dashed off, barking, and Nora, look- 
 ing in the direction in which they ran, saw an elegantly 
 dressed lady coming towards her, and wondered who she 
 could be. Nora noticed at once that she had a most 
 pleasing appearance and an interesting face, which was 
 rather pale and delicate. Whoever she was, she showed 
 every sign of being immensely important to herself, and 
 bore herself with an air worthy of the serenest highness 
 in the universe. 
 
 She paused as she came near Nora, and having be- 
 stowed a hasty glance on her, and satisfied herself, no 
 doubt, that this stranger was not unworthy of being 
 addressed, she smiled graciously and said stiffly : 
 
 " Pray excuse me. But can you oblige me by telling 
 me the time, and also where I am ? I believe I have lost 
 myself." 
 
 Nora, somewhat tickled by her condescending manner, 
 which seemed so out of place on the moors at seven 
 o'clock in the morning, told her the time, and showed 
 her the path which would lead her to the main road over 
 
 43
 
 The Fowler 
 
 the moors, and then expected that she would pass on her 
 royal progress to her royal destination. But the lady was 
 apparently in no hurry to reach her palace; moreover, 
 she was tired, and she was not dressed in a style suitable 
 for a rough walk. 
 
 " These moors are really most tiring," she said in an 
 injured tone of voice. " I think, if you will allow me, I 
 will rest here a few moments. But they do not seem 
 to have tired you," she added, glancing admiringly at Nora 
 who stood leaning up against a tree, looking the picture 
 of health, surrounded by the dogs, and holding in he^r 
 hands a splendid bunch of heather. 
 
 " Oh, I am used to them," said Nora, smiling; "but 
 all the same, the roads are rather rough. The soldiers 
 cut them up dreadfully during the manoeuvre-time. See, 
 here is a capital seat on this old stump." 
 
 " I have had such very bad nights lately," said her 
 Majesty, sinking down to rest. " And so I thought I 
 would try whether the morning air would not refresh 
 me. Besides, even an outing like this makes a change 
 in a monotonous life. Anything, indeed, is welcome 
 which causes a diversion. For there are not many 
 distractions to be found in this out-of-the-way place, and 
 one gets so tired of driving in an antediluvian carriage, 
 with two sleepy horses and two still sleepier men-servants. 
 After each drive I come back more depressed than when 
 I started." 
 
 " You have not been to the Castle, I think ? " asked 
 Nora," at least, I do not remember seeing you there." 
 
 " Ah, that's a good idea," replied her Majesty, bright- 
 ening up. " As a rule, I abominate castles, but when 
 there is nothing else, even castles have their use. I 
 shall certainly come." 
 
 " And there are some delightful places in the neigh- 
 44
 
 A Meeting on the Moors 
 
 bourhood," continued Nora. "The two sleepy horses 
 could very well take you there. If you'll come to the 
 Castle, I will tell you about these other excursions. And 
 now I think I must be going." 
 
 " For goodness' sake don't go," said the lady, parting 
 suddenly with all her dignity. " It's positively more 
 than eight weeks since I have exchanged a word with 
 any one except the two sleepy coachmen, the deaf doc- 
 tor, and my most uninteresting invalid and his aged 
 housekeeper; and I don't know which of them is the 
 worst." 
 
 Then Nora recalled Mrs Ellerton's message about the 
 nurse at the Moat House. 
 
 " Are you Nurse Isabel ? " she asked, a little timidly, 
 and when the other nodded her head affirmatively, Nora 
 told her that Mrs Ellerton had written about her. 
 
 " It is not possible to describe to you what a dull time 
 I am having," said Nurse Isabel. " I have been actually 
 reduced to reading Shakespeare and Ruskin, and looking 
 at photographs of celebrated paintings and places. Of 
 course that sort of thing comes in useful, but at the same 
 time it is not electric." 
 
 " And what about your patient ? " asked Nora, much 
 amused with her new acquaintance, who seemed the very 
 last person on earth suitable for the sick-room. 
 
 " Oh, he is not electric either," said Nurse Isabel, 
 plaintively. In fact I have had a run of ill-luck these 
 last months, each case being more depressing than the 
 last. But," she added piously, " I suppose it ought to 
 be enough for me to do my duty. But duty is not an 
 exciting thing, is it ? " 
 
 The two young women looked at each other and 
 laughed, for Nurse Isabel's sudden paroxysm of piety was 
 comical even to herself. 
 
 45
 
 The Fowler 
 
 " And is your patient going to die or recover ? " asked 
 Nora. 
 
 " Oh, he is recovering," said Nurse Isabel. " He has 
 not been dangerously ill since I have been there ; he goes 
 on all the time slowly regaining his health. I think he must 
 have been slow about everything ever since his birth. And 
 he always wants to be read to, a task I particularly dislike. 
 It tires my voice, so I don't very often humour him. Be- 
 sides, he chooses such absurd books books of travel; 
 my pet abomination is geography, and he insists on finding 
 the places on the maps. I always detested maps." 
 
 " What a cheerful time you must both have ! " re- 
 marked Nora. " I don't know for whom I am most 
 sorry, you or him. May I ask who he is ? " 
 
 " Oh, certainly," said Nurse Isabel, in a most friendly 
 way ; " he is the historian, Mr Brian Uppingham." 
 
 " Brian Uppingham ! " said Nora. " Why, he ought 
 to be interesting. He wrote that splendid book on the 
 4 Intellectual Evolution of Europe.' ' 
 
 " Ah," said Nurse Isabel, " I can quite believe it. That 
 is just the sort of thing he would write." 
 
 " I should like very much to see him," said Nora. 
 " Let us change places. I will come and read to your 
 patient, and you can come and be deputy custodian at 
 the Castle. And then you can make the acquaintance 
 of my strange little visitor who seems to have dropped 
 down here out of some other world. He comes nearly 
 every day to see me." 
 
 " I don't wonder at his coming," said Nurse Isabel, 
 looking at Nora with frank admiration. 
 
 Nora blushed, and whistled for the dogs, who had 
 again gone hunting. 
 
 " I think I must be going home now," she said. 
 " Shall we go together, if you are rested ? " 
 
 46
 
 A Meeting on the Moors 
 
 So they walked on together, and Nurse Isabel said : 
 
 " By the way, I have quite forgotten to ask what 
 report there was of Mr Ellerton." 
 
 "Mrs Ellerton said that he had just discovered another 
 ailment," answered Nora. 
 
 " Ah, I am glad to hear that," replied Nurse Isabel, 
 gravely. u It will keep him in excellent health and 
 spirits for quite six weeks ! " 
 
 And then they talked about Mrs Ellerton and her 
 hypochondriacal husband, and from that they turned to 
 the subject of nursing, and Nora said that she had a great 
 reverence for those who looked after the sick and dying. 
 " They are the guardians of the nation," she said, warmly, 
 " and they should be duly honoured like the Vestal 
 Virgins, in fact." 
 
 Nurse Isabel did not feel like a guardian of a nation, 
 and she said a little guiltily, " Have you ever known any 
 of them ? " 
 
 " Only one," answered Nora, staunchly. 
 
 " Ah," said Nurse Isabel, " that may account for your 
 opinion of them." 
 
 " It does," said Nora. " She nursed me week after 
 week with unfailing tenderness and devotion, and I 
 thought her the most beautiful character that I had ever 
 even dreamt of." 
 
 " Ah," said Nurse Isabel, with a sigh, " it is difficult 
 to live up to a beautiful character. It is extremely unfair 
 when a patient claims that from you too. But then, 
 patients are very inconsiderate." 
 
 So they laughed and chatted, and Nurse Isabel was 
 charmed to have companionship, and delighted with her 
 new acquaintance. Hitherto she had never cultivated 
 women friends, but she suddenly felt what a real pleasure 
 it must be to have a friendship with a woman. Then 
 
 47
 
 The Fowler 
 
 and there her heart went out to Nora. She picked 
 heather and bracken ; she flung bits of sticks for the 
 dogs ; the worldliness fled from her soul, the jadedness 
 from her spirit ; and when at last they came down over 
 the moors and stood by a bend of the river, she gathered 
 reeds and bulrushes as though to the manner born. 
 
 "I declare I feel quite a different person," she said, 
 brightly, " thanks to this pleasant time I have had with 
 you. You will see me at the Castle before very long, 
 and, mind, I shall expect you to come and read to my 
 historian." 
 
 48
 
 ' The Eternal Battle ' 
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 * THE ETERNAL BATTLE ' 
 
 " WELL," said Theodore Bevan, " and you have read 
 the book ? " 
 
 " Yes," answered Nora. " It is full of bitterness." 
 
 He shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 "You don't expect such a subject to be laden with 
 honey ? " he said. 
 
 " I expect people who write on such a vital subject as 
 the eternal battle between the old and the young to 
 show some sort of balanced judgment," Nora answered, 
 warmly. 
 
 He smiled his thin cynical smile, and made no an- 
 swer, and the two companions walked on silently, cross- 
 ing the old bridge and following the river's course along 
 the sweet-scented meadows. They stopped to look at 
 some cows drinking, and Nora bent down to gather 
 some forget-me-nots, late lingerers from the spring, and 
 passed on as silently as before. She had intended to 
 spend that afternoon by herself, down by the river, and 
 was feeling annoyed that Theodore Bevan, finding her 
 there, had not shown tact enough to leave her alone, 
 since he must have seen from her reluctant manner that 
 she was desiring solitude. Perhaps the most irritating 
 part of the whole matter was that she had not known 
 how to shake herself free from him. She was not want- 
 ing in moral pluck, but she was hampered by a fine 
 sense of courtesy ; and when a person refuses to be dis- 
 missed, good breeding is often quite weaponless. So he 
 4 49
 
 The Fowler 
 
 came with her for her favourite walk, and took no um- 
 brage at her obvious indifference to the advantages of his 
 society; in fact, it amused him, and he said to himself: 
 
 " My Athene " for he had christened her that in 
 his journal " my Athene is in a non-receptive mood 
 this afternoon, but it will not last long one quarter of 
 an hour at the utmost, and what is that ? " 
 
 He was right, for it was not in Nora's nature to re- 
 main sullen, and she soon got the better of her irritation. 
 Besides, there was something compelling in his presence. 
 
 " Well," she said, turning to him, u and I should like 
 to hear what you find to admire in the book you lent 
 me." 
 
 " First of all," he answered, " I admire the courage 
 of the writer. It is not every one who will dare to take 
 up the cudgels for the young against the old. We all 
 know that old people are selfish and narrow and demand- 
 ing; most of us have personal experiences to testify to 
 this general knowledge. Many of us have had our lives 
 spoiled and embittered by the old, and all our golden 
 days of possibilities and enjoyments, yes, and our just 
 rights of individuality and freedom, wrested from us by 
 unfair means. For the weapon which the old use 
 against us is irresistible ; it is their old age" 
 
 He paused for a moment, and Nora looked at him 
 with added interest. 
 
 " And I tell you," he added, almost fiercely, " they 
 use their weapon mercilessly. We all know this we 
 who have felt the edge of that weapon but who has 
 dared to say anything ? We have just endured, and the 
 sacrifice has gone on as a matter of course. But this 
 writer has broken through the silence at last, has broken 
 down that barrier of awe and absurd reverence which 
 tradition has placed between the old and the young; and, 
 
 5
 
 1 The Eternal Battle ' 
 
 having got rid of the barrier, has stepped out into open 
 country, and urges us to do the same." 
 
 " 4 Now we can face each other,' he says, c now we can 
 speak freely to each other, and on equal terms. Hitherto 
 we have had to listen to the long list of our failings. 
 Now our moment has come, and we have won for our- 
 selves the right to make you old people hear about your 
 own failings, and about our grievances, and ' ' 
 
 He paused again, and Nora broke in earnestly : 
 
 " It is nothing new to you or me, or any one, that 
 time has brought about a much-needed change in the re- 
 lations between the old and the young. It is true that 
 not much has been written about it, but a great deal has 
 been done silently to bring about a readjustment which 
 shall be satisfactory to both sides. All I say is, that it 
 should be done without any exaggerated insistence and 
 aggressiveness, and with some sense of justice. The old 
 have their rights as well as we. But this author sweeps 
 all their claims on one side ; and, moreover, does away 
 with all sentiment." 
 
 " Sentiment ! " sneered Theodore Bevan. 
 
 " Sentiment," she repeated. " It is absurd to try and 
 hustle sentiment off the scenes; it comes into everything 
 human. It cannot be argued away ; it cannot even be 
 analysed ; it cannot even be driven out by sneers or 
 laughter." 
 
 " You are always an anachronism," he said, quietly. 
 
 " And, moreover, your writer is brutal without being 
 skilful," she continued, not deigning to notice his inter- 
 ruption. " It is true that we have to wound our old 
 people in stating our own case ; we have to hurt their 
 pride and prejudices, and trample on some of their most 
 cherished traditions ; but if we are careful how we do 
 it, the wounds will heal up, and no poison of bitterness 
 
 5'
 
 The Fowler 
 
 and unkindness will remain. For we do not want the 
 old to suffer unnecessarily. That would not be progress. 
 That would be a return to barbarism." 
 
 " You are evidently prejudiced in their favour," Theo- 
 dore Bevan said. " Probably you believe in them. I 
 do not." 
 
 Nora was silent, overpowered for the moment by a 
 rush of conflicting feelings : her own happy experiences 
 with her own father, and her own definite knowledge 
 of the unhappy experiences which some of her friends 
 always had with their old people. In this very village, 
 too, near at hand, was a striking instance of the unwar- 
 rantable selfishness of the old, which went on as a matter 
 of course, and was marring the life and condition of a 
 plucky and cheery woman. Mrs Mary Shaw might 
 laugh about her " ancestors " and their trying character- 
 istics, but they were engrossing the best part of her life, 
 and demanding the entire sacrifice of her personal in- 
 clinations and her own individual rights. It was a 
 specially happy illustration in a simple sphere, where 
 the complications of intellectual and external life did 
 not come into the question. 
 
 11 Perhaps I do believe in them," she said at last. " I 
 am sure I have every reason. No one could have had 
 such a splendid old father as I have, and not believe in 
 them." 
 
 " And it is well for you if you can believe in them," 
 he said. " But for my own part, when I wish to read 
 of mellow old age, a haven of peace for the young and 
 restless, with sympathies stretching, like the roots of an 
 ancient oak, from one generation to another, now in this 
 direction, and now in that ; and like the oak, too, spread- 
 ing its protecting boughs for those who need its generous 
 hospitality when I want to meet with such a grand old 
 
 52
 
 'The Eternal Battle' 
 
 age as this, I go to fiction. One must not go to real life 
 
 o 7 o o 
 
 for that. There one only finds the ugly barren realities 
 which shrivel up one's mind. There one stumbles upon 
 that extraordinary selfishness which is the most accen- 
 tuated tendency of the old." 
 
 " But the young are selfish too," Nora said, quickly. 
 " I don't think there is much to choose between us. It 
 merely takes a different form." 
 
 u There is a tremendous difference between the self- 
 ishness of thoughtlessness practised by the young, and 
 the selfishness which old age has made its settled and de- 
 liberate habit," he answered, coldly. " But you must 
 have observed all this yourself, and if you could free 
 yourself from that primaeval sentimentality which pre- 
 vents any clear vision, you would confess the truth with- 
 out flinching. Then you would look at life as it really 
 is, and not as the idealists make it. But it requires 
 courage for that." 
 
 " And do you suppose," said Nora, looking down at 
 him from her heights, " do you suppose that you are 
 the only person who has not been afraid to lay hold of 
 life and look at it closely ? Perhaps others have looked 
 at it just as narrowly, but seen different things." 
 
 " Perhaps so," he answered. 
 
 " This book," said Nora, " is the work of some one 
 whose life has been embittered by injustice and tyranny. 
 There is not one single note of pity sounded." 
 
 (" Pity ! " he sneered.) 
 
 " Not even a passing cadence of kindness and consid- 
 eration : no allusion to duty." 
 
 (" Duty ! " he repeated, coldly.) 
 
 " And no question of reasonable forbearance ; nothing 
 about compromise, and of course nothing about affection." 
 
 (" Affection ! " he murmured.) 
 S3
 
 The Fowler 
 
 " It dwells entirely on the battle which must be fought 
 between the old and the young, and which must be per- 
 petually carried on at any price. And there is to be no 
 quarter " 
 
 " There can be no quarter," he said, imperiously. 
 " Don't you see that ? " 
 
 " No, I do not," she replied. " Of course I, as well 
 as you, believe firmly that these difficult questions, so 
 long shirked, should be aired and discussed. I do not 
 think that any false sentiment by the way, you do not 
 seem to know the difference between sentiment and false 
 sentiment that any false sentiment should prevent us 
 from examining closely the situation, and determining, 
 each one for himself or herself, on an attitude which 
 should combine a certain amount of freedom with a cer- 
 tain amount of recognised responsibility. The propor- 
 tion of the combination must obviously vary with the 
 different circumstances in which we all find ourselves 
 placed. But I do think that fine and delicate feeling 
 should hinder us from behaving as though we were mere 
 churls, and had only one wish, our own emancipation at 
 the expense of every one else." 
 
 He smiled at her as one might smile at a child dis- 
 playing her ignorance. 
 
 " Oh, I understand that you are amused with me," 
 she said ; " but just wait one moment, and then I have 
 done. Last year a friend of mine wrote a book on the 
 marriage question. It had an immense success ; but 
 men, in talking of it, called it a -woman's book. We have 
 yet to be given a book on the marriage question, which 
 is neither a woman's book nor a man's book, but a hu- 
 man book, equally true and telling for both sides. And 
 it must not be written by an embittered wife or an angry 
 husband, but by some one who can see clearly the two 
 
 54
 
 1 The Eternal Battle ' 
 
 sides of the question : by some one who has suffered, 
 but without contracting a moral and mental disease. 
 And so with regard to these most difficult relations be- 
 tween the old and the young : if a book of any real value 
 is to be written to help us, it should not be a l young ' 
 book nor an ' old ' book, but a book for all humanity, so 
 free from any bitterness, and so beautifully courteous, 
 that the old and the young might study it together, and, 
 having read it, might stretch out their arms in longing 
 for a better understanding and friendship." 
 
 " You do me a wrong if you think I wish to laugh at 
 you," Theodore Bevan said, quite gently. " You are an 
 idealist, and we do not speak the same language. That 
 is all. I catch some of your words, and you catch some 
 of mine. And perhaps I wish that I had been taught to 
 speak your language, and " 
 
 He stopped abruptly, and Nora glanced at him and 
 noticed an expression of infinite sadness and suffering 
 on his face. Her sympathy went out to him at once. 
 Perhaps he was one of those whose lives had been over- 
 shadowed by the tyranny and selfishness of old age, and 
 the mere remembrance of it all had made him suffer 
 afresh and speak with exaggerated harshness. 
 
 " We have been talking on a very serious subject," 
 she said, with softened manner, " and I feel as though I 
 had parted with some of my life's blood." 
 
 " You should have kept it for a better cause," he said, 
 slowly. u You plead well for the old people, but I con- 
 sider they are hopeless. We cannot make friends of 
 them: they are our enemies to the backbone. They 
 have always been our enemies. And when we are old, 
 you and I, then we will be the enemies of the young, 
 using our weapon, old age " 
 
 She turned impatiently from him as though she had 
 55
 
 The Fowler 
 
 heard enough j and in the moment of her revulsion, she 
 heard the sound of wheels on the highroad, which they 
 had just reached. It was the blacksmith's gig, and David 
 the blacksmith, stout and cheery, sat upright, occupying, 
 as he quaintly put it, " the mere space of a tiny sparrer." 
 
 11 David," she said, " I am tired. Give me a lift to the 
 Castle." 
 
 " David," she said, when she was comfortably installed, 
 " give me the reins, light your pipe, and tell me how you 
 used to catch trout with your hands when you were a 
 boy." 
 
 " Why, Miss Nora, I 've told you a dozen times," he 
 said, "and you '11 be tired of my stories." 
 
 "Tell me all over again from the beginning," urged 
 Nora; and David, nothing loath, told, in his own de- 
 lightful way, the story of his happy boyhood. 
 
 Meanwhile Theodore Bevan walked slowly home, turn- 
 ing over many things in his mind. 
 
 " My Athene must not be allowed to treat me like that 
 a second time," he said.
 
 Nora's Father 
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 NORA'S FATHER 
 
 FOR two or three days the little stranger did not come 
 to the Castle, and Nora did not know whether she was 
 relieved or distressed by his absence. She finished cor- 
 recting some of her examination papers, and she enter- 
 tained Nurse Isabel at afternoon tea. And she went 
 for a long walk by herself, and found herself thinking 
 constantly of Theodore Bevan, dwelling on his argu- 
 ments against old age, recalling his bitter animosity, 
 hardening her heart against him, and then almost un- 
 consciously relenting. Full of these thoughts, over 
 which she had no control, she came home by way of 
 the village, and, passing the King's Head, she suddenly 
 saw a certain species of luggage which she could have 
 identified anywhere. A violoncello in a green case, a 
 violin, a zither, a small handbag, and a schoolboy's 
 book-box lay deposited casually in front of the inn. 
 
 Nora gave a cry of pleasure, and hastened in. 
 
 " Mrs Shaw," she said, u surely father is here ? " 
 
 " Here I am, my dear girl," cried a voice from the 
 corner of the kitchen. " I thought I must come and 
 see how you were getting on. I was famished with 
 hunger, and so Mrs Shaw provided me with some 
 grouse. I believe it was cooked for the lodger up- 
 stairs, but that is no affair of mine, and he could not 
 have enjoyed it as I am doing." 
 
 " Dear old father," said Nora, as she sat down beside 
 him, " it is good to see you ; and how well you look ! " 
 
 57
 
 The Fowler 
 
 " Yes, but I have missed you dreadfully," he said, as 
 he took her hand and kissed it. " It is an awful business 
 being without you. That is the worst of a close friend- 
 ship. Well, one has to pay one's price for everything. 
 Give me some more bread-sauce, my dear." 
 
 She smiled lovingly at him, and drew her chair 
 closer. 
 
 " I did not really intend coming," he said. " I thought 
 it was better for you to have your holiday to yourself, 
 and not be bothered with anything old. But I could 
 not keep away any longer, and so this morning, I put 
 together a few absolutely necessary things, and here I 
 am!" 
 
 " It is lovely to be with you again," said Nora. " I 
 am sorry, though, that you have not brought a few 
 more musical instruments ! I wonder you did not bring 
 a drum and a trombone." 
 
 " Don't be impertinent ! " he answered. " There, I 
 have done my dinner. Let us go and get the key of the 
 organ, and have some music in the church." 
 
 " Oh, father," she cried, " I am just starved for 
 music. And I am longing to hear the new Grancino 
 'cello." 
 
 " Ah, he is a beauty," her father answered as he lit 
 a cigar. " He ought to sound well in that old church, 
 with the stained glass and oak carvings. I 've brought 
 ever so much music with me all your favourite melo- 
 dies, Nora; I had a sort of fancy to play them here." 
 
 " If it 's music you 're talking about," said Mrs 
 Shaw, coming into the kitchen at that moment, " I must 
 come too." 
 
 " Come along," he said, genially. " Leave the inn and 
 the ancestors and the bread-loaves to take care of them- 
 selves, and come and rest in the dear old church. Why, 
 
 58
 
 Nora's Father 
 
 many a time I have remembered how you used to sit 
 there and listen. You too shall hear some of the melo- 
 dies you love. I did not forget them for you. And here 
 is Wullie, just in time to blow the bellows for us. Well, 
 Wullie, my lad, still a good boy ? Or have you begun 
 the downward path ? " 
 
 So with a smile here and a greeting there, and a 
 moment's chat with this ancestor and that, and a reck- 
 less distribution of a few remaining cigars in a crumpled 
 envelope, Nora and her father passed hand-in-hand on 
 their way towards the village church, whilst Wullie 
 ran on to get the key, and Mrs Mary Shaw lingered 
 behind for a few minutes to take her bread out of the 
 oven. 
 
 " Oh yes, I am getting on pretty well with my work," 
 Nora was saying. " I have nearly finished two sets of 
 examination papers. But of course I have been out of 
 doors most of the time, and then I have made the 
 acquaintance of that hospital nurse who is nursing at the 
 Moat House, and I 've seen a good deal of Mrs. Shaw's 
 lodger, whom she dislikes so much, and who has taken 
 your old sitting-room. I am not sure that I do not dis- 
 like him too. But really I don't know he is cer- 
 tainly interesting. I have seen him nearly every day, 
 for the last fortnight or so ; but on one occasion we 
 had rather a warm discussion, and since then he has 
 not paid his usual visit to me. I think I have missed 
 him." 
 
 " What was it you fought over ? " asked her father. 
 
 " Old people," answered Nora. " He talked very 
 bitterly about them." 
 
 "Well, I am not surprised at that," said her father, 
 smiling. " They represent a class of persons to which 
 you know I have never been attached." 
 
 59
 
 The Fowler 
 
 They both laughed at that, and waited in the old 
 porch until Wullie came with the key of the church ; 
 and then they passed in, and stood for a few moments, 
 held by the charm of the noble roof, the graceful columns, 
 and the fine old choir with its rare stained window of 
 bygone times. He pointed out to her his favourite bits, 
 pouring out to her a golden goblet full of rich enthusiasm 
 and appreciation, and then at length he took possession 
 of the organ. Nora sat in one of the front seats and 
 watched him. He was not exactly a handsome old man, 
 but he had a grand head encircled by an abundance of 
 soft grey hair, none too tidy. He wore a shaggy grey 
 beard, none too tidy either. His bright eyes had lost 
 nothing of the fire of youth, and his whole presence 
 seemed endowed with a vitality which, instead of being 
 aggressive, was simply charming. 
 
 Nora always loved him, but she loved him best when 
 he was playing on the organ or the violoncello. He 
 knew how to give one the real thrill of the loveliest of 
 all languages. He touched the notes, and one's whole 
 being vibrated in response ; emotions and sensations, dull 
 or dormant, sprang into life once more ; beautiful new 
 thoughts were born, and bad old thoughts were chased 
 away. It was always so when he played ; people always 
 said it of him. It was not that he was such a wonder- 
 ful performer there were hundreds better than he 
 but that he knew the secret of life and music ; and when 
 a man has that double knowledge, then only can he give 
 the thrill. There was an old philosopher, some one well 
 known in the world of thought, and he used to love to 
 listen to Roger Penhurst's playing. 
 
 " Ah," he would say, " when we have a philosopher 
 who is also a true musician, then indeed we shall be led 
 to heights now well-nigh impossible to scale. Sometimes 
 
 60
 
 Nora's Father 
 
 when I have been listening to Roger Penhurst's render- 
 ing of beautiful music, my mind has bounded forward, 
 and broken down one more barrier." 
 
 This afternoon he began with Mendelssohn's " Hear 
 my prayer " and " Had I the wings of a dove," and worked 
 his way into one of Bach's Preludes and Fugues, and 
 thence rambled on until he reached Beethoven's Mass in 
 D, and turned aside to Grieg's Spring Songs. Then he 
 paused a moment, and plunged into Mendelssohn's Grand 
 Prelude and Fugue, which ends with that broad and mag- 
 nificent Chorale. That indeed can make one's spirit 
 soar if ever music could ; that indeed can break a barrier 
 down. 
 
 When the last sounds had died away, Nora bent over 
 him. 
 
 " Come, dear," she said, " you must be tired." 
 
 So he put his hand in hers, and let her lead him away 
 from the organ : and as they strolled down the aisles, 
 examining the quaint old brasses on the pavements, and 
 the splendid old carved oak pews with many curious 
 devices, they found Mrs Mary Shaw resting quietly, 
 with her apron over her face. They smiled at each 
 other and passed her without a word, knowing that she 
 was busy with her emotions. At the end of the church, 
 in the last pew, sat Theodore Bevan, looking tired and 
 pallid. He glanced at Nora and bowed, and glanced at 
 Nora's father, and drew his thin lips together. Nora 
 quite unconsciously dropped her father's hand. 
 
 When they were out in the open, Roger Penhurst 
 said : 
 
 " Who was that atrabilious little Voltaire to whom you 
 bowed ? " 
 
 " Oh, he is Mrs Shaw's lodger, and my new acquaint- 
 ance," Nora said. 
 
 61
 
 The Fowler 
 
 " He does not attract me at first sight," said her father, 
 lighting a cigar, " but I should certainly like to measure 
 his head. It is small, but remarkable. Have you meas- 
 ured it ? " 
 
 " No," said Nora, laughing. 
 
 62
 
 Contains a Little Geography 
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 CONTAINS A LITTLE GEOGRAPHY 
 
 NURSE ISABEL rose from her sofa, looked at her watch, 
 and yawned. 
 
 " Time for his medicine, afternoon tea, and some of 
 his dull conversation," she said ; " but I simply will not 
 read any more of that absurd book of travels to-day. 
 Arizona indeed ! As though I cared anything about 
 Arizona ! I am sure I was patient enough yesterday, 
 reading until my poor vocal cords nearly broke, and 
 looking out ridiculous places on the map until my head 
 was nearly racked with pain. I am certainly not going 
 to be patient for two days running. I am not a saint 
 yet thank goodness ! " 
 
 In this amiable frame of mind, she chose a most un- 
 saintly looking pair of shoes from her closely-packed 
 regiment under the dressing table, and dressed herself 
 in her afternoon uniform, an artistic flowing grey gown, 
 fastened at the back with twenty-four buttons. She 
 wore a fascinating cap after the fashion of an Italian 
 peasant girl's head-dress. A white apron, and a white 
 collar and cuffs completed an appearance of soothing 
 refinement which had deceived many learned doctors 
 who prided themselves as of course they always do 
 on their unusual powers of insight into character. She 
 lingered for some time before the looking-glass, gazing 
 at those features for which she had an intense admira- 
 tion, and then she put into her pocket two or three 
 letters received that morning from nurse friends, sympa- 
 
 63
 
 thising with her over the dull desolation which she was 
 enduring so nobly. There was a note, too, from a 
 former man patient, with whom she had not had a dull 
 time, and who now sent her a rare stamp for her stamp- 
 album, annexed from his wife's collection. She read 
 this letter and smiled ; and finally went into her invalid's 
 room, feeling decidedly braced up. 
 
 " Now," she thought to herself, " if he will only keep 
 from referring to his own despair about his literary work, 
 and from worrying me to read to him out of that absurd 
 book of travels, it is quite possible that I may remain in 
 good spirits and a good temper for the whole afternoon. 
 But he is the dullest man I ever had to deal with. And 
 as for his History book I don't see anything in it. I 
 don't see why it should have made him famous. And 
 why he should have fretted himself into a fever over a 
 second History book, is also more than I can make out. 
 But really, these literary people are a horrid nuisance, 
 and a great deal worse than irritable old ladies. At 
 least the old ladies do not write Histories, and do not 
 crave to be read to out of geography books ! " 
 
 "Well," said she to her patient, who had raised him- 
 self up on the couch as she came in, and turned to her 
 with a smile on his face, "why, I declare you look 
 brighter. Have you had a good rest and forgotten all 
 your worries and anxieties ? " 
 
 " I 've been enjoying a most delightful dream," Brian 
 Uppingham said, eagerly. " I dreamed, Nurse Isabel, 
 that I had finished and published my new volume of 
 History; that I had been able to write down the opin- 
 ions which I had been harbouring in my mind for so 
 long ; and I recall now so vividly the mood in which I 
 did it all ; there was no harassing doubt, no anxiety of 
 any kind, but just pure enjoyment, just a strong and 
 
 64
 
 Contains a Little Geography 
 
 quiet consciousness of power to be wielded in the fashion 
 most suiting my fancy. But what I remember most 
 vividly was the joy of having actually accomplished the 
 book, and knowing that it was not unworthy ; but not 
 that so much as the satisfaction of having braced my- 
 self up and done it in spite of my former success. Ah, 
 you smile at that, because you do not understand. Yet, 
 I tell you, some anxious temperaments can be as much 
 intimidated by success as by failure. But in this dream 
 of mine, that great weight was lifted from my mind, 
 and I felt as though I could sing from very glee." 
 
 He paused a moment, and then said : 
 
 " But the best part of the dream came afterwards, when 
 I awoke, and realised that not only in dream life, but in 
 real life too, I had broken through my prison of doubt 
 and impotence, and was free." 
 
 " Those are the first sensible words I have heard you 
 say during these last depressing weeks," said Nurse 
 Isabel, as she poured out the tea. " Now, for goodness' 
 sake, don't have a relapse ! Of course I can't understand 
 you : no sensible person could. Good gracious ! If I 
 had made a success over anything whatsoever a History 
 book, or a skirt-dance, or anything I should not have 
 been ' intimidated? But there is no accounting for people. 
 Anyway, don't have a relapse. My nerves will not stand 
 it. I have come to the end of my endurance." 
 
 " Why, I never knew you had any," remarked Brian 
 Uppingham, cheerfully, " and I thought I had made a 
 careful study of you, too. Tell me something about this 
 wonderful endurance. I should like to learn." 
 
 Nurse Isabel was for the moment stunned. A change 
 
 had come over her patient, and she had not yet adjusted 
 
 herself to the difference. He was no longer dull ; he was 
 
 waking up. This was indeed surprising. And to think 
 
 5 65
 
 The Fowler 
 
 that such change should come because you suddenly find 
 yourself able to write another History book ! 
 
 " Ah, well," he said, " I dare say you have had a dreary 
 time of it. I do not think you have tried to help me, 
 but no doubt you could not have succeeded even if you 
 had tried ; and I don't blame you. I blame that idiot of 
 a specialist for making an unsuitable choice in you." 
 
 " I don't think he would have found any one suitable," 
 remarked Nurse Isabel, pleasantly. " You see, you are 
 a particularly irritable creature, and you would have 
 hated any one ; and therefore, probably, I have answered 
 the purpose as well as any other poor victim." 
 
 " I should have thought that I was the c poor victim,' 
 in having been nursed by any one so unsympathetic as 
 yourself," said Brian Uppingham, smiling. " But as for 
 hating you, I've done nothing of the sort, and I have not 
 been as dull as you. You have amused me intensely. I 
 have not amused you, have I ? " 
 
 " Oh no, indeed not," she answered, with fervour. 
 
 " Well," he said, " I tell you one thing, Nurse Isabel, 
 if I ever leave off writing history and take to fiction, I 
 will put you into my first novel, a little idealised, perhaps, 
 for the purposes of art, but true to the life, with the 
 twenty-four buttons to fasten the dress at the back, and 
 the regiment of dainty shoes under the dressing-table, and 
 the stamp-album, and . . ." 
 
 " And my wonderful endurance," suggested Nurse 
 Isabel, quaintly. 
 
 "And the chronic depression so invigorating to the 
 patient's spirits," said Brian, good-naturedly. " And 
 those famous nervous headaches, always coming on at 
 the exact moment when the patient desired to be read to." 
 
 " But when the patient chooses deadly uninteresting 
 books, what is the nurse to do to protect herself?" 
 
 66
 
 Contains a Little Geography 
 
 asked Nurse Isabel. u I should certainly make a note 
 of that in my first novel, if I were you. It is only fair, 
 you know, to give two sides of the question." 
 
 " I will not forget," he answered. " But really I 
 think I have teased you enough for to-day, Nurse Isabel. 
 I am sorry, and you will forgive me when you see the 
 rare stamps which I have been collecting for your album. 
 Here they are." 
 
 "It is good of you to have thought of me," she said, 
 looking at them with genuine pleasure. " As for being 
 vexed with what you have said, I don't mind what you 
 say or what you do, provided you don't have another 
 relapse. I really cannot stand that ; but anything else 
 I am prepared to meet with perfect equanimity." 
 
 " But," she added, with more kindness than was her 
 wont, " you have talked quite enough, and you will be 
 getting tired. Shall I read to you out of the geography 
 book, or would you like to hear something more about 
 Nora Penhurst, who has such a great admiration for 
 your work ? " 
 
 " Something of both," Brian said, " but begin with 
 the girl." 
 
 " No, I think it better to begin with Arizona and the 
 atlas," Nurse Isabel said, primly. " It is more compos- 
 ing for your nerves ! " 
 
 She had risen from the chair by his sofa, and had 
 reached out her hands for the two books, and then 
 turned to him half in jest and half in earnest. 
 
 " Perhaps I have not been very patient," she said. 
 " But when you put me into your novel, make some 
 excuses for me, and don't forget to mention, that in two 
 years I have nursed three philosophers, three poets, one 
 painter, and five successful writers, including yourself. 
 The last philosopher nearly drove me distracted : he was 
 
 67
 
 The Fowler 
 
 so terribly afraid that he would not live long enough to 
 finish his last volume of Synthetic something or other. 
 Of course he did live. Those people always do, just as 
 you will. And, of course, he finished his last volume, 
 and began another last one. I knew he would. He 
 was the first person to impair my patience. Well, I am 
 sorry. And now for Arizona and New Mexico." 
 
 Then she read to him, and, with saintlike patience, 
 found all the places on the map, and as she glanced at 
 him from time to time, she began to feel an awakening 
 pleasure in his company. She remembered suddenly 
 how forbearing he had sometimes been with her when 
 she was at her worst, and a new feeling sprang up in 
 her mind. And she recalled what Nora had said about 
 nurses, and how they should be honoured as the guar- 
 dians of the nation, and she told Brian. 
 
 " I think so too," he said, gently. " Everything 
 should be done to make their lives easy and honoured." 
 
 " You make me feel ashamed," she said, laughing a 
 little uneasily. " But perhaps you know I am not a 
 good specimen." 
 
 " Perhaps I know in my heart of hearts that I am a 
 bad specimen of the other genus," he said. " And now 
 tell me some more about Miss Penhurst." 
 
 So Nurse Isabel told him once more about the meet- 
 ing with Nora on the moors, and she said : 
 
 " Women are supposed not to be able to admire their 
 own sex. But that is not true, you know ; anyway, I 
 admire her very much, and I felt from the first moment 
 
 I saw her, that I would try to win her friendship. She 
 is a gallant-looking creature." 
 
 " She did wonders for you, Nurse Isabel," he said. 
 
 II You have been surprisingly good-tempered since you 
 met her." 
 
 68
 
 Contains a Little Geography 
 
 " Perhaps she will do wonders for you," Nurse Isabel 
 replied. " You remember she is coming to read to you 
 one day soon." 
 
 " I hope it will be very soon," he said. " It will be 
 so delightful to meet some one who is good enough to 
 appreciate my efforts in the History book direction ! It 
 will quite brace me up. Appreciation is a wonderful 
 tonic." 
 
 He lay there, with a quiet smile of content on his face ; 
 and it was a delightful face, of rare distinction and refine- 
 ment, with eyes which, looking out on the world, surely 
 saw the beautiful things of the world, and with a mouth 
 which hid in its corners a lurking suspicion of humour. 
 But there was an expression of great sadness on his face, 
 and he still looked frail. He had been suffering at first 
 from typhoid fever, and then from a long and severe 
 nervous illness, brought on by a terrible calamity which 
 had befallen him in the Swiss mountains. He and his 
 dearest friend and comrade went out together with the 
 guide, and were lost. Brian was the only one of the 
 three found and rescued, and for some time it seemed 
 doubtful whether he would keep his reason. His grief 
 for his friend was piteous. Just at the time of the 
 accident the first part of the ' Intellectual Evolution of 
 Europe ' was published, and began at once to attract 
 attention. It was hoped that this would help him back 
 to health, and no doubt it would have done so, but that 
 just when he was raising his head, another great grief 
 overtook him : his little step-sister Thyra died quite sud- 
 denly at college in the country. She was only eighteen 
 years old, being twenty-one years younger than himself, 
 and he had been brother and father and mother to her. 
 She was a clever girl, and he was intensely proud of her 
 abilities and her personality ; and as she was the only 
 
 69
 
 The Fowler 
 
 relative he had, his whole life was bound up in hers. 
 One day he had received the news of her brilliant suc- 
 cess in her examination, and the next day he started off 
 to see her; and when he reached Cherbury, he heard 
 she had died that very morning from some internal rup- 
 ture. She had died before the doctor could be fetched 
 to her. Brian stood stunned, and quite incredulous. 
 
 " Thyra is so strong," he said. " The thing is simply 
 impossible." 
 
 But for all that she had died ; and meanwhile the 
 fame of his book went on increasing, and, young man 
 as he was, he seemed to have won a place of distinction 
 amongst modern thinkers. But his friends saw with 
 disappointment that he took very little interest in the 
 recognition which had come to him. When he spoke 
 of it at all it was with the cool unconcern of a spectator, 
 and when people spoke to him of it, he shrank back as 
 though something had wounded him. Letters of praise 
 from many eminent men reached him ; and from the 
 Continent, too, came pleasing signs of appreciation. 
 But not even the German translation of his work moved 
 him to enthusiasm. He stood, a solitary figure, reached, 
 apparently, by none of the warm influences around him, 
 and not caring for his honours, since he now had no one 
 with whom to share them. So he drifted, now gathering 
 himself together and trying to write once more, and now 
 turning away from his work, which seemed to tax him 
 too greatly, and always full of fears that he had lost his 
 abilities, and that he would never be able to continue his 
 History. This, together with his loneliness, preyed so 
 much on his mind that he broke down completely. When 
 many remedies had been tried, and proved of no avail, 
 many changes prescribed, and all to no purpose, the 
 doctor suggested the rest cure, and chose Nurse Isabel as 
 
 70
 
 Contains a Little Geography 
 
 a suitable and soothing person to administer it. One of 
 the masters at Harrow, who was taking his family on the 
 Continent for the summer holidays, offered him the use 
 of the Moat House, near Graystoke; and as the country 
 was both beautiful and bracing, Brian decided to accept 
 this kindness. 
 
 So Nurse Isabel nursed him at the Moat House, and 
 slowly but surely he came back to life and strength and 
 courage.
 
 The Fowler 
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 ATTRACTION AND REPULSION 
 
 ROGER PENHURST did not take kindly to Theodore 
 Bevan, his fellow-lodger at the King's Head, and sought 
 sympathy from Mrs Mary Shaw, who enthusiastically 
 shared his dislike; and neither the one nor the other 
 could understand what Nora found so attractive in his 
 companionship. At first her father teased her about her 
 new acquaintance, whom with characteristic appropriate- 
 ness he had christened the " centipede " ; but when he 
 found that she became quite touchy on the subject, a 
 most unusual departure for her, and that any depreci- 
 atory remarks of his always called forth warm words of 
 defence from Nora, he gave up all fun and criticism 
 where Theodore Bevan was concerned, and just waited, 
 quite confident that his dear girl would soon come round 
 to his way of thinking. The curious part of it was, that 
 Theodore Bevan, who constantly saw Roger Penhurst at 
 the King's Head, and sometimes spoke with him about 
 passing events, never once referred to Nora, though of 
 course it was no secret that he visited her at the Castle, 
 went for walks with her in which her father once or 
 twice joined, and took tea with them whenever he 
 wished it. But his presence was nearly always an ill- 
 ness to the genial old man, whilst at other times, in 
 spite of himself, he could not help being attracted to- 
 wards the little stranger, who knew well how to make 
 himself agreeable when he chose, and possessed the 
 virtue, much appreciated by the old, of being a good 
 
 72
 
 Attraction and Repulsion 
 
 listener. Roger Penhurst had lived through a long life, 
 had plenty to say, liked saying it, and liked being listened 
 to with a profound attention granted by the very few. 
 It was silent flattery, all the more eloquent because of 
 its silence, and at first it conciliated the old man's re- 
 luctance ; but always after the short spell of attraction 
 came the lengthened period of repulsion ; and when his 
 dislike was at its strongest, it invariably happened that 
 Theodore Bevan arrived in the nick of time, and suc- 
 ceeded in removing, by means of some special attentive 
 act, some specially unfavourable impression. It was as 
 though he possessed a curious power of divination, and 
 realised when any one was thinking harshly of him. 
 Mrs Shaw told Roger Penhurst that her little lodger 
 often put himself to trouble to help her, just at the very 
 minute when she was most desiring to send higi flying 
 out of the King's Head and be rid of him, bag and 
 baggage ! Then she would be seized with a paroxysm 
 of repentance and shame, and would try to coerce her- 
 self into liking him better. 
 
 " But it be of no use, dear Mr Penhurst," she would 
 say, almost pathetically ; " I can't abide the little viper 
 man." 
 
 Theodore Bevan never spoke to Nora of her father, 
 and although it was her habit to be constantly talking of 
 him, the little stranger invariably remained silent, as we 
 do when some one is giving us an account of a person 
 in whom we are not interested. And then he imme- 
 diately passed on to some other subject. He seemed to 
 have made up his mind that, so far as he was concerned, 
 Nora and her father had nothing whatever to do with 
 each other were, in fact, isolated people, whom force 
 of circumstances had brought together for the moment ; 
 and by his manner to them when both were present, he 
 
 73
 
 The Fowler 
 
 certainly assumed that they had not had any previous 
 acquaintance. This, no doubt, sounds absurd, consider- 
 ing the tender intimacy which did exist between father 
 and daughter, and the good understanding so apparent 
 between them ; but it is nevertheless true that this was 
 Theodore Sevan's attitude. Nora noticed it at the onset, 
 and was greatly amused. 
 
 " I really wonder that he does not offer to introduce us 
 to each other every time we are together," she thought. 
 " I think I shall suggest it." 
 
 So one day she said : 
 
 " I really wonder that you do not offer to introduce 
 me to my father." 
 
 " I am afraid I do not understand you," he said, 
 innocently. 
 
 "Why, I mean that you seem to assume we are 
 strangers," Nora answered. 
 
 41 Indeed, I was not aware," he answered in a sur- 
 prised tone of voice. " I suppose it is that I am not 
 accustomed to take relationships into account. They 
 have never impressed themselves on my mind as being 
 important." 
 
 But he did not change his manner, which continued 
 to amuse and irritate Nora according to her mood at the 
 time ; just as the very way in which he had taken pos- 
 session of her from the beginning, tickled her fancy at 
 one moment, and annoyed her at another. He seemed, 
 also, to have assumed that she always desired his 
 presence, whether she was alone or with her father; 
 and if, by any chance, he was prevented from seeing 
 her, he wrote a letter in which he expressed regret 
 at being unable to pay the daily visit. He generally 
 entrusted this note to Wullie, together with a book, 
 which no doubt was intended to make up for her dis- 
 
 74
 
 Attraction and Repulsion 
 
 appointment in being deprived of his society. And 
 strangely enough, when she did not see him, though she 
 pretended to herself to be glad that she was free of him, 
 she missed him. She looked out longingly for his eccen- 
 tric little figure, and cheated herself into believing that 
 she rejoiced not to see it. Long afterwards, in thinking 
 the whole matter over, she realised that if only she could 
 have spoken of him to some one, and more especially to 
 her father, she would have been able to shake off his 
 influence. But she always found that she never could 
 speak of him ; several times she began, and all the 
 attempts ended in failure. She simply could not discuss 
 him, even with herself, though his way of looking at life, 
 and his many bitter and cruel remarks, so often called 
 forth her indignation, which must necessarily have drawn 
 her into sympathy with others who were observing him 
 with unfavourable eyes. He had no belief in love and 
 none in friendship, but he did not say this in so many 
 words; and it was only from the tone of his conversa- 
 tion that she realised that his pessimism was not an 
 affectation : it was an affliction with which he must 
 have been born. 
 
 He told her once that he took great pleasure in ana- 
 lysing people's actions and motives. 
 
 " Given any action," he said, " find the originating 
 motives : a most interesting occupation." 
 
 " You ought to have been a detective," she said. 
 " Perhaps you are one ? " 
 
 " Perhaps I ought to have been one," he answered, 
 grimly. " But a hobby loses its charm when it becomes 
 a profession." 
 
 " What a mind you must have," she answered, " to 
 find satisfaction in such paltriness for its own sake." 
 
 " I think I have never claimed to be anything 
 75
 
 The Fowler 
 
 better or worse than the average person," he replied. 
 " Average people are ^invariably paltry ; they correspond 
 with the small shop-keeping community in the social 
 organism." 
 
 He did not bear her any grudge when she criticised 
 his sentiments, as she frequently did at the beginning of 
 their intercourse, whilst she was still retaining her own 
 individuality. On the contrary, he showed a singular 
 sweetness and humility which could not but flatter Nora, 
 for she was thus made to feel that she was influencing 
 him. She was flattered, too, by his strong determination 
 to have as much of her companionship as he possibly 
 could. He showed her no personal attentions beyond 
 what was required by the code of strictest courtesy ; and 
 he had never even touched her hand. There was not 
 the slightest approach to familiarity in his manner to- 
 wards her, and yet there was a quiet freedom of bearing, 
 which appealed to Nora all the more because she felt 
 that it was entirely impersonal; but she reflected that 
 she would not have liked it from her young men friends 
 in the old days of fun and frivolity. But she liked it in 
 Theodore Bevan ; it seemed an outcome of his mysteri- 
 ous self. He made no attempt to flatter her by speech 
 either; he always spoke disparagingly of University 
 training and honours, assuming invariably that she agreed 
 with him, and that she foo did not place any value on 
 her Classical Tripos and her other qualifications. 
 
 " You would not talk like that if you had won them 
 yourself," Nora said, with a good deal of spirit, one day. 
 " It is so easy to depreciate what other people do, but 
 what you yourself cannot do. It is a delightful way of 
 being superior." 
 
 But he continued to make slighting remarks about 
 University education, and about people who had been 
 
 76
 
 Attraction and Repulsion 
 
 brought up within the narrow confines of the study, and 
 who, coming out into the world, were armed with about 
 as much real knowledge as that of an ordinary babe. 
 Nora thought of the Professor of Greek at Cambridge, 
 and the Professor of History at Oxford, and of the many 
 distinguished scholars with whom she had come in con- 
 tact, and she smiled down in cold contempt at her paltry 
 little stranger. 
 
 "You are simply jealous," she said, shrugging her 
 shoulders. 
 
 " Ah, you have hurt me," he said, as though in sudden 
 pain. And then he left her, and she, seeing the look 
 of suffering on his face, was remorseful that she had 
 wounded him. 
 
 So the days passed, and the autumn tints crept over 
 the foliage. On the moors, where Nora and her father 
 and Theodore Bevan walked, now alone and now together, 
 the heather and the gorse still spread a gorgeous carpet. 
 At the King's Head, the ancestors went on worrying, 
 Mr. William Parrington continued to pay his addresses 
 to Mrs. Mary Shaw, and the little stranger sat up half 
 the night writing mysterious records in his mysterious 
 journal. Roger Penhurst played the organ in the church; 
 and the beautiful old Grancino violoncello was carried 
 there by David the blacksmith, and the old man touched 
 the strings and awakened the very soul of the instrument, 
 whilst Nora stood by listening to the melodies she loved 
 so well the Boccherini Andante and other plaintive, 
 old-world Italian fragments, heard always at their best in 
 a church by twilight. Theodore Bevan came to listen 
 too, but on these occasions Nora steadily ignored him ; 
 he did not care for music, according to his own confes- 
 sion, and she felt as though he spoilt her pleasure by 
 being present. She said as much to him, but he persisted 
 
 77
 
 The Fowler 
 
 in coming. Nurse Isabel met him there for the first 
 time, and when she went back to the Castle to take tea 
 with Nora, she found him already installed in the gate- 
 house. They looked at each other, these two, and 
 declared war instantly. 
 
 " What a horrid little worm ! " Nurse Isabel said to 
 Nora when they were alone. " He is not fit to dust 
 your shoes. I should not even let him touch mine, and 
 you are a thousand times better than I am." 
 
 The next morning Theodore Bevan said to Nora : 
 "What an objectionable person you invited to your 
 rooms yesterday. It grieved me to see you on such 
 easy terms with her."
 
 The Historian Awakes 
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 THE HISTORIAN AWAKES 
 
 THEODORE BEVAN sent a letter one afternoon to say 
 that he would not be able to pay his daily visit, and it 
 so happened that Nora's father had gone to spend the 
 whole day at the neighbouring town of Langton, an 
 interesting oH-world place with a ruined abbey. He 
 had invited her to come with him, and suggested slyly 
 that they should steal away quite alone. 
 
 " We will not tell a soul except David, who will lend 
 us his trap," he said, coaxing like a school-boy. " We 
 will have one of our splendid outings, such as I have 
 taught you to enjoy, my Nora ; and we will eat our 
 dinner at the oldest inn, see over the church, and then 
 go on to the abbey. And I will smoke one of my best 
 cigars, and we won't breathe a word to a soul. 4 We 
 will fold our tents like the Arabs, and as silently steal 
 away.' " 
 
 u I don't think I care to go, father," she said. " An- 
 other day. I feel in what Mr Bevan would call a 
 4 non-receptive mood.' " 
 
 " Oh, damn Mr Bevan ! " her father said, brusquely. 
 " Is a man like that going to come between you and 
 me ? " 
 
 He was standing on the drawbridge leading up to the 
 gate-house, and, as he spoke, he walked quickly away 
 until he reached the end of the drawbridge, and then as 
 quickly walked back again to Nora. 
 
 " I am sorry I damned Mr Bevan," he said. " I'm 
 
 79
 
 The Fowler 
 
 a cross old fellow. I was so disappointed. That is 
 all." 
 
 " Oh, father," Nora said, with tears in her eyes, " I 
 was not thinking of what I was saying. Forgive me, 
 and let me come with you after all." 
 
 u Some other time," Roger Penhurst answered, gently. 
 " I think I will go alone to-day." 
 
 So he went alone, but Nora would have given any- 
 thing to have jumped into David's gig at the last 
 moment, and put her arm tightly into her father's arm. 
 But for the first time in her life she felt shy of him ; he 
 had dismissed her, and she had deserved it. 
 
 She was restless during the whole morning. She 
 started for a walk over the moors, but came home again. 
 She tried to correct examination papers, and gave the 
 task up as hopeless. She strolled down to the river, 
 and turned back unsatisfied. She watched great-uncle's 
 sheep being branded, and, tiring of that, she went into 
 one of the large fields at the back of the King's Head, 
 and watched the threshing-machine. Wullie and another 
 boy stood feeding the hungry creature. Then she moved 
 on to the field beyond, and talked for a few mimutes 
 with the thatcher, who was busy at work on an enor- 
 mous hay-rick, which was the pride of Mrs Mary Shaw's 
 heart. And there stood the hostess of the King's Head 
 gazing at it triumphantly. 
 
 " Ah," she said, as she turned to Nora. " Parrington 
 ain't got nothing that like. Why, Miss Nora dear, I do 
 declare you be looking dumpsy." 
 
 " I am rather miserable to-day," Nora said, smiling 
 sadly. " Father went off without me, and it was all my 
 fault. We had a few words about about Mr Bevan." 
 
 "Ah," said Mrs Mary Shaw, "he don't like that 
 little viper gentleman any more than I does." 
 
 80
 
 The Historian Awakes 
 
 " I cannot see what people find in him to dislike so 
 much," Nora said, a little sharply ; and she went on her 
 way to the Castle. Mrs Shaw looked for some minutes 
 after the retreating figure. 
 
 " Dear Miss Nora be wearing her apron over her face 
 to-day," she said to herself. 
 
 In the afternoon Nora determined to pay a visit to the 
 Moat House, and make the acquaintance of Nurse Isa- 
 bel's patient. She had seen Nurse Isabel several times 
 since their meeting on the moors, and she would have 
 gone there before, but that she seemed to have had no 
 opportunity. Theodore Bevan took up a great deal of 
 her time. When she arrived at the Moat House she 
 lingered outside to take stock of the fine old Elizabethan 
 building and the older portion with its fourteenth century 
 gate. She glanced at the wonderful yew hedge, dating 
 back to the time of Henry VIII. , and at the three quaint 
 pleasaunces ; and she stood on the lawn and looked at 
 the blue hills in the distance. It was a beautiful spot, 
 and she felt soothed. 
 
 " Father must come here," she thought. 
 
 Then Nurse Isabel touched her on the arm. 
 
 " Do not waste another moment looking at the scen- 
 ery," she said, brightly. " Scenery is all very well in its 
 way, but you have come at the exact time to relieve a 
 human being's misery. My afflicted historian is utterly 
 miserable to-day, and has had a bad relapse. Nothing 
 can cheer him up, not even the geography book. I am 
 sick and tired of him, even though he has vastly im- 
 proved these last days. Do go and sit with him, and 
 see what you can do. Tell him you admire his work 
 tremendously, even if you don't." 
 
 " But I do," said Nora, laughing. 
 
 " Well, it is of no consequence what you feel, pro- 
 6 81
 
 The Fowler 
 
 vided you praise him," said Nurse Isabel. "I rather 
 think he needs a little praise. I find it very difficult to 
 flatter these people, but they all want it in the long run. 
 How glad I am you have come ! It is good to see you." 
 
 There was a note of real kindness and welcome in her 
 voice, and Nora heard it and answered to it in her own 
 friendly manner. The two women walked up the path 
 together, and Nurse Isabel began speaking of Theodore 
 Bevan. 
 
 " That is a strange little man," she said. " I know 
 the type well. I am too much a woman of the world 
 not to recognise a good man when I see him. He is 
 not a good man. I cannot get him out of my mind. I 
 dreamed of him for two nights after I had seen him. 
 We didn't take to each other, I fancy. Indeed, he 
 looked at me as though he wished to order my instant 
 execution. I wonder he didn't ! Do tell me what he 
 said of me." 
 
 Nora laughed a little uneasily. 
 
 " Oh," she said, " it was only that he did not seem to 
 approve of you any more than you of him." 
 
 u Ah, you won't tell me," Nurse Isabel answered. 
 " Well, the worst he can say of me is that I am a ridicu- 
 lous and vain woman, and rather underbred in spite of 
 my pose of refinement. But I am not bad-hearted, Miss 
 Penhurst. And that is just what he is." 
 
 Nora's answer approached nearer to a criticism than 
 any remark she had yet made concerning Theodore 
 Bevan. 
 
 " He has a curious effect on me," she said, dreamily : 
 " a different effect at different times. But he nearly al- 
 ways makes me feel as though my own soul did not be. 
 long to myself." 
 
 Nurse Isabel was discreetly silent, and they entered 
 82
 
 The Historian Awakes 
 
 the hall of the Moat House, and mounted the spacious 
 staircase, Nurse Isabel pointing out two or three fine 
 old pictures on the wall. 
 
 " Now," she said, " I shall take you into my histo- 
 rian's room, and leave you to yourselves, and I shall go 
 and write some letters and read a novel sent me this 
 morning by a Captain in the Hussars, one of my former 
 patients. It will be a real holiday for me." 
 
 She opened a door, and they went into a cheerful 
 room, where Brian Uppingham was sitting in an easy- 
 chair drawn up to the window and commanding a fine 
 view of the country. 
 
 Nora came forward with an easy frankness all her own. 
 
 " How delightful that I am allowed to come and see 
 the famous historian ! " she said, with her sunny smile. 
 
 Her voice fell like music on his ear. Her presence 
 broke upon him like a flood of sunshine. 
 
 " How delightful it is that you have been willing to 
 come ! " he said, with a sudden thrill in his whole being. 
 And his heart went out to her instantly. 
 
 " Moreover, she has chosen the right day," said Nurse 
 Isabel, quaintly, " a day when even the geography- 
 book and the Standard Atlas have not had their usual 
 exhilarating effect." 
 
 They all laughed, and Nurse Isabel went to her own 
 domains. 
 
 "Nurse Isabel has not a very high opinion of my 
 cheerfulness," Brian said, turning to Nora. "And it 
 is true enough that I have been singing a monotonous 
 song in a minor key." 
 
 " You have had a long illness," Nora said. " When 
 you are stronger in body, your spirit will mend itself 
 too. And then you will go back to work, and finish 
 your History." 
 
 83
 
 The Fowler 
 
 " Ah, that is just it ! " he answered, eagerly. " I 
 seem to have lost confidence in myself, and do not feel 
 as though I could ever write again. Sometimes I dream 
 that the old power and pleasure have come back, and I 
 wake up reinvigorated and full of ambitious determina- 
 tion, and then in a moment the paralysing doubts seize 
 me. And I am not by nature a miserable fellow. I 
 suppose it is simply because I have no one who cares 
 greatly what I do or do not do." 
 
 " You have no one to work for ? " she asked. 
 
 " No one," he answered. " And no one to care 
 whether I succeed or fail." 
 
 " But you yourself would care," she said. " And 
 surely, there is the joy of the work itself. That must 
 count, even though you may think it does not." 
 
 " Oh, it counts, I suppose," he said. " But a career 
 is not everything. It may be one's bread but it can 
 also be a stone." 
 
 " I think you must be a little ungrateful," she said. 
 " Some men strive and fail but you have striven and 
 succeeded." 
 
 "Ah, I am not really ungrateful," he said. "But 
 nothing has seemed to reach me since I lost, first my 
 friend, and then my little sister. I have felt as though 
 I were merely a spectator of some one else's success : 
 the very letters which came to me seemed as though 
 written to any one else except me. And when you have 
 been, as it were, a silent spectator for many months, it 
 is not a very easy matter to step on to the stage, and 
 confidently take up your part in the drama. 
 
 " But," he added, smiling brightly, " I am already 
 working my way back again to life and sunshine. Even 
 Nurse Isabel says I am not quite as dull as I was a 
 fortnight ago. That means a great deal from her, you 
 
 84
 
 The Historian Awakes 
 
 know. I sometimes think that if she could have man- 
 aged to get up a little sympathy for me, I might have 
 gathered myself together quicker." 
 
 He spoke half-humorously, but there was a ring of 
 pathos in his voice ; and Nora, glancing at him, felt the 
 strange irony of the situation : here was a man whom 
 many unknown admirers would have been only too glad 
 to help back to health and ease of mind and spirit, and 
 yet perverse fate had only given him a Nurse Isabel. 
 But she did not speak a word of what passed through 
 her mind. He did not need pity : he needed a little 
 understanding and generous appreciation. The man was 
 starved. So she spoke to him about his book, which she 
 and her father had carefully studied. She had an excel- 
 lent memory, and she was able to refer to some of the 
 chapters and one or two of the passages, over which she 
 became sincerely enthusiastic. 
 
 " With such an interpreter as you are," she said," the 
 history of thought and action takes on new life, sheds 
 new light on the past, and is a torch for the future. I 
 do not wonder at the welcome you have received. All 
 those who study and think, were waiting for you. All I 
 wonder at is that you yourself do not care more. If 
 I were you, Mr Uppingham, my heart c would leap to 
 the glorious day.' ' 
 
 " It does," he said, eagerly. " You have made it ! " 
 
 " Don't you see," she continued, " that power like 
 yours is one of God's greatest gifts; and that the con- 
 sciousness of such power ought to save you, and every- 
 one like you, from sinking into the apathy of despair ? 
 Nothing can take it from you except death, when you 
 leave it behind for us." 
 
 Then she looked at him, and a beautiful white-crested 
 wave of sympathy went from her towards him ; and 
 
 85
 
 The Fowler 
 
 when it had passed, she was conscious of what she had 
 been saying, and became confused. 
 
 " But it is presumptuous of me to talk to you like 
 this," she said, gathering herself together "venturing 
 to praise you, who have received so much praise 
 venturing " 
 
 " Ah," he said, interrupting, " your words are like a 
 river in a dry land : refreshing the weary spirit by its 
 music, and renewing the pulse of life by its clear strong 
 waters." 
 
 They were silent for a time ; then she took up a 
 book, and offered to read to him. 
 
 " No, no," he said. " Tell me something about your- 
 self instead." 
 
 So, without any preliminaries, she told him about her 
 picturesque lodgings in the gate-house, and about Mrs 
 Mary Shaw and Mr William Parrington, and all the 
 ancestors. And she spoke of her dear old father and 
 her happy companionship with him, and of her teach- 
 ing and her holidays, and those everlasting examina- 
 tion papers over which she had dawdled so shamefully, 
 that she would now be obliged to shut herself up in her 
 room and " put pressure " on herself for a couple of 
 days. She smiled as she involuntarily used Theodore 
 Bevan's favourite expression, and for a moment her 
 thoughts turned uneasily to him. But when she glanced 
 at the bright, eager face lifted so confidently to hers, the 
 phantom of the little stranger with the broad eye-glass 
 ribbon melted away at once, and she went on speaking 
 freely of her teaching and of her life at Grantham Col- 
 lege ; and as he seemed so interested in everything she 
 said, she told him about some of her friends there who 
 had been at school with her previously, and had moved 
 on to Grantham at the same time as herself. 
 
 86
 
 The Historian Awakes 
 
 " Yes," she said, delighted to speak of her schooldays. 
 " We all came up from Cherbury College together, 
 where we were ridiculously happy. The lady who 
 kept our schoolhouse had a theory that if we were not 
 happy there, we should lose all chance of happiness 
 hereafter. She did not like to see us overworking 
 either; but I must say I never bothered her in that 
 respect." 
 
 " That is where my little sister was," Brian said. 
 u Cherbury ! And you were there too ? Ah, how glad 
 I am that we can talk together of the place ! " 
 
 " Not now," she said, kindly, for she knew of the 
 trouble which had befallen him. " We will speak of 
 Cherbury some day when you are less tired." 
 
 " No now," he answered, insistingly ; and Nora 
 gave way and let him ease his heart. He drew from 
 his book a photograph of the Great Hall, and showed 
 her where his sister had her desk. He was delighted 
 when Nora was able to identify her own place. 
 
 " I was so very proud of her," he said. " She was 
 such a splendid little girl, and had the pluck of ten in 
 her ; and she would have made a capital mountaineer 
 in time. I and my friend whom I lost in the moun- 
 tains had been planning to take her with us to Switzer- 
 land the next year, when she would have finished her 
 London Matriculation ; but, you see, things turned out 
 differently from what we expected." 
 
 He paused, and Nora was silent too. 
 
 " We had arranged that she should be a doctor," he 
 continued, proudly. " All her interests were in that 
 direction, and I had always intended, of course, that she 
 should have a profession or trade. Ah ! we had the 
 happiest life together she and I and my friend John 
 Graham. He was with us most of the time ; and when
 
 The Fowler 
 
 she came back from college there was not a jollier trio 
 in the world than we three." 
 
 u Poor fellow ! " Nora said, gently. " And now you 
 are alone." 
 
 " Well," he said, " it has been balm to my heart to 
 speak of them to you. I felt that I could, and that I 
 might. One knows by instinct with whom one must 
 be silent, and to whom one may let oneself go." 
 
 At that moment Nurse Isabel came strolling into the 
 room. 
 
 " Well," she said, genially, " and have you made 
 friends, or have you been quarrelling over the political 
 aspect in the reign of King Thomas a Becket ? "
 
 The Ancestors Give Trouble 
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 THE ANCESTORS GIVE TROUBLE 
 
 ONE morning all the ancestors woke up in bad tempers. 
 Mrs Mary Shaw also woke up in a bad temper, and was 
 therefore unable to make allowances for the irritating 
 peculiarities of the three previous generations. Great- 
 great-aunt, Miss Rebeccah Renaldson, made several 
 spiteful allusions to Mr William Parrington, and com- 
 plained, in addition, that every day she was being neglected 
 more and more. 
 
 " That's what comes of being old," she grumbled. 
 " The young don't take no notice of the old. Not that 
 you are particular young," she added, quickly. " You're 
 aging wonderful quick." 
 
 Great-uncle, too, was quite out of sorts. He had 
 broken his favourite clay-pipe, and was discovered on the 
 bench in front of the King's Head, swearing without 
 interruption, and reading the Lamentations of Jeremiah 
 upside down. It probably made but little difference 
 which position he chose for the sacred volume; for he 
 had been over to the Miners' Tavern, and consumed 
 considerably more spirituous liquor than was advisable for 
 a gentleman of eighty-four years. (He did not give his 
 custom to the King's Head, having more belief in the 
 excellence of the beverages supplied by another house, 
 and feeling, no doubt, more independence in being at a 
 distance from Mrs Mary Shaw's watchful supervision.) 
 In addition to this escapade, he had insisted on doing a 
 little carpentering ; and having mistaken his finger for a 
 
 89
 
 The Fowler 
 
 piece of wood, had inflicted injuries which might have 
 been serious. It was a remarkable fact that he was 
 always seized with a feverish desire to work at the car- 
 penter's bench whenever he had paid a visit to the Miners' 
 Tavern. Mrs Mary Shaw was rather impatient with 
 him, and told him she was ashamed of him for going and 
 getting too much to drink, and then nearly cutting his 
 finger off. 
 
 "No respectable old gentleman of eighty-four does 
 such things," she said, sternly. 
 
 " There's not many at eighty-four as can do 'em, Mary 
 Shaw," he answered, rebelliously ; and there he con- 
 tinued to sit, reading his Bible upside down and swearing 
 quietly. 
 
 Reuben too, her gentle old father, was quite different 
 from his usual dreamy self. Il appears that he had col- 
 lected some special herbs on which he set great store, and 
 which he intended to convert into some infallible remedy 
 for rheumatism, or typhoid fever, or toothache it did 
 not matter which, and Wullie had thrown them away ; 
 whether deliberately or accidentally was not quite clear 
 to any one, and even Wullie himself did not seem to 
 know. 
 
 Reuben, in his indignation, said so many angry things 
 against Wullie that Mrs Mary Shaw's mother's heart 
 rose up in rebellion against her father, and she took a 
 somewhat contemptuous view of his loss. 
 
 " Valuable herbs, indeed," she said, scornfully. " Any- 
 thing would do just as well for them rotten medicines. 
 You can have as much cabbage or turnip from the garden 
 as you please." 
 
 Reuben's pride was wounded, and he remained deeply 
 injured for the whole of the day, and refused to eat. 
 Mrs Shaw was always worked up when people lost their 
 
 90
 
 The Ancestors Give Trouble 
 
 appetites she expected them to give up the ghost im- 
 mediately ; so she coaxed him with several dainties, 
 including buttered toast, a special fancy of his j but 
 nothing tempted him, and he was heard to murmur to 
 himself several times : 
 
 " Cabbage and turnip, indeed, ignorant idiot ! " 
 
 It was at the close of this stormy day that Mr William 
 Parrington arrived at the King's Head, and found Mrs 
 Shaw in one of her dejected moods. 
 
 " What's gone wrong ? " asked the host of the Punch- 
 bowl, lighting his pipe. 
 
 " Oh, it's them ancestors been giving trouble," an- 
 swered Mrs Shaw. 
 
 " Blast them, I say ! " remarked Mr Parrington, thump- 
 ing his fist on his knee. 
 
 Mrs Shaw nodded her head approvingly, and seemed 
 relieved. 
 
 " Great-uncle took too much to drink and nearly cut 
 his finger off," she said. 
 
 " Pity he didn't cut his neck off and have done with 
 it ! " suggested Parrington. 
 
 " Father lost some of them silly herbs of his, and flew 
 into a temper ; and because I said turnips would do as 
 well, he settled down into the sulks and won't eat," said 
 Mrs Shaw. " He'll fall ill and die, and I'll never raise 
 my head no more." 
 
 " People don't die of the sulks," remarked Parrington, 
 philosophically. " All the sulky folk I ever knew, lived 
 a terrible long time. Sulks is a sort of life-preserver." 
 
 " Great-great-aunt complains she's neglected," said Mrs 
 Shaw, who was visibly cheering up ; u she says all old 
 persons be neglected and pushed on one side, and that I 
 put too much salt in her broth, and that I'm aging 
 wonderful quick."
 
 The Fowler 
 
 " Nasty, spiteful old cuss ! " said Mr Parrington, with 
 fervour. " If she couldn't get rid of her spitefulness at 
 ninety-three year old, it don't say much for the beauty 
 of old age, do it ? And as for you aging wonderful 
 quick, I never saw you look younger in your life ; you 
 might be Wullie's sister in place of his mother." 
 
 " Oh, Mr Parrington ! " interposed Mrs Shaw, much 
 gratified. 
 
 "The other day when I was in Langton," said Par- 
 rington, confidentially, " I was just taking a look round 
 at the jewellers' shops, when I see this mighty nice little 
 ring." 
 
 " It wouldn't fit my finger, Parrington," said Mrs 
 Mary Shaw, smiling. 
 
 " I never told you I bought it for your finger," an- 
 swered Mr Parrington. "I thought it might do for a 
 lady friend of mine in Liverpool. She wouldn't refuse 
 it, I can tell you." 
 
 " Then I'd send it to her," suggested Mrs Shaw, still 
 smiling. " It ain't pleasant having a gift refused, is it ? " 
 
 " I'm pretty well hardened to that," said Parrington, 
 glancing at her mischievously. " You've taught me. 
 Why, I've offered to you the best gift a man can offer 
 hisself, and you've refused me nineteen times." 
 
 " I'm not sure, Mr Parrington, that the best thing a 
 man can offer is himself," said Mrs Mary Shaw. "It all 
 depends on the man. I don't think much of men, though 
 there is one or two nice exceptions Miss Nora's 
 father, and Cousin Susie's husband in Yarmouth ; though 
 now I come to remember, he broke out into religion 
 lately ; so that only leaves Miss Nora's father and " 
 
 " And me ! " said Parrington, pleadingly. 
 
 " Well, upon my soul, I think you're right," replied 
 Mrs Shaw, laughing. 
 
 92
 
 The Ancestors Give Trouble 
 
 " Then you'll wear the engagement ring ? " said Par- 
 rington, triumphantly. " It will fit the little finger. 
 Now don't be like your ancestors, always giving 
 trouble." 
 
 " I can't think of wearing it until you've bought an- 
 other just like it for your lady friend in Liverpool," an- 
 swered Mrs Mary Shaw, who now seemed in excellent 
 spirits, and had forgotten all the worries of a particularly 
 trying day. 
 
 " I'll soon square that matter," said Parrington. 
 " Here, now, my dear, just slip it on ! " 
 
 He might perhaps have succeeded in coaxing the ob- 
 stinate hostess of the King's Head, but that a trap drove 
 up to the inn and Mrs Shaw bustled out to see who her 
 guest might be. Her face fell when she found it was 
 only Theodore Bevan. She had forgotten he was com- 
 ing back that evening. 
 
 " I have had my supper," he said, without looking at 
 her. " I desired to save you the trouble." 
 
 " Save me the trouble ! " she repeated, when she came 
 into the kitchen again. " That's what he's always 
 doing, the little horror. I can't abide him, Parrington. 
 And I've no reason for it. He pays regular, and gives 
 no trouble. I thought a deal more of that artist-chap 
 last year, who never paid a penny, and ate five meals 
 a-day. How he did enjoy them, to be sure ! " 
 
 " Well," answered Parrington, u that's always the 
 way. We always likes best the folk who give us the 
 most trouble. There's yourself, Mrs Mary Shaw. 
 That be a very good instance ! " 
 
 93
 
 The Fowler 
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 A GREAT RESPONSIBILITY 
 
 " So you have made the acquaintance of the historian," 
 Theodore Bevan said, as he watched Nora working at 
 some embroidery which seemed to be engaging a great 
 deal of her attention. He found her in a " non-recep- 
 tive mood " this afternoon, and wondered what he could 
 do or say to arouse her interest. 
 
 " Yes, I have made his acquaintance," Nora answered, 
 without looking up. Indeed, he was pervading all her 
 thoughts, and as she spoke of him, she flushed. 
 
 After that Theodore Bevan remained perfectly silent, 
 smoked his cigarette, and leaned back comfortably in the 
 arm-chair. 
 
 " Personally, I consider his work very uninteresting," 
 said Bevan, after a pause. " Of course, I do not say 
 that there are not some remarkable chapters in his His- 
 tory : that chapter, for instance, on the Reformation ; 
 but on the whole, I think the book is a failure. He has 
 not sufficient grasp to handle such a great theme. He 
 should keep to short historical sketches. He does those 
 well. There he is within his limits." 
 
 " You seem very decided in your opinions," Nora re- 
 marked, a little irritated. 
 
 " I have a very strong belief in my own opinions," he 
 answered. "And I have reason for it. You know I 
 have trained myself to observe, to think, to analyse, to 
 put together, and to conclude. I can remember be- 
 ginning the process when I was quite a small boy, 
 
 94
 
 A Great Responsibility 
 
 and of course, as the years went on, I perfected my 
 system." 
 
 " But," said Nora, " a man may be a good analytical 
 chemist, or a good detective, without being a good 
 critic." 
 
 " Quite possibly," he said, casually. " But he may 
 also be all three." 
 
 He relapsed into silence, and seemed engrossed in his 
 own thoughts. 
 
 " I had a desolate kind of boyhood," he said, after 
 another long spell of quiet, " and I don't know why I 
 am thinking of it specially to-day, except that I am a 
 good deal impressed with your father's personality. A 
 temperament like his is a gift from the gods, but for all 
 that, it could only have developed in a congenial and 
 fostering environment. And then I think of my own 
 early environment." 
 
 This was the first time Theodore Bevan had ever 
 spoken of himself, and Nora's curiosity was aroused at 
 once. His voice, always pleasing to the ear, sounded 
 unusually melodious, and his face wore an expression 
 of intense sadness. 
 
 " My mother and father were indifferent to each 
 other," he continued, " and quite casual about me. My 
 mother did not take the slightest interest in anything, 
 and my father certainly never knew anything at all 
 about what your father calls c the wine of life.' I don't 
 remember a single word of enthusiasm ever passing their 
 lips. They belonged to that large section of English 
 middle-class life, where enthusiasm is considered a de- 
 plorable want of suitable self-control, and emotions of 
 any sort are regarded as disturbing discords in the every- 
 day regulation dulness. They amused me greatly, and 
 puzzled me too; they had no pleasure in each other's 
 
 95
 
 The Fowler 
 
 society, and there was constant nagging and fault-finding 
 on both sides ; but when the anniversary of the engage- 
 ment and wedding day came round, they suddenly con- 
 jured up a small quantity of false sentimentality, which 
 just lasted for the two days. I used sometimes to think 
 that it could not possibly hold out to the very end, but 
 it always did. I had no one to whom I could speak of 
 these and other things, and so I meditated over them 
 alone, and they sank into my system. If I could have 
 spoken of them, I should have freed myself from them 
 only too gladly : any child would, and every grown-up 
 person. But I had not the chance. So it was in this 
 way that I learned to observe and analyse, and put 
 together and conclude. Now, compare my early en- 
 vironment with the surroundings which a man like your 
 father must have had, and the influence of which he has 
 certainly passed on to you. I have the right to envy 
 you both, almost with hatred and uncharitableness in my 
 heart. Why should such chances have been given to 
 you and withheld from me ? Sometimes when I talk 
 with your father, I am overwhelmed with the rush of 
 my own feelings. He attracts me and of course I 
 repel him. But I am accustomed to that. People in 
 general do not like me, and I am not surprised at it : 
 for you see, I never learnt anything about kindli- 
 ness and tenderness, and I was brought up on mock 
 sentimentality." 
 
 Nora was listening intently : she had not expected 
 this kind of language from Theodore Bevan. 
 
 " But," he added, " I can generally work through this 
 period of dislike when I choose, and when it is worth 
 while to make the effort. Many things in life are not 
 worth troubling about, but some are, and we are fools 
 and faint-hearted if we let them slip : fools indeed, if 
 
 96
 
 A Great Responsibility 
 
 we do not strain every nerve, and fight through all our 
 inherent disadvantages in order to attain to them. And 
 if you have been starved and cheated in your youth, as 
 I have been, you will feel that you are owed some com- 
 pensation for all you have missed, and that you have 
 the right to make straight for what seems to you a real 
 satisfaction. And the greater your former destitution, 
 the stronger your determination to pay yourself back. 
 People may stand by, and wonder and criticise and 
 sneer: but you can pass them by without a sign and 
 without a word, for they do not come into your scene 
 of action ; so far as you are concerned, they might not 
 exist. No doubt they have their significance in some 
 other scheme, but that is of no moment to you." 
 
 His words, spoken so deliberately and coldly, sent a 
 chill through Nora's heart. She knew by instinct that 
 he intended her to understand that he had sought her 
 companionship as one of bis payments back. Was it any 
 great compliment, she thought, to be included in this 
 man's horizon ? Would it not be better and safer to 
 have no significance whatever in his scheme of action ? 
 Some such remark rose to her lips, but she found her- 
 self unable to give it utterance ; there was, however, a 
 slight shrinking in her manner which did not escape 
 Theodore Bevan's keen observation ; and when he spoke 
 again, the tension of his address had relaxed, and the 
 incisive tones of his voice had lost their sharpness. He 
 looked up at her, and smiled sadly. 
 
 u I think I become an undesirable comrade when I 
 speak of my childhood," he said. " I am carried away 
 by my bitter sense of irreparable wrong. I must beg 
 indulgence." 
 
 " You are indeed bitter," said Nora, slowly. " One 
 wonders whether indulgence should be granted to you, 
 7 97
 
 The Fowler 
 
 and on what grounds. One wonders, too, whether you 
 should be allowed to pay yourself back in any way you 
 choose, without consulting any one's wishes except your 
 own." 
 
 u Ah," he said, " that is a question of individuality 
 and relative strength." 
 
 He had risen from the chair, and stood before the fire- 
 place, his hands behind him and his head slightly bowed, 
 just as a child might stand who has been reproved and is 
 ashamed. 
 
 " Each time I have been with you," he said, almost 
 pleadingly, " I have come away feeling softened, and 
 with some of the soreness healed. It could not have 
 been otherwise. Each time I have left you, whether 
 here, or in the woods, or on the moors, the same words 
 have rushed to my lips, and when alone, I have spoken 
 them aloud. Do not judge me harshly, for you have a 
 great responsibility." 
 
 Then he stepped forward to Nora's writing-table, took 
 two of his books which he had placed there, and passed 
 quietly out of the room. Nora watched him from the 
 casement-window, and turned away uneasily. 
 
 98
 
 An Afternoon at the Eagle Club 
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 AN AFTERNOON AT THE EAGLE CLUB 
 
 IT was about four o'clock in the afternoon, and the mem- 
 bers of the Eagle Club were making their way upstairs 
 to the spacious new reception-rooms, open for the first 
 time in honour of .the President's return, after her long 
 tour in the United States of America. She was tall and 
 graceful, and had a refined face and a natural charm of 
 manner which made itself felt at the very moment when 
 you were brought into contact with her. The members 
 of the Eagle Club were lucky in having secured her as 
 their President, and she had carefully guarded them from 
 making themselves ridiculous and rushing into extrava- 
 gances of opinion and procedure. She herself did not 
 pose, and therefore she did not gather around her any of 
 the posing women of the day : they went and posed in a 
 more congenial soil, whilst she attracted the real workers 
 of the generation, who forgot their own individualities in 
 their enthusiasms, and were not eternally sounding the 
 personal note. She had around her, in fact, the younger 
 women, many of whom had had the advantage of a 
 systematic training, which usually results in some kind 
 of self-restraint and reticence, and a better understanding 
 of the proportion of things. 
 
 The rooms were quickly filling with members, most 
 of whom had brought friends with them, chiefly women 
 themselves, though here and there one might see the 
 face of a man. The President, Mrs Carew, was sur- 
 rounded by people all eager for an opportunity of wel- 
 
 99
 
 The Fowler 
 
 coming her home to the dear old country. Although it 
 was an informal social gathering, they very much wished 
 her to say a few words to them about her travels and 
 experiences ; and she laughingly answered that she prob- 
 ably would not be able to help herself, since out in 
 America she had become so accustomed to speaking on 
 every occasion, whether suitable or unsuitable, that her 
 difficulty now would be to recognise when to maintain 
 a golden silence. 
 
 " Out in America, you know," she said, " all the 
 women can speak well, and they do so on the slightest 
 opportunity. They apparently must do so it is greater 
 than themselves ! " 
 
 Whilst she was thus chatting in a further corner of 
 the rooms, a few young women were standing round a 
 little lady who had just come amongst them. She was 
 slight and dark, and had soft brown eyes, but an exceed- 
 ingly determined mouth, and a square jaw. 
 
 " Oh, I am delighted to be back in London," she was 
 saying, " but, of course, I have had a most interesting 
 time in Paris, and Sweden too. I worked very hard and 
 happily in Paris over the gold tooling, and my master 
 was a real old-world artist-craftsman. He was quite 
 sentimental over his work, and could scarcely bear to 
 part with the volumes which he had been binding and 
 decorating. I don't wonder either. It is horrid to 
 think that the books over which you have expended 
 so much love and labour are going into some one else's 
 library." 
 
 u Where shall you have your bindery, Miss Carson ? " 
 asked one of her listeners. 
 
 " In my own rooms, at present," she answered. " I 
 have several private orders to carry out, and they will 
 take me a long time. I am going to bind, according 
 
 100
 
 An Afternoon at the Eagle Club 
 
 to my own fancy, a whole set of Robert Browning's 
 works for some rich old recluse in Somersetshire. Each 
 volume is to be different." 
 
 "You are lucky to slip into work at once," said an 
 elderly lady, with a sigh. " Some people try all their 
 lives, and never get a fair chance." 
 
 " Or perhaps do not recognise when it comes," sug- 
 gested some one else. 
 
 "Or perhaps are frightened to lay hold of it," said 
 another. 
 
 At that moment a lady, followed closely by a gentle- 
 man, advanced to Madge Carson. 
 
 "Miss Carson," she said, "Mr. Gerald Hamilton 
 desires greatly to make your acquaintance. He is him- 
 self much interested in bookbinding and would like to 
 speak with you." 
 
 For one moment Madge Carson hesitated, but seeing 
 the gentleman so near at hand, she bowed slightly, and 
 began to talk with him, but as soon as she could free 
 herself, she moved back to her former companions. 
 
 "I am rather surprised that you allowed yourself to 
 be introduced to a man of such notorious character as 
 Gerald Hamilton," said one of her friends. " I thought 
 you felt strongly on all those matters." 
 
 "I am rather surprised that he is allowed to be pres- 
 ent here," replied Madge Carson, warmly. " Being here, 
 one has no right to insult him openly. But I shall make 
 my complaint to the President at once. It is for her 
 to deal with this matter, and not for me." 
 
 She wound her way through the maze of guests, 
 stopping now and again to exchange a word with some 
 one who recognised her bright face and pleasing appear- 
 ance, and finally she found herself side by side with the 
 President.
 
 The Fowler 
 
 " Mrs. Carew," she said, quietly, " that odious man 
 Gerald Hamilton is in the room, and, against all my 
 wishes, of course, I had to be introduced to him. I 
 thought you would like to know." 
 
 " Thank you," answered Mrs. Carew, just as quietly, 
 and she continued her conversation with the Parsee lady 
 who had taken such high honours in medicine at the 
 London University. But after a few minutes she 
 passed over to the corner where Gerald Hamilton was 
 standing. 
 
 " Mr. Hamilton," she said, quite courteously, " I do 
 not at present know at whose invitation you came 
 amongst us to-day, but I think there must have been 
 some mistake. We are trying the whole time to con- 
 duct the Club, as far as possible, on the same lines as 
 one of the best Men's Clubs. I am quite sure that the 
 gentlemen of the Bayard, for instance, would not care 
 to admit to a social gathering of this description a 
 woman of notorious character." 
 
 41 May I ask who you are ? " he asked, a little haughtily, 
 but his dissipated face flushed crimson. 
 
 "I am the President of the Club," she answered. 
 " Good afternoon, Mr. Hamilton." 
 
 She did not even wait to see whether he intended 
 to take his departure, for she knew he had understood. 
 He passed down the stairs slowly, and when out on the 
 street, whistled a tune softly as he went along. 
 
 " Blessed are the women who don't make scenes," 
 he said to himself; u for they shall inherit the kingdom 
 of heaven and the world too. I congratulate the Club 
 on its President." 
 
 Meanwhile Madge Carson had rejoined her little 
 group of friends, and was keeping them entertained 
 with her descriptions of her master the old Parisian 
 
 102
 
 An Afternoon at the Eagle Club 
 
 bookbinder ; and when, she looked up again she saw that 
 Gerald Hamilton had gone. 
 
 "Now was not that much better than making a 
 scene ? " she asked. " The man has been dismissed 
 quietly, I dare say even artistically. Men hate and 
 despise scenes, but they adore tact. It is about the 
 only virtue which people of Gerald Hamilton's stamp 
 appreciate and respect. He has gone, you see, and no 
 doubt he is thinking this very moment that the Club 
 has a clever President." 
 
 " If that is all he is thinking of he has not learnt much 
 from his dismissal," remarked one of the little circle. 
 
 " He has learnt that at least one section of modern 
 educated women desire to have nothing to do with him," 
 replied Madge Carson ; " and if all the other sections 
 would follow suit without any fuss, but just as a matter 
 of course, then the Gerald Hamiltons of the world might 
 perhaps begin to disappear. I only say perhaps. But 
 even if there were merely a bare possibility, the experi- 
 ment would be worth while." 
 
 Then, turning to her neighbour, she said : " Mrs 
 Ellerton, do you remember my telling you how Theo- 
 dore Bevan used to say that if you begin by assuming 
 that certain things will take place, you have already 
 given them the most important impetus ? I always 
 thought that so clever and true too. For instance, he 
 deliberately assumed that people wanted his society, 
 even if he saw that they did not. But they ended by 
 wanting him. However, I was not specially wishing to 
 speak of him, only the thought of him flashed across my 
 mind when I was talking about this Gerald Hamilton. 
 A man like Theodore Bevan can, on the whole, do 
 much more harm to a young woman than Gerald 
 Hamilton. At least you know where you are treading 
 
 103
 
 The Fowler 
 
 with a disreputable fellow like that, for he really carries 
 his own danger-signals with him; but a man of Theo- 
 dore Bevan's type exercises from the very beginning a 
 subtle influence over you, and you cannot ever get rid 
 of it thoroughly." 
 
 " But you have freed yourself entirely from him now," 
 her friend said to her, as she drew her apart from the 
 others and scanned her ; " and you are engaged to be 
 married to our Prince of Bookbinders." 
 
 " Oh yes," Madge Carson answered, frankly. " And 
 happiness has come to me like a revelation since then. 
 I feel gloriously happy in my work, and in my engage- 
 ment too. But an experience like mine with Theodore 
 Bevan does leave its impress. Only the other day 
 before I left Paris I was reading some of his letters, and 
 wondering how on earth it was that I did not detect the 
 note of insincerity and pretentiousness. I came across 
 the words, c As often as I leave you the same words always 
 rise to my lips^ and when alone I say them aloud' I used 
 to think he uttered some kind of benediction for my 
 chastening influence, but I suppose what he really said 
 was, c Idiotic little fool ! ' " 
 
 " It is curious that you should mention him to-day," 
 said Mrs Ellerton ; " for I heard of him only this morn- 
 ing, and was intending to speak of him to you. A 
 friend of mine, Nora Penhurst, writes from the country 
 that she has made the acquaintance of a very curious 
 man called Theodore Bevan, and that she sees a good 
 deal of him. I rather expected her to be at the Club 
 to-day. She promised to come if she could, but she has 
 evidently delayed her return to town. However, it can- 
 not be long now before she does come back to London, 
 for she teaches in several of the high schools. I should 
 like you to know her." 
 
 104
 
 An Afternoon at the Eagle Club 
 
 " I would like, to meet her, if only to put her on her 
 guard about Theodore Bevan," Madge Carson answered. 
 " You know I made a vow to myself at the time, that 
 if ever I heard of any woman becoming intimate with 
 him, nothing would prevent me from going to her, and 
 begging her to save herself from the illness of having 
 him in her life. I should not mind who it was, nor 
 whom I encountered in the attempt." 
 
 " Nora Penhurst is not as young as you were at the 
 time," her friend answered ; " but she is singularly un- 
 developed in some ways, in spite of all her education 
 and training. I sometimes think this is her great charm : 
 she is so fresh-hearted and joyous, and sees beautiful 
 things in the world where other people see nothing. 
 But from her earliest days she has had a happy free 
 life, and a splendid old father as a friend and comrade, 
 and no relations, and indeed nothing to bother her, and 
 no one to trample on her. She has always been a brick 
 to me, and helped me over some difficult bits of my life. 
 I wish I saw more of her now, but I am always travel- 
 ling about. She sees so clearly in some things, and goes 
 straight to the root of the matter ; but in others she is 
 as simple as a child." 
 
 u Well, I hope for her own sake that she will never 
 get caught in the net of that cruel little fowler," Madge 
 Carson said, bitterly. " Although I do not know any- 
 thing about her, except that she is your friend, Mrs 
 Ellerton, I would put myself to any indignity if I could 
 warn her of her danger. Don't forget to arrange a 
 meeting for us as soon as you can." 
 
 " Oh, there may be no need of a warning," said Mrs 
 Ellerton. 
 
 " Ah, you do not know Theodore Bevan," Madge 
 Carson replied, dreamily ; and after that she did not 
 
 105
 
 seem to care to speak to any one. She slipped away to 
 her rooms in Chenies Street Chambers, and sat down 
 to her work. But she did not accomplish anything; 
 and when, later on in the evening, the man who loved 
 her came to see her, bringing flowers in one hand, and 
 exquisite new designs in the other, he found her listless 
 and idle. 
 
 " What is it, dear little girl ? " he asked, gently. 
 
 " A shadow on my soul," she answered, vaguely. 
 
 106
 
 Kindred Spirits 
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 KINDRED SPIRITS 
 
 " You certainly worked wonders during that afternoon 
 you spent with my historian," said Nurse Isabel the 
 next day when she met Nora at the post-office. " After 
 you had gone, we talked of nothing but you not that I 
 minded that, you know. Still, I merely state that you 
 were our sole topic of conversation. He dreamed about 
 you, too, and awoke so happy and refreshed that I 
 scarcely recognised him. But here comes the amusing 
 part; he asked for pencil and paper and began making 
 notes for his book. He said you had made him feel 
 that he must begin at once." 
 
 " I am so glad to hear that," Nora said, smiling and 
 blushing. 
 
 "But he began by putting down a few details about 
 me, in case he should ever write a novel," continued 
 Nurse Isabel, quaintly, " and from all I can gather, he 
 thinks I am the most absurdly inane person that ever 
 lived. Perhaps I am. But I am evidently considered 
 interesting enough to be put into a book, and that is 
 more than you can say of most people. He showed 
 me his remarks, and asked me if I could supplement 
 them. Now imagine anything as cold-blooded as that ! 
 He wrote: 'Nurse Isabel ridiculously vain but 
 with some sense of fun dress fastened at the back 
 with twenty-four buttons at least nine pairs of shoes 
 and a nervous headache for every day in the week 
 quite unsuited to be a nurse rather bright at some 
 
 107
 
 The Fowler 
 
 things Grecian method of hair architecture subject 
 to depression which probably vanishes altogether given a 
 congenial patient, but which seldom passes off if the 
 invalid be not worthy of the effort.' There were other 
 statements, too, and they ended with c not bad-hearted.' " 
 
 " Oh, I'm not angry," she added, good-naturedly. 
 "But I am glad he wrote c not bad-hearted' That is 
 why I told you, for that is just as true as the other 
 things he has said. And he knows. 
 
 " Not that he could write a character study about any 
 living person, or about any dead one either, unless the 
 individual came out of a history book," continued Nurse 
 Isabel. " Do you know, that man spends hours and 
 hours thinking about Queen Elizabeth and Oliver Crom- 
 well and Louis XIV., and people of that description. 
 Sometimes I say, 'What are you thinking of? ' And he 
 says, Cromwell.' Or perhaps he answers, c Richelieu.' 
 Or perhaps he will reply, 4 Gustavus Adolphus.' But 
 yesterday when I asked him my usual question, he did 
 not refer to any historical personage. He said, 1 1 am 
 thinking about that dear girl, Miss Penhurst. And if 
 you are a brick, Nurse Isabel, you will ask her to come 
 up here to-morrow.' '' 
 
 Nora blushed again. A very warm and tender feeling 
 came into her heart. 
 
 " I should like to come," she said, simply. 
 
 u Of course, you know," said Nurse Isabel, nodding 
 her head approvingly, " if I were anything so base as 
 a human being, I should instantly be jealous of you. 
 When the stupid fellow recovered his senses, he ought 
 to have fallen in love with me, to make up for all the 
 dull time I've been having with him. Instead of which, 
 he goes and loses his heart to you. And I am left out 
 in the cold ! " 
 
 1 08
 
 Kindred Spirits 
 
 " But you have never liked your poor historian," Nora 
 said, laughing. 
 
 " But he is a changed man," Nurse Isabel answered. 
 " However, I bear you no grudge. Do come this after- 
 noon, if you can spare the time from that little friend 
 of yours who likes me so much. I met him this morn- 
 ing near what you call the Nightingale Lane, and he 
 again looked as though he wished to order my instant 
 execution. I should not like to meet him on a lonely 
 moor at night." 
 
 u I think he has just an unfortunate manner," Nora 
 said. 
 
 " Oh, dear no," answered Nurse Isabel. " It is not 
 his manner only. It is his mind." 
 
 " He has a very strong individuality," said Nora, 
 uneasily. " One scarcely seems able to resist its influ- 
 ence. At times, when we have been together, and have 
 disagreed about everything, and he has gone away, I find 
 myself thinking his thoughts, not mine. . . . But. . . ." 
 
 She stopped and picked a flower from the hedge. 
 
 " Oh, I suppose it is just fancy," she said, with forced 
 brightness. 
 
 " I should certainly hope it was," answered her com- 
 panion. " Imagine a little worm like that treading on 
 you ! " 
 
 " Why do you dislike him so much ? " asked Nora, 
 with sudden irritation. " You know nothing of him. 
 You have scarcely had five minutes' talk with him." 
 
 Nurse Isabel shrugged her shoulders. 
 
 " Instinct does not require five seconds," she said. 
 " And although I am almost a stranger to you, I don't 
 like to think of you being with him. You have drawn 
 me to you, and I find I have a little fragment of tender- 
 ness left in me. I thought I had nursed it all away 
 
 109
 
 The Fowler 
 
 long ago, but you have shown me that I was mistaken. 
 When we feel like that, we put out our arms to protect. 
 We cannot help ourselves." 
 
 Her voice was so unusually gentle that no one could 
 have failed to detect the note of kindness j and Nora was 
 touched. She slipped her arm through Nurse Isabel's, 
 but she did not say another word about Theodore Bevan, 
 and the two companions walked on together until they 
 reached the church. 
 
 " Listen to my old father playing Bach's Fugues," 
 Nora said. "You must bring Mr Uppingham down, 
 and we will have some music." 
 
 " You can arrange with him this afternoon," Nurse 
 Isabel said. " I think he will soon find himself strong 
 enough to do anything you suggest. And I am sure he 
 would like to see your father. What an old dear he is, 
 Miss Penhurst ! Ah, here he comes." 
 
 " Ah," said Roger Penhurst as he joined the two girls. 
 " And here is the guardian of the nation too ! Good- 
 morning, Nurse. Wullie and I have been playing for 
 such a long time on the organ that we are both worn 
 out. I suppose you know something about medicine. 
 What would you prescribe for this stricken boy ? Pep- 
 permints or brandy balls ? " 
 
 " Excellent remedies, both of them ! " laughed Nurse 
 Isabel. 
 
 " Go and get both of them, Wullie," the old man 
 said, gravely, to the child, who went off delighted. 
 
 " And for myself? " Roger asked. 
 
 " I think it would do you good to walk home with 
 me," Nurse Isabel suggested. 
 
 " I have not a doubt of it," he answered, gallantly. 
 
 " It does not look as though I were wanted," Nora 
 said, as she left them. " I'll see you this afternoon, 
 
 no
 
 Kindred Spirits 
 
 Nurse Isabel, and perhaps father will come and fetch 
 me." 
 
 " Don't you disappoint my poor historian," Nurse Isa- 
 bel called after her. " He will have a relapse if you fail 
 him. He is counting the hours till he sees you again." 
 
 Her words were spoken half-jestingly, as she intended, 
 but they were nevertheless true. Brian Uppingham had 
 brightened up wonderfully since Nora's visit : her pres- 
 ence, her manner, her personality had taken hold of him 
 at once. He had been waiting for her and her only ; 
 and when he saw her, he felt that she brought with her 
 " the palm wine to soothe a man's soul's wounds in 
 winter." It was a great balm to speak of his loved and 
 lost ones, and to hear kind words about his work, which 
 had been neglected partly on account of his ill-health, 
 and partly because his ambitions had been lying dormant 
 for sheer want of some electric touch. He was a man 
 who imperatively needed sympathy; he did not belong to 
 that sad company of detached souls who, by reason of 
 sorrow or circumstance, or character or loss of ideals, end 
 by becoming sufficient unto themselves, and can do their 
 work independently of outside influence. There was 
 nothing of this about him : to be, or to accomplish any- 
 thing, he needed all the help he could get from warm 
 human intercourse, giving in return the best of his mind 
 and spirit and individuality. The loneliness of life which 
 had fallen on him had been almost like death to him ; but 
 he had passed through the dark valley of desolation, and 
 now heard for the first time a voice which reached him 
 with a message of comfort and courage and regeneration. 
 
 The next morning after Nora's visit, he went to work, 
 making notes of some things he remembered for his new 
 volume of the Histoiy, and amusing himself too by jot- 
 ting down, just to tease her, a few of Nurse Isabel's 
 
 in
 
 The Fowler 
 
 idiosyncrasies. Indeed he was so bright and seemed so 
 much more alive, that, if Nurse Isabel had allowed him, 
 he would have driven down to the gate-house and called 
 on Nora. But she suggested he should wait a day or two 
 more, and he gave in when she promised to ask Nora 
 to come again. 
 
 And Nora did not fail him. She wished to see him ; 
 and though she did not put the thought in so many words 
 to herself, she felt that it was a relief to her spirit to be 
 with a nature like Brian's after a spell of intimacy with a 
 man like Theodore Bevan. 
 
 So she came looking her best, and bringing heather 
 and autumn-leaves and two or three trailing branches, 
 and some bracken which she had gathered in the morn- 
 ing. She decorated his room, and he watched her and 
 admired her. Then she sat down beside him, and he 
 pointed triumphantly to his note-book and a few loose 
 sheets of paper. 
 
 " See how I have taken your words to heart," he said. 
 " I have begun work again." 
 
 His directness, and the simple natural welcome he 
 gave her as though to a friend of old standing, who was 
 interested in him as a matter of course, and in whom he 
 wished to confide as a matter of course, pleased Nora 
 greatly. Here was another man who knew what he 
 wanted, and dispensed with formalities and preliminaries : 
 she thought of that long afterwards when she was freer 
 in spirit to make contrasts. 
 
 " How glad I am that you were able to come," he said, 
 as he turned over his papers. " See, I have had these 
 three letters this morning: one from Germany, another 
 from Sweden, and another from a distinguished American 
 historian." 
 
 " Well," she said, as she gave them back to him, 
 112
 
 Kindred Spirits 
 
 "you have indeed begun the day brightly, with words 
 like these to greet you. Surely they must help you." 
 
 " They have helped me to-day," he said. " I have 
 read them over many times, and I have been longing 
 to show them to you." 
 
 Then, without hesitating, and taking it for granted 
 that she wanted to hear, he began speaking about his 
 work, and his new ideas for the new volume : the 
 thoughts came bounding out, grateful, as it were, for 
 being released from the lonely prison of the mind, and, 
 once free, they seemed to gather in strength and sub- 
 stance. He spoke a great deal about the differentiations 
 of religious feelings, and Nora could not help noticing 
 the contrast between the minds and temperaments of 
 her two new acquaintances. This Brian Uppingham 
 had studied and analysed the leading features of religious 
 thought, and had traced the growth and decline of this 
 sect, and now of that, and the historical consequences 
 of either ; he had plunged deep into inquiry, and was in 
 fact a theological and historical vivisector j and yet, with 
 all the story of man's strange method of worshipping 
 God, and God's still stranger acquiescence with all 
 this story at his fingers' ends, God had remained in his 
 heart and in his intellect as an unalterable necessity ; 
 and man as a pilgrim starting ofF on a journey, and in 
 spite of all deviations for the moment, keeping to the 
 main road God. 
 
 But Theodore Bevan believed in no one in nothing. 
 He was the spirit of pessimism, just as this historian was 
 the spirit of reasonable optimism. 
 
 Brian Uppingham dealt with motives on a large scale, 
 
 and Theodore Bevan kept a small petty shop in a back 
 
 slum. That was the difference between them. But . . . 
 
 It was always " but " in Nora's mind when she began to 
 
 8 1 1 ?
 
 The Fowler 
 
 criticise Theodore Bevan. A shade passed over her face, 
 and Brian noticed it. 
 
 " Ah, I am boring you," he said. " But it is your own 
 fault, you know. You roused me up to my old interests." 
 
 " No, no," she said. " You are not boring me. It is 
 delightful to hear you talk. It was merely that just one 
 irritating thought crossed my mind." 
 
 " Is it possible that you ever feel irritable ? " he asked. 
 " I don't believe it. I thought that sort of thing was left 
 to me. Nurse Isabel says I am not the Prince of Dark- 
 ness, but worse- the Prince of Irritability! I rather 
 think she is right. Isn't she a curious character ? She is 
 a brick, really, and I have been a terrible trial to her." 
 
 " She was never intended by nature to be a nurse, I 
 imagine," Nora said. 
 
 " She says that she never wished to be anything," he 
 answered, smiling, " except a rich lady at large. It is 
 very curious how some women are born with a distinct 
 disapproval of work ; and perverse fate demands that they 
 should be the very ones to have to buckle to." 
 
 " And high-born damsels eat their hearts away be- 
 cause they may not work," said Nora. 
 
 Thus they drifted on to the subject of women and 
 their careers. Nora was delighted to see how keen he 
 was about everything to do with women and their new 
 opportunities. 
 
 " Horrible old curmudgeons," he said, speaking of the 
 authorities of the older universities who refused to grant 
 degrees to women, even though they suffered them to 
 pay their fees and undergo the examinations. " And to 
 think that many of those very colleges were founded, or 
 at least contributed to, by women themselves." 
 
 " It is only a question of time, and we shall have our 
 degrees," Nora said. 
 
 114
 
 Kindred Spirits 
 
 " Yes," he said ; " that is very true. But I think it 
 is more than time that we men united in sweeping away 
 all hindrances for women. Surely by now we ought to 
 be ashamed of our selfishness and persistence in arrogat- 
 ing to ourselves all the things most worth having in life : 
 the free play of character, and the fair play in the ordi- 
 nary difficulties of everyday existence, and the open field 
 in which to test the strength and value of ability and 
 ambition. All these privileges we kept jealously for our- 
 selves, and others too of baser calibre : the privilege of 
 behaving just as the lower nature in us suggested, and 
 then of passing on, as though we had only acted in ac- 
 cordance with the dictates of our manhood, and that was 
 the end of the matter, so far as we were concerned ; and 
 then the privilege of judging and condemning to life- 
 long social damnation the women whose passionate in- 
 stincts had also run away with them, but less deliberately 
 than with us. But that is all beginning to get better 
 now." 
 
 " Ah, you are on our side," she said, warmly. 
 
 " Of course I am," he answered. " But it is not from 
 virtue or unselfishness on my part. It is from bringing 
 up. My own beautiful, gallant mother influenced me in 
 all these matters. She laid bare to me patiently and per- 
 sistently, but without the least aggressiveness, the whole 
 story of women's sufferings and limitations physical and 
 mental. I learnt it in fragments at odd moments, dur- 
 ing quiet walks and talks. I forgot a good deal of it as 
 a lad, of course ; but the general effect remained and 
 never lost its hold on me. She was one of the real 
 pioneers of woman's liberation ; and she was so beauti- 
 ful, so refined, so gallant and high-minded, and so in- 
 tensely human, and with such a wonderful gift of 
 sympathy and affection, that I never think of her except 
 
 "5
 
 The Fowler 
 
 with a thrill of love and admiration. Here is her dear 
 face. You see how gallant she looked." 
 
 Nora looked at the beautiful little miniature which he 
 drew from a case on the table. 
 
 " They say," he continued, " that a woman can do 
 anything with a man, and I think it is true that she can 
 make of him what she pleases. That is why I believe 
 that in all things that really matter, the right bent can be 
 given to men at the very onset of their lives, if women 
 and mothers care enough to take the trouble, and if they 
 understand how. I don't say that I have turned out 
 worthy of her untiring efforts, but still something re- 
 mains which would never have been there but for her." 
 
 " Perhaps many women do not understand how to in- 
 fluence their boys," Nora said. 
 
 " Perhaps," he answered ; " but I also think that they 
 have not cared enough. It has always been a matter of 
 surprise to me, ever since I began to think on these sub- 
 jects, how very little women have cared about the moral 
 quality of their influence upon the minds of their boys 
 and lovers and husbands." 
 
 " Perhaps it is that they take the spiritual for granted," 
 Nora said. 
 
 " Ah ! and that is the mistake they make, then," he 
 answered. "The spiritual has to be put into a man, 
 and the best person to do it is a woman." 
 
 " You believe in women," Nora said, smiling. " It 
 is a pleasure to be with a man who thinks us capable of 
 the very best in life." 
 
 " But I shall always think that you have been extraor- 
 dinarily indifferent to your limitations," he said. " If 
 you all had cared more, you would not have endured 
 such a long and unjust servitude. Ages ago you would 
 have broken down the barriers, and gone free." 
 
 116
 
 Kindred Spirits 
 
 " But you know yourself how each one of us, men and 
 women alike, is chained down by custom and tradition," 
 Nora said. u It is not an easy matter to win freedom, 
 even in petty concerns ; and far greater, therefore, must 
 the difficulty be when we are dealing with serious impor- 
 tances. And I do not think that any man, however 
 sympathetic and broad-minded, can ever realise how 
 heavy the fetters of prejudice have been for women. I 
 don't suppose we young women of the present day realise 
 this. I am sure I, for one, have never even tried to 
 imagine what life was for women when they were not 
 allowed to do all the things which they do now as a matter 
 of course. We have already begun, you see, to take our 
 newly-won privileges in the same way as we all accept, 
 without much notice or comment, the rising and setting 
 of the sun." 
 
 " But after all, that is the greatest tribute to those who 
 worked for you," he said. " It means that the impossi- 
 ble has become the possible the commonplace of every- 
 day life. And," he added, " those who lead the way do 
 not expect gratitude. It is enough for them to have led 
 the way." 
 
 " I think we have a tremendous number of things to 
 talk to each other about," Nora said, spontaneously. 
 
 " 1 am quite sure of it," Brian answered ; and his face 
 lit up with happiness, and a tender soft light came into 
 his eyes. 
 
 " There is Nurse Isabel waving to us," he said, turn- 
 ing to the window. " She has had tea laid under the 
 cedar-trees. Shall we come ? " 
 
 117
 
 The Fowler 
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 THEODORE BEVAN INTRUDES 
 
 " THAT is a man after my own heart," Nora said, as 
 she left Brian Uppingham, u and with a way of looking 
 at life which I appreciate with every fibre of my soul. 
 
 " Heart and brains in perfect accord," she said. 
 
 " And a man who has kept the whiteness of his soul," 
 she said. 
 
 " A dear, dear fellow ! " she said, with great tenderness. 
 
 " And I know his heart has gone out to me," she said, 
 softly. " I felt it come." 
 
 She stopped on the moor which she was crossing. 
 
 tl But why do I not feel more glad ? " she asked. 
 " Two months ago I should have " 
 
 The thought broke off, interrupted by the remembrance 
 of Theodore Bevan. 
 
 " Ah ! " she said, irritated with herself and him. 
 " Why does he always force himself upon me ? " 
 
 So often she found her mind wandering off to Theodore 
 Bevan not from any eagerness to reach him, but from 
 sheer inability to keep away. It was not merely that 
 she could not banish him from her thoughts, but that, 
 against her own inclination, she was obliged to take an 
 interest in him, which was always intensified when any 
 one began to criticise him. For the very life of her, she 
 could not help being sorry for him. She felt that he 
 was a detached soul, and embittered by bereftness and 
 unloveliness of surroundings and influences. When she 
 thought of her own happy childhood, girlhood, and 
 
 118
 
 Theodore Bevan Intrudes 
 
 womanhood, made so rich and warm by her father's 
 kindness and by his keen appreciations and enthusiasms, 
 which are the very glow of life, she felt that it was im- 
 possible not to sympathise with one who had been com- 
 pelled to live a chilled existence at a time, too, when 
 the cold settles into the system. Her father had loved 
 her mother passionately ; and when she died, giving 
 birth to this baby-girl, he added to his own tender love 
 as much of a mother's love as the gentlest man's heart 
 can ever imagine. Nora knew she was born of love, and 
 brought up in love. But this man, this curious Theodore 
 Bevan, had been born, so he told her, of indifference. 
 How could any one help being sorry for his bad luck ? 
 And then his small stature, and indeed his whole appear- 
 ance, appealed to her womanly sympathy ; and she always 
 noticed that he was painfully conscious of his physical 
 shortcomings. As a matter of fact, he was absolutely 
 satisfied with his physique, and would not have changed 
 with any one. But Nora did not know that. So she 
 was very much touched when he said to her one day : 
 
 " The binding of the book is not beautiful. It is not 
 tree-calf." 
 
 She had remembered this specially, because she had 
 told him that her favourite binding was tree-calf. 
 
 But, putting aside everything else, she could not for- 
 get that he said she was influencing him, and that each 
 time he came to her, part of the soreness of his soul was 
 healed. That alone would be quite enough to attract a 
 woman, in spite of herself, to any kind of man. He had 
 told her too that each time he left her, the same words 
 rose to his lips, and he spoke them aloud when he was 
 alone : she knew of course that they were some words 
 expressive of gratitude, but she often wondered what they 
 exactly were. She would have been glad to know. And 
 
 119
 
 The Fowler 
 
 now on this very afternoon, when she would fain have 
 put him from her mind and dwelt only on that gentle 
 fellow, the historian, she still went on wondering what 
 those words really were. So, torn by many conflicting 
 thoughts, she opened the door of her lodgings. There 
 was no light in the sitting-room, and the fire was low, 
 but she smelt the fragrance of a cigar, and discovered 
 her father in the arm-chair. 
 
 " Why, father, how delightful ! " she said, lovingly. 
 " I was coming to the King's Head to tell you all about 
 Mr. Uppingham. But as you are here, we can have a 
 cosy evening to ourselves alone. We have not been 
 alone for a long time." 
 
 At that moment she looked up, and saw Theodore 
 Bevan too. He was sitting in the recess of the window. 
 
 " Then we are not alone after all," she said, in a tone 
 of voice which betrayed distinct disappointment. Her 
 father was rather surprised at her want of courtesy, but 
 secretly pleased, for he and Theodore Bevan had been 
 sitting each other out in the hopes of her return, and he 
 was feeling annoyed at the little man's continued intrusion. 
 
 " My dear," he said, cheerily, " Mr. Bevan and I have 
 been waiting a long time for you : Mr. Bevan longer 
 than I, for I found him here. I came to ask you to 
 have supper with me at the King's Head, and to chase 
 away a sort of melancholy which has laid siege to 
 me, born of airy nothing, and yet very substantial." 
 
 " I'll soon dispel it," she said, as she bent over him. 
 And then she lit the lamp and turned to Theodore 
 Bevan, who had now risen from the window-seat, and 
 stood holding a book in his hand. He looked singularly 
 pale and suffering, a little shred of poor humanity. 
 Nora was touched at once, and regretted her impatient 
 words. 
 
 120
 
 Theodore Bevan Intrudes 
 
 " I have brought you a first edition of this poet's latest 
 volume," he said gently. " I heard you say that you 
 coveted first editions. I have the same taste myself." 
 
 Nora took the book from him. It was a collection 
 of poems by a new minor poet. 
 
 " Oh, I am glad to have this," she said. " I have 
 been reading the review. How good of you to think 
 of me ! " 
 
 She turned by instinct to the fly-leaf. On it were 
 written the words, " Nora Penhurst : from her friend." 
 
 She placed it on her desk, and stood hesitating a 
 moment, as though she wished to say something. But 
 she changed her mind, told her father that she wanted to 
 put on a warmer dress, and that she would be down 
 in five minutes, and said " good night " to Theodore 
 Bevan. 
 
 " I am in no hurry," he replied, settling down deliber- 
 ately in a chair. " I can wait too, and we can all three 
 go together." 
 
 When she came back again, she found the two men 
 waiting in absolute silence; and in silence she and they 
 passed on their way to the King's Head. Arrived there, 
 Roger Penhurst and Nora went straight to his room. He 
 closed the door and threw his felt hat impatiently on the 
 sofa, where it landed in the midst of his books and music 
 and fiddlestrings. 
 
 u Confounded little limpet ! " he exclaimed. " Thank 
 goodness, I am free of him at last. I wonder he did 
 not suggest spending the whole evening with us." 
 
 " He is not very tactful sometimes," Nora said, taking 
 off her hat. 
 
 " Tact, indeed ! " Roger Penhurst replied. " It is 
 not a question of tact. It is a question of damned 
 obstinacy." 
 
 121
 
 The Fowler 
 
 At that moment Mrs Mary Shaw came in to lay the 
 cloth. She was in the best of spirits. She had done a 
 splendid day's trade, and had filled Mr William Parring- 
 ton with envy and wonder, and everything had gone 
 swimmingly. Even the ancestors had only grumbled 
 enough to keep them in health. She served an excellent 
 supper, and was disappointed when she found that Roger 
 Penhurst had scarcely touched his food. 
 
 " I'm afear'd you're ill," she said. She was very kind 
 to him. 
 
 " Oh no, Mrs Mary," he said, trying to smile ; " not 
 ill, only rather melancholy. If I wore an apron, you 
 know, I should be covering my face with it." 
 
 Mrs Shaw nodded sympathetically, cleared the table 
 quickly, and disappeared. 
 
 " It is all along of Miss Nora keeping company with 
 the little viper gentleman," she confided to Parrington. 
 
 When they were alone, Nora drew her chair close to 
 her father by the fire, and put her hand on his knee. 
 
 " You are not quite happy, father dear," she said, 
 kindly. 
 
 " I'm out of tune," he answered, looking straight into 
 the fire "quite out of tune. I have spent most of the 
 afternoon thinking about all the mistakes I have made 
 in life; and that is not an exhilarating occupation. 
 Still, it keeps one busy. For when you have lived 
 through a long life, you have a long list." 
 
 " Even when one has only lived a short time, one has 
 a long enough list, I think," said Nora. 
 
 " Probably," said her father, " but one does not look 
 at it then ; one is engaged the whole time in adding to it. 
 At least, that was my experience. But when at last a 
 poor devil does examine it, he may well feel down- 
 hearted, if he is in the mood to be miserable. And that 
 
 122
 
 Theodore Bevan Intrudes 
 
 has been my mood to-day. I have been mourning over 
 my failures and disallusions, and finding out that old age 
 is rather a sorrowful time of life, though I have tried to 
 pretend so long that it isn't. It is wonderful how well 
 we can pretend, and how continuously, without losing 
 any pleasure or patience in the game : just as children 
 weaving fancies for themselves, and fashioning a fairy 
 land out of nothing, and not tiring easily of their many 
 make-believings. But they tire at last and so do we." 
 
 "Why, father," Nora said, fondling his white curls, 
 "this is not the language one hears usually from you. 
 You have taught me to believe that life has much to 
 offer, even to the very end, if we only care enough ; and 
 that we are fools not to care, robbing ourselves in fact of 
 treasures lying ready for us to take without stint." 
 
 " Is that what I've taught you, child ? " he said. 
 " Well, I'm glad. Don't take any notice of what I 
 say ; it is just that I am a little overshadowed." 
 
 " I think I have been leaving you too much alone," 
 she said, full of sudden regret. 
 
 " Perhaps that has had something to do with it," he 
 answered, half to himself. " And I am tired of being 
 here. I am beginning to long for home." Then he 
 added, more cheerfully : 
 
 " I have not taken much interest in anything the last 
 day or two. I have not even cared to measure any one's 
 head ! There was a commercial traveller here yesterday 
 with a most attractive headpiece, and I did not concern 
 myself about it in the least." 
 
 " Then you must indeed be feeling out of spirits," 
 Nora said, smiling, for they had always had a great deal 
 of fun together over his irresistible desire to measure 
 heads and feel bumps. 
 
 " I, too, am tired of being here, father," she added. 
 123
 
 The Fowler 
 
 " We will go home. In any case, I should have to re- 
 turn to London before long, as my teaching will soon 
 begin. But we will go away whenever you like to- 
 morrow if you choose." 
 
 " We must wait for Great-uncle's birthday party," 
 Roger said. " I have promised to play something on 
 that august occasion." 
 
 " And I think you ought to make the acquaintance of 
 the historian," Nora said. " I feel sure you would get 
 on with him." 
 
 " If he is anything like your little centipede, my dear," 
 Roger replied, u Heaven forbid that I should see him. 
 It is not often that I dislike a friend of yours. But we 
 do not seem to agree about Mr Bevan." 
 
 Nora was silent. 
 
 " And that reminds me," he said, " he gave you a book 
 to-night. If I were you, I would not accept anything 
 from him. I never have believed in gifts : they are dan- 
 gerous weapons, unless you are absolutely sure of the 
 people who wield them. That was the only piece of 
 wisdom I ever learnt from my father, and I pass it on to 
 you, my dear. It is the only piece you will ever get 
 from me." 
 
 " 1 won't forget it," Nora said, looking intently into 
 the fire. " I am sure you are right, father." 
 
 Then, after a few minutes' silence, she added : 
 
 " Brian Uppingham is not at all like Mr Bevan." 
 
 " Then I shall be delighted to meet him," Roger 
 Penhurst answered, genially. " We will wait a day or 
 two longer, and after that we will go home to dear old 
 London." 
 
 124
 
 Nurse Isabel Delivers a Message 
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 NURSE ISABEL DELIVERS A MESSAGE 
 
 NURSE ISABEL came into her patient's room holding a 
 letter in her hand. 
 
 " I have just heard from Dr Morgan," she said, 
 tc and he asks me to come to town on Friday, as he has 
 a very important case which he desires to entrust to my 
 care, and my care only. You see how much the doctors 
 think of me." 
 
 " Wait until the doctors become the patients them- 
 selves," Brian Uppingham replied. " Then they will 
 sing another song : probably in the minor key." 
 
 " Well, this particular patient does happen to be a 
 doctor," said Nurse Isabel, with perfect good nature 
 "a distinguished consulting physician, a specialist on 
 diseases of the nervous system, probably a rival to Dr 
 Morgan himself, though I believe the medical name for 
 a rival is l colleague.' ' : 
 
 " My word, you will have to be careful, Nurse 
 Isabel," said Brian, gravely. " No nervous headaches 
 lasting the whole afternoon ; no prolonged fits of de- 
 pression, but a perpetually sweet and soothing manner, 
 indicative of a lovely spirit which has reached perfection 
 through suffering. How on earth will you manage ? " 
 
 Nurse Isabel looked at him and they both laughed 
 heartily, for she enjoyed a joke, even at her own ex- 
 pense, and his criticisms of her were always tempered 
 by a certain under-current of kindly fun quite character- 
 istic of himself. 
 
 12 S
 
 The Fowler 
 
 " Oh, I shall manage all right if the case is a short 
 one," she answered. " But if it is long, Heaven help me ! 
 He has broken down from overwork, so his ' colleague ' 
 writes, and he has a delusion that he is being pursued by 
 the devil. I expect we shall soon drive away the devil 
 with milk and massage, and our eminent specialist will 
 take his place once more in his consulting-room, and 
 speak very severely to his patients on the subject of self- 
 control, and mental balance, and a calm spirit in this 
 distracting age. Bah ! how I do hate the word self- 
 control. Self-controlled people are generally a sort of 
 cross between an oyster and an elephant." 
 
 " Am I a cross between an oyster and an elephant ? " 
 he asked. 
 
 " Goodness, no ! " she said. " You are not self- 
 controlled. You are, as I said, the Prince of Irritability, 
 or at least you were. You have changed so much 
 lately. Quite improved ! I shall be almost sorry to 
 leave you." 
 
 " Thank you," he answered. " But must you really 
 go?" 
 
 " Yes," she said. " But Dr Morgan writes that if 
 you are not well enough to be left, he can send another 
 nurse, a Miss Kathleen Foster. He recommends her 
 highly, but I don't think anything of her, and, between 
 you and me, doctors are no judges! She stamps about 
 like a hippopotamus, talks broad Scotch, and insists on 
 reading aloud long-winded commentaries on the New 
 Testament. She is far more trying than I am. Take 
 my advice, and don't have her. You are much better, 
 and I don't think you want any more nursing. Go to 
 the King's Head after I leave you, and get Mrs Mary 
 Shaw to take a motherly interest in you. If I were you, 
 I should stay on there for three or four more weeks. 
 
 126
 
 Nurse Isabel Delivers a Message 
 
 Make up your mind to eat properly and regularly, and 
 do not work yourself into a fever over your stupid His- 
 tory, and when you return to London, see as much as 
 you can of Miss Penhurst. She is going back in a few 
 days." 
 
 " I'll take your advice, Nurse Isabel," he said. " It 
 is a sensible prescription." 
 
 " And talking of her reminds me that I have received 
 another letter," she said. " It is from my Captain in 
 the Hussars, enclosing several valuable stamps. You 
 know I have spoken to you about that wretched little 
 man who visits Miss Penhurst at the Castle. Now 
 listen to this part of my letter : 1 1 am so glad to hear 
 you are not having quite such a deadly time of it, little 
 Nursie, and that the distinguished historian is beginning 
 to show signs of ordinary intelligence, and is not boring 
 you to distraction. You have had a run of bad luck 
 lately ! I think I shall have to fall ill myself, just to 
 set you on the right road again. At present, though, I 
 am in splendid form. Curious that you should come 
 across Theodore Bevan in that hole of a place. From 
 your description of him, I have no doubt he is the little 
 skunk that annexed and nearly annihilated my cousin, 
 Madge Carson. He had a sort of mental fascination 
 for her, and for about two years she scarcely spoke to 
 any one else. I was awfully fond of her myself, and it 
 was maddening to see her so taken up with that little 
 worm. She changed so, and seemed to lose all her 
 fun. However, that was two years ago, and she has 
 recovered herself and taken to bookbinding, and is en- 
 gaged to be married. I saw her the other day: she 
 has just returned from the Continent. If you have a 
 chance, give the fellow a good dressing, for my sake, and 
 tell him to send for me if he would like to be kicked.' " 
 
 127
 
 The Fowler 
 
 She closed the letter, and put it pensively in her 
 pocket. 
 
 " It is a curious thing," she said, with an earnestness 
 unusual in her, " but I have always disliked the idea of 
 Miss Penhurst knowing that man." 
 
 " Miss Penhurst attracts you a good deal," Brian said. 
 
 " I think I am not the only one whom she does at- 
 tract," Nurse Isabel said, mischievously. " You would 
 not believe it of me," she added, " but I have always 
 wished to have a woman friend. I envy with all my 
 heart the friendship of two women. If I were a writer, 
 I believe I could write something beautiful about that." 
 
 " You are a strange mixture, Nurse Isabel," he said. 
 
 "Yes," she continued, taking a golden brown chrysan- 
 themum out of the vase and playing with it, " I should 
 write about friendship and the wonderful colour it gives 
 to life, and I should write about love and good fellow- 
 ship and loneliness. If I could write it, it would be a 
 beautiful book. That is what we all think, I suppose. 
 Well, well, my fate in life is not to write books, but to 
 nurse the people whose fate it is to write them." 
 
 She went out of the room as she spoke, leaving Brian 
 thinking about her : he had been learning to understand 
 her better lately, and was constantly coming upon fine 
 threads of precious metal embedded in the coarser com- 
 position of her nature. He realised, as we all have to 
 realise, not once, but incessantly and each time the 
 lesson is a new one that the fine threads of precious 
 metal are there, waiting for the miner's pick-axe to dis- 
 cover them. But the miners must be deft, or else the 
 treasure will remain hidden from them. When Nurse 
 Isabel returned, she was dressed for driving, and seemed 
 in excellent humour. 
 
 " You understand," she said, " that we will drive first 
 128
 
 Nurse Isabel Delivers a Message 
 
 to the Castle, and I will get out, and Miss Penhurst will 
 take my place. She knows the country well, and wants 
 to take you through some pretty lanes. What a lucky 
 fellow you are, and how good I am to you ! I will 
 wait in her rooms until you return, and if you are not 
 too tired, we will all go to the King's Head and pay a 
 visit to Mrs Mary Shaw and Mr Penhurst ; and after 
 that I will take your remains home. Do you feel equal 
 to the programme ? " 
 
 There did not appear to be any doubt about that, and 
 in a few minutes, both Nurse Isabel and patient were 
 rumbling along in the heavy carriage drawn by the 
 sleepy horses, and driven by the still sleepier coachman. 
 It was a delightful afternoon, with a scent in the air of 
 hay and autumn leaves and clover. They passed through 
 the sweet pine woods and drank in that fragrance too, 
 and made their way into the high-road, turning off at 
 length in the direction of the Castle. When they ar- 
 rived there, they found Nora and Theodore Bevan 
 standing in the road. Nora came forward to greet 
 them, and Brian asked her to take a little drive with 
 him. Nurse Isabel was in high glee at the meeting 
 between the two men, and did not know how to enjoy 
 the situation sufficiently. Nora would go off with Mr 
 Uppingham, and she and Mr Bevan would be left 
 watching the retreating carriage. That alone would 
 be an admirable snubbing for him ; and that was not 
 all either. She put her hand in her pocket, and from 
 sheer satisfaction crackled and crumpled her Hussar's 
 letter. 
 
 Nora meanwhile turned to Theodore Bevan with just 
 a little embarrassment, imperceptible perhaps to other 
 people, but not to him. It was some consolation to 
 his annoyance. 
 
 9 129
 
 The Fowler 
 
 " You will excuse me ? " she said. 
 
 " I am not left any choice," he answered, drawing his 
 thin lips together into a smile which could not have 
 been called comforting. But he had the tact to shut the 
 carriage door for her, and to raise his hat slightly as the 
 coachman drove off. Then he and Nurse Isabel were 
 left. 
 
 " What a nice-looking couple they are," Nurse Isabel 
 said, sweetly. " I am so glad he is having the pleasure 
 of her company. He admires her tremendously. And 
 I do not wonder do you ? " 
 
 " I do not care to discuss Miss Penhurst with you," 
 he said, quietly. " If you will allow me to pass, I will 
 wait her return." 
 
 " I am also intending to wait until they come back," 
 Nurse Isabel replied, with provoking sweetness ; and 
 she followed Theodore Bevan over the drawbridge, and 
 into Nora's sitting-room, where she installed herself 
 in the rocking-chair. She was enjoying herself more 
 and more, for he did not attempt to conceal the vexa- 
 tion which he felt in having to endure her presence, 
 and she was delighted to have the power of annoy- 
 ing him. He read the newspaper, and she glanced at 
 some magazines. She rocked herself in the chair, and 
 he looked up, obviously irritated both by her and the 
 movements. 
 
 " There is a most fascinating article on bookbinding in 
 this magazine," she said, after a few moments of silence. 
 " Are you interested in that subject ? " 
 
 " Not in the least," he answered, going on reading the 
 newspaper. 
 
 " Here is a most lovely design for a book cover," 
 Nurse Isabel continued. " I must show that to Madge 
 Carson." 
 
 130
 
 Nurse Isabel Delivers a Message 
 
 She looked at him out of the corner of one eye, and 
 saw that he had put down his paper. 
 
 " Madge Carson," he said, uneasily. 
 
 " I have heard from her cousin, Captain Lester, that 
 she has just returned from the Continent," Nurse Isabel 
 went on, without heeding his exclamation. " I shall be 
 seeing her in town soon. Have you any message for 
 her ? " 
 
 " Madge Carson," he repeated ; " the name is familiar 
 to me : the circumstances I forget." 
 
 " She probably does not forget the circumstances," 
 said Nurse Isabel, amiably, " nor does her cousin. In 
 fact, he sends a message to you, which I am very re- 
 luctant to deliver. But I always do deliver messages 
 on principle. I trust you will sympathise with the 
 difficulty of my position. Captain Lester desires me 
 well, he desires me to say that if you would like to be 
 kicked, he will have great pleasure in coming to do so 
 at once." 
 
 Theodore Bevan turned to her, white with passion. 
 
 " How dare you speak to me like that ? I beg of you 
 to leave me." 
 
 " I am afraid I cannot take your dismissal of me from 
 Miss Penhurst's room as authoritative," replied Nurse 
 Isabel, now well warmed up to her role. " If you are 
 annoyed by my presence here, I would suggest that you 
 remove yourself. Personally speaking, I would just as 
 soon have you in this room as not ; so that I am not the 
 objecting party." 
 
 She was enjoying herself so much that she conducted 
 herself with admirable self-control. 
 
 "But if you decide to go," she continued, " please tell 
 me, before you leave, what message you would like me 
 to take to Miss Margaret Carson. This will be your
 
 last chance of telling me, because I am going to London 
 to-morrow ; and you have learnt that I can deliver 
 messages, and that I am therefore to be trusted. Shall 
 I tell her that you are in excellent health and having 
 splendid sport down here, and that you are trying to 
 annex and annihilate another girl, probably just in the 
 same way as you did her ; and that you think you are 
 getting on pretty well, but that you have unexpected 
 reverses of fortune, as for instance, when suddenly, with- 
 out any warning, she goes driving with another man, 
 whom she admires greatly and who admires her still 
 more ; and leaves you cutting a very ridiculous figure in 
 the road ? That is all I can think of at present, but no 
 doubt you can add to it for me." 
 
 He bit his lips as he stood before her trembling from 
 rage, and scarcely able to restrain himself. A most 
 devilish expression of cruelty was on his face: Nurse 
 Isabel herself was startled, though she did not betray the 
 slightest sign of concern. He raised his arm, as 
 though to strike, but he let it fall at once, and seized his 
 hat. 
 
 " I will rid myself of you and your impertinence," 
 he said slowly. " You can tell Miss Carson what you 
 choose : it is of no matter to me. But you may also 
 tell her that, some day, I will be even with you." 
 
 He stepped quietly across the room, and passed out in 
 his usual noiseless fashion. 
 
 " Like a burglar," thought Nurse Isabel, who remained 
 in solitary glory and triumph, gloating over the experi- 
 ence, and only regretting that it had not lasted longer. 
 
 Meanwhile Nora and Brian were taking their drive 
 together. Everything delighted him : the hedges with 
 all their many treasures, the bracken, golden brown and 
 pale yellow, the foxgloves springing up here and there, 
 
 132
 
 Nurse Isabel Delivers a Message 
 
 the fields with the harvesters hard at work, and the hay- 
 stacks of last year, looking thoroughly sturdy and com- 
 fortable ; the sheep grazing on the slopes yonder, and 
 the cows coming down the lane following a scrap of a 
 boy, a " farthing's worth of humanity," as Brian called 
 him. The sun shone brightly, lighting up the autumn- 
 tinted trees, rejoicing the hearts of the birds, and cast- 
 ing a golden lustre on the hay-laden waggons passing 
 leisurely along the road. Nothing escaped Brian's 
 notice ; everything ministered to his pleasure ; the dogs, 
 Smoker and Carlo, bounding joyously in front, the fra- 
 grance of a clover field, the children strolling home from 
 school, the music of the nightingales in a dark deep 
 lane pointed out by Nora as her favourite walk. He, 
 too, knew how to enjoy, and after a long spell of listless 
 indifference was making once more a thankful use of 
 his birthright. He told Nora this, and she saw it for 
 herself. He would fain have gone on mile after mile, 
 and she too; but there was the other part of Nurse 
 Isabel's programme to be considered, and so they turned 
 homeward and arrived at the Castle, where they found 
 her in a state of radiant exultation. They told her how 
 much they had enjoyed themselves, and indeed there 
 was no mistaking the happiness written large on their 
 faces. But Nurse Isabel said that she had enjoyed 
 herself far more than they, and that she felt ten 
 years younger for her delightful interview with Mr 
 Bevan. 
 
 " It was short," she said, " but quite unique. What 
 an interesting companion he is, to be sure ! I only wish 
 he had not hurried away so quickly. However, I sup- 
 pose I shall be seeing him again." 
 
 Nora glanced at her uneasily and half suspected 
 that some contretemps had taken place ; and Brian, 
 
 133
 
 The Fowler 
 
 who remembered the Hussar's letter, longed to know 
 whether Nurse Isabel had given the message. But 
 before he had time to ask, they were in front of the 
 quaint old King's Head with its weather-beaten sign of 
 His Majesty Henry the Eighth, and there was Mrs Mary 
 Shaw carrying out great plates of food for the dogs, and 
 now coming forward to greet Nora and her friends ; and 
 there too was Roger Penhurst, smoking a cigar, and 
 sitting on the bench side by side with great-uncle, who 
 was pulling vigorously at his long clay-pipe. Before 
 very long, Brian Uppingham was quite at ease with his 
 new friends, feeling that he knew them well from Nurse 
 Isabel's description of them. He chatted with Mrs. 
 Mary Shaw, and even took the liberty of inquiring after 
 Mr William Parrington, and he was invited to great- 
 uncle's birthday party which was coming off on the fol- 
 lowing day. This was a sure sign that he had found 
 favour with the hostess of the King's Head. He at 
 once attracted Mr Penhurst, who opened out to him 
 without any preliminaries, spoke enthusiastically about 
 his book, measured his head, showed him two curious 
 old books on trees which he had lately found at Langton, 
 and then, by request of every one, played to him on the 
 violoncello, making the instrument sob and sing and vi- 
 brate with tenderness, and arousing in the hearts of the 
 listeners sad and glad and peaceful thoughts, and that 
 strange longing born always of beautiful music. 
 
 It was in vain that Nurse Isabel tried to hurry the 
 historian home, for she was a little anxious at seeing 
 him looking overtired, and this was his first big outing. 
 He absolutely refused to be ordered away. 
 
 " Don't you bully him," Roger said, shaking his bow 
 at her. "He is enjoying being with us, and it will do 
 him good." 
 
 '34
 
 Nurse Isabel Delivers a Message 
 
 So she gave him a few minutes' grace, and at last 
 took him reluctantly away. 
 
 " I had to do it," she said, as they drove off. " If I 
 had waited any longer, there would not have been even 
 any remains for me to bring home. Don't be disagree- 
 able. If you will leave off sulking, I will tell you about 
 my interview with Mr Bevan." 
 
 135
 
 The Fowler 
 
 LATE that night, when every one else at the King's 
 Head had retired to rest, Theodore Bevan made the 
 following entry in his journal : 
 
 " Of course I have no means of knowing how much 
 that objectionable woman, Nurse Isabel, does know about 
 the Madge Carson episode. I was greatly astonished 
 by her impertinent audacity, and I fear that my usual 
 sang-froid deserted me altogether. However, she shall 
 not go unpunished. In the afternoon she came here 
 with Miss Penhurst and Uppingham, and I imagine she 
 must have hinted something about the affair to Miss 
 Penhurst, who brought her out alone into the garden, 
 and at once asked her what had occurred between us. 
 I was in my bedroom at the time, and had the advan- 
 tage of hearing their conversation. Some of it was not 
 specially flattering to me. Nurse Isabel referred to 
 my acquaintance with Madge Carson, and to Captain 
 Lester's courteous message. She begged my Athene to 
 have nothing to do with me, and told her she was sure 
 that I was a sort of vampire who would suck every 
 drop of health and happiness out of her. My Athene 
 contradicted herself sadly : she said that it was absurd 
 to suppose that she would allow herself to be influenced 
 to that extent by any one, and certainly not by such a 
 one as Mr Bevan. I noticed a slight disparagement in 
 her words which must not be allowed to occur again. 
 And then, irritated by what she considered Nurse Isabel's 
 
 136
 
 A Page from a Journal 
 
 interference, she said that if she chose to submit to the 
 influence of a hundred Mr Bevans, it was her concern 
 and hers only. To which Nurse Isabel replied : c Good 
 Heavens, one Mr Bevan is enough in all conscience ! ' 
 And they both laughed at that. I laughed too. Before 
 they went in, that odious woman said : 
 
 " c Well, don't have it against me that I interfered with 
 your private affairs. I felt I must warn you, although I 
 knew you would hate me for it.' 
 
 " ' I don't at all hate you for it,' Athene answered in 
 a most friendly manner. 4 You have made me feel that 
 you have a very kind regard for me.' 
 
 " ' I am glad you have felt that,' Nurse Isabel an- 
 swered. c I hope we shall see something of each other 
 in London.' 
 
 " c Of course we shall,' my Athene said. c I shall give 
 you my address, and look out for you.' 
 
 " (My Athene must be protected from such an unde- 
 sirable friendship. I shall take good care that she does 
 not see much of Nurse Isabel in London. That in itself 
 will be the beginning of the punishment, for the woman 
 evidently likes Miss Penhurst.) 
 
 " As they passed into the house to join the other 
 members of their coterie, they spoke in a low voice 
 about Mr Brian Uppingham. I did not catch what they 
 said. . . . 
 
 " I have never been able to understand what it is that 
 educated people find to like in ignorant village folk. 
 For me, they have no existence, no significance. . . . 
 
 " Madge Carson back in England. ... I think I 
 used to call her Eirene my peace. She must not be 
 allowed to interfere with me and the historian. . . ." 
 
 Here Theodore Bevan put down his pen, and gave 
 himself up to his thoughts. 
 
 137
 
 The Fowler 
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 GREAT-UNCLE'S BIRTHDAY PARTY 
 
 MRS MARY SHAW had been preparing many days for 
 great-uncle's birthday party, which was to celebrate his 
 eighty-fifth anniversary. Like most hostesses in any 
 walk of life, she had succeeded in tiring herself thoroughly 
 beforehand, having taken this opportunity of doing a 
 great many things which had not any bearing on the 
 entertainment, and could have been done much better 
 on another occasion. However, the ways of housewives 
 always were mysterious and subtle ; and no doubt Mrs 
 Mary Shaw had her own reasons for papering Wullie's 
 little bedroom, and turning out her store cupboard, and 
 making a fresh supply of onion pickle, and washing 
 blankets at a time when one would have thought she 
 had quite a heavy enough task in contriving cakes and 
 pasties, cleaning out the kitchen, polishing her stove, 
 rubbing up her brass candlesticks and the great copper 
 warming-pan which hung on the wall next to the old 
 clock, itself a handsome old family possession. Visitors 
 to the King's Head had often wanted to buy that clock, 
 and also the beautiful lustre ware which stood on the 
 top shelf of the dresser, and was never allowed to be 
 touched by any one except Mrs Shaw herself. 
 
 " No ; I don't care to sell them old ancestral things of 
 the past," she always said. "They're like the ancestors 
 themselves ; they take up a deal of room, and want a 
 deal of rubbing up, but I like for them to be there. 
 And no one can't buy them from me. Though what 
 
 138
 
 Great-Uncle's Birthday Party 
 
 Wullie will do with them when he's growed up and 
 becomes a wicked spendthrift, is more than I pretend to 
 know." So she polished the lustre jugs and quaint old 
 teapots and goblets, rich brown with pink and green 
 flowers on them, and she put beeswax and turpentine 
 on the old clock, and rubbed it into the wood until she 
 was red in the face, and very nearly having an apoplectic 
 fit. And she was just going to clean by the same method 
 great-uncle's old fiddle, which, together with the bacon 
 and hams, hung from one of the beams, when she was 
 luckily prevented by Mr Penhurst, who strolled in at 
 the right moment, rescued the sacred instrument, and, 
 settling himself down in the arm-chair, mounted guard 
 over it. 
 
 " And here I'll stay, Mrs Mary," he said, " until 
 your terrible spasm of cleaning is over." 
 
 " And right welcome you be," she said, pretending to 
 polish the chair. " You sit there nice and quiet, and 
 give me advice about the vittles, dear Mr Penhurst." 
 
 Then she turned her attention to the serious question 
 of the food, which, as usual, was to be the most important 
 item of the evening's entertainment. Why it always 
 should be so, is a mystery which time so far has not 
 elucidated. But perhaps future generations will learn 
 why, in the past, it was always considered necessary to 
 celebrate with elaborately-prepared meals all great and 
 solemn and sentimental occasions, including religious 
 festivals. They will trace the custom back to its orig- 
 inal barbarism, and rid themselves of it perhaps! 
 
 Great-uncle, being the hero of the hour, was told that 
 he might invite any one he pleased, and he settled on 
 his old chum the clogger Daniel, who shared with him 
 his preference for that more congenial resort, the Miners' 
 Tavern. Great-uncle also asked Nora Penhurst, who
 
 The Fowler 
 
 had won his heart years ago by friendly words of greet- 
 ing and shag. He said he didn't care who else came, 
 provided that Great-great-aunt Rebeccah Renaldson was 
 not invited. He never could abide her, he said ; besides 
 which, he was not greatly drawn to old folk ! Mrs 
 Mary Shaw had to take quite half an hour away from 
 the cooking in order to persuade him to consent to her 
 presence ; but she succeeded at last, and great-uncle was 
 reduced to submission outwardly, though not inwardly. 
 
 " Nasty spiteful old creature ! " he was heard to 
 murmur several times during the day, thus showing 
 that the attaining to one's eighty-fifth year does not 
 necessarily imply a safe arrival at the harbour of peace 
 and goodwill. 
 
 David the blacksmith was also asked. Mr William 
 Parrington asked himself. Miss Shafton the postmistress 
 was invited ; but as it was known that she could not 
 resist playing hymn-tunes on a harmonium, if she got 
 anywhere near one, Wullie undertook to keep her away 
 from the dangerous instrument, and was highly delighted 
 with his task. 
 
 "Only don't you be a-hurting of her feelings, Wullie," 
 said Mrs. Mary Shaw. "Just you use tack, or else 
 I'll spank you." 
 
 Wullie understood what the word " tack " meant, for 
 he was always being told to use it in his dealings with 
 his ancestors ; and he succeeded admirably. 
 
 Mr Penhurst, of course, was invited, and had prom- 
 ised to play some melodies on the zither, which Reuben, 
 Mrs Mary Shaw's quiet old father, greatly loved. The 
 verger, Thomas Kent, a melancholy individual, who was 
 not much interested in living people, and preferred the 
 company of the figures on the old tombs in the church 
 and on the quaint brasses on the pavement, was also in- 
 
 140
 
 Great-Uncle's Birthday Party 
 
 vited. He accepted for the simple reason that he felt 
 he was the only representative of learning in the com- 
 munity, and that it was his duty to be present. More- 
 over, he was attached to Mrs Mary Shaw, who alone 
 dared to joke with him ; and also it is possible that, in 
 his heart of hearts, he did like being amongst human 
 beings occasionally. He was considered to be quite a 
 scholar, and it was an acknowledged fact that he could 
 translate the Latin inscriptions on the brasses. He did 
 not always give the same translation, but this was a 
 detail known only to himself. 
 
 The carpenter, Timothy Evans, a " modern spirit," was 
 also bidden to the entertainment. He was a genial soul, 
 and an ardent admirer of Nora's. He always said she 
 was the nicest female he had ever met, and he would like 
 to leave all his money to her. He had confided to her 
 one or two of his pet grievances, and felt that she sym- 
 pathised with him. His chief grievance was about the 
 old pews ia the church. 
 
 " Wormwoody old things," he said, contemptuously. 
 " There they be a-crumbling to pieces, and here be I 
 ready and able to make fine new ones and cheap. As 
 for the carving, we can do better than that nowadays." 
 
 He was not on friendly terms with the verger, whom 
 he had often offended by his scornful allusions to the old 
 pews and the strange old pulpit, greatly prized by an- 
 tiquarians. Mrs Mary Shaw, however, relied on being 
 able to keep the peace, and determined not to let them 
 sit together. 
 
 Mr Theodore Bevan was not invited. Nurse Isabel 
 was invited, but she had already returned to town. But 
 Brian Uppingham, who had begun to come in and out at 
 the King's Head, was included amongst the chosen, for 
 Mrs Mary Shaw had taken quite a fancy to him, and 
 
 141
 
 The Fowler 
 
 said he reminded her of that artist who lodged with her 
 last summer, gave her a deal of trouble, and never paid 
 her a penny. At first this would have seemed rather a 
 doubtful compliment, but that she added affectionately : 
 " And he were as nice a gentleman as ever I saw, 
 with the pleasantest ways about him, and a light brown 
 moustache ! " 
 
 The ancestors were rubbed up until they looked almost 
 as bright as the clock, and great-uncle was in capital 
 form, and said he intended to sing a song. Aunt Re- 
 beccah was in an alarmingly amiable frame of mind, and 
 remained quite five minutes at a stretch without making 
 any snappy remark. Mrs Shaw put on her best cap, a 
 sweet lace affair with light blue ribbons in it. Wullie 
 pronounced her appearance to be stunning, and Mr 
 William Parrington, who brought her a bouquet of flowers 
 destined to be inconveniently in her way the whole even- 
 ing, said she looked like a picture. 
 
 " My word," he said, approvingly, " you grows to look 
 younger and younger each time I see you. There won't 
 be no keeping you back soon. That's what it is to be 
 happy. It be the same with me. These last two or 
 three months I've dropped three or four years off my 
 age." 
 
 " I don't note any difference in you," replied Mrs. 
 Mary Shaw. " Ever since I knowed you, you seem to 
 me just about the same about fifty year old, and a 
 little bald." 
 
 " Forty-seven, and not at all bald," said Parrington, 
 pleadingly. 
 
 " Well, we won't be particular about a few hairs on 
 your head," she said, smiling, " and I be truly glad to 
 think as you are so happy these last two months, Mr. 
 Parrington. I expect it's all along of business being so 
 
 142
 
 Great-Uncle's Birthday Party 
 
 brisk at the Punchbowl. It do make a deal of differ- 
 ence. That's how it is with me. Business be so un- 
 common good at the King's Head, that I may well be 
 in good spirits. And Wullie's behaving so nice. I 
 shouldn't wonder if I wasn't mistook about him after 
 all, and if he wasn't going to grow up a credit to his 
 mother. And the ancestors are pretty peaceful for the 
 likes of them. So what with Wullie and the business 
 and the ancestors, I expect I do feel a bit comforted." 
 
 Then she looked up at Mr Parrington, and they both 
 laughed, and Parrington sat down in the inglenook to 
 make himself agreeable to Aunt Rebeccah, whilst Mrs 
 Shaw came forward to meet Mr Thomas Kent, the 
 verger, who was the first to arrive. 
 
 " Ah, Mr Kent," she said, " what a good thing you 
 was able to leave them dead figures for a little while. 
 Tombstones is all very well in their way, but the best 
 of us wants a little innocent change sometimes." 
 
 Mr Thomas Kent smiled with as much sepulchral 
 appreciation as lay in his nature, and said in his usual 
 melancholy tone of voice, as though he were translating 
 a Latin inscription : 
 
 "Yes, Mrs Alary Shaw, a change be good sometimes. 
 I hear you be thinking of making a change. May Mr 
 Parrington and you rest in peace." 
 
 "Much obliged, I am sure," replied Mrs Shaw; and 
 at that moment Timothy Evans, the carpenter, arrived, 
 and seeing the verger standing by himself, could not 
 resist going up to him. 
 
 " Good day, Mr Kent," he said, grimly. " Glad to see 
 you here, sir. I trust them old oak seats and that crazy old 
 pulpit be holding out pretty well, considering all things." 
 
 "They'll last your time, Mr Evans," replied the 
 verger, sulkily. 
 
 143
 
 The Fowler 
 
 " I should doubt it," said the carpenter, winking at 
 Wullie. " No one can say as how I be a-crumbling 
 away. What do you think, Wullie, my lad ? " 
 
 " There now," said Mrs Mary Shaw, " don't you be 
 worrying the verger in my house, Mr Evans. You know 
 he's that touchy, being a lone soul, and not used to the 
 ways of living folk. You just go over yonder, and don't 
 you come nigh him again." 
 
 Timothy laughed, and went to talk with Reuben, who 
 had given him some medicine for indigestion, and had 
 made him considerably worse. 
 
 " It be the right medicine for the right malady, Tim- 
 othy," Reuben answered, in his quiet, obstinate manner, 
 "and if you aren't feeling no better, it be the fault of 
 your body, and it be no fault of mine. I made the 
 physic myself from the real herb, and it be not a sham 
 drug such as folk buys in a shop. It be the right medi- 
 cine for your complaint, Timothy." 
 
 David the blacksmith soon put in his appearance, and 
 at once began teasing the hostess of the King's Head. 
 He was a privileged person, and might say and do what- 
 ever he liked, and every one was satisfied. Every one 
 loved David : he was David to one and all, to the old 
 and the young, and even to the little babies, who soon 
 learnt to lisp his name. He called himself " the village 
 nurse," and the children played in front of his workshop. 
 They listened to the sound of his anvil; they watched 
 the sparks flying ; they crowded round him when he was 
 shoeing the horses ; they teased Ship, his faithful collie ; 
 they confided to -him their griefs at school and at home, 
 and all their bits of fun and mischief. He was full of 
 mischief himself, and loved it in other people; and when 
 he caught sight of Parrington to-day, he said : 
 
 " What, Mr Parrington here ! Why, I did think as 
 144
 
 Great- Uncle's Birthday Party 
 
 how he'd been sent to the right-about long ago. Glad 
 to see you've took him back again, Mrs Mary ! My 
 word, how that ring do suit your iinger ! Let's have 
 another look at it a remarkable pretty thing." 
 
 " Mind your own business, Davie," said Mrs Shaw, 
 laughing, and running off to serve the tea, and adding 
 a small quantity of rum to each cup, the unalterable 
 code of etiquette for a party in that corner of England. 
 Great-uncle enjoyed his dose immensely, smacked his 
 lips, and asked for more at once, and his old chum, 
 Daniel the clogger, agreed with him that there was 
 nothing like a cup of tea that kind of tea. The cakes, 
 and sausage rolls, and biscuits, and " fat rascals," met 
 with general approval, and as David said, it was " not 
 for nothing " that Mrs Shaw had been cook to a gentle- 
 men's club in London for over four years. 
 
 u Parrington," he said, " you be a lucky man. She do 
 prepare a wonderful good dinner. And that be only one of 
 her qualities. I believe, if she was to try, she could shoe a 
 horse as well as me. And that's saying a good deal." 
 
 Every one echoed this sentiment, and Mrs Mary 
 Shaw hid her face behind Parrington's bouquet, which 
 Wullie had been picking up patiently and bringing from 
 different quarters of the room. Then, when the impor- 
 tant rite of drinking tea with rum in it, and of eating up 
 a very fair portion of the generous supply of food had 
 been gone through with dogged persistence, great-uncle 
 said he would like to sing a song, a suggestion which 
 was seconded by the whole company, excepting Great- 
 great-aunt Rebeccah Renaldson, who said he was not 
 to be such a goose. 
 
 " Goose yourself ! " he answered, rebelliously, and he 
 stood up, holding himself erect as though waiting to be 
 shot, and began to give utterance to a succession of 
 10 145
 
 The Fowler 
 
 sounds which might well have been a mixture of Chinese 
 and North American Indian music, with perhaps a 
 slight dash of Hungarian. No one knew what he was 
 singing about, nor whether the language he had chosen 
 for giving expression to his feelings was French, German, 
 Italian, or English. But, as Mr Penhurst whispered 
 to Nora, he was merely following the example of the 
 most distinguished warblers in the drawing-room or 
 concert-hall, who always preferred to keep their audi- 
 ences in complete ignorance of what they were singing. 
 Great-uncle sat down amidst warm applause, and a 
 series of grunts from Aunt Rebeccah. He was quite 
 overcome by his own private emotions, and murmured 
 something about childhood's dreams, from which the com- 
 pany gathered that he had probably been singing them a 
 song about youth. Then Mr Penhurst, urged by Reu- 
 ben, took his zither out of its case, and arranged it 
 on a small square table in the centre of the kitchen. 
 Reuben crept close to him, and bent over him eagerly, his 
 whole being intent and satisfied. It was a picturesque 
 scene : Brian Uppingham, who was sitting near Nora, 
 looked around and noted every detail : the quaint old 
 kitchen, the great oaken beams hung with bacon and a 
 fiddle ; the crockery and lustre ware on the fine old 
 dresser ; two comfortable cats, a black one and a sandy 
 fellow, staring into the glowing fire ; the cosy inglenook, 
 where Great-great-aunt Rebeccah Renaldson, and great- 
 uncle, and Daniel the clogger were taking their ease, 
 their rugged faces turned expectantly toward the player ; 
 whilst Mr Thomas Kent, the verger, was installed in an 
 easy-chair at a respectful distance from the carpenter, 
 and guarded from all harm by Mr Parrington on one 
 side and Mrs Mary Shaw on the other, who seemed 
 radiant with self-satisfaction and triumph. The black- 
 
 146
 
 Great-Uncle's Birthday Party 
 
 smith leaned against the wall, and his dog, Ship, lay at 
 his feet. Wullie crouched near the harmonium, which 
 he was prepared to defend against all odds. Miss Shaf- 
 ton herself was imprisoned in the inglenook. Nora's 
 dear old father, in the midst of these simple villagers, 
 touching the strings of his zither for their pleasure, com- 
 pleted a very charming picture. 
 
 He played them such melodies as they were likely to 
 know: ' Auld Lang Syne,' c Home, Sweet Home,' 
 4 Drink to Me only with Thine Eyes,' and ' When Other 
 Lips.' There was absolute silence as the last sounds of 
 the music died away, and tears were rolling down Aunt 
 Rebeccah Renaldson's cheeks. Mrs Shaw told Nora 
 afterwards, that if she had been wearing an apron, she 
 would certainly have put it right over her face, in spite of 
 her best cap. 
 
 After Mr Penhurst had finished playing, Miss Shafton 
 cast several longing looks at the harmonium, and was 
 seen to rise from her corner, and edge nearer and nearer 
 to the dangerous spot. It is quite doubtful whether 
 Wullie would have been able to save the company from 
 a much-dreaded musical entertainment, but that Brian 
 quite unconsciously came to the rescue. He rose to go, 
 and Nora and her father had arranged to see him home, 
 so they too rose. 
 
 " And you be really going to leave us the day after to- 
 morrow," Mrs Mary Shaw said, shaking her head sadly 
 at Nora. 
 
 " If David keeps his promise of driving us to the 
 station," Nora said, smiling. 
 
 " I be not so sure about that," answered the black- 
 smith. " It's a job I don't like. Better ask the car- 
 penter. Perhaps he'll be more willing to see the last of 
 you, Miss Nora." 
 
 147
 
 The Fowler 
 
 " Not I," said the carpenter, staunchly. " But I 
 undertake, Davie, to drive and meet her when she comes 
 back ! " 
 
 " Oh, I like that ! " answered the blacksmith. " That's 
 been my business these many summers, and Miss Nora 
 don't come back in no trap except mine." 
 
 " It don't matter in whose trap she comes back, so 
 long as she do come back," said the hostess of the King's 
 Head, " bringing with her her dear father." 
 
 " Your servant, madam," said Roger Penhurst, bowing 
 gallantly, and putting his hand to his heart. 
 
 " And as for you, Mr Uppingham, sir," said Mrs Mary, 
 turning to Brian, " I'll be very proud to make you com- 
 fortable if you comes to stay at the King's Head." 
 
 148
 
 Part II 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 THEODORE BEVAN AGAIN 
 
 NORA and her father had been nearly three weeks in 
 London, and were delighted to be in their home in St 
 George's Square, Primrose Hill. Nora was, in a way, 
 relieved by Theodore Bevan's absence, although at times 
 she missed him unaccountably, and found herself wonder- 
 ing how long it would be before she would see him again. 
 She knew, of course, that she would see him, for he had 
 told her that he would soon be returning to London, 
 when he hoped to have a long uninterrupted spell of 
 companionship with her; and meanwhile he would send 
 her a few choice books bound in tree-calf. She had 
 taken this opportunity of asking him not to give her any 
 presents, but in spite of her request, the books had been 
 posted to her, and inside each were written the words 
 Nora Penhurst : a loan from her friend. This did not 
 look as though he intended to lose sight of her, but she 
 was too busy to pay much heed to the matter, and being 
 once more in London, and occupied with her teaching, 
 and her pleasures, and her many interests, and her friends, 
 two or three of whom she had not seen for some time, 
 Theodore Bevan retreated into the background of the 
 scene, whence he emerged occasionally, and caused, as 
 usual, a vague feeling of uneasiness mental malaise^ in 
 fact. In addition to her High School work, she had 
 several private pupils whom she was coaching for the 
 
 149
 
 London University examinations, and she also had a 
 large correspondence class, so that her time was well 
 filled up. But she found leisure enough to be interested 
 in Danish, and, urged by her old Danish professor, she 
 had undertaken the translation of a remarkable book, 
 with the spirit of which she had been greatly struck. 
 She generally went on Saturdays to the British Museum 
 to do this work ; consulted her friend, who had an 
 official position there ; and then they lunched together, 
 had their talks, and sometimes went together to the 
 String Quartette Concerts. She always took some kind 
 of recreation, either with her father or her friends, or 
 both. Her friends were much attached to Mr Penhurst : 
 his strong sympathy with and understanding of young 
 people held them with firm chains, and his own bright 
 interest in everything acted like a tonic on their tempera- 
 ments. He seemed to have an equal attraction for totally 
 different kinds of people ; the Danish professor, the 
 young man who wrote sonnets in the classical style, the 
 Shakespearian critic, the Chaucer enthusiast, Nora's old 
 college chums, and some of her Eagle Club acquaint- 
 ances all had a regard for him which made his share 
 in her life a very delightful one. Theodore Bevan alone 
 had made him feel that a barrier could be raised between 
 himself and his beloved daughter. So he was delighted 
 to be free from the little man, and did not attempt to 
 conceal his satisfaction ; whilst, on the other hand, he 
 spoke constantly of Brian Uppingham, and was evi- 
 dently looking forward to seeing a great deal of him in 
 London. 
 
 " You were right, my dear girl," he said, several times, 
 " when you assured me that those two new friends of 
 yours did not belong to the same planet. I hope to 
 goodness' sake that, if we are destined to pass from one 
 
 150
 
 Theodore Bevan Again 
 
 planet into another, I shall not be obliged to inhabit Mr 
 Theodore Bevan's planet. 
 
 " But the historian is a dear fellow," he added. " I 
 should get to love him." 
 
 At first Nora did not mind her father's unappreciative 
 allusions to Theodore Bevan, probably because she her- 
 self was feeling the advantage of being away from his in- 
 fluence. But as the days wore on, she began to wish to 
 see him, and once she even wrote the few first lines of 
 a letter to him. She had an excuse for writing, for she 
 had not acknowledged any of the books which he had 
 sent to her. But she did not continue the letter ; she 
 tore it up impatiently, irritated that this man should 
 haunt her with such persistence, and that she should not 
 be able to put him from her mind. No, she could not 
 free herself. In spite of her reluctance, she was always 
 recalling their walks, their talks, their many disagree- 
 ments. She was always remembering what he had said 
 about her great responsibility towards him. With her 
 mind's eye, she saw his frail and small person, which by 
 reason of its frailty and joylessness appealed to the 
 tender pity within her. She felt that he was not easily 
 understood by other people, and that in consequence, he 
 showed them his most unfavourable side. That was 
 the only answer which she ever made to her father's 
 criticism of him. 
 
 " He needs to be understood," she said, " and not 
 every one has the key." 
 
 Roger shrugged his shoulders, and wondered whether 
 Nora thought she had the key. He was half fearful 
 that the centipede, as he privately called him, would put 
 in an appearance sooner or later ; but meanwhile there 
 were no signs of him, and Roger Penhurst had never 
 concerned himself too anxiously about the future. He
 
 The Fowler 
 
 was so engrossed in his music he was organist at one 
 of the Catholic churches and his books, that Theodore 
 Bevan slipped out of his horizon. But he wrote one or 
 two letters to Brian Uppingham, to whom he had taken 
 a great liking, and sent him some fearfully dry books on 
 the Functions of the Brain and The Dual Mind, which 
 were scarcely calculated, so Nora said, to help on the 
 poor historian's convalescence. Nora wrote to him too, 
 and sent him some lighter literature to counteract the 
 Functions of the Brain. 
 
 " I know father's little ways," she said in her letter. 
 " When I was recovering from rheumatic fever, he pro- 
 posed to read me Spencer's i First Principles of Psychol- 
 ogy,' and Browning's c Sordello,' and the Second Part of 
 1 Faust.' So I feel I must save you from those books 
 which I have been ordered to post to you. Go they 
 must, for father believes they are a cure for all physical 
 and mental woes, but I am sending this other little pack- 
 age with them as an antidote." 
 
 It was a Saturday morning when she posted the par- 
 cels to Brian Uppingham, and she was thinking of him 
 as she made her way towards the British Museum. The 
 thought brought happiness. 
 
 " Ah," she said to herself, " how is it that I do not 
 feel free to love that dear fellow ? All my heart would 
 go out to him if " 
 
 And there her thoughts broke off. It was always so. 
 She was full of the memory of him that morning, and as 
 chance would have it, her Danish professor began talk- 
 ing of his book, which had recently been translated in 
 Danish, and of which he had just received a copy from 
 a friend in Copenhagen. She was delighted to be able 
 to tell him something about the author, and as she 
 spoke, she found herself growing gladder at heart when
 
 Theodore Bevan Again 
 
 she suddenly saw a little figure coming out of the read- 
 ing-room, which she had only recently left, coming de- 
 liberately towards her, and looking neither to the right 
 nor the left. Nora's heart sank. It was Theodore 
 Bevan. Professor Frimodt, who was a great wild-look- 
 ing creature, gazed with some curiosity at the new-comer, 
 and then stood apart, awaiting Nora's pleasure, for it 
 was about the hour of lunch. 
 
 " Good morning," Theodore Bevan said, with quiet 
 assurance. " Instinct told me that I should find you 
 here. It is now lunch time. Shall we go over the way 
 to the corner shop ? " 
 
 " I generally lunch here with Professor Frimodt," 
 Nora said, annoyed at being taken possession of in this 
 manner, and yet unable to show all the vexation she 
 really felt. Then turning to her Danish friend, she 
 introduced him to Theodore Bevan, who gave him a 
 slight acknowledgment, such as an old-established .ac- 
 quaintance might concede to a new one, for the existence 
 of whom he does not see any special reason. Nora 
 herself was amused as well as irritated, for she had 
 known Professor Frimodt for at least twelve years, and 
 it seemed too absurd to see him set on one side by this 
 little upstart from the unknown. She felt very much 
 inclined to administer a good snubbing to him, and leave 
 him to his own devices. But she did not attempt it, 
 although she wondered at herself for her want of moral 
 courage : either she could not do it, or else she knew 
 by instinct that Theodore Bevan would not accept dis- 
 missal. Perhaps it was a little of both feelings which 
 kept her natural spirit in check. 
 
 " We can all three lunch together here," Theodore 
 Bevan suggested, and the Danish professor assented with 
 a fair show of politeness, but felt that the lunch, and 
 
 153
 
 The Fowler 
 
 the chat about Scandinavian literature, was spoilt for 
 that day. 
 
 " You were going to tell me about that new young 
 poet whom you have discovered," Nora said to him 
 when they were all seated and were served with their 
 coffee and rolls. 
 
 41 Ah yes, to be sure," he said, " and a real poet too, 
 not a weakling, but a true Viking. You will be de- 
 lighted with him. See here some fine stanzas on 
 Liberty." 
 
 As he spoke, he drew some papers from his lettercase, 
 and then put them back again. 
 
 " Some other time," he said, shaking his bushy head, 
 " some other time, my dear young lady, when I am 
 overflowing with enthusiasm, and can be sure of giving 
 you a good dose of it. Have you yet room in what 
 your father calls the golden goblet of the wine of life ? 
 Ah, I often think of that. It is so true that enthusiasm 
 is the very wine of life." 
 
 He relapsed into silence after this remark, drank his 
 coffee in the dreariest fashion, and finally, making some 
 excuse, slipped away, leaving Theodore Bevan in pos- 
 session of the field. Nora knew that the presence of 
 the stranger had chilled her Dane. She reflected that 
 if he was going to have this freezing effect on all her 
 friends, the less she saw of him the better. She rose 
 to go, and told Bevan that she wished to spend an hour 
 or so in the New Gallery, and she would therefore take 
 leave of him. 
 
 " My afternoon is free," he said, simply. " I should 
 like to spend it with you." 
 
 She could not refuse him, for at that moment he 
 seemed to be like a child pleading. 
 
 So they went together to the Gallery, and by degrees 
 154
 
 Theodore Bevan Again 
 
 he overcame her unwillingness of manner, of which he 
 had been conscious. He could be a charming com- 
 panion when he chose, and on this occasion he was 
 at his best, and talked delightfully about pictures and 
 painters. When they were coming out of the Gallery, 
 Nora met one of her friends who detained her in the 
 hall. Nora held out her hand to Theodore Bevan, and 
 expected that he would now leave her. 
 
 " I am in no hurry," he said, smiling. " I will wait 
 for you." 
 
 " Good gracious ! " she thought to herself. " Doesn't 
 he ever intend to go ? " 
 
 When she had finished talking with her friend, she 
 looked up and saw him still waiting. Either he did not, 
 or would not, know that she really was wishing to go on 
 her own way. She felt she must take the matter in her 
 hands and dismiss him. She was not accustomed to be 
 guarded in this persistent fashion. 
 
 " Good-bye, Mr Bevan," she said, a little brusquely. 
 " I shall see you some other time, I dare say." 
 
 " I am going in your direction," he said. 
 
 44 1 think I must ask you to excuse me for running 
 off alone," she said. " I am so very tired." 
 
 He drew himself up, and stiffened into something like 
 dignity. 
 
 " I understand," he said, gently. " I fear I have 
 intruded on you too long. The gods have withholden 
 many things from me, and amongst them tact. Ah, 
 well, do not, I beg you, have that against me. Let my 
 excuse be that I have been hungering for the sight of 
 you. Here is your omnibus. Good-night." 
 
 All the way home Nora reproached herself for her 
 ungraciousness to him ; for he seemed to have the power 
 of always putting people in the wrong with themselves. 
 
 155
 
 The Fowler 
 
 She quite forgot that he had frustrated her afternoon, and 
 annoyed her; she only remembered that she had dis- 
 missed him somewhat unkindly, and wounded his feel- 
 ings. His words echoed in her ears : 
 
 "Let my excuse be that I have been hungering for 
 the sight of you." 
 
 '5*
 
 The Historian Again 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 THE HISTORIAN AGAIN 
 
 NORA told her father that she had seen Theodore Bevan 
 in town, but she did not add that she had been obliged to 
 dismiss him. 
 
 "Well, and did you find him as charming as ever?" 
 her father said, ironically. 
 
 " Father, I have never found him charming," Nora 
 answered. u But I do think he has some kind of power 
 which is irresistible." 
 
 " It is not safe to admit to ourselves that any kind of 
 influence is irresistible, unless we can be quite sure that 
 it is of a beautiful and healthy nature," said her father ; 
 " and even then we have the right to guard our independ- 
 ence of spirit and our best individuality. We certainly 
 ought not to allow ourselves to be swallowed up by other 
 people's badness nor their goodness either." 
 
 " But what is the history of life, except a record of 
 irresistible influences either in the one direction or the 
 other ? " Nora said. 
 
 " Quite so," he answered ; " but that is no reason why 
 we should go on adding pages to the unlovely chapters of 
 the record." 
 
 He paused for a moment, and lit another cigar. 
 
 " I don't know what you feel about this Mr. Bevan," 
 he said, " because you have not confided in me and of 
 course there was no reason why you should. But if you 
 are being attracted to him unwillingly, and with any 
 uneasy misgivings, and yet in the full belief that you can-
 
 The Fowler 
 
 not help yourself, my Nora, then I do urge you strongly 
 to pull yourself up in time. It can be done, and cer- 
 tainly by you. It is only a question of being willing to 
 make the effort." 
 
 "You must not take too seriously what I've just said 
 in passing," Nora answered, laying her hand on his arm. 
 
 " I don't pretend to know what kind of influence a 
 man like Bevan would have on another person," her 
 father continued, " but on me he would have little or no 
 effect. But that is no reason why he should not exer- 
 cise a tremendous power over some one of a different 
 temperament from myself. The qualities in him which 
 are unpleasing to me, may just be those very character- 
 istics which attract some one else to him. There is no 
 accounting for these mysterious and subtle differences in 
 character, and influence over character. We certainly 
 do not help any one by trying to laugh them away, and 
 pretending that because we ourselves are not influenced 
 by such and such a person, therefore no one else need 
 be. We all know very little of each other even those 
 of us who are most intimate together and we can be 
 but poor judges of the forces which are likely to attract 
 and hold other people. We can only look on and 
 wonder, and desire to help. But we can only help 
 provided that we are not clumsy. And most of us 
 are clumsy including your father." 
 
 He smiled at her as he spoke, and added quaintly : 
 
 " But then I was never intended to be a father. It is 
 an occupation for which I had no natural genius." 
 
 u You have acquired a beautiful talent for it as you 
 went along," Nora said, affectionately. 
 
 " I have loved you a great deal, believed in you, and 
 have allowed you to do very much as you pleased," he 
 answered, stroking her hair, " partly because I believed 
 
 158
 
 The Historian Again 
 
 in you so thoroughly, and partly because I have been 
 lazy." 
 
 He was silent for a few minutes, and then said : 
 " You know I hate preaching, and it is rather late in 
 the day for me to get up into the pulpit and hold forth 
 about wisdom and discretion and all the other virtues 
 to which I myself have never been able to attain. But 
 I do say to you : l Take care of your mind, and don't 
 let it be overshadowed by any one man or woman.' '' 
 Nora dreamed of Theodore Bevan that night. She 
 dreamed that they were strolling together through a 
 dense forest, when suddenly she came upon a narrow 
 trail leading to a more open space. She could see the 
 sky between the branches of the trees. Her heart 
 leapt within her. There was light, and freedom, and 
 expanse. She bounded off, treading the fallen leaves 
 crisply beneath her feet, and singing for very joy as 
 she went. But all at once, the forest thickened, and 
 she could see no sky between the clustering boughs : 
 the narrow track came abruptly to an end, and she 
 found herself on the former path again face to face 
 with her companion. " Ah ! " he said, " I waited for 
 you. I knew you would come out here." Then 
 they strolled on hour after hour, without interruption, 
 until they chanced upon another side track, and Nora 
 hastened on to it, and tried to make her way towards 
 the stream. She longed to see the water, and taste of 
 it, and feel it on her hands and feverish face. But as 
 she struggled on, having just caught one glimpse of a 
 silver thread in the distance, the great trees sprang up 
 in dense array and encompassed her on all sides ; and 
 when at last she laboured through them, she came out 
 on to the main path, where her companion was standing 
 with a curious smile around his thin lips. 
 
 159
 
 The Fowler 
 
 " All the paths lead back to me," he said, quietly. 
 " It avails nothing for you to strike out for yourself. 
 We have to journey on together, you and I, whether 
 you like it or not." 
 
 " No ; I can go back," she said, passionately. " I 
 can retrace my steps." 
 
 He laughed, and pointed to the forest in the rear, 
 which seemed to have become impenetrable, like a great 
 solid wall barring the way and Nora awoke. 
 
 She could not forget her dream ; it had disturbed her. 
 
 But in the morning, after her father had gone off to 
 his church-duties, her thoughts were diverted from evil 
 forebodings by the arrival of Mrs Ellerton, the friend 
 who had introduced her to Nurse Isabel. She was an 
 old school-friend of Nora's, and was the unfortunate 
 owner of a hypochondriacal husband, who caused her 
 a great deal of trouble. 
 
 " He never enjoys anything," Mrs Ellerton answered, 
 in reply to Nora's inquiries about Mr Ellerton. " He 
 is fearful the whole time lest what he is doing at that 
 particular moment may make him feel ill the next 
 moment. The only thing that he does enjoy is a con- 
 sultation with a new specialist, or the arrival of a new 
 patent medicine. That was the only thing he enjoyed 
 at Milan, and I took advantage of his content to spend 
 the whole day in the cathedral. I can generally reckon 
 now on having one gala-day in a new place ; as it 
 is not often that he omits to see the leading physician 
 and the most expensive English chemist. Sometimes 
 he honours the dentist too ! " 
 
 She looked at Nora, and laughed a little bitterly. 
 
 " Don't we make curious hashes of our lives ? " she 
 said. " I always vowed that if I married it should be 
 a man who would be a companion after my own heart, 
 
 1 60
 
 The Historian Again 
 
 and that we would discuss and write and read together. 
 As it is now, the only reading we ever do together is 
 the directions on the bottles of the new patent medi- 
 cines : ' so many teaspoons for a child, and so many 
 teaspoons for an adult.' For a soul that aspired to 
 Dante and Shakespeare, and Herbert Spencer and Plato, 
 the fall is rather a serious one. 
 
 " 'And all the king's horses, and all the king's men, 
 Could not put Humpty Dumpty up again.' ' 
 
 The tears came into her eyes, but she brushed them 
 away indignantly with her little lace handkerchief, and 
 then whisked it into Nora's face. 
 
 " Don't you get yourself into a muddle, my dear," she 
 said, affectionately, " either a married muddle or an un- 
 married muddle. You've managed wonderfully so far. 
 I suppose it is because you have always been accustomed 
 to the companionship of men ; and that must help one to 
 keep one's judgment. Still, one never knows, and per- 
 haps even you may come to grief, Nora. Most women 
 do, some way or other." 
 
 " Perhaps my turn will come," said Nora, laughing, 
 " and then I shall fulfil our common destiny." 
 
 " Well," her friend answered, " I will help you out 
 if I am anywhere near you at the time. As you know, 
 Xom still goes on whirling me from one end of the 
 world to the other. He is in excellent health, but always 
 haunted by the belief that he is a dying man. Poor old 
 fellow : he dies several deaths every week. Certainly 
 he carries out Goethe's injunction : l Sterb' und werde.' >: 
 
 " It has seemed such a pity, Bessie," Nora said. 
 
 "You both might have had such a delightful life with 
 
 all your money and leisure, and you were meant for it. 
 
 I so grudge you this constant attendance on a man who 
 
 ii 161
 
 The Fowler 
 
 has nothing whatever the matter with him ; and you 
 yourself look tired out. Can't he see that ? " 
 
 Bessie Ellerton shrugged her shoulders. 
 
 " I begin to think, my dear," she said, " that we all 
 probably get the kind of life for which we were meant. 
 If we had been meant for something else, we should 
 have managed to attain to it. You don't believe that ? 
 Nor do I really ! But it sounds comforting and philo- 
 sophical, and if repeated a sufficient number of times, it 
 carries persuasion. As for me looking tired, why you 
 yourself do not seem much better for your holiday." 
 
 " I think I have undertaken rather too much work," 
 Nora said. " It is overtaxing me a little nothing to 
 speak of, though, for I am so strong." 
 
 " Don't become fashionable and have a breakdown," 
 her friend said. " And now, before I go, tell me about 
 your holiday and Nurse Isabel and Mr Uppingham. I 
 want to hear all about him. Did you lose your heart to 
 him ? You wrote very enthusiastically of him." 
 
 " I don't know whether I have lost my heart to him," 
 Nora said, half-dreamily. " I should be very glad if I 
 had. I have never in my life liked any one so much. 
 But ... " 
 
 She was going to say, " But I am not free." She 
 stopped herself. 
 
 " But I suppose if I had lost my heart to him," she 
 said, with sudden brightness, " I should not be in any 
 doubt about the matter." 
 
 " No, probably not," Mrs Ellerton answered, laughing. 
 44 It is generally afterwards that the doubt comes. What 
 about the other man I forget his name ? " 
 
 " He is a very curious man," Nora said. " I cannot 
 shake him off. I am always thinking of him against 
 my will." 
 
 162
 
 The Historian Again 
 
 " Ah, that's bad, unless you love him and then it 
 would not be against your will," Mrs Ellerton said, and 
 her mind reverted to Madge Carson, and she was just 
 going to speak of her, when Mr Ellerton arrived, and 
 carried his wife off in a whirlwind of hurry. After they 
 had gone, Nora stood looking out of the window and 
 thinking of her genial little school-friend. The words 
 echoed in Nora's ears : 
 
 " Perhaps you too will come to grief. Most women 
 do some way or other." And her own answer was 
 wafted back to her : 
 
 " Then I shall fulfil our common destiny." 
 
 And the next minute she thought of her dream, and 
 shuddered. " Oh, this is ridiculous," she said, giving 
 herself a mental shake. " As if one were not a free 
 agent, and could not retain one's independence of spirit, 
 and in these days, too, when there is no mental 
 court of Inquisition. I begin to think that I am pass- 
 ing through a phase of morbidness. I must brace my- 
 self up. It is not as though there were no one to help 
 me. There is father. And there is yes, there is 
 Brian Uppingham, who has made me feel that he loves 
 me, and whom I never see without a thrill of joy and 
 hope and absolute belief. Why should I not go forth 
 to meet him? There is not any barrier. It is only my 
 morbid imagination. Like many other people, I am afraid 
 to touch happiness I, who have so laughed at half- 
 heartedness and weak-minded hesitancy and inaneness ! 
 And now I am afraid myself. Or is there a barrier? 
 Surely I can break through it if I choose. . . ." 
 
 A hansom cab drove slowly up to the door, and a 
 great wave of pleasure encircled Nora. 
 
 " It is Mr Uppingham himself," she said, and all 
 gloom fled from her. 
 
 163
 
 The Fowler 
 
 She opened the door to him, and laughed with pleas- 
 ure and amusement to see him laden with sundry parcels 
 of a distinctly countrified calibre. 
 
 " A sack of vegetables, a pot of walnut pickle, some 
 butter, and some cakes," he said, gravely. " I think 
 that is all. No, I've forgotten the bottle of dandelion 
 wine, of which I wish you joy, and a few dead trailing 
 branches which Mrs Mary Shaw insisted sternly on my 
 bringing to you without fail. And Reuben has sent 
 you a bottle of medicine labelled l For the shivers ' 
 something very special, I believe ; and great-uncle sent 
 you his blessing, and wished you to know that he had 
 finished all his shag ! " 
 
 " How well you look," Nora said, glancing at him in 
 surprise. He seemed quite a different person from the 
 delicate invalid whom she had left only a few weeks ago. 
 
 " I have been getting stronger by leaps and bounds," 
 he said, as they sat together on the sofa. " I only came 
 up from Graystoke yesterday. It was very lonely after 
 you had gone. But I was determined to stay on and 
 try in every way to recover some kind of health and 
 strength for my work. The village people have amused 
 me endlessly, and Mrs Mary Shaw has been most kind 
 to me. My striking resemblance to that artist who never 
 paid his bills, evidently quite endeared me to her." 
 
 He chatted on, telling her all the news about the 
 King's Head and the Punchbowl and the ancestors, and 
 giving her all the kindly messages with which he had 
 been charged from many sides. He was so happy to be 
 with her once more, and showed his gladness without 
 any attempt at concealment. It shone out with a great 
 warmth and golden light. He had not weakened his 
 power of loving by frittering it away; he had it, there- 
 fore, unimpaired in strength and purity, with a freshness 
 
 164
 
 The Historian Again 
 
 which lent it all the greater charm, because it was the 
 freshness of a wise and pure heart. He did not use 
 words of love to Nora, but the quiet way in which he 
 gave evidence of how much he needed her, and of how 
 much she had already become to him in his daily life, 
 was more convincing than any eloquence of protestation. 
 Nora saw it and recognised it, and a thrill went through 
 her. 
 
 " I have a great deal to tell you about the progress of 
 the book," he said. " I have all sorts of new ideas for it. 
 But first I want to show you something. I know it will 
 interest you. It is my poor little Thyra's certificate for 
 the London Matriculation. It came after her death, but 
 even then I was proud of it." 
 
 Nora took the paper in her hands and looked at the 
 name inscribed on it : Thyra Uppingbam. 
 
 " You see she was only eighteen," he continued, 
 pointing to the age recorded there. " That is very 
 young to die." 
 
 " It seems a wanton waste to be called away at eigh- 
 teen," Nora said. 
 
 " Yes," he answered, as he half caressed the docu- 
 ment, " that is what I have said in the bitterness of my 
 heart such a wanton waste. And that is what I felt 
 when I lost my friend a noble fellow too, not a man 
 whom the world could lightly spare. I suppose we all 
 say that, when we lose those whom we have loved, and 
 in whom we have believed with all our hearts. We 
 know we are poorer, and we are convinced that the world 
 is poorer too. And if our love is strong enough and 
 it generally is we say it of the worthless ones as well. 
 For whatever they may really be, they are not worthless 
 to us, and we cannot conceive of them being worthless 
 to other people. We go on believing to the very last in 
 
 165
 
 The Fowler 
 
 their possibilities, and when the end has come, it is in 
 the remembrance of their possibilities that we take what 
 pride we may, saying always with unfaltering faith that 
 the world is the poorer for having lost them. But when 
 there is no question in our own hearts or in the hearts 
 of others about the worth of our dear dead ones when 
 they showed sure signs of what they were going to do and 
 be, to make us prouder and the world richer is there 
 any comfort that we can take over the wanton waste of 
 beautiful material ? I don't know of any, except our 
 own tender thankfulness that they belonged to us, that 
 they were our very own. That is some comfort, a poor 
 one, but human enough, and therefore not ignoble." 
 
 " Only it does not really suffice," Nora said. 
 
 u Oh no, it does not suffice, of course," he said, " but 
 there seems to be no choice between absolute starvation 
 and feeding on fancy-bread, which just stays off the 
 sinking, but does not still the real hunger pangs of yearn- 
 ing. Nothing can still that for us : not the finest doctrine 
 or dogma, though we may saturate ourselves through and 
 through with its meaning and promises, and almost per- 
 suade ourselves that we are comforted." 
 
 He folded up the certificate, and turned to her with 
 a smile. 
 
 " And yet such strange creatures of impulse and irre- 
 sponsibility are we," he said, " that even those of us who 
 pride ourselves on having left the low-lying plains of 
 tradition and religious romance and fable, find our way 
 back to the old haunts which we had vowed never to 
 revisit. We wander gladly over the fields and through 
 the sheltered lanes, picking sweet-scented things from 
 the hedges. We cannot help ourselves : we are driven 
 there again and again by some force which may be 
 simply the resultant of all the influences at work during 
 
 166
 
 The Historian Again 
 
 the centuries gone by, or else our own soul's innate ne- 
 cessity, something altogether independent of time and 
 creed and imitation. So I find myself re-fashioning my 
 little Thyra, watching her career in her new world, and 
 still expecting her to make her mark in her chosen work, 
 with freer conditions, keener gifts, and strengthened 
 abilities, and wider scope. She will be a good doctor 
 yet, I think, and will discover some rare remedy for 
 which her name will be beloved through all the ages. 
 You see I am ambitious for her even now : I can't help 
 myself and I cannot help telling you." 
 
 " I am so very glad that you care to tell me," Nora 
 said, warmly. 
 
 The ring of truth in her voice was like music to him. 
 It called him out of the realms of regret and sadness into 
 a fairyland of light and love and hope. He had passed 
 on, as we all of necessity must. He looked at her ad- 
 miringly, and felt a sudden access of happiness in her 
 presence, and an access of certainty too, that sooner or 
 later he might claim her as his own. 
 
 " Ah," he said, " do you remember me telling you that I 
 had nothing to live for ? The words were scarcely out of 
 my mouth before I knew that the something had come." 
 
 She turned away from him, and an anxious look passed 
 over her face, as though of an inward strife. Brian had 
 seen that shadow before. He was soon to know, only 
 too well, what it meant. 
 
 They sat together after that, talking not of Death and 
 the pathos of our strained efforts to comfort ourselves in 
 some irreparable loss, but of active life, bounding am- 
 bition, restless endeavour, Little Englanders, Big Eng- 
 landers, and, finally, the standing of women in the new 
 spheres, and the question of a fair wage in return for 
 her services. Nora was very keen on that subject, and 
 
 167
 
 The Fowler 
 
 expressed great indignation that women should still be 
 paid less, in England at least, for precisely the same 
 kind of work done by men at a considerably higher 
 rate of remuneration. 
 
 She said : 
 
 " That question of a lower wage for a woman, based 
 on the sole reason of her being a woman, and not neces- 
 sarily of her being an inferior worker, always stirs me up 
 a good deal, probably because it comes home to me with 
 peculiar directness. As a teacher, for instance, certifi- 
 cated, and with every right, so far as academic cachet 
 goes, to be paid as well as a man who has taken a poorer 
 degree and has less teaching ability than myself, I never- 
 theless cannot ever expect to attain to his salary, given 
 the same conditions, of course. And moreover the idea 
 is so burnt into all our brains, male and female too, that 
 we can get very little help from our own sex. It is not 
 so long ago that one of our most advanced women a 
 well-known speaker on social subjects applied to me 
 to give her Latin lessons at starvation price, and wished 
 to bring a friend to share the instruction with her. I 
 think she offered two shillings the hour. I told her that 
 the fee was too small, and that it was not usual to teach 
 two people for the price of one. She said that she was 
 sorry for her mistake, but she understood that lady pro- 
 fessors charged less than men." 
 
 " Well," Brian said, " it is just another illustration of 
 what we spoke of before, that women have not cared 
 enough to help themselves or each other. It is always 
 astonishing to me how little they have cared. A few, 
 of course, have cared tremendously ; but the masses 
 have remained indifferent, and would continue so now, 
 if it were not for the rousing of the plucky ones." 
 
 " I don't admit that," Nora said. " I think it is only 
 1 68
 
 The Historian Again 
 
 that we are still hampered by custom and prejudice. I 
 do not believe for one moment that women are indiffer- 
 ent, or unwilling to help each other. But we have to 
 learn. We need our apprenticeship, like all workmen 
 who are going to be worth anything." 
 
 " Well," Brian answered, " you know I am as much 
 a woman's advocate as you are, but I honestly believe 
 that the greater number of your sex are still quite indif- 
 ferent. Take this very question of payment, to which 
 you have referred. No one can drive a harder bargain 
 with a woman than a woman, especially the highly moral 
 and sanctimonious woman. I should not be surprised to 
 hear that it is a woman who suggests post-office and other 
 Government economies ! " 
 
 " You should write a brochure about these subjects," 
 Nora said. 
 
 " You are making fun of me," he said, reproach- 
 fully. 
 
 " No indeed, I am not," she answered. " After all, no 
 one can help women so much as men if they choose. 
 And even in these modern times, it is a rare thing to find 
 a man who is generous and just enough to give to women 
 the full benefit and help of his man's way of looking at 
 things. As a rule, men are content to use women, and 
 then laugh at their limitations and mistakes, and then 
 say, ' There, I told you so thus far and no farther.' " 
 
 11 You should write the brochure yourself," he said ; 
 but she shook her head, and they passed on to the subject 
 of his own book. 
 
 " I have been going straight ahead with it," he said, 
 " pretending to believe in myself, and sometimes almost 
 succeeding. I have had no relapses into depression. I 
 must write and tell Nurse Isabel that. She is away on 
 the Continent with her famous nerve-specialist, with 
 
 169
 
 The Fowler 
 
 whom she appears to be having a duller time than she 
 had with me." 
 
 " I have a real affection for Nurse Isabel," Nora said. 
 " I so often think of her quaint sayings. I hope she will 
 soon be home again." 
 
 "I have every reason to be thankful to her," Brian 
 said. " I would do anything for Nurse Isabel. She 
 brought you into my life. And . . ." 
 
 " Ah, it's the historian ! " said a cheery voice of wel- 
 come, and Roger Penhurst came into the room. " Greet- 
 ing to you and good luck ! Let's have dinner at once, 
 Nora, my girl, and we'll drink a quart of champagne, and 
 pretend that we are old friends. That is the way, Mr. 
 Uppingham, to begin a friendship with a visitor who is 
 as welcome as yourself ! " 
 
 170
 
 Out of Harmony 
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 OUT OF HARMONY 
 
 BUT in spite of the pleasure which Nora felt in being 
 with Brian Uppingham, she did not lose the sensation 
 of uneasiness about Theodore Bevan, whom she had dis- 
 missed so summarily ; and as the days went by and she 
 had no news of him, she began to be quite restless and 
 distracted. She could not reason herself out of this state 
 of mind, although she made several valiant attempts. 
 At last, one evening, when she was sitting alone pre- 
 paring a lesson on Prometheus Vinctus, the bell rang, 
 and Nora looked up from her books. Her father had 
 gone to a lecture on ' Human Origins,' and she had not 
 felt inclined to accompany him. He seemed to have an 
 inexhaustible fund of brain-strength, and could apply his 
 mind to anything he wished, and at any moment. Nora 
 could not keep pace with him, and lately she had been 
 feeling listless. So she stopped at home, and did her 
 work in a half-hearted sort of way, until the bell rang, 
 and Theodore Bevan came into the cosy sitting-room. 
 
 " Good evening," he said, smiling gravely. " I am 
 lucky to find you in." 
 
 " Good evening," Nora said, curiously relieved that 
 he had come, and yet astonished too, for she had never 
 asked him to visit her. There were signs of both feelings 
 in her greeting to him, but the first predominated. 
 
 " I should have come before," he continued, " but that 
 I have been prevented by pressure of work in the first 
 instance, and then by the suicide of a friend." 
 
 171
 
 The Fowler 
 
 " The suicide of a friend ! " Nora said, shocked. 
 
 " Yes," he answered, as he sank down in the easy-chair. 
 " With a shadow like that upon one, one may well feel 
 that life is a hideous affair. I have never been in love 
 with life, as you know, and this evening, feeling more 
 than ever out of conceit with it, my steps led naturally 
 to you for exhortation and healthy reprimand." 
 
 " Tell me about it," Nora said, kindly, and her heart 
 went out to him in his trouble. He looked frail and 
 suffering, and wore an ashen look, peculiar to those 
 stricken by a shocking tragedy. 
 
 "There is nothing much to tell," he said, quietly. 
 11 He was a successful man, a solicitor, in good health, 
 and with no reason for courting death, but he killed him- 
 self deliberately about an hour before I and another friend 
 had an appointment with him in his rooms. We found 
 him there. I shall miss him greatly. I talk at random 
 sometimes about the vanity of love and friendship ; but 
 words can be tossed so easily off the lips, whilst feelings 
 remain deep down in the heart. I was very much at- 
 tached to him, and shall find it difficult to face the lone- 
 liness which would seem to be my peculiar portion. 
 Looking through my journal, a record of my own 
 thoughts, intended for no eyes but mine, I find no single 
 word set down that could be distorted into a harsh criti- 
 cism of him, much less an unsympathetic one, and still 
 less an expression of distrust. And that is saying a good 
 deal even of a friend." 
 
 Nothing could have been kinder than the gentle way 
 in which she took care of him. She was touched that he 
 should have cared to come to her in his trouble, and 
 grieved to see him looking so forlorn and shaken. She 
 felt glad that he had found his way to her home, and 
 was sitting in the cosy living-room, amongst the books 
 
 172
 
 Out of Harmony 
 
 and musical instruments and pictures of poets and musi- 
 cians. He glanced around, and appeared to take com- 
 fort from his surroundings. He warmed his hands by 
 the fireside, shook his head when Nora suggested supper; 
 but at last, persuaded by her, drank of the tea which 
 she prepared, and even managed to eat a little food. 
 The strained expression on his face relaxed somewhat, a 
 sure sign that greater ease of mind and spirit was stealing 
 over him. There was no mistaking the genuineness of 
 his trouble, and of his gratitude to Nora for her sym- 
 pathy. He sat there, pathetic in his trustfulness, like 
 some sick child who knows that he is being well looked 
 after. So the evening passed, Nora trying to divert his 
 thoughts, and he listening and joining in at times, and 
 speaking more frankly about himself than he had ever 
 done before, and showing a simple and even lovable side 
 of his nature. At last Mr Penhurst came home, brim- 
 ming over with excitement about " Human Origins." 
 When he saw Theodore Bevan installed in an easy-chair 
 by the fireside, he stood still for a moment and turned to 
 Nora, as though for an explanation. But he was too 
 genuinely kind to make her or any one uncomfortable ; 
 and so, with sufficient politeness, he said good evening 
 to the unwelcome visitor, talked about the lecture, and 
 wondered inwardly when on earth the little confounded 
 centipede intended to take himself off. It was nearly 
 twelve o'clock when Bevan rose to go, and even then it 
 seemed an effort to him to leave Nora's home and 
 presence. 
 
 " You have been very good to me," he said, looking 
 straight at her. " I came here quite broken. You 
 have restored me." 
 
 Mr Penhurst saw him to the door, gave him a graci- 
 ous enough " good night " and an inward kick and 
 
 173
 
 The Fowler 
 
 returned to the room, where he found Nora leaning 
 
 ' O 
 
 against the mantelpiece. 
 
 "Nora," he said, roughly, "now I understand why 
 you did not care to come to the lecture. You expected 
 this fellow, and stayed at home for him." 
 
 Nora flushed crimson with anger at the injustice of 
 the accusation. 
 
 " I did not expect him at all," she said, warmly. " I 
 simply did not wish to go to that lecture. One cannot 
 always feel inclined for c Human Origins.' And as for 
 hiding anything from you, have we ever been on those 
 terms ? You know perfectly well that I should have 
 told you." 
 
 " I don't know anything of the sort now," he said, 
 his anger rising. " You are so changed." 
 
 " You've no right to say that," Nora answered, 
 angrily. " Mr Bevan came here of his own accord, or 
 else I should have told you beforehand. I'm not a 
 kitchen-maid, that I desire to do things surreptitiously. 
 He came here uninvited, and I am very glad he did 
 come. He is in great trouble about the suicide of his 
 friend, and I am happy to have been able to comfort 
 him." 
 
 " A pity it is not his own suicide," Roger Penhurst 
 flung out. " I should be delighted to hear of that." 
 
 " You ought to be ashamed of yourself, father," Nora 
 said hotly. " The man has done you no harm." 
 
 " Oh," said Roger Penhurst, now quite out of temper, 
 " don't you take up that tone of superiority with me, for 
 I'm damned if I'll stand it. I tell you that man is de- 
 testable to me, and if you are going to have him here, 
 you must choose between me and him. I shall not 
 trouble myself to speak of this again, and you must just 
 please yourself. I don't care." 
 
 174
 
 Out of Harmony 
 
 He snatched up his book and slippers, and went quickly 
 out of the room and upstairs into his study. Nora heard 
 him bang his door. Then all was still. Ten minutes 
 afterwards her father's door was opened, and she heard 
 the sound of his footsteps on the stairs. She did not 
 move an inch ; her heart did not give one bound, as on 
 other occasions when she and he had had some quarrel, 
 and were only too grateful to hasten back to the old 
 tenderness. 
 
 He came into the room, but she did not come forward 
 to meet him. 
 
 " Nora, my girl," he said, " I can't rest without say- 
 ing that I am very sorry for having been so crusty. Of 
 course I believe that you did not ask him here of 
 course I believe your word. Why, there never has 
 been any back-handedness between us. It was just my 
 temper, nothing more. I don't know why I should dis- 
 like that man. I'll try all over again. I'll " 
 
 He stopped suddenly, for Nora's silence and cold un- 
 responsiveness of manner chilled him. 
 
 " Well, good night, dear," he said, sadly, and she let 
 him go without a word. 
 
 I7S
 
 The Fowler 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 WORDS OF WARNING 
 
 ONE day in the middle of January, Nora went down to 
 the Eagle Club, where she had arranged to meet some 
 of her friends. They thought that she looked a little 
 out of health, and that she seemed listless. She was, in 
 fact, torn to pieces by her conflicting feelings about the 
 two men who had come almost simultaneously into her 
 life. . They both visited her, but they had never yet met 
 at her house. Her father continued to dislike Mr 
 Bevan, and to resent his presence, and to be more and 
 more drawn towards the historian. Nora did not won- 
 der at that and wished that her own mind was not so 
 full of strife. Engrossed with these thoughts which 
 seldom left her, she sat almost silent in a remote corner 
 of the room, and only woke up to some degree of bright- 
 ness, when the President came up to her and began to 
 tell her about her travels in the Far West. Nora said 
 that she had always had the desire to go out to some dis- 
 tant land, and for the sake of the experience live in some 
 unsettled part of the country, away from the trammels 
 of culture and civilisation. 
 
 Mrs Carew smiled. 
 
 " I had three years of that kind of life in Texas," 
 she said. " And when at last my husband and I were 
 able to break loose from the trammels of a cattle-ranch, 
 we gladly came home to culture and civilisation. You 
 would do the same too. For a permanency it must 
 be death to any one who has known another kind of 
 
 176
 
 Words of Warning 
 
 existence, but for a time I think it is invaluable. I 
 returned to England with a better understanding of all 
 that the old country has to offer ; and my powers of 
 appreciation have grown stronger ever since. If you 
 are needing a thorough change and rest, go there. 
 There is a great attraction about the life. It gives you 
 a sense of expanse and freedom which you never quite 
 lose. It makes everything in Nature, Art, Letters, and 
 Life stronger and broader for you." 
 
 She was then called away from Nora, much to the 
 latter's disappointment. She had an intense admiration 
 for the President, harbouring for her that peculiar kind 
 of reverent affection which can only be given by a woman 
 to a woman, and is a lovely thing " a joy for ever." 
 
 She was still thinking of her when another, friend, 
 Miss Sandhurst, brought a Miss Margaret Carson, who 
 wanted to be introduced to her. 
 
 Nora started at the name. She remembered that 
 Nurse Isabel had mentioned it to her in connection 
 with Theodore Bevan, and she was at once filled with 
 an unaccountable irritation which she could scarcely 
 conceal. But Madge Carson was too much in earnest 
 to mind that. 
 
 " Miss Penhurst," she said, eagerly, " I want so very 
 much to speak with you. I have something which I 
 must say to you. I will come to your house if you 
 will allow me, or else I should be glad if you would 
 come to my rooms, which are within a stone's throw 
 of the British Museum." 
 
 Nora had drawn herself up somewhat coldly. 
 
 " I have not said whether or not I care to hear what 
 you are so desirous of telling me, Miss Carson," she 
 answered. " You should at least say why you wish to 
 see me so particularly." 
 
 12 177
 
 The Fowler 
 
 u I want to speak to you about Mr Theodore Bevan," 
 Madge Carson said. 
 
 " I do not think I care to hear," Nora replied. " You 
 are quite a stranger to me, and I do not see how any 
 concerns of yours can possibly interest me." 
 
 Madge Carson flushed crimson : she was a proud 
 little lady. 
 
 " I am fully aware that I sacrifice my own dignity 
 in asking you to grant me an interview against your 
 own inclination, Miss Penhurst," she said. " It is not 
 agreeable to put oneself in the position of being snubbed, 
 and I should not subject myself to the risk of such 
 unpleasantness, but that I am constrained by my own 
 strong feelings. So I still ask you to give me half an 
 hour of your time for private talk." 
 
 Nora looked at her, noticed the flush of annoyance 
 on her face, and the quiet earnestness of her manner, 
 and the keenness of her brown eyes. They were sad 
 eyes, too, and brave ones. 
 
 " I am in your neighbourhood to-morrow afternoon, 
 Miss Carson," she said, in a softened tone of voice, 
 " and will be with you about four o'clock. I am sorry 
 I was so ungracious." 
 
 The next afternoon, being Saturday, she worked in 
 the reading-room of the British Museum, talked with 
 her old Professor, but was interrupted by Theodore 
 Bevan, whom she found waiting to take her to lunch. 
 He was constantly in attendance on her now, both at 
 home and in town. She was not quite sure whether 
 she was not irritated by such close companionship, 
 which did not leave her free for her old habits 
 and inclinations. Once or twice she thought of speak- 
 ing to him about it, but her heart failed her when she 
 came to the point. To-day, however, she made a deter- 
 
 178
 
 Words of Warning 
 
 mined effort for freedom, and knocked at Margaret Car- 
 son's rooms punctually at four o'clock. Miss Carson 
 opened the door for her, and welcomed her with a grave 
 smile. Nora glanced around at the bookbinding tools, 
 the sewing-bench and plough and press, the designs for 
 book-covers hung about everywhere, and a littered table 
 where a beautifully-bound book lay, fresh from the 
 artist's hands. 
 
 " Oh, Miss Carson," Nora said, enthusiastically, " what 
 delightful work ! May I touch this ? " 
 
 Margaret Carson put the delicate volume in her hands, 
 and stood by, proud as any true worker should be of 
 true appreciation. 
 
 " I am going to bind a copy of this book for Mrs 
 Carew's birthday," she said, after a pause. " Do you 
 know it ? I was looking at it again to-day, and a pas- 
 sage which I have marked there, struck me with redoubled 
 force." 
 
 " c We prate eloquently enough,' " she read aloud, 
 u ' of the advantage and advisability of frankness in our 
 intercourse with other people. We are never tired of 
 pointing out that true frankness, not necessarily associated 
 with boorishness, simplifies life to an astonishing extent. 
 But even those of us who have the courage to be frank 
 with other people, are seldom plucky enough to be frank 
 with ourselves. We do not care to call things by their 
 proper names ; and our own mistakes, failings, stubborn- 
 nesses, rashnesses, and errors of judgment are christened 
 with some such elegant term as " fortune's blows." If 
 we are cowards, we just pretend to ourselves that we 
 have shrinking dispositions. It sounds better.' ''' 
 
 She stopped, and put the book down. 
 
 " It is so true," she said, turning to Nora. " All this 
 morning I have been a positive coward about this inter- 
 
 179
 
 The Fowler 
 
 view with you which I sought of my own free will, and 
 I have consoled myself by thinking of my c shrinking 
 disposition.' Then I happened to take up that book. 
 The writer of it always helps me. I always think of 
 him with a peculiar kind of personal gratitude. I read 
 his book during a time of great trouble, when I had lost 
 all my bearings and this is the subject about which I 
 wanted to speak to you, Miss Penhurst." 
 
 She was leaning against her work-table, fiddling with 
 one of her tools, and Nora was resting in the arm-chair, 
 playing with her chain. Her stately presence and fri- 
 gidity of manner made the little bookbinder nervous, but 
 she was determined not to shrink from the task which 
 she had undertaken. 
 
 " Miss Penhurst," she said, taking the plunge, after a 
 moment's awkward silence, during which Nora did not 
 help her, " I have nothing to gain by speaking to you 
 about Theodore Bevan. It is not that I wish to vent 
 my spleen, or satisfy any absurd desire for revenge on a 
 man who really spoilt four or five years of what ought to 
 have been the brightest time of my life. All the bom- 
 bastic part of my feelings has passed away, but a sincere 
 conviction remains that it is my duty to warn others 
 against him." 
 
 " It is very disinterested of you, I am sure," Nora said, 
 sarcastically. 
 
 " Yes, it is," Margaret Carson said ; " especially when 
 I feel that it won't be of the slightest use. But I can't 
 help that. I only know that I would penetrate even into 
 palaces to tell my story. And," she added, a little quaintly, 
 "I don't suppose I should feel any less awkward there 
 than here, for you do not help me out." 
 
 " I don't see how I can," Nora answered ; but her 
 voice sounded kinder, and Margaret Carson took heart 
 
 180
 
 Words of Warning 
 
 and gathered herself together. There was nothing 
 vicious nor exaggerated in her relation of the simple 
 story which she told. She was singularly frank, blam- 
 ing herself for her want of ordinary perception, and her 
 stubbornness, and her flattered vanity. She said that 
 Theodore Bevan came into her life at a time when she 
 had just finished her college-career, and was pausing 
 before taking up any definite active work, often a very 
 difficult time for those who are not obliged by circum- 
 stances to begin earning money at once. She had all 
 her days free to do whatever she chose, and the result 
 was that she felt too dull to do anything. Then Theo- 
 dore Bevan and she became acquainted, and he was 
 kind in lending her books and interesting her in the 
 current literature of the day, of which she knew noth- 
 ing. She said that at first she never really liked him, 
 and that he always produced in her a feeling of distress 
 and anxiety, and that she was always conscious that his 
 influence was not a healthy one. Certainly, from the 
 moment she began to be a great deal with him, her 
 way of looking at life changed ; her healthy happiness 
 passed from her, her belief in people's single-hearted- 
 ness weakened, and a mean-spirited, critical cynicism, 
 at which she now laughed, took the place of her own 
 natural delight in whatever was grand and great. She 
 tried to free herself from him, but he seemed to hold her 
 as though in a vice, and as time went on, she made 
 no more struggles to break loose from him : she did 
 not wish to break loose, for he chained her by ap- 
 pealing silently to her sympathy and by flattering her 
 vanity. He deplored his own bitterness of character, but 
 told her repeatedly that since he had learnt to know her, 
 he took a gentler view of every one and everything. 
 " And I was fool enough to believe that I was influ- 
 181
 
 The Fowler 
 
 encing him," she said. " I remember some mysterious 
 words of his which impressed me deeply : l Every time 1 
 leave you, the same words always rise to my lips, and when 
 alone I speak them aloud' ' : 
 
 Nora started. She recognised those words. 
 
 " I used, of course, to think he uttered some kind of 
 benediction for my chastening influence," Madge Carson 
 continued ; " but I suppose what he really said was, 
 4 Little fool I'm taming you well.' " 
 
 She paused a moment, and seemed wrapt in her own 
 thoughts. 
 
 " That was what he cared for most in life," she went 
 on "to tame people, to take firm hold of their minds, 
 analyse them, find out their weaknesses, distort their 
 virtues, and leave their mental and moral individuality 
 in ruins. He did not trouble himself about the physical. 
 That was not his bent. But I have no hesitation in 
 saying that a man like Theodore Bevan, who aims de- 
 liberately at ruining a woman's mind, and corroding it 
 with his poison, is a greater enemy to society than that 
 notoriously bad fellow, Gerald Hamilton, who was 
 turned out of our club a few weeks ago. One knows 
 pretty well where one is drifting with a man of Hamilton's 
 type, but one loses all one's bearings with the Theodore 
 Bevans of the world. I know it has taken me three or 
 four years to find them again and hard years too." 
 
 " I think that you exaggerate Mr Bevan's peculiari- 
 ties," Nora said. " You probably did not read him 
 aright. He is certainly eccentric, and not every one 
 would be likely to understand him." 
 
 Madge Carson laughed. 
 
 " Understand him ! " she said. " And who would be 
 likely to understand him ? " 
 
 u 1 do," answered Nora. 
 
 182
 
 Words of Warning 
 
 " Then I congratulate you," Madge Carson replied, 
 ironically. " I was not so lucky. I saw Theodore 
 Bevan nearly every day for about two years, and never 
 learnt to read him aright." 
 
 " That is not unusual," said Nora- " People have 
 been known to live fifty years side by side, and to have 
 died strangers to each other. It is only the few who 
 understand." 
 
 But Madge Carson did not heed her. 
 
 She took up a lovely little old volume, looked at it 
 half unconsciously, and held it in her hands. 
 
 " In fact," she continued, more to herself than to 
 Nora, " for the last year I saw no one else but him. 
 He arranged that. He weaned me away from all my 
 old friends and my old pleasures, and brought discord 
 between me and my dear old aunt, who could not bear 
 the sight of him. He made me behave shamefully to her. 
 He and I together spoilt the peace and comfort of the 
 last year of her life. I realised that when it was too late. 
 I lost two or three of my best friends through him. 
 Every one except me seemed to dislike and distrust him. 
 And even I had my changing moods about him; but 
 whenever I doubted him the most, and wished to be free 
 of him, and take a long breath of fresh air, and feel 
 my nature as well as my lungs expand once more, he 
 invariably arrived at the right moment, as though by 
 divination, and swept away all traces of any unfavour- 
 able feeling towards him. I always noticed that about 
 him. It was most remarkable." 
 
 Nora looked up at the little figure standing before her. 
 
 " I have noticed that too," she said, hastily. 
 
 " Ah," said Madge Carson, with quiet triumph, " I 
 am glad to hear it." 
 
 Nora bit her lip. She was vexed with herself for 
 '83
 
 The Fowler 
 
 having said that much, and she betrayed it in her manner 
 as she rose to go. She had not intended to show that 
 she had been impressed with anything which Madge 
 Carson had said ; and yet one or two of the remarks 
 struck home. She now drew herself together and turned 
 stiffly to Madge Carson. 
 
 "I am sure you have meant to do a kind action in 
 speaking so openly to me," she said. " I am very sorry 
 for your unfortunate experience, and I am much obliged 
 to you for wishing to save me from a similar one. I 
 shall, of course, tell Mr Bevan that I have seen you, 
 for it is only fair that he should know that you have 
 given me your personal impressions of him. I am 
 quite sure you have drawn what you think to be a 
 truthful picture of him. But, of course, everything 
 depends on the point of view. I shall be seeing him 
 to-morrow, or perhaps to-night. Shall I give any mes- 
 sage from you ? Have you anything you wish to say to 
 him ? " 
 
 " Tell him that I am glad he has found some one to 
 understand him," Madge Carson said, spitefully. " It 
 must be such a comfort." 
 
 184
 
 Nurse Isabel Takes an Outing 
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 NURSE ISABEL TAKES AN OUTING 
 
 NURSE ISABEL, who had been away on the Continent for 
 several weeks, returned to town about the middle of 
 March, and one day, punctually at the hour of two, she 
 entered Burlington House and found Brian Uppingham 
 waiting for her. He had written to suggest a meeting, 
 saying that although, according to her verdict, he was not 
 particularly interesting, yet, judged by the same infallible 
 authority, he was probably one degree less dull than her 
 present patient, and therefore an hour or two of his com- 
 pany might be beneficial to her well-known depression. 
 
 " Goodness ! " she said, when she saw him, " you do 
 look well. I am so glad." 
 
 " I got better directly you left me," he answered. 
 " My improvement was almost as miraculous as though 
 I had taken a patent medicine and recovered from a life- 
 long illness in about half a minute." 
 
 Nurse Isabel laughed. 
 
 " Well, you are grateful ! " she said. " But at your 
 worst you were never as troublesome as my famous nerve- 
 specialist. However, he will soon be out of my hands. 
 I can imagine him sitting in his consulting-room, in the 
 odour of medical sanctity, surrounded by his quiet-looking 
 books and papers, and saying in an irritatingly measured 
 tone of voice to some overwrought visitor : c My dear 
 sir, we have to learn to control ourselves to use mod- 
 eration in everything. If we stretch the string beyond 
 its power of tension, it breaks/ He has not been talk- 
 
 '85
 
 The Fowler 
 
 ing in that well-balanced way lately, I can tell you, and 
 he has given me a great deal of trouble about his food. 
 Also, it has been a considerable strain on me to behave 
 like a saint the whole time, and not show any signs of 
 impatience and boredom." 
 
 " Yes, I expect it has," Brian said ; " and it has told 
 on you. And I suppose you have not been able to wear 
 your tailor-made gown fastened at the back with twenty- 
 four obstinate little buttons ? " 
 
 " That is reserved for lay patients," Nurse Isabel said. 
 " It would not be suitable for the faculty ! But don't let 
 us talk about anything in connection with my beautiful 
 profession. I'm out of conceit with it." 
 
 " You never could have been in conceit with it," he 
 answered. " You are about as well fitted for it as Aunt 
 Rebeccah Renaldson at the King's Head." 
 
 " You have an awful contempt for me," she said, laugh- 
 ing, half-heartedly. " I don't wonder. I have felt rather 
 ridiculous to myself since you pointed out the fact to 
 me." 
 
 " Oh, don't say that," he replied. " I am a tease by 
 nature, and you do invite it." 
 
 " Yes, but the worst of it is that your remarks are 
 nearly always appropriate," she answered. " I suppose 
 you have what they call a keen perception, whatever that 
 means. I was talking to my mother about you the other 
 day when I went to see her, just before I undertook my 
 present inspiring case, and she thinks you are hard on 
 me. She doesn't think me ridiculous. But then she is 
 prejudiced." 
 
 " And perhaps you have never nursed her," suggested 
 Brian. " That makes a good deal of difference, you 
 know ! " 
 
 Nurse Isabel was fond of pictures, and in her light 
 186
 
 Nurse Isabel Takes an Outing 
 
 way she quite enjoyed seeing this Exhibition of Old 
 Masters. She went from room to room with untiring 
 energy, and finally sank on to a sofa. 
 
 There was a " portrait of a lady " immediately before 
 them, and it bore a striking likeness to Nora Penhurst. 
 Nurse Isabel and Brian noticed the resemblance at once. 
 
 " You have seen her, of course ? " Nurse Isabel 
 asked. 
 
 " Oh yes," he answered, " and I expect to see her 
 this evening." 
 
 "I hope she has got rid of that Mr Bevan," she said. 
 
 " I believe he has visited her several times since his 
 return to town," Brian replied, with unconcern. 
 
 " Then why don't you show some spirit and turn him 
 off the premises ? " remarked Nurse Isabel. " If I were 
 you, I would not have that horrid little creature sneak- 
 ing about in my fairyland. It is your fairyland, isn't 
 it?" 
 
 " Yes," he answered. " I like to think so. But that 
 does not give me the right to choose Miss Penhurst's 
 acquaintances for her. I should not think much of a 
 woman who would brook such interference from a 
 stranger." 
 
 "Oh, what a goose you are ! " she answered, tapping 
 the sofa with her catalogue. " A woman likes being 
 interfered with by the right man." 
 
 " Yes, but one must first be sure that one is the right 
 man," Brian replied. 
 
 " And I suppose you will take a long time to find 
 out," said Nurse Isabel, smiling. " You always were 
 slow. Well, it is not my business, of course, but if you 
 want any help in sending that little Bevan flying, do, I 
 beg of you, ask me. Nothing would give me greater 
 pleasure. I can't bear the thought of him existing even 
 
 187
 
 The Fowler 
 
 on a desert by himself, and I certainly cannot bear the 
 thought of him living anywhere within reach of any one 
 whom I care for. I positively yearn to meet him again. 
 Our last interview was such a success from my point 
 of view. It has been quite a tonic to me during these 
 last melancholy weeks which I have been devoting to 
 my present patient. And that reminds me, that I must 
 soon be getting back to him." 
 
 So they left Burlington House, and took tea at a Hun- 
 garian restaurant. They talked a great deal about Nora, 
 and Brian said that he could not be thankful enough to 
 Nurse Isabel for having asked her up to the Moat 
 House. 
 
 " Oh, I must not take any credit for that," Nurse 
 Isabel said, as she helped herself from a fresh instalment 
 of dainty cakes. " I was tired of you, and wanted a 
 good rest myself. You had been so terribly depressing 
 that week, so overshadowed by the certainty that you 
 were going to make a complete failure of your next 
 book, that I really felt I could not put up with you any 
 more. And I was delighted that Miss Penhurst thought 
 it worth while to be bothered with you. How dis- 
 appointed you will be if your new History-book does 
 make a success. And what about the novel ? That 
 will be successful if you put me into it. I have always 
 thought that I should make an excellent character for a 
 novel as the suffering, misunderstood heroine." 
 
 " Or as the cheerful, patient saint ! " said Brian, smil- 
 ing. " I am afraid, however, that I am quite unequal 
 to the novel, but I am working very hard at the History- 
 book. I have had no relapses into miseries, and I feel 
 in capital health and spirits. Miss Penhurst listens to 
 all my outpourings, and then I hasten home and work 
 with all my heart and all my strength." 
 
 188
 
 Nurse Isabel Takes an Outing 
 
 " Well, it suits you, evidently," Nurse Isabel said ; 
 and then the clock struck half-past three, and she rose 
 reluctantly, saying that she must be home in good time 
 for the faculty. Brian suggested that, on their way, they 
 should buy a pair of elegant shoes to add to the wonder- 
 ful assortment of which he still had a vivid recollection. 
 
 " A capital idea ! " Nurse Isabel said. " Shoes always 
 have an exhilarating effect on me ! " 
 
 The shoes of course swallowed up an unconscionable 
 time, but, as the historian said, it was absolutely neces- 
 sary to get the right thing, in order to compensate 
 her for the mortification of being deprived temporarily 
 of the use of the tailor-made gown with the twenty- 
 four buttons, and in order to give the famous nerve 
 specialist a chance of enjoying a dose of her good spirits. 
 After this important purchase, he hailed a hansom and 
 took her to her destination. 
 
 " Good-bye," she said. " How good you have been to 
 me. I have so enjoyed myself. I feel quite braced up 
 for my saintlike duties." 
 
 Then she added mischievously : 
 
 " And how kind of you to spare the time from that 
 wonderful History-book. Now do make haste to find 
 out whether you are the right man ; and don't forget 
 that I am at your service when the time comes for send- 
 ing that little Bevan flying ! " 
 
 She rang the bell and passed upstairs to her room, 
 with a smile on her face and a smile in her heart. 
 She had had many outings with her men friends, but 
 they were not people of Brian Uppingham's type, and 
 the tone of the excursions had been different from this 
 afternoon's pleasure. She recognised that. 
 
 " It makes one think better of oneself," she thought, 
 41 when a man like that goes out of his way and gives up 
 
 189
 
 The Fowler 
 
 his time to be kind. Nora Penhurst will be an idiot if 
 she refuses his love. I wish ..." 
 
 She paused in the midst of trying on her new shoes, 
 and sat still for a moment, a sad wistful little look com- 
 ing into her eyes. 
 
 190
 
 The Net Tightens 
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 THE NET TIGHTENS 
 
 NORA tried to forget her interview with Madge Carson, 
 but the little bookbinder's words had an unpleasant 
 way of echoing in her ears. And one day, when she 
 was out in town with Theodore Bevan, she felt impelled 
 to speak to him. She was so nervous about it that her 
 opening words were abrupt. 
 
 " I have been warned against you," she said, with a 
 little nervous laugh. 
 
 " Ah," he said, quietly, " I can quite believe that. 
 I am not generally liked." 
 
 " A little lady called Madge Carson has warned me," 
 continued Nora. " She appears to have a crusade 
 against you." 
 
 " Ah," he said, " I am not surprised to hear that." 
 
 Then he continued : 
 
 " Madge Carson misunderstood me. She was a 
 charming girl, but with a limited comprehension. I 
 never claimed to be any better than the average man. 
 She chose to consider me an exceptionally superior speci- 
 men of my elevated sex. But one day she found out 
 her mistake, and having no sense of proportion, and no 
 knowledge of moral geography, she at once relegated me 
 to the bottom of the pit, where she probably desires to 
 keep me. Perfectly legitimate from her point of view. 
 I have nothing against her, except her terrible ignorance 
 of geography, and her lamentable lack of the sense of 
 proportion. When I remembered these deficiencies, I 
 
 191
 
 The Fowler 
 
 became more reconciled to the loss of her friendship. 
 But it took time. Still, I think I may say that my 
 wounds are now healed. They were grievous ones." 
 
 Nora was so amazed at the manner in which he 
 turned the tables on Madge Carson, that she found 
 no words at her command. 
 
 " Also," continued Bevan, " a man has a perfect right 
 to lift himself out of the pit to which he may have been 
 unwittingly relegated. I claim that right, and I have 
 passed on my way. I don't blame that little lady, nor 
 any one with a limited comprehension. But if it had 
 been you, I should have blamed you bitterly." 
 
 They walked on in silence. Nora was thinking that 
 there was a great deal of justice in what he said ; and 
 his last sentence took the effect on her that had been 
 intended. 
 
 " I thought it only fair to mention the matter to 
 you," she said. " I listened to Miss Carson's story and 
 complaints, and gathered that you had tried to influence 
 her mind unhealthily, and separate her from her friends." 
 
 " If she felt that," he said, " it was right for her to 
 put me out of her life. The only wonder is that she 
 hesitated so long. If I felt that you were influencing 
 me badly, do you suppose I should pause for one 
 moment before dismissing you from my life ? And 
 take your own instance why, you would never suffer 
 any one to exercise an undue sway over your mind and 
 character. You, like myself, would not hesitate." 
 
 " Perhaps she did not realise it at first," Nora said, 
 half dreamily. 
 
 Then she added : 
 
 " Miss Carson sought this interview of her own free 
 will, and I am afraid it was not a very satisfactory one 
 from her point of view." 
 
 192
 
 The Net Tightens 
 
 " It could not possibly have been satisfactory to her," 
 he said, with quiet confidence. " You are too just to 
 be disturbed by a one-sided representation of that kind. 
 I am not much of a flatterer, as you know, but I have 
 always considered that, unlike most of your sex, you 
 were endowed with a fine sense of justice. So I can 
 well understand that the little crusader went on her way 
 defeated^ Naturally enough, she has left doubts in your 
 mind. But they will pass." 
 
 He looked up at her with his curious thin smile, and 
 she smiled uneasily in return. She was uneasy. The 
 mere fact that he took her allegiance to him as a matter 
 of course, troubled rather than gratified her. Why 
 should he be so sure of her ? What had she done to 
 make him feel that he could count on her ? Where was 
 that freedom of individuality on which he laid such stress 
 for himself and herself and every one ? And her sense 
 of justice how did that come in ? Why should he as- 
 sume that she desired to be just to him ? All these 
 thoughts rushed through her mind, and she would have 
 given worlds to have found utterance for them. Yes, 
 she would fain have told him, that some of the things 
 which Madge Carson said, had struck home to her, 
 though she pretended to ignore them. But her tongue 
 seemed paralysed just at the moment when her mind 
 was alert ; and the opportunity slipped by. 
 
 " Yes," he repeated, " she has left doubts in your 
 mind. But they will pass. If I did not feel sure of 
 that, I could not now be speaking to you so calmly. 
 For I know and have known of no one throughout my 
 barren life whose good opinion I value more than I do 
 yours. I cannot and will not do without it. Compan- 
 ionship with you is making me look at life with different 
 eyes. I have found myself lately forgetting to analyse 
 13 193
 
 The Fowler 
 
 people's motives and dissect their characters. I think 
 of you with intense gratitude, for it is your work." 
 
 He paused, and then went on : 
 
 " When the strong fresh wind sweeps over us on the 
 downs, we feel strengthened, purified, sweetened. You 
 are to me that strong fresh wind." 
 
 They had been strolling through Hyde Park, and they 
 now found themselves at the Marble Arch. Theodore 
 Bevan pulled out his watch. 
 
 " I have just time to keep an appointment," he said, 
 hurriedly. He took his leave, hailing a passing omnibus, 
 and was gone almost before Nora realised that he was 
 no longer walking by her side. She gave a long sigh. 
 Was it of relief or regret ? She scarcely knew ; but 
 when she reached home, Madge Carson had retreated 
 into the background of her thoughts. 
 
 After this, Nora and Bevan were constantly together. 
 He came to fetch her from her classes. Sometimes he 
 met her at the station, and walked with her to her various 
 destinations. Whenever she came out of the Museum 
 reading-room, she would find that eccentric little figure 
 waiting in the vestibule. On one occasion she dis- 
 covered him occupying the seat next to her usual place 
 in the reading-room. Her old friends seemed shy of her 
 now. They had been accustomed to have her to them- 
 selves, and did not care to share her with this unaccount- 
 able little stranger. At first they tried to ignore and 
 snub him. But they all found, when comparing notes, 
 that Theodore Bevan could be neither ignored nor 
 snubbed nor dismissed. On the contrary, it was he who 
 ignored them. He never seemed to be aware of their 
 bodily presence or their mental atmosphere. It was not 
 that he recognised them as being in his company and put 
 his foot on them ; it was that he appeared always to re- 
 
 194
 
 The Net Tightens 
 
 main insensible of them. They were all irritated against 
 him, and gradually left off speaking to Nora when he 
 was present. The Danish professor was the most per- 
 sistent ; but he too gave in at last. One day, however, 
 when Nora was alone, he came up in his usual genial 
 fashion, and they had some pleasant talk together. 
 These two had had many agreeable hours of companion- 
 ship, and Nora felt renovated in speaking to him again. 
 He was always discovering some new genius who proved 
 to be no genius at all. 
 
 " Ah," he said to-day, " I have at last found the poet 
 of the century splendid magnificent ! " 
 
 " And what have you done with the other glorious 
 poet of the century ? " asked Nora, laughing. " Have 
 you buried him already ? " 
 
 " Ah," he said, his grey eye twinkling, " you laugh 
 at your old Professor. Very good. But you see, my 
 fine young miss, genius is not so large a lump as it was. 
 Many people nibble, nibble ; and a little of the real lump 
 comes off, and then we think at first it is the whole 
 lump. But it isn't. But this poet well, we must 
 read him together. Come now. Ah, too late, sapristi f 
 Here is Monsieur, your attendant. I must go at once. 
 Adieu." 
 
 " But why must you go, Professor ? " said Nora, 
 almost pleadingly. 
 
 " My sweet young miss," he replied, " I could not 
 tell you why, except that Monsieur requires the whole 
 planet for himself. There is no fighting over it. The 
 time has not yet come to fight for a whole planet. 
 Monsieur would always conquer, for the simple truth 
 that he is detestable, and people are glad to go. Well, 
 then, adieu for the present, and we will speak of my new 
 genius another time." 
 
 195
 
 The Fowler 
 
 " Professor Frimodt," Nora said, " I wish you would stay. 
 I assure you Mr Bevan does not mean to be unfriendly. 
 He has eccentric ways, and an unprepossessing manner, 
 and he suffers very much from being misunderstood." 
 
 " My sweet young lady," the Professor answered, 
 fumbling at his spectacles, " I have tried the experience 
 more often than is good for the stomach. It is not 
 agreeable to feel an iceberg in one's inside. I go now. 
 Au revoir." 
 
 That was only one of many cases in which Nora's 
 friends began to fall away from her. Once or twice she 
 had attempted to retain them ; and afterwards she let 
 them go. At first they had made laughing and teasing 
 allusions to her constant attendant; but she, who was 
 generally good-tempered enough in her way, and rather 
 fond of fun and banter, had drawn herself up stiffly, and 
 intimated by her manner that they had gone too far 
 with her. So they shrugged their shoulders, passed on 
 their way, and pronounced her inscrutable. They dis- 
 cussed her, of course, but not uncharitably. They spoke 
 of her as Una with her little rat. But Bevan himself 
 was generally known as Miss Penhurst's turnkey : justly 
 enough too, for he was certainly locking up her mind, 
 and depriving her of all free play. Various complaints 
 reached her, but she did not seem to heed them. 
 
 " We never see you," her more intimate friends said. 
 " Are you never coming again to the Debating Club ? 
 Won't next week's subject tempt you c The Wages of 
 Women ' ? " 
 
 But she shook her head. 
 
 "I'm rather tired," she said, "and I think I don't 
 care much about debates." 
 
 And others said : 
 
 " You look wretchedly ill, so unlike your old self.'* 
 196
 
 The Net Tightens 
 
 " Thank you," she answered, " I am all right, but 
 rather listless. One cannot always be screwed up to 
 concert-pitch. I think I am rather tired of teaching." 
 
 "You used to be so enthusiastic about teaching," 
 some one said. 
 
 " Yes, I believe I was," she answered. " Unfortu- 
 nately enthusiasms do not last." 
 
 Several of her pupils failed in their examinations, and 
 she knew it was her fault. She had not given of her 
 best to them at the time when they needed the final 
 pushing on. Her History lectures, too, always con- 
 sidered particularly brilliant and interesting, had fallen 
 off in quality. In the same week two of her Principals 
 spoke to her. One of them complained about her lec- 
 tures and her Greek classes. 
 
 "You are not yourself," she said, kindly," and I think 
 it would be better for you to take a short rest and come 
 back to us fresh again. I can put Miss Richmond into 
 your place temporarily. You see, you have accustomed 
 us to the best of everything. We cannot do with a 
 second best from you." 
 
 Nora yielded up her post without attempting to 
 excuse herself. The other Principal complained of the 
 constant presence of Mr Bevan in the immediate vicin- 
 ity of the school. 
 
 " I am not in the least a prude," she said, " but I do 
 not care to have my teachers brought to school and 
 fetched away habitually by their gentleman friends. It 
 leads to comment first among the children, and through 
 them, amongst the parents ; and parents are troublesome 
 enough without being given any additional opportunity 
 for grumbling." 
 
 That was all she said, and she asked no questions. It 
 was her theory that a head-mistress had no special right 
 
 197
 
 The Fowler 
 
 to penetrate into the private life of her teachers, and she 
 was vexed that Nora had given her occasion to complain 
 at all. 
 
 " I am very sorry," Nora said. " I cannot tell you 
 how sorry I am. It shall not occur again." 
 
 But it did occur again, for Theodore Bevan forgot her 
 strict injunctions, and, a week afterwards, appeared as 
 usual outside the school. 
 
 " Ah, I had forgotten," he said, when she remonstrated. 
 " My great necessity drove me to you." 
 
 " I wish your great necessity had kept you at home," 
 she said, with a little of her old spirit. 
 
 " You are very hard on me sometimes," he said, 
 humbly. 
 
 She left him then and there, and found her way to the 
 Principal's private room, and told her that her promise 
 had been broken. 
 
 " I have just been told," the head-mistress said, scan- 
 ning her, " but I am glad you came yourself. I think I 
 ought to ask you now who this man is, and why you 
 cannot carry out my wishes. Are you engaged to 
 him ? " 
 
 "No," said Nora, absently. "We have just drifted 
 into companionship." 
 
 " Is not that rather dangerous on the whole ? " said 
 the Principal, kindly. "One may drift anywhere." 
 
 "Oh, I think one is always drifting," Nora said, 
 shrugging her shoulders. 
 
 " That is the language of Indifference," the Principal 
 said. "It is not your real tongue. I have always valued 
 you as being one of my brightest and most healthy- 
 minded teachers. Don't disappoint me now after three 
 years of entire satisfaction." 
 
 Nora went home wounded in her pride, and wrote 
 198
 
 The Net Tightens 
 
 Theodore Bevan a hasty letter, which she regretted after 
 it had been sent. His answer was characteristic, and 
 ended thus : 
 
 "And for the rest, what may I plead in excuse for my 
 unpardonable thoughtlessness ? I fear, indeed, that my only 
 excuse must needs be my own abominable selfishness. I have 
 been so accustomed all my lonely life to make for what I wanted, 
 irrespective of any one or any thing, that my gentler and more 
 unselfish possibilities are scarcely yet at my command. Forgive 
 me. I am already punished very severely in that I have 
 wounded you and caused you to think impatiently of me. 
 
 "THEODORE BEVAN." 
 
 For several days after this episode, Nora saw nothing 
 of Theodore Bevan. He was neither at the Museum 
 nor outside the school; neither did he propose any meet- 
 ings in town, nor did he come to her home. Roger 
 rejoiced in his absence ; but as he had got into the habit 
 of going out in order to avoid the little man, whom he 
 disliked intensely, Nora was nearly always left alone. 
 Once she asked her father to stay at home, and he all 
 but flung ofF his hat and slipped into the arm-chair. 
 But his pride prevented him, for he was wounded to the 
 quick by her obstinacy over this stranger, and by her 
 indifference to his own mental comfort and happiness. 
 So he said : 
 
 " I think I don't care about staying at home. And, 
 you see, you will be having your friend. He will, of 
 course, come, and you know I dislike him. We have 
 threshed all that out, and we don't agree. Well then, I 
 will be off." 
 
 " Father," she cried, holding out her arms. 
 
 He did not hear, and he passed out of the house. But 
 if she could only have known it, he came back and 
 
 199
 
 The Fowler 
 
 lingered outside, and even took the latch-key from his 
 pocket. Then he changed his mind, and went away. 
 And if he could only have glanced into the room, he 
 would have seen Nora bending over his portrait, the 
 tears streaming down her cheeks. Father and daughter 
 nearly reached each other that evening. 
 
 200
 
 Another Page from a Journal 
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 ANOTHER PAGE FROM A JOURNAL 
 
 " IT is indeed strange that I, of all people, should have 
 become a prey to jealousy. Until lately, I never regarded 
 Athene as serving any purpose except that of a new 
 basis for investigation and conquest. But now, for the 
 first time in my life, I begin to feel that I care for some 
 one I believe that I am learning to care for Athene. 
 
 " Love ? Ah, love is a large word. I do not pretend 
 to reach that. I began in my usual way by trying to 
 influence her character. A woman of her education and 
 environment had never before come into my horizon ; 
 and I felt that it would be amusing and instructive to 
 find out whether my curiously subtle power over women's 
 natures and minds could be extended to any one like her- 
 self, apparently well-balanced and robust-minded, and 
 armed, both by temperament and inheritance, against an 
 unhealthy onslaught. To me, whose one passion in life 
 has been the exercise of this my birthright, my one 
 undoubted compensation for many deprivations, the ex- 
 periment was a specially tempting one. 
 
 " It has been entirely successful almost too success- 
 ful, so far as my poor Athene is concerned. My poor 
 Athene ! When I first saw her, she seemed to me like 
 a ship in full sail, riding buoyantly over the ocean of 
 life. The temptation to wreck her was irresistible. 
 Then I came, and lo ! her sails torn, her mast broken, 
 and her destination forgotten. And I where do I 
 stand ? In injecting my own mind's poison into her 
 
 201
 
 The Fowler 
 
 system, I have injured myself. In amusing myself in 
 forcing her into bondage, I have myself become a 
 bondsman. This has never happened to me before. I 
 smile to think it should ever have happened to me to 
 me, accustomed to a cool and constant control and 
 understanding of my own passions, and impulses, and 
 emotions. But that Uppingham coming on the scenes 
 has thrown me off my balance. Every time he has 
 been to see her, my power over her has sustained an 
 injury. I have noticed this particularly. Then I have 
 tightened my hold again and drawn her back to me, and 
 I have rejoiced at my triumph over him and her. For 
 in her heart of hearts she loves him ; and he loves her. 
 I only stand between them. But I will stand between 
 them. He shall not have her. Athene is mine. How 
 dare he suppose that he can thwart me ! 
 
 " I, jealous ! Ah, how my old self must be scoffing at 
 my new self! For there can be no jealousy where there 
 is merely indifference. If we are indifferent to people, 
 it matters little enough to us what they do or think or 
 feel ; whom they love or whom they hate ; whether their 
 countenances brighten up at the approach of some one 
 other than ourselves, or whether their hearts sink when 
 they are left lonely, and deprived of the soothing or 
 stimulating influence of a congenial mind. But when 
 we are not indifferent to all that, when it wounds at 
 first only slightly, and then more painfully, and then 
 acutely we may be said to be jealous. There is a 
 jealous love and a jealous hate. But I do not hate my 
 poor Athene. It is not hatred, and it is not indifference, 
 and therefore it must be love as much love as a nature 
 like mine could be capable of. For I know my limits. 
 Still, everything being so relative in life, I suppose for 
 me it is love. Oh, of course she does not love me : I 
 
 202
 
 Another Page from a Journal 
 
 have never been able to inspire love. ... If I could 
 once have instilled the merest fraction of affection into 
 any one man, woman, dog anything I might have 
 been a happier man and a better one too. If Athene 
 could love me with the merest shadow of the true feel- 
 ing, there might yet be a chance for me. But that is 
 not possible. I have drawn her to me against her own 
 will, separated her from mental contact with all her old 
 friends, placed an invisible barrier between herself and 
 her father, between herself and her would-be lover, 
 between herself and her very life's work. And she is 
 drifting towards me because she cannot resist my power. 
 If I choose, she will become my affianced wife, because 
 she cannot resist my power. If I choose, she will yield 
 herself to me and forego the name of wife, simply be- 
 cause she cannot resist my power. Athene is mine, 
 not by choice but by fate. She has fought a gallant 
 fight against me, but from the first it was of no avail, for 
 I had made up my mind. 
 
 "Elopement a vulgar pastime indeed. 
 
 "Marriage well, why not? And she might learn 
 to care for me . . . who knows ? And I, being cared 
 for ever so little, might change and soften and c go softly 
 all my days.' Uppingham shall not come between us. 
 I, jealous ! What a curious entry to make in my jour- 
 nal i ... So Madge Carson has ventured to warn my 
 Athene. ." 
 
 203
 
 The Fowler 
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 A CONFESSION OF LOVE 
 
 NURSE ISABEL'S words rang in Brian Uppingham's 
 ears : 
 
 " It is your fairyland, isn't it ? " 
 
 Yes, it was his fairyland. He had recognised it at 
 once, and entered it without any doubt or delay. And 
 living there, all its gracious influences were telling on 
 him. Joy was carolling in his heart, and with love and 
 happiness as the levers of life, ambition had returned to 
 him tenfold renewed. Old interests claimed him once 
 more, new interests clamoured for him. He awoke to 
 outside things. The events of the world held him. He 
 had broken through the barriers of illness and indiffer- 
 ence, and found his way into the open plains. For his 
 fairyland was not a dell nor a deep sheltered lane. It 
 was a great expanse with fine strong air blowing, and 
 bracing him up to effort, rightful expression, fulfilment, 
 and love. 
 
 He scarcely knew himself when he rose in the morn-* 
 ings. No longer impeded by physical weakness against 
 which it had been impossible to fight, no longer repressed 
 by sorrows and regrets of the past, he took up his life 
 once more, and found it a beautiful gift. To the past be- 
 longed the things of the past, the joys and satisfactions, 
 the failures and accomplishments ; and now the future 
 was his, a great far-stretching plain, immense in its 
 possibilities. 
 
 Jle said : " I will do this. I will do that/' 
 204
 
 A Confession of Love 
 
 He said : " I have thought this. I have thought that. 
 And now I will put it into words. I will press forward 
 without any fear. I will believe in myself. I have the 
 right to believe in myself. Because I have succeeded 
 once, I shall succeed again." 
 
 And whilst he spoke, he acted. 
 
 His friends were delighted to see his resurrection. 
 
 " Come and be a lion, old fellow," some of them said 
 to him. 
 
 But he shook his head. 
 
 " No," he said, brightly. ct I have other fish to fry." 
 
 " But you may roar like a lion, and yet fry your fish 
 in peace ! " 
 
 " The two occupations cannot be carried on at the 
 same time," he answered. 
 
 " Some people do it," was the reply, " and pretty suc- 
 cessfully too." 
 
 " It depends on temperament," Brian said. 
 
 Nevertheless they persuaded him to undergo some 
 lionising for the sake of the experience, and his remarks 
 and criticisms amused them. 
 
 " Uppingham is a simple sort of fellow," they said, 
 not disparagingly. " He was always like that, and he 
 has not changed either." 
 
 For such a poor unflattering view do most people take 
 of human nature, that it seems an amazing thing to them 
 when a man rises to fame, and does not lower himself 
 by losing his balance. But Brian was partially protected 
 by temperament, by enforced absence from the scenes of 
 active life, and now, by a passionate zeal to make up 
 for lost time, put the best of his mind into his work, and 
 then feel that he had the right to speak out his love to 
 Nora, and offer to her the first-fruits of his renewed 
 career and restored activity renewed and restored by 
 
 205
 
 The Fowler 
 
 and through her. Then he would be able to say to 
 her: 
 
 " I have done this. I have done that. And you 
 have made me do it. It is through your help that I 
 have brought my task to an end, because it has been 
 done for you. But for you, I could never have begun 
 it. But beginning it for your sake, I have finished it 
 for your sake and mine. And now I may tell you 
 my heart's desire." 
 
 So whilst Nurse Isabel laughed at what she called his 
 slowness, he was really pressing on at a tremendous pace 
 towards his goal, gathering strength and happiness and 
 confidence all the time. No doubts crossed his mind as 
 to the certainty of reaching that goal. 
 
 " Unless God send His hail or blinding fireballs, I 
 shall arrive." 
 
 That was how he felt. So, immersed in work, satu- 
 rated with his great idea, dominated by his new-born 
 impulses, and armed against all doubts, he pressed on, 
 and did not realise that an enemy was pressing on too 
 and leaving him far behind. He knew, of course, that 
 Theodore Bevan visited Nora ; but in his simplicity of 
 heart he had not thought seriously of that little oddity 
 as a rival. He did not even dislike him as much as the 
 others did ; and also he had not the opportunities of 
 observing the effect which he produced on Nora. For 
 Nora was always more her normal self in Brian's com- 
 pany. Her father noticed this. It was just as though 
 the one man were the antidote to the other. The 
 interest which she took in his work, roused her from 
 her increasing mental depression, and the mere fact that 
 he depended on her sympathy for the accomplishment 
 of his tasks, made her conquer her listlessness each time 
 he came to see her. Also there was something healing 
 
 206
 
 A Confession of Love 
 
 in his nature, and something infectious in his simple 
 thanksgiving for renewed life and enthusiasm. She 
 welcomed him always with a smile in her heart and 
 a sigh. He saw the smile, and did not hear the sigh. 
 But Nurse Isabel's warning began to haunt him ; and 
 when he next paid a visit to Nora's home, his eyes were 
 opened. He found her wretched and unreachable. Her 
 face was grey, and there was no strength in her voice. 
 
 " You are ill," he said, looking at her gravely. 
 
 " Oh no," she answered. 
 
 " Then you are unhappy," he said. 
 
 " Is there such a thing as happiness ? " she asked, 
 evasively. 
 
 " You surely are not thinking of joining the Deca- 
 dents," he said. 
 
 " I am not thinking of joining anything," she said, 
 shrugging her shoulders. " On the contrary, I am feel- 
 ing especially detached from everything." 
 
 Many words rose to his lips words of love, kind- 
 ness, sympathy, tenderness but her manner was so 
 forbidding that he dared not speak them. He felt in 
 his pocket, and brought out several closely-written 
 sheets. 
 
 " If you are feeling detached," he said, looking at 
 them doubtfully, " you will not be inclined to listen to 
 my outpourings to-day; and indeed I begin to fear that 
 I have often been taxing you." 
 
 " Oh, don't say that," she said, hastily. " It is not 
 true. I always take the greatest pleasure and pride in 
 your work." 
 
 She put her hands up to her face, and covered it for 
 a moment. 
 
 " I don't know what I should have done without it," 
 she said. 
 
 207
 
 The Fowler 
 
 He bent forward. 
 
 " You are in trouble," he said, gently. " Could you 
 perhaps open your heart a little to me, so that I might 
 try to help you ? " 
 
 A wonderful softness came over her expression; a 
 wonderful thrill passed through her whole being. It 
 seemed to her at that moment eminently possible to 
 open her heart to this man and tell him of the shadow 
 on her soul and the bondage of her spirit. She felt 
 impelled to do it : she was so absolutely unhappy ; had 
 lost her way ; lost touch with herself and other people ; 
 lost the very key-note of harmony with her higher 
 nature ; lost her enthusiasms ; her proper hold on what 
 she most cared for in life ; was losing her will power 
 and her own individuality ; was becoming, nay, had 
 become, a thing to be played on, strummed on, jarred 
 on, by a man whom she did not even love. And here 
 was a friend, the pure-hearted, high-minded historian, 
 wishing to help her. She hesitated for a moment, 
 looked at his clear, faithful face and let herself go. 
 
 " I believe I can speak to you," she said, excitedly. 
 " Oh, I 've tried dozens of times to speak to my old 
 father, but he has rubbed me up the wrong way 
 everybody has been rubbing me up the wrong way 
 everybody has been cautioning me against Theodore 
 Bevan abusing him, exaggerating his peculiarities, 
 pointing out dangers which do not exist, rallying me, 
 criticising me, until I am absolutely sick of every one 
 and everything." 
 
 " And are you sick of Theodore Bevan too ? " Brian 
 asked, quietly. 
 
 She looked at him so helplessly that his heart sprang 
 out to greet her. But he held himself controlled. 
 
 " I am overshadowed," she said, like a tired child. 
 208
 
 A Confession of Love 
 
 " That is the real truth of the matter. I never thought 
 it possible. It has come unawares." 
 
 " Is it love ? " he asked, with a tremble in his voice. 
 
 " Love surely brings happiness," she said, shaking her 
 head. " I am not happy." 
 
 " Then if it is not love, it can be dealt with," he said, 
 firmly. " Only Love and Death have to go their own 
 way unimpeded. All our entreaties cannot keep off 
 Death. All our resistings cannot deter Love. And 
 there is no mistaking either Love or Death." 
 
 He spoke so quietly, and yet with such absolute 
 conviction, that Nora glanced at him wonderingly, and 
 felt again the thrill of being with him. 
 
 " I have not been giving any particular attention to 
 your friend Mr Bevan," he continued, "because my 
 thoughts and anxieties have been directed elsewhere. I 
 have been pressing on towards my goal, and my goal has 
 been you. I had not meant to speak to you until the 
 time had come when I could say to you : c I have picked 
 up the threads of my life, I have found my way back to the 
 scene of action, I have finished my book and launched it 
 out in the world, and at last I feel that I may dare open 
 my heart and show how you are enshrined in it.' But 
 now I can only say : c I am picking up the threads of my 
 life, I am finding my way back to the scene of action, 
 only I have not reached as far as I would fain have gone, 
 before pleading for myself and asking for your love/ 
 But you know. You have seen and felt how you have 
 changed the world for me. You have lifted me up and 
 urged me on ; you have inspired and fired me ; from the 
 moment I saw you, I passed, as it were, into a promised 
 land. To be so lonely as I was when you first came to 
 me and then suddenly to be flooded with hope and 
 love ah, I have not been thinking of Theodore Bevan 
 14 209
 
 The Fowler 
 
 I've been thinking of myself and you you and 
 myself, you and me together you, the very keynote of 
 my life, the very kernel of my heart." 
 
 He had unconsciously opened his arms wide, and his 
 hands were trembling ; and she had been leaning back 
 against the sofa ; but as he went on, she had strained 
 forward and clasped her hands on her knees. Her face 
 was deadly pale ; there was an expression of vague and 
 unexpected hope in her eyes, like that of a shipwrecked 
 sailor who has suddenly sighted a passing vessel. Some 
 words rose to her lips, but she could not give them 
 utterance ; and the next moment, she had covered her 
 face with her hands and was sobbing bitterly ; her whole 
 strong frame was convulsed with sobs. 
 
 He stemmed the tide of his passion and emotion, and 
 knelt beside her, even as a mother might kneel by her 
 stricken child. 
 
 " My own sweet love," he said, with beautiful tender- 
 ness, " I had not meant to take you unawares it was 
 only that you were in such trouble, and it seemed so 
 natural for me to speak of my great love. I seemed 
 suddenly to have the right to do so, since you were in 
 trouble. If you had said you had loved him, then I 
 should have had no right to interfere with you and your 
 grief. But you said it was not love, my own dearest 
 Heart and then the floodgates were opened for 
 me " 
 
 She raised her tear-stained face to him. 
 
 " You must not speak like that to me," she said 
 between her sobs. " I am not worthy of such as you. 
 I am just a selfish, self-centred girl, to whom everything 
 has come too easily pleasure and work and everything 
 beautiful, and now your love. And I'm not worthy of 
 it, and not free. If I were free in mind and spirit I 
 
 210
 
 A Confession of Love 
 
 might have striven to be worthy. But I am not free 
 that man stands between me and you between me and 
 everything it's Fate and I'm not free. No, no, you 
 must not speak like that to me I cannot bear it it is 
 more than I can bear." . . . 
 
 " Hush, hush, you must not sob like that," he said, 
 gently, but still she sobbed. 
 
 " You must free yourself if you are not desiring this 
 bondage," he said. " You must not be beaten by that 
 pale ghost, Fate." 
 
 But she went on sobbing and made no answer. 
 
 "I will help you to free yourself," he said. "I have 
 the right to do so since I love you, and since you tell me 
 that this man, whom I have been ignoring all this time, 
 stands between you and me." 
 
 But she shook her head as though to imply that noth- 
 ing and no one could help her. 
 
 " Nora," he said, tremblingly. 
 
 She looked up at the sound of her name. 
 
 " I can wait," he said, smiling sadly. " I am one of 
 those who can wait ; and when you want me, I am here 
 for you, now or hereafter. If you want love or help, 
 remember always I am waiting for you. I know I have 
 been waiting for you all my life for you and no one 
 else ; for when you came, you see I recognised you at 
 once. When I have left you, you will think of my 
 words, and they will help you in your struggle. You 
 will say : c Brian is waiting / ' 
 
 " Brian is waiting^" she repeated, with unconscious 
 fervour. 
 
 " Yes," he said, " that is what you will say, and I thank 
 God that you have begun to say it already. You tell me 
 Theodore Bevan stands between you and me. But I 
 stand between* him and you. If I may not reach any 
 
 211
 
 The Fowler 
 
 farther than that just now, my own sweet Love, at least 
 you may remember that there I stand and hold my ground 
 against all odds." 
 
 He stooped down, and gently raised her hand to his 
 lips. 
 
 " Good-bye, dear," he said. "You are sending me 
 away sad, but not hopeless. Some day this barrier be- 
 tween us shall be broken down." He turned to go. 
 
 " Brian," she cried, with a sudden awakening. 
 
 Her sobs had ceased, her tear-stained face was lit up 
 with a passing radiance. 
 
 He turned to her with new-born hope. 
 
 " Is it possible after all that my time of waiting " 
 
 The door opened, and Theodore Bevan stepped into 
 the room. 
 
 " Good evening," he said to Nora. " I meant to have 
 been here by four o'clock. It has just struck five." 
 
 212
 
 A Kick and a Betrothal 
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 A KICK AND A BETROTHAL 
 
 BRIAN went home that evening feeling sad and helpless, 
 for directly Theodore Bevan had made his appearance, 
 Nora seemed to fall under his influence. He sat for a 
 long time in his study puzzling out the situation, and 
 made up his mind to open his heart to Mr Penhurst. 
 
 He turned to his writing after that, and worked late 
 into the night, and then remembered that he had for- 
 gotten an engagement in Puppet Land, as he called the 
 society world, to which he was sometimes invited. 
 
 "Nevermind," he thought, with a smile," some of the 
 other puppets will turn up, and we are all one and the 
 same to her ladyship ; we have no separate existence, no 
 distinctive characteristics in her eyes. I will go and be 
 a puppet some other time ; and I think, if I remember 
 rightly, the successful Western c cattle-puncher ' was 
 going to be the guest of the evening. That makes it all 
 right." 
 
 The next morning he picked out from his letters a 
 specially curious handwriting. The delicately-traced 
 words on the envelope fascinated him, and it was some 
 time before he opened it. 
 
 Then he read : 
 
 " SIR, You will, I am sure, regret to learn that your inter- 
 view with Miss Penhurst has greatly upset and distressed her. 
 I feel compelled to ask you not to seek to see her for the present ; 
 and lest you be inclined to question my authority, I have the 
 honour to tell you that Miss Penhurst is thinking of engaging 
 
 213
 
 The Fowler 
 
 herself to me, and that I therefore would seem to have the right 
 to protect her, so far as I can, from any unwelcome expression 
 of devotion or friendship. 
 
 "THEODORE BEVAN." 
 
 The letter dropped from Brian's hand, and he sat as 
 one paralysed. Then he pulled himself together, and 
 snatching up his hat, went straight off to Theodore 
 Bevan's lodgings in Bedford Square. There was an 
 amused smile on Bevan's thin lips when he looked up 
 and recognised his early visitor. 
 
 " Ah," he said, " I expected you. I have delayed my 
 departure by half an hour." 
 
 Brian turned to the landlady who had shown him up, 
 and was now going away : 
 
 " Stay," he said to her, " I won't keep you long." 
 Then, without a moment's hesitation, and without giving 
 any sign or suggestion of what he intended to do, he 
 took Theodore Bevan by the collar and deliberately 
 shook him. It was all done so quickly that there could 
 be no resisting. Theodore Bevan was shaken backwards 
 and forwards like some perverse impudent child, and 
 then kicked across the room. 
 
 " Damned impudent little puppy," Brian said. " Here's 
 your letter, and this is my answer to it. And there's 
 your landlady to witness that I have laid hands on you. 
 And that is all I have to say to you." 
 
 He threw the letter on the breakfast-table, glanced at 
 the landlady, who wore an amazed but not an unsympa- 
 thetic look, and leisurely left the house. 
 
 The landlady went off without daring to make any 
 comment to Mr. Bevan on this strange little episode ; 
 but downstairs, in the kitchen, her pent-up feelings of 
 wonderment found due expression, and she ended by 
 saying : 
 
 214
 
 A Kick and a Betrothal 
 
 " And it were all the world like a big dog shaking a 
 rat." 
 
 Brian meanwhile hurried to Nora's home, and asked 
 for her. The servant said she was out, but that Mr. 
 Penhurst was in his study. Brian found the old man 
 bending over a volume of Spinoza. 
 
 " Ah," he said, looking up, " you are an early visitor, 
 but a welcome one." 
 
 " And it is not my first visit, either," said Brian, slip- 
 ping into the arm-chair. " I have just come from 
 Theodore Bevan's lodgings, where I gave him a good 
 sound shaking for some impudence of his." 
 
 In a few words he related the whole history : his inter- 
 view with Nora on the previous evening, her outburst of 
 confidence, his own declaration of love, and the sudden 
 appearance of Theodore Bevan. 
 
 " Directly he came, she seemed to shrink into herself," 
 Brian said ; " and there was no reaching her. The only 
 thing for me to do was to go, and I came to look for 
 you, but you were out." 
 
 " I am always out now," Roger Penhurst said, sadly. 
 " Home is not the same to me that it was a few months 
 ago. That man has changed everything for me. He 
 comes so often, and his very presence is detestable to 
 me. I never knew how much I could dislike any one 
 until I met him. Apart from him, my nature can burst 
 into flowers ; but side by side with him, those flowers 
 die down into hideous weeds. I am all wrong with my- 
 self, and filled with hatred and malice. I am very un- 
 happy. I wander away alone, a forsaken old man and 
 my Nora does not see. Ah, she does not mean to be 
 unkind. It is only that she cannot see. These times 
 come to us all to the best of us, too when we can- 
 not see clearly, and no one can help us to a better vision. 
 
 215
 
 The Fowler 
 
 Then, when it is too late for ourselves and for those who 
 have loved us, the scales fall from our eyes." 
 
 He turned impulsively to Brian and held out both his 
 hands. 
 
 " I have always thought you loved my dear girl," he 
 said ; " and hearing this welcome news from you yourself 
 fills me again with hope. Make your love so strong 
 that you may succeed in freeing her from that little cen- 
 tipede's power, and win for yourself her heart and her 
 father's blessing. I know her so well that I am sure 
 you are a man after her own heart. Poor child ! And 
 I've been able to do nothing; to help her : I've bungled, 
 
 O f D 7 
 
 and she has been drifting away from me, and in a direc- 
 tion in which she would never have chosen to go of her 
 own free will. But if she drifts to you, all will be well." 
 
 He rose from his chair, and seemed to expand with 
 something of his old geniality. 
 
 " Ah," he said, " you've put fresh life into me. I feel I 
 have a comrade again some one to back me up against 
 a common enemy." Then, with a return of cheerfulness, 
 a twinkle came into his eye. 
 
 " And so you took and shook him ! " he said, smiling. 
 Capital ! " 
 
 As the whole scene dawned more clearly on him, he 
 laughed. 
 
 " Delightful ! " he said. " Only how I wish I had 
 had enough gumption to do it myself. I have been too 
 depressed lately to do anything sensible. I too have 
 been drifting anywhere. I have been dreadfully wor- 
 ried about my Nora : she is so unlike herself, so spiritless 
 and morbid, so impatient in her manner, and dogged in 
 her persistence about this wretched little rag of a man. 
 But now you step forward, and suddenly I become 
 flooded with hope. What I cannot do, being only her 
 
 21$
 
 A Kick and a Betrothal 
 
 old father and a very bad specimen of a parent you 
 will be able to do, being her lover." 
 
 " I am, indeed, full of love for her," Brian said. " I 
 felt from the moment I saw her that Nora was mine and 
 mine only. And it never entered my head to take that 
 man into consideration." 
 
 " And I felt from the moment I saw you that I 
 desired you for my son," Roger Penhurst said, warmly. 
 
 "Dear, dear old man," Brian said. "You were good 
 to me from the very beginning when you first measured 
 my head ! " 
 
 " You have a fine head," Roger said, smiling, and look- 
 ing at Brian's strong and open forehead. " Not that I 
 mean that it would be specially advantageous to choose 
 a son-in-law according to the measurement of his head." 
 
 " You were good to me from the beginning," Brian 
 continued, " and there seemed to be no obstacle ; or 
 rather I did not realise there was any. Nurse Isabel 
 warned me all along about Theodore Bevan, but it was 
 only yesterday that my eyes were opened ; and I saw 
 for myself, when he came into the room, what a subtle 
 influence he has over her. And then this letter. He 
 would not dare to write in that strain to me, unless he 
 had some strong hope of becoming engaged to her." 
 
 "I know nothing of what happened last night," Roger 
 said. " Six months ago Nora would have told me 
 everything. She came down to breakfast this morning 
 looking thoroughly miserable, and hurried off to her 
 work. She will not be home until twelve." 
 
 "I shall wait here to see her," Brian said. "Last 
 night I all but won her; and then suddenly I lost her. 
 She passed away from me as a spirit might have passed. 
 I cannot believe that she sanctioned that letter. I can- 
 not believe that she would not wish to see me. It 
 
 317
 
 The Fowler 
 
 must be his impudent invention or else his extraordinary 
 influence against which she does not seem able to fight. 
 But I can wait and hope; for I believe that she is 
 destined to be mine." 
 
 So the two men waited together for Nora even as they 
 were to wait afterwards for many long weeks and 
 months. The lover unfolded his heart to the father, 
 and the father eased his saddened heart to the lover, and 
 the confidence and kindness between them grew apace. 
 Brian was more hopeful than Roger Penhurst about 
 Nora being able to free herself from Bevan's power. 
 Her father had seen the whole thing from the beginning, 
 and he knew better than Brian how greatly she had been 
 changing those last nine months, ever since Bevan had 
 found her at the gate-house of the old Castle. 
 
 " He has been pulling her mind to shreds, and toying 
 with her soul," Roger said. 
 
 " But he does not love her ? " Brian said. 
 "Love her? " Roger repeated. " Such a little worm 
 as that has no heart with which to love. He is only a 
 mental machine. I would rather that my girl ran away 
 half-a-dozen times over with a real throbbing human 
 being, than get her dear mind caught and held in the 
 cruel wheels of a silent devilish piece of mechanism 
 so silent that most people don't believe in it unless it is 
 given a name." 
 
 " But the unlabelled poisons are the most dangerous," 
 said Brian. 
 
 " Ah, you are right," Roger answered. " And I knew 
 by instinct when I saw that little Bevan, that he was an 
 enemy to her, and to me, and to all who loved her." 
 
 " Could you not somehow have prevented the ac- 
 quaintance from growing into an intimacy ? " Brian 
 asked. 
 
 218
 
 A Kick and a Betrothal 
 
 Roger shook his head. 
 
 "Oh, in my own way I've tried," he said, "but it 
 has been of no avail, and Nora and I have not been on 
 those terms with each other, where the parent lays 
 down the law, and the child has to give in and make 
 the best or worst of it. If we had had a different sort 
 of relationship with each other, many things would have 
 been better for her and some worse. But when all 
 is said and done, we have been very happy together. 
 And happiness is not a bad training in its way." 
 
 " Yes," continued the old man, " we were wonderfully 
 happy together until he came into our lives : tasks in 
 common, friends in common, foes in common until 
 now. She has put up with my dry-as-dust comrades, 
 and I have swallowed her modern women and liked 
 them. We have never really fallen out about anything 
 or any one until this little centipede came on the scenes. 
 She has forgiven me all my faults, and has always been 
 very lenient to me, and full of broad understanding. 
 My girl, my Nora " 
 
 Brian was deeply moved by the old man's sadness. 
 He looked at Roger Penhurst's splendid face, noble 
 forehead, and wealth of white and silvery curls, and felt 
 a fresh wave of admiration and affection for him. 
 
 " Don't be so down-hearted," he said, kindly. " This 
 shadow will pass. I know it will pass. And if your 
 haven sometimes seems to fail you, let my home be your 
 haven. Don't wander about a forsaken old man. Come 
 to me, and we will talk of Nora and Herbert Spencer, 
 and Imperial politics and Nora. We will talk of 
 Spinoza and America, and brain-books and Nora. She 
 will be woven into all our thoughts and words, even 
 l as the vine tastes of its own grape.' Look up. Let 
 your bright spirit pierce the gloom. Whatever the 
 
 219
 
 The Fowler 
 
 passing trouble, your daughter, at least, loves you with 
 her whole heart. You cannot imagine to yourself in 
 what loving terms she speaks of you, and of all the 
 happiness she has had with you ever since she can 
 remember. I have heard it from her own dear lips, 
 and have seen her face light up when your name was 
 even mentioned. But you know it." 
 
 "Yes, I know it," the old man said, with sudden 
 brightness. "And you are right, Uppingham. I will 
 chase away the sadness from my soul. I've managed 
 very badly over this Bevan business. I have a horrid 
 temper at times, and I know I have rubbed her up the 
 wrong way ; and that has made her stubborn like her 
 father. When she comes back, 1 will begin all over 
 again. With you to help me, as my comrade and her 
 lover, I believe we may yet beat off the enemy. And 
 you have begun already by to-day's work. Ah, that 
 was a capital piece of work so quick and thorough ! " 
 
 " It remains to be seen whether it was thorough," 
 Brian answered, smiling. " It was at least quick ! " 
 
 And rendered more cheerful by the recollection of the 
 centipede's discomfiture, they talked of other things, 
 and Roger showed Brian some of his treasures : some of 
 Handel's manuscripts, some old Italian church music, 
 two or three of his instruments, a splendid old viol da 
 gamba, and his favorite violoncello, a Grancino, not 
 specially valuable, but with a tone of exquisite purity 
 and pathos. 
 
 "Nora helped me to buy that with her first earnings," 
 he said, proudly. " I had set my heart on it, and several 
 times she found me flirting with it in the old fiddle-shop, 
 where I used to go and visit my old friend, the well- 
 known violin-maker, now passed away. The end of 
 the story is that one day she brought it home. I found 
 
 220
 
 A Kick and a Betrothal 
 
 it here when I returned. I was very angry at first, and 
 finally accepted it without a murmur. I will play to 
 you the melody with which we christened it that even- 
 ing our favourite Boccherini. I played it before to 
 you in the church; but it bears repeating." 
 
 He resined his bow, gently tuned the Grancino, and 
 began. Brian looked towards him at first, but then bent 
 forward near the fire, and saw visions in the changing 
 lights of the flames. Boccherini's Andante is sad music. 
 The sadness penetrated into the heart of both listener 
 and player. The door was softly opened, and Nora came 
 in. 
 
 " Father," she said, with more emotion than she had 
 shown to him for many weeks, " my favourite melody 
 and you playing it so beautifully." 
 
 She looked across to the fireside and saw Brian. 
 Brian rose. Her father leaned against the violoncello : 
 she stood between them, her head bowed, her face drawn 
 and pale. It was Brian who broke the silence. 
 
 " I have waited to see you," he said, and his voice 
 trembled as he spoke. 
 
 " I wished not to see you just yet," she said. 
 
 " Then you sanctioned Mr Bevan's letter to me ? " 
 he said, anxiously. 
 
 " I wished not to see you just yet," she repeated. "It 
 was more than I could bear." 
 
 Then she went on hurriedly : 
 
 " I think it is best for me to tell you both that I have 
 decided to engage myself to Theodore Bevan. It has 
 been a great struggle to me, and I suppose time only 
 will show whether I have done rightly. But if I had 
 decided otherwise, I should have been very unhappy and 
 restless. Father, you have known all along how things 
 were going. But to you, Mr Uppingham, I owe an ex- 
 21 221
 
 The Fowler 
 
 planation ; and I was intending to write to you. You 
 were very good to me yesterday, and I shall never forget 
 it. Mr Bevan and I had had some falling out, but when 
 he came, many things were explained, and I learnt of his 
 great love for me. He is not like other people ; but, 
 father, you can get to know and respect him if you 
 choose, only you have always persistently disliked him, and 
 without a cause too. And you, Mr Uppingham " 
 
 He interrupted her. 
 
 "I think you must not say anything about me just 
 now," he said. " It would be more than I could bear." 
 
 He passed on to the door, and there he paused. 
 
 " Last night," he said, " I seemed suddenly to hope 
 that my time of waiting would not be very long. The 
 hope died at the moment of its birth. But hope, like 
 spring-time, Nora, is born afresh. And I shall always 
 be waiting for you always." 
 
 Nora had stood with bowed head. Now she looked 
 up, and saw that he had gone. She drew nearer to her 
 father, who was leaning back in his chair, resting his 
 hand on the scroll of the 'cello. He seemed as one 
 paralysed, or else lost in thought. 
 
 " Father," she said, entreatingly, and she touched him 
 on the arm. Six months ago she would have passed her 
 hands through his silvery curls and caressed them. Now 
 it was all different. He roused himself, glanced at her 
 impatiently, seemed as though he wanted to give vent to 
 his feelings by flinging his instrument, his bow, his 
 music, anywhere, everywhere. But his mood changed. 
 He put the beloved Grancino tenderly on its side, and 
 unscrewed his bow. 
 
 " You are a bitter disappointment to me, Nora," he 
 said at last. " You are not a child, and you ought to 
 know your own mind, as far as any one ever does know 
 
 222
 
 A Kick and a Betrothal 
 
 his own mind. In my own way, I have wrestled with 
 you over this Theodore Bevan. If I had known how to 
 behave more like an ordinary sensible British parent, 
 perhaps things would have been better for you and me. 
 I blame myself for long years of laziness and incompe- 
 tence about your bringing up ; and I blame you for your 
 ingratitude and your utter disregard of all my wishes." 
 
 " But, father," she began. 
 
 "Don't begin to argue and explain," he said. " I'm 
 sick of that. I have scarcely ever asked anything of 
 you ; and now, the first time I ask, you refuse. But I 
 again beg you to pull yourself together and give up that 
 detestable little man." 
 
 " I cannot give him up," Nora answered, firmly. " It 
 is fate." 
 
 There was silence between them for a moment, and 
 then : 
 
 " You mean that ? " he asked. 
 
 " Absolutely," she answered. " It is fate. I am im- 
 pelled to it." 
 
 " I shall never again ask anything of you, Nora," the 
 old man said. " And now things must just take their 
 own way." 
 
 " Ah, father, don't turn from me like that," she cried. 
 " I have not done anything to disgrace you you don't 
 think that I have done anything to disgrace you surely, 
 surely ? " 
 
 " No, I don't think that," he said, coldly. Then with 
 a sudden impulse, he laid his hand on her head. There 
 it rested in kindness and blessing and pity, and many 
 other beautiful things. But he did not speak another 
 word, and soon afterwards he went out of the house. 
 
 Thus began Nora's engagement to Theodore Bevan. 
 
 223
 
 The Fowler 
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 MRS MARY SHAW AS COMFORTER 
 
 IT was only a few days after Nora's engagement to 
 Theodore Bevan, that Brian, walking past the British 
 Museum, met Nurse Isabel. 
 
 In spite of her engaging outdoor apparel, she looked 
 rather doleful, and Brian rallied her at once. 
 
 " Another depressing and distinguished patient ? " he 
 asked. 
 
 " No," she answered, brightening up when she saw 
 him. " Pretty good luck on the whole. I have only 
 had one novelist lately, and one poet, and one consulting 
 physician. The rest have been passable." 
 
 " Then why are you looking so miserable ? " he said. 
 
 " I don't think you look much better yourself," she 
 said. 
 
 " I am not very happy," he answered. 
 
 " I know all about it," Nurse Isabel said. " I went 
 to call on Miss Penhurst yesterday, and I learnt from 
 her that she was engaged to Mr. Bevan, and that, at 
 his express wish, I was not to be included amongst 
 her acquaintances. That is his revenge on me for my 
 impertinence in delivering an unpleasant message that 
 and sundry other little stabs in the dark. He has been 
 injuring me in more than one direction with covert 
 aspersions on my work and my character. I don't mind 
 that so much, but I do mind being warded oft" from Miss 
 Penhurst as though I were a leper." 
 
 224
 
 Mrs Mary Shaw as Comforter 
 
 u Let us come and have a talk in the vestibule," he 
 said. " Can you spare the time ? " 
 
 "Yes, but I can't afford to be depressed any more," 
 she said. " And on the rare occasions when I have hon- 
 oured the Museum, I have felt inclined to cut my throat. 
 Museums and geography books and atlases don't agree 
 with me. Let us go to the Hungarian restaurant." 
 
 So they went, and he told her of his great dis- 
 appointment. 
 
 " You were too slow," she said, sipping her coffee. 
 "I warned you. I never heard of anything so ridiculous 
 as a man deliberately sitting down to write a continua- 
 tion of a History when he ought to be proposing to the 
 woman he loves. I am not at all sorry for you." 
 
 But she looked sorry, and her manner was very sym- 
 pathetic to him. She often thought of him, and always 
 as a chastening influence on her wayward nature. He 
 had not the least suspicion that since she had learnt to 
 know him she was not quite the same woman as before. 
 What would he have said, had he known, that many a 
 time and oft, Nurse Isabel's needlework fell from her 
 hands at dusk, and she sat and thought of him, and 
 recalled all his fun and criticism, and envied the woman 
 who had won his heart and wondered how she would 
 be feeling if she were that woman. Ah ! she knew how 
 she would be feeling so grateful, so good, so glad to 
 have found a strong haven of strong love. And Nora, 
 with all that within her reach, had turned away. But 
 that was the irony of life. And she herself. . . . Ah, 
 well, it was of no use to dwell on that. These thoughts 
 came over her now as she sat opposite to him, and for 
 a moment she was lost in reverie. Then she found 
 herself again. 
 
 " And now, I suppose," she said, " having had this 
 15 225
 
 The Fowler 
 
 disappointment, you are going to return to your old state 
 of misery and depression." 
 
 " No," he said. " I am going straight on with my 
 work and my life. My love for her brought me back 
 to life again, and I shall not lose hold either of her 
 
 D ' 
 
 love nor my life." 
 
 " Even although she is going to belong to some one 
 else ? " Nurse Isabel said, just a little wistfully. 
 
 " I can wait for her," Brian answered. 
 
 u You may have to wait all your life," she said, play- 
 ing with her gloves. 
 
 " Then I must wait all my life," he replied. " Such 
 things happen to men sometimes." 
 
 " Well, at least you punished him for his impu- 
 dence in interfering with you," she said, brightening up. 
 " Would that I had been there to see ! " 
 
 " Perhaps it was not impudence after all," he said, 
 " if she had really expressed the wish not to see me." 
 
 " But he made her express the wish," Nurse Isabel 
 answered. "You know that. Just as I know that it 
 was he who bade her discontinue my acquaintanceship." 
 
 " Some day," Brian said, " she will see clearly again." 
 
 " You have learnt to hope better than in the old days, 
 when no persuasions could make you take a cheerful 
 view of life and work," she said, returning to her usual 
 rallying manner. " Oh, my goodness, what a trial you 
 were ! And how about the book ? " 
 
 Then as they walked up Oxford Street, he told her 
 what he had been doing, and how he intended shortly 
 to go away to Holland, having been commissioned by 
 a publisher to write a book on that country. He was 
 also hoping to go down in two or three days' time to 
 the King's Head, to seek comfort and renewed courage 
 amidst the scenes where he had first met Nora. 
 
 226
 
 Mrs Mary Shaw as Comforter 
 
 " And you ? " he said, as they parted. 
 
 "Oh, I shall be engaged in my usual occupations of 
 charity and loving-kindness," she answered. "Next 
 week I am going to nurse a bishop. Now I come to 
 think of it, I dare say that is what makes me feel so 
 terribly out of spirits. Well, good-bye, and don't 
 forget to keep your best foreign stamps for me. And 
 let me know if you have any news of Miss Penhurst 
 and that little Bevan ; and if I can serve you or her 
 in any way, I will leave all the bishops and poets and 
 philosophers to get well or worse without me. And, 
 as you know, I am not afraid of little Bevan. I don't 
 even care that he has been circulating evil reports 
 against my character. But I care tremendously that he 
 has told her, poisoned her mind against me, and cut me 
 off from her friendship. I care about that far more than 
 about the untruths which he is launching out against 
 me. For they are untruths. I may be a ridiculous, 
 frivolous sort of woman, but it has never been anything 
 more than that with me. You believe that ? " 
 
 " Of course I believe it," Brian said. 
 
 She nodded her head as though satisfied, and added : 
 
 "And sometimes I don't think I am nearly as vain 
 and ridiculous as some of my bishops and literary peo- 
 ple. Well, my first attempt to win a woman's friend- 
 ship has not been very encouraging. But I liked her 
 ever so much. And the greatest proof of my attachment 
 to her was . . ." 
 
 But Nurse Isabel changed her mind, said no more, 
 and sped on her way ; but as she went along she said 
 aloud to herself: 
 
 " And the greatest proof of it was that when he re- 
 covered his strength, awoke from his long depression, and 
 fell in love with her instead of me, I was not even angry 
 
 227
 
 The Fowler 
 
 or jealous. By all the laws of nature, I ought to have 
 hated her at once, but instead of that, I went on liking 
 her, even though I was learning to love him. Ah, well, 
 he won't know. He is so very slow about these 
 things." 
 
 Brian parted from her without a suspicion of her real 
 feeling for him. But he intended to find out what these 
 reports were, and to stop them at once. She might say 
 she did not care, but he knew that she was sensitive 
 about her good name, perhaps because, for her old 
 mother's sake, she had made such mighty efforts, against 
 her own inclinations and in the midst of many tempta- 
 tions, to keep it still written down on the right hand leaf 
 of the book of morality. But he could not help her 
 about Nora. He could not help himself. A great long- 
 ing seized him to hasten his departure to the King's 
 Head. He went home, put his things together, and in a 
 short time found himself in the train on his way to the 
 land of comfort. He felt -that it would comfort him and 
 ease his heart to be in the village where she had spent so 
 many months, and where the people knew and loved her 
 so well. For the paths trodden by those whom we love 
 become holy ground to us for ever and ever. It was 
 early summer, towards the end of June, but there was a 
 perfect deluge of rain when Brian got out at the little 
 wayside station nine miles away from Graystoke. He 
 had brought his bicycle with him, and was just leaning 
 against it, contemplating a gloomy and moist ride, when 
 a carrier's cart drove up, and David the blacksmith's 
 cheery voice was heard saying : 
 
 " Any parcels for Mrs Mary Shaw ? " 
 Then he looked towards Brian, and recognised him. 
 " Why, it's Mr Uppingham, as I'm a live man ! " 
 In a few moments Brian and his bicycle were com- 
 228
 
 Mrs Mary Shaw as Comforter 
 
 fortably installed in David's borrowed cart, rattling along 
 the wet roads towards the King's Head. 
 
 " Mrs Mary will be that pleased," David said. " She 
 won't mind her groceries not having come. As a rule, 
 it do put her out awful when the grocery stores don't 
 turn up. But I reckon, Mr Uppingham, she'd think 
 you quite as good as twelve boxes of candles." 
 
 When they drew up before the King's Head, about 
 seven in the evening, Mrs Mary Shaw hastened out to 
 the carrier's cart. The carrier was ill, and had appointed 
 David to be his " locum tenens." 
 
 " Now, Davy, look sharp and hand me down my 
 groceries," Mrs Mary said. " I be that hustled to-night. 
 Great-uncle be took ill, and says he be going to die." 
 
 " Great-uncle has said that this last fifteen year, Mrs 
 Shaw," remarked Davy. " And as for the groceries, 
 they've never come. But there be something else for 
 you. Oh no, it aren't Parrington ! I don't give Par- 
 rington no lifts I'm that jealous of Parrington 
 always was, you know, only you wouldn't see it ! " 
 
 " Get along, Davy," said Mrs Mary Shaw, laughing, 
 for Davy always kept up the role of being an unaccepted 
 sweetheart, although he had never even thought of mak- 
 ing love to the hostess of the King's Head. 
 
 At that moment Brian, who had kept in the back of 
 the cart, leaned forward, and prepared to announce 
 himself. 
 
 " Why, I do declare it be Mr Uppingham, of all peo- 
 ple !" Mrs Shaw exclaimed; and, forgetting all about 
 the much-desired groceries and great-uncle's dangerous 
 illness, the genial landlady hurried him into the inn, and 
 whipped him up to the glowing fire, where great-uncle 
 and Great-great-aunt Rebeccah Renaldson were basking 
 in the warmth. They did not like to sit together, but 
 
 229
 
 The Fowler 
 
 they were both ailing, and both obliged to seek the com- 
 fort of the hearth. 
 
 " Here be Mr Uppingham," said Mrs Shaw. " He 
 be cold and damp, and he'll bide here until I've made 
 the fire in the parly." 
 
 " Ah," said great-uncle, whom no unexpected circum- 
 stance ever surprised, " so you be come back, sir, just to 
 see me a-dying. I be a dying man to-night. I've the 
 toothache something terrible." 
 
 " Toothache ! " replied Aunt Rebeccah Renaldson, 
 scornfully, "and not a tooth in his mouth at his age. 
 He be not a dying man. 'Tis I who be a-dying, Mr 
 Uppingham, and no one to lift a finger for me : Mrs 
 Mary Shaw never do think of no one but herself and 
 Parrington; and what Parrington do see to like in her 
 is more than I can foller, for she be aging wonderful 
 quick." 
 
 Brian settled down amongst them, and showed due 
 sympathy with their fancied woes. Wullie soon ap- 
 peared, and from all that could be gathered on the sub- 
 ject, he was evidently not yet following in the footsteps 
 of his scamp of a father. 
 
 "Ah," said Mrs Shaw, as she laid the cloth in the 
 parlour, "Wullie is a remarkable good lad still ; though 
 there's no knowing how soon he'll be breaking out. 
 Parrington says l stuff and nonsense,' but I shakes my 
 head, Mr Uppingham, and knows different. Don't I, 
 Wullie ? " 
 
 Wullie, who was bringing in a liberal supply of wood, 
 grinned, as he always did when he heard these doleful 
 prophecies of his own unavoidable damnation, and put- 
 ting his hands up to his cheeks to make a sort of trum- 
 pet, said in a loud whisper to Brian : 
 
 " I say, mother is a-going to marry Mr Parrington 
 230
 
 Mrs Mary Shaw as Comforter 
 
 next month, and that's why Aunt Rebeccah and great- 
 uncle be in such a stew. And grandfather won't have 
 nothing to do with it, and everybody be as cross as nine- 
 pins 'cept mother and " 
 
 Wullie was clapped out of the room, and Mrs Mary 
 Shaw, smiling and blushing, answered Brian's inquiry as 
 to whether the news were really true. 
 
 " Well, yes, sir," she said, as she sank down into the 
 easy-chair. " The fact is, I be real sick of hearing Par- 
 rington propose. And then, 'twas only lately I heard 
 for certain that Wullie's father was dead, and I didn't 
 tell Parrington. But he learnt it hisself. Parrington be 
 awfully quick. And he made me promise for next 
 month. And I wrote Miss Nora about it, and there's 
 never a line come from her. I've been a-fearing she is 
 ill." 
 
 Then Brian told her that Nora was engaged to Theo- 
 dore Bevan, and that her time had been taken up for 
 many months, and that she was not as bright and gay as 
 she used to be in Graystoke. 
 
 " Going to marry that little horror! " exclaimed Mrs 
 Shaw. " I never could abide him. It can't be true ; 
 my Miss Nora a-going to marry the likes of him ! I 
 can't believe it of her, and she so mighty particular, and 
 her head so high in the air, bless her, and quite right, 
 too : she can't know what she's a-doing. He's be- 
 witched her the little viper gentleman, coming sneak- 
 ing along here where nobody wanted him : my Miss 
 Nora going to marry the likes of him ! " 
 
 Mrs Shaw's apron was at that moment precipitated 
 over her head, and when it fell back to its wonted place, 
 two large tears were seen rolling down her cheeks. She 
 took her handkerchief, rubbed it into her eyes and over 
 her face, and then she looked up. Brian was sitting 
 
 231
 
 The Fowler 
 
 r 
 
 back in his chair, with a far-away look, a strained expres- 
 sion on his face. 
 
 The woman's instinct in Mrs Mary Shaw revealed 
 the whole truth to her. 
 
 " Why, I believe you've been a-sweethearting after 
 her yourself," she said, tenderly. " Poor dear soul 
 poor deaf soul ! I remember how you spoke of her 
 when you stayed here, and how I was always a-telling 
 you all I knew of our dear Miss Nora and I only too 
 glad to tell, being that fond of her." 
 
 " And I only too glad to listen," he said, smiling 
 sadly. "And I've come to listen again. That is why 
 I've come. And to be where she has been, and 
 amongst the people whom she has loved, and amongst 
 whom I found her first. I felt that would comfort me." 
 
 " And so it will," said Mrs Shaw, soothingly. 
 " And don't ye take on so. Miss Nora will come to 
 her senses soon, and. then you can go a-sweethearting 
 after she. Lor ! now, you mustn't be disheartened. 
 Think of my poor Parrington what a life I've been 
 a-leading him these last three year and more, never 
 knowing my own mind. And as like as not, when next 
 month comes, I'll say, 'No, Parrington, I don't care for 
 ye over much.' And yet I do care. But women-folk 
 is like that, that's what they be like, and a good thing 
 too, as men folk be mighty troublesome in their way. 
 Don't ye take on so, Mr Uppingham. It'll all come 
 right ; and while you be here, we'll talk of Miss Nora 
 and cheer you up. I'm a wonderful hand at cheering 
 folk up : you should see me with Great-great-aunt 
 Rebeccah Renaldson sometimes, though I won't deny 
 that it be a terrible task, and I be always a-gasping for 
 breath afterward she do take it out of me. . . . Now, 
 now, Mr Uppingham, you mustn't lose heart . . ." 
 
 232
 
 The motherly manner, the quaint but very genuine 
 efforts to comfort, touched Brian inexpressibly. He 
 was touched to the very roots of his sore heart : all his 
 disappointment and anxiety welled up in him. He 
 buried his face in his hands and sobbed, and Mrs Mary 
 Shaw, using her own natural tact that beautiful and 
 almost divine gift of womanhood stole quietly out of 
 the room. 
 
 The next morning was bright with sunshine, and 
 Brian strolled in the direction of the Castle, along the 
 road where he had taken his first drive with Nora. Yes, 
 he remembered that old quaint thatched cottage yonder, 
 and the crumbling old bridge to the left, and the trout 
 stream, and those five enormous hay-ricks stationed like 
 sentinels on the slope of the hill. They had only just 
 been put up when he saw them last, and now they were 
 darker in hue, having valiantly borne the changes and 
 chances of a long winter. Yes, and he remembered 
 that splendid old oak-tree near the mill. Nora had 
 said it reminded her always of her father, with its 
 spreading branches and comprehensive character. He 
 paused and listened to the sweet singing of the birds. 
 Nora knew their call-notes well. He passed on to the 
 gate-house, where she had lodged, and waited outside, 
 full of thoughts of her. Then he rang, and when the 
 custodian appeared, annoyed as always at being dis- 
 turbed, he won her over by speaking of Miss Penhurst, 
 and was taken to the sitting-room, where the deputy- 
 custodian had spent so many happy hours. Her photo- 
 graph was there ; and two or three of her books were 
 scattered about. 
 
 The custodian left him there to rest, for it was 
 washing-day, and she was busy and hoped that he 
 would be able to show himself over the Castle. So 
 
 233
 
 The Fowler 
 
 he rested, this poor Brian, and then he strolled over 
 the Castle and lingered a long time in the monk's room, 
 which he remembered had been her favourite retreat. 
 He looked at the great expanse of country, which had 
 always delighted her eyes and her sense of space, and at 
 the river glistening with the early summer sunlight. As 
 he wended his way back to the King's Head, he stopped 
 at the beautiful old church, and glanced once more at 
 the fine carved stalls, and the rare old leaden font, which 
 she herself had shown him with so much pride ; for she 
 loved the church and everything in it. He examined 
 the monumental brasses, and the figures of the Crusaders 
 in the old chapel. He heard her dear voice telling him 
 everything. 
 
 " I'm as good as a guide-book about these parts," 
 she had said to him. " You see I've been here so often 
 that the place is part of me, and I am part of it. Even 
 Mr Kent, the verger, admits that I belong here by 
 rights, for he told me the other day that I would make 
 a wonderful nice brass or recumbent stone figure, and 
 that is the highest praise from him, for he only concerns 
 himself about dead things." 
 
 He remembered her saying that, and he remembered 
 noticing that Mr Kent's sepulchral visage relaxed into 
 something like a human smile when he came into the 
 church and found her there. Yes, they all loved her 
 there, in their own kindly way. Even Great-great-aunt 
 Rebeccah Renaldson had nothing against her, and great- 
 uncle always said she was a wonderful nice young person, 
 and very handy at buying shag. And Mrs Shaw's quiet 
 old father, Reuben, said she was an intelligent young 
 woman, and mighty clever at knowing a turnip from a 
 carrot, which was surprising in a party as lived in one 
 of them towns ; and David swore by his smithy's forge 
 
 234
 
 that no one except himself should ever fetch her from 
 the station. It was all very pleasant to hear, and Brian 
 seemed to be learning more of her, and getting nearer 
 to her own real self by means of these simple-hearted 
 villagers. He felt soothed and comforted, and wrote 
 at his book, smoked with great-uncle, prepared herbs 
 with Reuben, talked politics with David, commerce 
 with the travellers who baited at the King's Head, played 
 nine-pins with Wullie, carried messages between Parring- 
 ton and Mrs Shaw, and acted as general errand-boy and 
 postman to the whole neighbourhood. Whenever he 
 was looking sad, Mrs Shaw would say : 
 
 " Come, come, Mr Uppingham, don't you be a-tak- 
 ing on ! It will all come right. Think of my poor 
 Parrington ! " 
 
 And very often she would come into the parlour, and 
 he would put his pen aside, and she would sink down 
 into the easy-chair, and talk of Nora. 
 
 " Oh, deary me," she said one day, " and the fun 
 Miss Nora and me have had over poor Parrington ! 
 Many long lectures she's given me to behave myself 
 kinder, and I've promised ; and then when Parrington 
 has come, I've been real nasty ! And Miss Nora have 
 pretended to be angry, and then have laughed hearty." 
 
 " I think I shall begin to say c Poor Parrington,' " 
 remarked Brian, laughing too. 
 
 " Oh, he don't take on, really," answered Mrs Shaw. 
 " And if he do, it won't hurt the likes of him, bless 
 him ! Parrington isn't one to fret greatly. Ah, there, 
 I hear his voice. Tiresome man, coming where he's 
 not wanted ! " 
 
 " And where be Mrs Mary Shaw, I wonder ? " 
 Parrington's voice was heard saying. " A nice sort of 
 landlady for the Punchbowl." 
 
 2 35
 
 The Fowler 
 
 " The Punchbowl indeed ! " remarked Mrs Shaw, 
 scornfully. " As if Mrs Mary Shaw would ever have 
 anything to do with that horrid place." 
 
 " Here be three teetotallers asking for port wine," 
 continued Parrington, in a loud voice, " and two carters 
 for a mug of ale, and no one to serve 'em. What a 
 badly managed establishment ! I don't think anything 
 of this King's Head : 'tis a mighty poor shanty." 
 
 " Shanty ! " exclaimed Mrs Mary Shaw, pretending 
 to be angry, but wreathed in smiles. " Did you hear 
 that, Mr Uppingham ? shanty, indeed ! Oh, I'll pay 
 Parrington out." 
 
 Then she darted out of the " parly " to pay Parrington 
 out, and Brian was left to his work and his own 
 thoughts. But later on, he emerged and went into the 
 kitchen, which also served as the bar of the inn, though 
 there was a sort of division effected by the kitchen- 
 table. Parrington was smoking a pipe on the domestic 
 side of the barrier. Brian joined him, and said out of 
 pure mischief: 
 
 " And so I hear, Mr Parrington, that you and Mrs 
 Mary are to be married in a month's time ? " 
 
 " Well, now," said Mrs Mary, pausing as she took 
 the bread out of the oven, " that's the first I've heard 
 of it, as I'm a live woman." 
 
 Parrington made no answer to this, but winked at 
 Brian, and pointed to the old beams. 
 
 " This old place be a-crumbling to pieces, Mr Up- 
 pingham," he said. " It be not safe for nobody. I 
 declare I'm always mighty glad to get away from this 
 old shanty back to the Punchbowl ! " 
 
 236
 
 Part III 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 THE MICROMETER 
 
 So the time wore on. Summer had passed into winter, 
 and it was more than eighteen months now since 
 Theodore Bevan had come as a disturbing element into 
 the lives of Nora and Roger Penhurst. After Nora had 
 declared her decision to be engaged to Theodore Bevan, 
 and refused to be won over by any entreaty, her father 
 interviewed him, and told him that the engagement was 
 against all his wishes and judgment, and that nothing 
 would ever reconcile him to it. 
 
 " I understand that it does not meet with your ap- 
 proval," Bevan said, quietly. " I am of course very 
 sorry. It would have been more agreeable for both of 
 us if you could have liked me a little or disliked me 
 less." 
 
 " You will never make my girl happy," Roger said. 
 " I am sure of that." 
 
 "You certainly court the unhappiness by taking up 
 this tone with me," Bevan answered. 
 
 " Perhaps you are right," Roger Penhurst answered, 
 brusquely, and he said no more about it. It was, in fact, 
 useless. Moreover, it was so obvious that Theodore 
 Bevan was indifferent to the old man's approval or dis- 
 approval. He was quite frank about his monetary 
 
 2 37
 
 The Fowler 
 
 position : explained the resources of his private income, 
 and mentioned that he occasionally added to it by special 
 journalistic work. He seemed to have no relatives nor 
 friends ; and therefore Nora had not to go through any 
 formalities of introduction. 
 
 " I belong to no one," he said to her, almost patheti- 
 cally ; " I am alone in the world." 
 
 The condition of things at the Penhursts' home did 
 not change after the engagement, and Roger Penhurst 
 went his own way, sometimes spending long days in the 
 country and coming back tired out. When at home, he 
 was more deeply engaged in reading and study. He 
 began to learn Persian, and some learned friends from 
 the British Museum came three times a-week to give 
 him lessons. That was some comfort to him, for he 
 was never so happy as when adding to his knowledge. 
 But he looked sad and nipped, and he neglected his 
 music. He missed her sympathy with it. She had 
 taken a dislike to music, influenced of course by Theo- 
 dore Bevan, who openly declared his scorn of the loveliest 
 of all languages. Nora had no idea how her indifference 
 wounded her old father. But Brian knew, for Roger 
 had got into the way of talking to him freely about 
 everything ; and the historian's comfortable lodgings in 
 Mecklenburg Square had become the old man's haven, 
 where he felt he was always welcome. It was touching 
 to see the two friends together each one sad at heart, 
 and united by a common anxiety and affection. They 
 very rarely spoke of Theodore Bevan, but Roger said 
 once or twice that Nora's infatuation was as strong as 
 ever, and that she seemed to have given up all her old 
 friends, inclinations, and interests. Mr Bevan disliked 
 the idea of her teaching, and so she had resigned two or 
 three of her posts. He also disliked her going to the 
 
 238
 
 The Micrometer 
 
 Woman's Club, and so she had not resumed her sub- 
 scription. Brian asked sometimes : 
 
 " And is she happy ? Does she look happy ? Is she 
 bright ? " 
 
 " Ah, that is just it," the old man would answer, 
 sadly " Is she happy ? I can only tell you that when 
 he does not come, she is miserable. And she has on her 
 dear face ' the settled shadow of an inward strife.' >: 
 
 " Does he seem fond of her ? " Brian would ask. 
 
 " Could a man like that be fond of any one ? " Roger 
 invariably answered. 
 
 Yet, in a way, Theodore Bevan was fond of her, and 
 Roger did not altogether do him justice. He was proud 
 at having subdued her individuality ; and for the first 
 time in his life, he felt the beginnings of something 
 like affection. He knew of course that she did not love 
 him, and that it was only his strong influence over her 
 which brought about her consent to the engagement. 
 But he was not uneasy about that : the main point was 
 that he was training her, moulding her, and making 
 himself necessary to her. Sometimes he kept away on 
 purpose : for he knew that she would fret and be rest- 
 less, like some dumb animal which pines for its master, 
 even though he be a cruel one. It was all very engross- 
 ing to him ; and although he had amused and interested 
 himself many a time before on the same lines, there had 
 never been even a dash of sentiment in his previous 
 experiments. He appreciated this new sensation, and 
 commented on it in his journal. 
 
 He wrote : 
 
 " It is very odd how pleased I feel when any sad 
 remark of mine concerning my lonely life or my small 
 stature touches up my Athene's tenderness. Of course 
 I have never been lonely. And as for my small stature, 
 
 2 39
 
 The Fowler 
 
 I would not change with any one but Athene's 
 sympathy with my fancied woes is extremely agreeable 
 to me. I enjoy it." 
 
 And again in another place : 
 
 " Occasionally I stay away from my Athene in order 
 that I may have the satisfaction of being missed." 
 
 And elsewhere : 
 
 " I should not have precipitated myself into this en- 
 gagement with my Athene, if I had not feared that 
 Uppingham's influence over her was increasing unduly. 
 As it was, I only arrived just in time to prevent the 
 climax of an engagement between them. Strangely 
 enough, I had not intended to go to her home that 
 evening; but a sudden access of jealousy prompted me 
 to change my plans ; and by an adroitness which, I con- 
 fess, astonishes me now, I wrested the situation to my- 
 self. I worked, as always, on her sympathies, harping, 
 of course, on my many disabilities and shortcomings, 
 which have ever ostracised me from the realms of Being 
 Understood and Being Loved. I do not regret my 
 prompt action. Sometimes I think that the most desir- 
 able part of my life would be taken away if I lost 
 Athene." 
 
 And elsewhere : 
 
 " Uppingham's insult to me has so far passed un- 
 noticed. There was nothing for me to do except to 
 remain quiet, until I had thought out some plan of 
 revenge. Meantime, he is sufficiently punished by my 
 appropriation of his Nora and just as he had almost 
 secured her ; and Athene is grateful to me for ignor- 
 ing the episode. My self-control in this matter makes 
 her think well of me. It is a great satisfaction when 
 some one, to whom you are not absolutely indifferent, 
 thinks well of you : whether you deserve it or not. 
 
 240
 
 The Micrometer 
 
 So Uppingham may rest in peace awhile, and I have 
 already been dealing with Nurse Isabel and little Madge 
 Carson." 
 
 And indeed Nora was greatly impressed by the sweet 
 patience with which he had borne Brian Uppingham's 
 insult. She did not know in what terms Theodore 
 Bevan had couched his letter to Uppingham, and he 
 did not enlighten her. It was a delicate matter ; for 
 she knew in her heart of hearts that she had wronged 
 Brian, and her own feeling of uneasiness about him 
 made her grateful for Bevan's forbearance. 
 
 " It is for your sake," Bevan told her, quietly. And 
 he added, as though fearing that she might perhaps be 
 too hard on the historian, " You must forgive him, 
 remembering that he has had a sore trial in losing 
 you." 
 
 " You are very generous," Nora said, with sincere 
 admiration. " You bear no malice. I have noticed 
 that in your behaviour towards my father. He has 
 often been very rude to you, and you never seem to 
 notice." 
 
 " I have only been learning the lesson since I knew 
 you," he said. " Sometimes, I own, it has been a hard 
 one." 
 
 And he went away gratified with her praise, although 
 he knew that it was he who countless times had been 
 rude to her father ignoring him, and deliberately 
 pushing him out of his home and happiness ; alienating 
 his daughter from him, and in such a way that she never 
 guessed. He smiled when he thought of the malice 
 which he always bore towards people who were in his 
 way, and yet, recognising all this, he was delighted by 
 her belief in his generosity of mind and action. 
 
 Perhaps he persuaded himself that he was really what 
 16 241
 
 The Fowler 
 
 she considered him to be. It is so easy even for the 
 best of us to persuade ourselves that we are better than 
 we are. But whilst he was thus enjoying Nora's good 
 opinion of him, he was silently working against Nurse 
 Isabel and Madge Carson, who had had the courage to 
 warn his Athene against him. And the two opposite 
 processes going on at the same time, did not interfere 
 with each other. He was evidently in a state of great 
 satisfaction. One special entry in his journal points to 
 this : 
 
 " I never remember feeling so well satisfied with my- 
 self. When I think of Athene now, and compare her 
 with that masterful and scornful young woman who 
 was acting as Deputy-Custodian at the Castle, I am 
 lost in wonderment over the mesmeric, psychic influ- 
 ence which some human beings have over others : an 
 influence inborn and never acquired. But Athene gives 
 trouble, in spite of my strong hold over her. She has 
 curious relapses to her old interests, her old friends, 
 her old intimacy with her father. It keeps me very 
 much interested ; more so, of course, than if she had 
 merely been a woolly lamb. Still, I find I have to be 
 careful how I criticise her former life and the contents 
 thereof. The other day an unwisely-worded disparage- 
 ment about that wretched old Danish professor, who is 
 always discovering new geniuses, evoked undoubted 
 signs of rebellion. All this, however, gives a real zest 
 to my undertaking, and I am almost inclined to believe 
 I am experiencing what we call happiness whatever 
 that may mean." 
 
 He was right in saying that he had to be careful how 
 he criticised Nora's former life, and every one and 
 everything that belonged to it. He was much too wary 
 to make many mistakes ; and his micrometer, that evil 
 
 242
 
 The Micrometer 
 
 little instrument of disparagement, probed into and 
 measured every fault and failing, every characteristic and 
 detail, but so delicately that the mechanism was not 
 detected. So Nora never knew how it happened that 
 most people became uninteresting to her, or full of faults, 
 or ridiculous, or objects of contempt and indifference. 
 Perhaps it was an indulgent sort of contempt which 
 took the greatest possession of her. No one escaped ; 
 and when she received a letter from Mrs Mary Shaw 
 announcing in mysterious spelling and grammar her 
 definite engagement to Mr William Parrington of the 
 Punchbowl, she tossed the note on one side, and wondered 
 how she could ever have taken an interest in those 
 ignorant country people at Graystoke. The micrometer 
 had thus been applied to those simple, honest villagers, 
 whom she had known for years. It was never applied 
 directly to Nora's dear old father, but to Old Age in- 
 stead. And the fine, spreading old oak, with its mag- 
 nificent branches and defiantly robust roots, became an 
 impertinent lingerer on the face of the earth, demand- 
 ing too much space, too much consideration taking in 
 every advantage and giving out none. 
 
 It was perhaps the cleverest thing Bevan did, the 
 way in which he alienated Nora from her father without 
 ever saying one word against him. And Roger himself 
 helped his enemy by his own impetuosity and want of 
 judgment; for although he made numberless resolutions 
 pick up the old threads of friendship with Nora, and 
 accept Theodore Bevan as an inevitable fact in his life, 
 he always failed in all his efforts. He could not conquer 
 his intense dislike for the man, nor his bitter disappoint- 
 ment in Nora. His existence would have been intoler- 
 able during this period, but for his friendship with Brian, 
 and their constant intercourse together, broken into only 
 
 243
 
 The Fowler 
 
 by Brian's visit to Holland and afterwards to Norway. 
 During the historian's absence Roger plunged still 
 deeper into Persian, but the joy of life had gone from 
 him, and, with it, some of that wonderful vitality which 
 is able to keep old age at bay. He did not attempt any 
 summer-outing, but he often found his way into the 
 Abbey, and there he would linger, sometimes in the 
 cloisters, and sometimes in the Poets' Corner. He very 
 rarely spoke of Brian to Nora ; and she had no idea 
 how much of his time was spent with the man who 
 loved her and was waiting for her. She tried to put 
 Brian out of her remembrance, but once she asked her 
 father timidly about him. 
 
 " Is he well and is he working is he satisfied 
 with what he has done do you see him sometimes ? " 
 
 And her father answered : 
 
 "Yes, I see him. He is well, but sad. And he is 
 very busy. Brave men do not give up their life's work 
 because women break their hearts." 
 
 After that, Nora did not dare make any further in- 
 quiries, and was thrown back on herself; and many of 
 her timid renewals of intimacy were cut short in this 
 way. But the estrangement between the two was 
 inevitable, and nothing could have helped the situation. 
 They probably knew this ; and as time went on, and 
 the micrometer became more perfect in its mechanism, 
 Nora ceased to care, or thought she did. But there 
 were no more scenes between them ; for at least 
 indifference has this advantage, that it often produces 
 tranquillity. But one afternoon towards the end of Janu- 
 ary, Roger Penhurst came home in a state of unusual 
 agitation, and found Nora alone in the sitting-room. 
 She was working at some coloured embroidery, and in 
 a lifeless, listless manner, which always irritated him. 
 
 244
 
 The Micrometer 
 
 " That little devil of yours has been trying to take 
 away Nurse Isabel's character," he said. 
 
 " Nurse Isabel had no character to take away," Nora 
 said, with provoking quietness. " Mr Bevan warned 
 me against her some time ago, and as I do not care to 
 have people of that description for my acquaintances, I 
 asked her, as you know, to discontinue her visits." 
 
 " You mean that Bevan coerced you into snubbing 
 her," Roger said. 
 
 " As you please, father," Nora said, flinching slightly. 
 41 You know I never quarrel with you now about Mr 
 Bevan." 
 
 " It is a lifelong quarrel, Nora," he said. " And for 
 my own part, the sooner you get married, the better." 
 
 " We fixed the date for about four months from 
 to-day," Nora said, putting down her work, and looking 
 up at her father. 
 
 " And I wish it were to-morrow ! " he exclaimed, in 
 his impetuous way. Then, with the penitence so char- 
 acteristic of him, he said : 
 
 " No, no, I don't mean that, my girl. I would rather 
 wait year after year, going along even in this miserable 
 fashion, than hasten on, by one moment, your marriage 
 with Theodore Bevan. For I am always, always hoping 
 that the awakening may come." 
 
 Nora made no answer, but went on impassively with 
 her needlework. 
 
 " The awakening will come of its own accord and in 
 its own time," Roger said, gently. 
 
 " And you have been doing your best to hinder it," 
 she said. " Your unreasonable dislike of Mr Bevan 
 first opened my eyes to his real worth ; and now you 
 attempt to poison my mind against him by accusing 
 him of defaming Nurse Isabel's character. He has 
 
 245
 
 The Fowler 
 
 merely warned me of her, and I am much obliged to 
 him." 
 
 " He has done far more than that," Roger said, becom- 
 ing excited again. "He has circulated evil reports of 
 her which have reached the notice of some of her best 
 doctors. But she has a warm friend in me, and I shall 
 do all I can for her. And she has another friend too, 
 Brian Uppingham, who will not rest until everything is 
 set right again as far as such mischief-making can 
 ever be set right." 
 
 "Mr Uppingham may well defend Nurse Isabel," 
 Nora said, slowly. " It is a relief to hear that a man 
 will speak up for a woman, when he has been one of the 
 many to help to drag her down. Oh, I know about 
 Brian Uppingham and Nurse Isabel." 
 
 Roger Penhurst glanced in astonishment at his 
 daughter. 
 
 " My poor Nora," he said, " if that is how you see 
 things now, may God help your distorted vision." 
 
 In this way the micrometer had been deftly applied to 
 Brian Uppingham also. 
 
 246
 
 The First Step 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 THE FIRST STEP 
 
 ONE day Theodore Bevan told Nora that his friends, 
 Mr and Mrs Cummings, had returned from Australia, 
 and that he should like to call on them with her. He 
 professed to have a great admiration for Mr Cummings ; 
 called him a prince amongst men, a born statesman, the 
 only possible saviour of England. Nora herself was 
 anxious to see the sole human being who could inspire 
 such enthusiasm in the heart of her little lover. He 
 commented, too, on the delightful friendship existing 
 between husband and wife. When Nora went to their 
 home at Kensington, she found a timid, half-toned 
 woman, who seemed to have no soul, no will of her 
 own. Her speech was painfully hesitating, as though 
 she were apologising for every word she said and she 
 did not dare say much. As she made her few feeble 
 remarks, she turned in a half-frightened manner to her 
 husband. When he and Bevan went out of the draw- 
 ing-room to the library, Mrs Cummings became a little 
 easier, gathered herself together, and talked about a 
 few commonplaces. But the light soon faded from her 
 eyes ; and when her husband returned, the little fee- 
 ble gleam of individuality had faded into nothingness. 
 It was a painful exhibition. Cummings himself was a 
 strong tall man, deliberately aggressive, with a strong 
 brain, and not hampered by even the remnant of a heart. 
 Bevan treated him with the greatest respect ; and it was 
 easy to see that Cummings appreciated the homage of 
 his friend. The hero was affably condescending to 
 
 247
 
 The Fowler 
 
 Nora, and took some pains to talk down to her. His con- 
 descension aroused some of her old spirit, and she began 
 to argue with him. It was something about technical 
 education. Then she looked up, became conscious of 
 Theodore Bevan, and suddenly laid down all her weapons. 
 When she went away she thought to herself: 
 
 " I shall become like that woman, Mrs Cummings. 
 Is it possible that I am half-way there already ? " 
 
 And that was the first step towards the awakening, 
 the only first step possible, because made by herself. 
 She did not know at the time that she had taken it. 
 We probably do not know ; but when we look back at 
 the path, we say : " Ah yes, it was there it was there 
 that we took the first step, and by ourselves, unaided." 
 That is where the value of it comes in to us : it was on 
 our own initiative. Yet if we looked back still further 
 and were honest, we should discover the almost invisible 
 wires of communication and impulse which were the 
 direct causes of that first step. 
 
 Theodore Bevan realised that he had committed an 
 error of judgment in taking his Athene to the Cummings'. 
 He wrote in his journal : 
 
 "The visit to the Cummings' was a mistake. My 
 Athene seems to have been chiefly impressed with Mrs 
 Cummings' misery and mental servitude. She has re- 
 ferred to her several times, and to him too. 
 
 " c What a man,' she has said, c and what a marriage ! 
 And that is your ideal of a prince amongst men ! And 
 that is your ideal of the married state ? What a picture 
 it gives to me of your real self! ' 
 
 " It was foolish of me to take her there. My Athene 
 was not ready for it. I have striven in every way 
 to wipe out the remembrance. I have overdone my 
 strength a little, and thus enlisted her sympathy and 
 
 248
 
 The First Step 
 
 kindness ; I have been affectionate and dictatorial by 
 turns ; sad, bitter, and repentant, and finally I have won 
 her back. But it is very astonishing to me how much I 
 really suffer when she does turn upon me. I pretend to 
 believe that I am only annoyed at being thwarted. But 
 the fact remains that I am wounded." . . . 
 
 Soon after this, Nora woke up one morning with an 
 insatiable thirst for a draught of her old life. She had 
 neglected all her friends, given up all her interests ; and 
 people and things had been passing out of her life as 
 they of necessity must, when there is no encouragement 
 for them to remain. Where should she go to-day ? 
 what should she do ? She thought she would like to go 
 down to the British Museum and see some of her old 
 associates there, including dear old Professor Frimodt ; 
 and then, perhaps, she would call in at Mrs Ellerton's 
 and perhaps they would both look in at the Club. The 
 programme smiled to her for the moment, and she 
 hastened to carry it out, and soon found herself in the 
 Professor's den. 
 
 " Ah," he said, smoothing down his nose, as he always 
 did when he was particularly pleased. " If Justice were 
 properly carried out in this world, you would not be 
 allowed to see your old Professor again, having neglected 
 him so long. Fortunately for us all, my sweet young 
 miss, Justice generally miscarries ! And Monsieur, your 
 attendant ? " 
 
 " He is not with me," Nora said, smiling a little timidly. 
 
 " Ah, excellent ! " said the Professor, rubbing his hands 
 together. " What ? Gone, dead, buried like my famous 
 poets ? Tant mieux ! " 
 
 " No, no ; " said Nora, " I only meant he was not 
 with me to-day." 
 
 "Ah, well," said the Professor, thoughtfully, "but 
 249
 
 The Fowler 
 
 you may always kill and bury him when you wish. It 
 is so simple, my sweet young miss." 
 
 " Is it so simple, Professor ? " she asked, with a 
 strange appeal in her voice. 
 
 " Why, of course ! " he said, looking at her closely. 
 Then he added : 
 
 " Nothing easier, indeed ! See how I arrange with 
 my poor poets. Ah, I have a long list of dead bodies. 
 Come, Mademoiselle Nora, look at it and here are 
 some of their immortal poems which perished in one 
 moment ! You remember your Danish ? Of course 
 of course. Now you see, this rascal knew how to write 
 when he said those words about Liberty. But he had 
 to die. It was the beginning and the end of the rascal, 
 And it is always like that with your old Professor such 
 cruel disappointments always in trouble ! " 
 
 Nora read the poem aloud in Danish, much to the 
 Professor's satisfaction. She herself had brightened up 
 wonderfully, and there was a flush of pleasure and 
 awakened interest on her pale face. She felt the re- 
 newal of life in her. 
 
 " Why have I left all this ? " she thought. 
 
 " Yes," said the Professor, taking off his gold-rimmed 
 spectacles and polishing them. " I have killed and 
 buried a great number of these rascals during my long 
 life. I assure you, Mademoiselle, it was only one rascal 
 I spared. He was a great one. I did once think 
 wonders of him ! He was to be my prince of poets, 
 and for a long time I believed in him (no one else did), 
 and I had not the cruel heart to kill him. For it was 
 myself your old Professor. Perhaps I still choose to 
 believe in that rogue, but no one knows except my- 
 self and now you. See, I have told you a secret ! 
 And why have I told you ? " 
 
 250
 
 The First Step 
 
 " I don't know, Professor," Nora said, smiling kindly 
 at her old comrade, who had been good to her for so 
 many years. 
 
 " Because, Mademoiselle," he said, fidgeting with 
 some printed sheets which lay on his table, " because I 
 wanted to make the impression on you that the last 
 rascal one must ever think of killing and burying is one's 
 self. Voila ! There is a puzzle for you." 
 
 Then he showed her some rare new books and curi- 
 ous old manuscripts, and finally took her to the door. 
 
 " There will be no admittance after more than six 
 weeks' truancy," he said, putting his finger up in playful 
 warning. " By that time I shall find a new genius, and 
 Mademoiselle Nora and I will bury him together ! " 
 
 But when she was gone he sat in his chair, folded his 
 arms, and shook his head gravely. 
 
 " Her dear old father was right," he said. " She 
 has changed sadly. My sweet Mademoiselle Nora. 
 She has a tender place in my tough old heart. Ah, if one 
 could be young again. Well, well, and now to work." 
 
 Nora meanwhile, passing on her way to Mrs Ellerton's, 
 said to herself: 
 
 " My kind old Professor. And I had not seen him 
 for fifteen months." 
 
 Then she began wondering why she had not seen him 
 or any of her friends ; and when the remembrance of 
 Theodore Bevan stole over her as though in answer to 
 
 O 
 
 her unconscious questioning, the old indifference and 
 lethargy returned with a sudden bound. And although 
 she was within ten minutes of Mrs Ellerton's cosy 
 little flat, where she knew a warm welcome awaited 
 her at any time, she retraced her steps and came straight 
 home, impelled to do so but much against her real 
 inclination. 
 
 251
 
 The Fowler 
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 MADGE CARSON IN DISTRESS 
 
 NORA relapsed into her usual state of indifference to 
 every one except Theodore Bevan. It so happened, 
 too, that he had an accident with his lamp, and burnt 
 his right hand severely. This occurrence, particularly 
 trying to him in one way, was opportune in another, 
 for it gave him a renewed hold on Nora, and, at the 
 same time, gratified that part of his strange nature which 
 was becoming more and more susceptible to tender in- 
 fluences. At this time there were only a few left-handed 
 scrawls in the journal. This was one of them : 
 
 " My right hand severely burnt. Great hindrance, 
 but curious example of compensation in my Athene's 
 renewed kindness and submissiveness, which seemed 
 to be in jeopardy after that unfortunate visit to the 
 Cummings'." 
 
 This was another : 
 
 " Pain in hand still bad. But I greatly enjoy my 
 Athene's anxious kindness to me. There would almost 
 seem to be a luxury in suffering, when some one is good 
 enough to be sympathetic." 
 
 A few days after Bevan's health had become more 
 normal again, and the thermometer of anxiety and sym- 
 pathy had also returned to the normal, Mrs Ellerton 
 called, on the chance of finding Nora at home ; and the 
 two friends, who had not seen each other for many 
 months, settled down for a long and cosy chat. Nora 
 was delighted to see her old playmate, and it was almost 
 
 252
 
 Madge Carson in Distress 
 
 pathetic how she broke through her listlessness and in- 
 difference. Mrs Ellerton had been away for a long 
 time, travelling about, as usual, in search of health for 
 her husband. 
 
 "Of course, my dear, we shall never find it," she said, 
 cheerfully. " We continue to go to all the health-resorts 
 strongly recommended by all the leading doctors, who 
 have never been to them. I notice that the distances 
 prescribed for us are becoming greater and greater. A 
 few thousand miles are being added each time to our 
 various destinations. I cannot possibly imagine where 
 we shall be sent next. Meanwhile, I am thankful to say 
 we are stationary for a few minutes in a flat in Kensing- 
 ton. It is a great rest, and I am enjoying myself deeply. 
 And I have taken the first opportunity of coming over to 
 see you." 
 
 " I nearly came to see you the other day," Nora said, 
 "but I turned back half-way. I felt I wanted to have a 
 long talk with you." 
 
 u Arid then you changed your mind when you were 
 near me," Mrs Ellerton said, quaintly. "That did 
 not say much for my magnetic power. Well, I forgive 
 you, Nora, dear, and now for your news." 
 
 " Oh, everything is going on as usual," Nora said, 
 " and there is nothing much to tell you." 
 
 Then, with a sudden impulse, she added : 
 
 " Except that I am engaged to be married." 
 
 " That is generally considered an interesting piece of 
 news," Mrs Ellerton said, brightly. " Anything more ? " 
 
 " I am going to be married in three or four months' 
 time," Nora continued. 
 
 " Anything more ? " asked Mrs Ellerton. 
 
 " I am going to marry a man called Theodore Bevan," 
 Nora said. 
 
 253
 
 The Fowler 
 
 "Well, my dear, I have not the advantage of Mr 
 Bevan's acquaintance," said Mrs Ellerton, " but I hope 
 he will be good to you, and keep his health ! " 
 
 And the little woman bent over to Nora, and kissed 
 her. 
 
 It was the first genial word that Nora had ever heard 
 about her engagement, and it acted on her like a tonic. 
 Some of her old cheeriness returned to her ; and in a 
 short time, the two friends were laughing and talking so 
 light-heartedly, that their voices sounded like music to 
 Nora's old father, who happened to come home just 
 then. 
 
 " My Nora laughing ! " he said, as he crept quietly into 
 his den. It was so seldom that she laughed now. 
 
 Mrs Ellerton did not ask any questions about Theo- 
 dore Bevan, but Nora spoke of him of her own accord, 
 and said she admired his fine sense of justice, and his 
 entire freedom from malice and all uncharitableness. 
 
 " He is not tender by nature," she said. " But his 
 tenderness is growing daily, like some frail plant exposed 
 at last to favourable conditions." 
 
 Mrs Ellerton made no comment on this remark : she 
 had not travelled her thousands of miles without learning 
 tact and discretion. 
 
 But later on, when a suitable occasion presented itself: 
 
 " Yes," she said. " Men are rough creatures. They 
 have to be tamed. I must say it is pathetic when they 
 first show real signs of being influenced by the gentler 
 emotions. Of course they make shocking pretences at it 
 for their own benefit ; but when the real thing comes, 
 there is no mistaking it. I was nearly melted to tears 
 the other day when my Tom discovered, after eight years 
 of ignorance on the point, that I often suffered from 
 shocking neuralgic headaches, and that I was passion- 
 
 254
 
 Madge Carson in Distress 
 
 ately fond of Shakspeare's plays, and never got a chance 
 of seeing them. It was quite a tragedy. You see, poor 
 dears, they learn very slowly. You must not expect too 
 much at first, Nora. It takes a lifetime ! " 
 
 And Nora laughed, in spite of herself. Many a bit 
 of fun, of schoolgirl's fun, grown-up girl's fun, young 
 womanhood's fun, had she and Bessie Ellerton had over 
 every sort and condition of man. Ah, if men could only 
 know how women laugh at them ! 
 
 " Your experiences are not very encouraging," Nora 
 said, cheerfully. " But then Mr Bevan is an exceptional 
 man, and he will learn more quickly than most of them. 
 It is wonderful to me how receptive and impressionable 
 he has become : I am always being touched by his child- 
 like need of kindness." 
 
 Mrs Ellerton said nothing. She nodded her head sym- 
 pathetically, and after that they passed away from the 
 subject. If she had heard anything about Nora's engage- 
 ment, she at least concealed her knowledge with admir- 
 able judgment. Instead of commenting on the character 
 of the man to whom Nora had pledged herself, she gave 
 a spirited account of her travels during the last ten 
 months ; and in conclusion she said : 
 
 " So now we have threshed out the question of Arizona, 
 and I am thankful to say that we shall never go there 
 again, and that my complexion will be saved. It was 
 becoming exactly like a piece of crumpled tissue-paper. 
 That was the last straw. A woman can do without 
 Shakspeare and Ibsen, and even Herbert Spencer and 
 Dante, but she cannot get along with any comfort or 
 self-respect without a complexion. Tom has promised 
 solemnly never to take me to Arizona again, and I am 
 really grateful to him. Yes, my dear old Nora, after 
 eight years of married life, my Tom is learning to be 
 
 255
 
 The Fowler 
 
 human. It looks very much as though we only learnt 
 some of the human virtues when we have not a great 
 deal of time left to practise them. Take my advice, and 
 be careful to encourage your sweetheart's efforts to think 
 occasionally of you instead of himself. But don't be 
 disheartened by failure. For it is a huge undertaking, 
 Nora ! " 
 
 And Nora, poor child, said : 
 
 " I am not likely to be disheartened, Bessie. I know 
 what strides I have already made." 
 
 Mrs Ellerton glanced at her friend's face, grown whiter 
 and thinner, and some words rose to her lips, but she 
 checked them at once. 
 
 And then Nora, closing her eyes, said : 
 
 " Arizona what does that name recall to me ? Oh, 
 yes, I know. Nurse Isabel reading out of a geography- 
 book to Mr Uppingham." 
 
 Her mind went back to the day when she first visited 
 Brian. 
 
 " Ah," said Mrs Ellerton, " and what about Nurse 
 Isabel ? Have you seen her lately ? " 
 
 " No," replied Nora. "On closer acquaintance, I 
 did not care for her. I thought she was not quite 
 steady." 
 
 Mrs Ellerton laughed. 
 
 " My dear girl, since when have you become so highly 
 fastidious ? Moreover, Isabel is miles steadier than most 
 so-called steady people. If you are thinking of ostra- 
 cising Nurse Isabel, I will supply you with a list, a very 
 long list, of far more deserving cases." 
 
 Nora made no answer. Mrs Ellerton, who was leisurely 
 putting on her veil and gloves, continued : 
 
 " I can tell you this about Isabel : she has been a brick 
 to an ill-tempered old mother, has supported her, borne 
 
 256
 
 Madge Carson in Distress 
 
 with her, and loved her, and kept steady and straight 
 for her sake and amid many dangers, specially tempt- 
 ing to a frivolous character like hers. And that, my dear 
 girl, is the only real virtue. You and I probably have 
 not had the chance of being virtuous, because we proba- 
 bly have not had the temptation of being unvirtuous." 
 
 " I think you are right," Nora said, " and I have been 
 forgetting." 
 
 She put her hand up to her head, as though she were 
 in some mental distress. 
 
 "Bessie," she said, "do you think that one person can 
 ever really succeed in stamping out the nature, character, 
 and temperament of another person, so as to leave no 
 faintest trace behind ? " 
 
 " No," said Mrs Ellerton, " I don't believe it possible. 
 Something remains. Think how often one hears of 
 friends, or relations, or husbands and wives bearing and 
 forbearing with each other, giving in, acting, compromis- 
 ing, pretending. But when illness or death comes near, 
 and the mask is laid aside, then one sees the true char- 
 acter, intact or in pieces, but still there. But why should 
 you ask me that ? " 
 
 " I have been wondering about it lately," Nora said, 
 dreamily. " I think nothing remains." 
 
 " Don't you become morbid," Mrs Ellerton said, 
 shaking her head. " Do you remember how you used 
 to arrive at the right moment, and rescue me bodily from 
 4 catacomb-land,' as we called it ? " 
 
 " It was a good name," Nora said, smiling. 
 
 " And an abominable place," Mrs Ellerton said, kissing 
 her. " Don't go there, unless you can't help it. But if 
 you do go, send for me." 
 
 Nora saw her off, and was just closing the front door, 
 when Mrs Ellerton came hurrying back. 
 17 257
 
 The Fowler 
 
 " My dear, I've forgotten the very mission on which 
 I came," she said. " It went out of my mind until we 
 spoke of catacomb-land." 
 
 She then told Nora that she was in great trouble about 
 a friend who, during Mrs Ellerton's absence abroad, had 
 been missed for several months from the social life of 
 the Eagle Club. No one knew what had become of 
 her, until lately, when she was found in a poor part 
 of Kentish Town, ill and poor, and most difficult to 
 help by reason of her pride and reticence. She had had 
 a severe attack of scarlet fever, and, owing to a con- 
 tinued state of weakness after she had left the hospital, 
 ulceration of the cornea of the eyes set in. It was 
 thought that this would in time yield to treatment, good 
 fare, and care. But there lay the difficulty; for she was 
 alone, and seemed to have no incentive to get better. 
 Report said that before her illness some overwhelming 
 grief had broken her spirit. 
 
 " I have been doing my best for her," Mrs Ellerton 
 said, " but, as you know, I am always afraid of being 
 sent spinning off to the other end of the world, and then 
 she would be left entirely to herself again ; for several 
 other people have tried to be good to her, and have been 
 repulsed. She is very difficile. Now, I have set my 
 heart on securing your help, Nora, and I feel sure you 
 are the right person ; for when you are not in the cata- 
 combs yourself, you have a way about you quite irre- 
 sistible. She would feel the force of your vitality and 
 the charm of your simple geniality, and she would not 
 be afraid of you catechising her and prying into her 
 troubles. I assure you, she wants help as much as any 
 one I've ever known, and you are the one to give it." 
 
 " Oh, Bessie," Nora said, her poor troubled heart 
 cheered by these words of praise, " I don't think I should 
 
 258
 
 Madge Carson in Distress 
 
 do much good. There is nothing genial about me now. 
 I feel so different from what I used to be. I have not 
 any go left in me." 
 
 " You have quite enough for poor little Madge 
 Carson," Mrs Ellerton said. 
 
 "Madge Carson!" said Nora. 
 
 " Why, do you know her ? " Mrs Ellerton asked. 
 
 " I have seen her once," Nora said. " And we did 
 not hit it off" 
 
 Mrs Ellerton looked disappointed. 
 
 u Then I suppose you won't go," she said, " and I 
 had set my heart on it." 
 
 " Oh, if you wish it so much, I will go," said Nora, 
 " but I don't think she would consent to see me if she 
 knew my name." 
 
 " But she need n't know it," said Mrs Ellerton, cheer- 
 ing up again. " She won't recognise you poor little 
 child. Her eyes are in such a state that she can't dis- 
 tinguish people in the least, and I can easily say I am 
 sending a dear friend. Leave all that to me." 
 
 Nora hesitated. 
 
 " Of course I will go," she said "I will go to- 
 morrow." 
 
 " You are a dear ! " Mrs Ellerton said, kissing her, 
 and she went off saying to herself : 
 
 " My poor Nora. And this is what he has been 
 making of you." 
 
 And Nora thought : 
 
 " What a pleasure to see an old friend. Bessie has 
 changed. She takes a brighter view of life. And I 
 have changed too, and my brightness has gone. And 
 why ? Am I unhappy or anxious ? Or what is it ? " 
 
 The next morning Nora started off to the address 
 given in Kentish Town. Having once made up her 
 
 2 59
 
 The Fowler 
 
 mind, she was touchingly eager to be of use to this little 
 stricken girl. It was the first time for many months 
 that she had taken any trouble about any one except 
 Theodore Bevan, and she felt an almost childlike pleas- 
 ure in the undertaking ; just as we all feel, when, after 
 a long period of listlessness and irresponsibility, we are 
 suddenly entrusted with a task, and are allowed the 
 dignity and buoyancy of believing that we alone can 
 accomplish it successfully. She bought a few little 
 delicacies, and at length arrived at her destination. 
 The door of the little house was opened by a good- 
 tempered woman, who, in reply to Nora's inquiry after 
 Miss Carson, pointed to the top of the stairs. 
 
 "But you'll have a job to see her if you aren't an 
 intimate," the woman said, looking at Nora with dis- 
 tinct approval. " She is terrible unsociable poor little 
 creature." 
 
 Nora mentioned that she had been sent by Mrs 
 Ellerton, and would take her chance of being dismissed, 
 and passed up-stairs. She knocked at the door, and, 
 after some delay, a voice said, " Come in." Nora went 
 in, and saw Madge Carson lying on the bed. 
 
 " Is that you, Mrs Ellerton ? " she asked, without 
 even turning her face from the wall. " I wish you 
 would not trouble about me." 
 
 " It is not Mrs Ellerton," Nora said, gently. " But 
 I am a friend of hers, and very anxious to see if there 
 was anything I could do for you." 
 
 When Nora was at her best, there was something 
 soothing in her voice. The face held so persistently to 
 the wall turned towards Nora. 
 
 " Mrs Ellerton wrote of you to me, only this morn- 
 ing," the girl said. " She said I was not to be disa- 
 greeable to you. I will try, but it is a difficult matter." 
 
 260
 
 Madge Carson in Distress 
 
 " You would not find it very difficult if you knew how 
 eager I was to come," Nora said, as she drew up a chair 
 to the bedside. " I have not been thinking of any one 
 but myself for many months. I have been out of the 
 running of everything ; and when Bessie Ellerton told 
 me about you yesterday, and suggested that I might 
 venture to call, I felt as though a new path had opened 
 out to me a path which was wide enough to contain 
 some one else as well as myself." 
 
 "Yes, I know one feels like that sometimes," the 
 girl said, wearily, and relapsed into silence and mood- 
 iness. Nora made no attempt to engage her in con- 
 versation, but, in the quietest way possible, set about 
 preparing some nourishing food which she had brought 
 with her, and coaxed the fire into a more pronounced 
 existence. It was a dim light on this February after- 
 noon, but Nora, knowing about Madge's eye-trouble, 
 did not like to suggest lamp or candle. 
 
 When the cup of food was ready, she brought it to 
 the bedside, but to her surprise the girl raised herself 
 and said : 
 
 "I think I will sit by the fire. How good of you to 
 do all this for me ! And I have been so sulky all the 
 time. You will find a lamp on the table in the corner. 
 I shall not mind the light so long as I don't face 
 it." 
 
 She got off the bed, and groped her way to the easy- 
 chair, which Nora had put ready for her. 
 
 " Oh, I'm horribly weak," she said. " The days go 
 on, and I get no better. I am sick and tired of going to 
 that hospital to have my eyes seen to. I ought to have 
 gone to-day." 
 
 " You must let me take you next time," Nora said, 
 kindly. " You ought not to neglect that." 
 
 261
 
 The Fowler 
 
 Madge made no answer, but sipped the gruel, and 
 nodded her head approvingly. 
 
 " Miss Graham," she said, more cheerily than she 
 had yet taken the trouble to speak to her visitor, " this 
 is good. I believe you have put some whisky into 
 it!" 
 
 Nora laughed, and owned that she had, and encouraged 
 by Madge's appreciation and growing friendliness, came 
 to the fireside, and made herself some tea, and chatted 
 away with some of her old animation. She spoke of 
 Mrs Ellerton, and of the fun they always had over the 
 doctors, and the long distances ; and then, strange to say, 
 she found herself drifting to the subject of her old father, 
 and her friends at the King's Head. Something tugged 
 at her heart when Madge Carson said : 
 
 " Ah, you are a lucky girl to have your father still. 
 A father never forsakes one." 
 
 Once or twice Nora rose to go, but Madge begged 
 her to stay on. 
 
 " You have done me good by coming," she said. 
 " Somehow or other I knew when you first spoke that 
 you would not harass me by questions and commisera- 
 tion, but would just take me as I was. I wish I could 
 see you. I am sure you have a dear kind face. I feel 
 as though I should never be able to see any one or any- 
 thing again. But the doctors say that as I get stronger, 
 I shall regain my sight." 
 
 " Then you must get stronger," Nora said. 
 
 " Oh yes, perhaps," she answered, shrugging her 
 shoulders. " I have not yet begun to try seriously, but 
 I suppose I shall try. We all do, whether we have 
 anything to live for, or whether we are merely pelicans 
 in the wilderness. I suppose it is the old instinct of 
 self-preservation." 
 
 262
 
 Madge Carson in Distress 
 
 " Are you quite alone in the world ? " Nora asked, 
 gently. 
 
 " I was not alone until lately just before my illness," 
 Madge said. " Then suddenly, without any warning, 
 my beautiful goblet of happiness was dashed to the 
 ground." 
 
 After this, she crouched over the fire, made no attempt 
 at conversation, and finally lay down on the bed and 
 retired into herself. 
 
 Nora, who had lit the lamp and screened it, glanced 
 at the little book-binder, and was shocked to see the 
 alteration in her appearance : for illness and misery had 
 made havoc of her. She was touched to her very heart 
 to see this little girl in such desolate surroundings, and 
 without even the comfort of being able to do her beauti- 
 ful work. There was something pathetic in the sight 
 of her neglected bench and all the paraphernalia of her 
 craft huddled together in the corner. Nora's heart went 
 out to her, and she felt that Mrs Ellerton was right in 
 saying that here indeed was some one who needed help. 
 Many thoughts rushed through her mind. Had Bessie 
 Ellerton known about Madge's previous meeting with 
 Nora, or was it just one of those strange coincidences 
 which are not so strange after all, considering the smail- 
 ness of an ordinary person's chessboard of life ? Did 
 Madge Carson know who she was, or had she, to please 
 Mrs Ellerton, received Mrs Ellerton's friend on trust ? 
 Oh well, it did not matter. They had been brought 
 together in this unexpected way, and Nora realised that 
 there was a curious feeling of satisfaction and excite- 
 ment in her heart. What would it all end in ? What 
 would Theodore Bevan say ? He must not know. 
 
 Full of these reflections, she lingered on a while, and 
 then, seeing that she could be of no further use that day, 
 
 263
 
 The Fowler 
 
 she bent over Madge to say good-bye. Madge Carson 
 lifted up her face to be kissed. 
 
 " Come to me again soon," she whispered. " Come 
 to-morrow." 
 
 Nora was late home that evening, and she learnt that 
 Theodore Bevan had waited for some time^ and had been 
 obliged to leave. There were a few pencilled lines for 
 her : 
 
 " Where can you have been, my Athene ? I am deso- 
 late, lose all my bearings, my very identity, without you." 
 
 264
 
 The Historian Loves and Works 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 THE HISTORIAN LOVES AND WORKS 
 
 ROGER PENHURST had said to Nora : 
 
 " Brave men do not give up their life's work because 
 women break their hearts." 
 
 It was at least true of Brian Uppingham that he went 
 on with his work, and found his legitimate comfort in 
 being able to use his talents and abilities. Only those 
 who by untoward circumstances have been forced into 
 inactivity, or uncongenial activity, can realise the rapture 
 with which these outcasts enter once more into their in- 
 heritance. It is like the gladness of spring-time. It is 
 like the glow in a maiden's heart in the presence of her 
 lover. It is like a renewal of fellowship with the gods 
 themselves. And all the time, whatever it is, or is not, 
 beautiful and bright floods of sunshine illumine the heart 
 and brain with a rich lustre of gratitude. 
 
 Sometimes, alas ! the impassable barriers guarding the 
 divine inheritance are broken down too late, and the 
 Worker with fading eyes may only dimly recognise his 
 own fair kingdom. 
 
 " And this was mine, and now is mine once more ! " 
 he cries. 
 
 And with the pride of recovered sovereignty, the 
 Worker's spirit passes away from beyond all possibilities 
 of boundary into the Greater Inheritance. But not 
 always even this much of mercy is vouchsafed him, and 
 sometimes those barriers are never broken down. He 
 
 265
 
 The Fowler 
 
 stands outside them and dies standing without one 
 moment's thrill of hope and rapture. 
 
 But Brian's fate was a happier one, and not only was 
 he rejoicing at having reconquered his kingdom, but he 
 was conscious that his strength of brain and mind had 
 been quietly increasing during that long time of illness 
 and waiting. At first he did not realise it, but as the 
 weeks went on and his difficulties of working and think- 
 ing resolved themselves into a simpler problem, he found 
 that he had gained and not lost by his enforced idleness. 
 This alone was an inexpressible joy to him, one of life's 
 compensations for his great soreness in having lost Nora 
 for the time. But he firmly believed that he had not 
 altogether lost her. 
 
 " Some day she will say again : l Brian is waiting,' " 
 he said to himself often and often. 
 
 Every morning of his life he put on his writing-desk a 
 photograph of Nora, given to him by her father. Very 
 tenderly he leaned it against the maiden-hair fern, and 
 when his hours of work were over, very tenderly he 
 transferred it to his breast-pocket. 
 
 He made tremendous strides with the continuation of 
 his History, and as it was necessary for a nature like his 
 to seek encouragement and sympathy, he sought and 
 found it in Nora's father. Every page was read over 
 and approved of or condemned by Roger Penhurst. 
 
 " Good ! " the old man would say, with a quick nod 
 of appreciation. 
 
 u Damned bad ! " he would say on other occasions. 
 " Dull as ditch water. Pluck it out and cast it from 
 thee." 
 
 " But it is my best bit of all," Brian would answer, 
 defiantly. 
 
 " It is the duty of all writers to get rid of all their 
 266
 
 The Historian Loves and Works 
 
 best bits," Roger would answer. "And you know it, 
 Uppingham." 
 
 Roger was generally right in his criticisms, and after 
 a suitable amount of obstinacy, the historian gave in. 
 
 Apart from Brian's own personal work, he went out 
 freely, and enjoyed the companionship of many leading 
 men of the day, in politics and science. His happiest 
 hours were spent in the laboratory of a great chemist, 
 where, as an eager scholar, he learnt some of the won- 
 ders of modern scientific research. It was during this 
 time that his friend discovered the presence in the air of 
 a hitherto unknown gas, and it was Brian himself who 
 had the delight of writing the account in the c Times ' 
 which announced to the world this most important dis- 
 covery. It was one of his great charms that he could 
 enter with whole-hearted enthusiasm into the region of 
 other people's work totally different from his own, offer- 
 ing always the best of his abilities to help in any humble 
 way whatsoever. The music of his life, whatever its 
 quality or limitations, was at least free from that modern 
 peculiarity of an undue insistence of the personal note. 
 So, in this much-loved scientific haven, he got away 
 from himself, his writings, and everything indeed which 
 combines both to help and hamper a literary career ; and 
 he was not often tempted into Puppet Land, though he 
 went sometimes and took his place in the Peep Show. 
 He came back full of enjoyment, and brimming over 
 with quaint comment. He was, in fact, like an un- 
 spoiled child, who had not been to too many tea-parties. 
 But on the few occasions when he was present, he took 
 in all the details in his own direct way. He was so 
 unworldly himself, that nothing impressed him so much 
 as the restless striving after place, position and social 
 influence. 
 
 267
 
 The Fowler 
 
 " It is incredible," he said, " that people should care 
 so much." Once he put the question to one of the 
 brightest and smartest of Society hostesses. 
 
 " Tell me," he said, " tell me, do you really care so 
 desperately for this kind of life and atmosphere ? " 
 
 " Desperately," she answered, smiling. " And do 
 you know why ? Because it was a great struggle to 
 attain to it. At one time I thought others had out- 
 stripped me in the race of social importance. But I 
 gathered myself together and sped on. Only one has 
 always to be on the alert, otherwise a rival gets an 
 undue advantage." 
 
 " How very curious," Brian said, speaking as though 
 he had been told of the habits and characters of an un- 
 known race. " How very curious and interesting." 
 
 She glanced at him to make sure that he was not 
 ridiculing her, and saw that he was just his whole-hearted 
 self. His simplicity and unworldliness touched a soft 
 note of respect in her heart. Later on in the evening 
 she sought him out again. 
 
 u Some day," she said, " I will tell you something 
 more about this fight for social existence and importance, 
 and then you will understand better the working of the 
 wheel within wheel, the intricacies and entanglements 
 and the propelling forces. And you will sum us up 
 very gently, showing all our weaknesses, but not for- 
 getting our bit of strength and our bit of pathos." 
 
 But that evening, when she had retired to her room, 
 Mrs de Lancy, flushed with the triumph of a specially 
 successful function, at which many distinguished people 
 of rank, fortune, and fame were present, thought of 
 Brian Uppingham, and a tender smile passed over her 
 face. 
 
 " Yes," she said, aloud, " and he may well look upon 
 268
 
 The Historian Loves and Works 
 
 us as some strange far-off tribe who have a peculiar way 
 of ' throwing the spear.' " 
 
 Brian had the unconscious power of making people 
 think of him. It was all the same whether it was a 
 Mrs Mary Shaw, a Mrs de Lancy, David the black- 
 smith, the famous chemist, the Master of Trinity, 
 Wullie any one. He had been born to be loved by 
 women, by men, by children, and by animals. He had 
 no idea how greatly women were drawn to him. He 
 went on his way, looking neither to the right nor the 
 left. Nora was ever before him in the distance it is 
 true, but still a distinct vision, which he would see 
 until his eyes could see no more. And he clung to 
 her old father with a persistence which was a curious 
 mixture of the desire to protect and the craving to be 
 protected and helped. If two or three days passed by, 
 and Roger did not put in his appearance at Mecklenburg 
 Square, Brian became uneasy, and sought for him in all 
 his haunts. He often found him in Westminster Abbey. 
 The verger told Brian that his habit was to remain there 
 for hours. 
 
 " I suppose he is in trouble," the man said, kindly. 
 " Many people who are distressed come here, and sit in the 
 dim light and soothing quietness. I know them so well. 
 They never speak. They just wander about dreamily 
 by themselves, and then sink in some corner and rest. 
 Indeed, sir, there could well be written many and many a 
 story about the people who come here to be comforted." 
 
 Sometimes Brian found him in the Egyptian Room 
 of the British Museum. 
 
 " Ah," he said once, " you have given me the slip for 
 three days, and now I find you mooning about literally 
 in Egyptian darkness. Come home to me now. I miss 
 you so dreadfully when you forsake me." 
 
 269
 
 The Fowler 
 
 " My dear lad," the old man said, " I should have got 
 on very badly all this time but for you." 
 
 And arm in arm the two friends went to Brian's 
 home. There was no need of any explanation on those 
 black days : Brian knew that Roger Penhurst was fret- 
 ting about Nora, and that the time was speeding on 
 towards her marriage. 
 
 But one morning Roger arrived in excellent spirits 
 and looking years younger. 
 
 " Nora and the centipede had some falling out," he 
 said, cheerily. " She has been visiting a friend of hers 
 who is ill, and once or twice she has not come home 
 until late. Her manner to him is undergoing a change. 
 She does not seem nearly so cowed at times. All the 
 same, he has a most extraordinary hold on her. And 
 yet she refused the other evening to account to him for 
 her late return. He generally comes in at six. It was 
 fully eight when she arrived. 
 
 " ' I have had things to see after,' she said, quite 
 airily. 
 
 " c You would surely wish to tell me what those 
 things were,' he said. 
 
 u t No, Theodore,' she answered. 4 1 don't care to 
 be coerced into accounting for every minute of my time. 
 Father never asked it of me.' 
 
 41 We were all thunderstruck herself included. 
 She looked frightened after that, and relapsed into her 
 usual submissive manner, but he went away, much 
 annoyed, though he said nothing. I suppose I am an 
 old fool to feel encouraged by this trifling incident, but 
 one never gets too old to be a fool, thank Heaven ! " 
 
 He took heart from that day forth, and mentally lay 
 in wait for further developments. Brian impressed on 
 him the wisdom of not interfering. 
 
 270
 
 The Historian Loves and Works 
 
 " Don't seem to notice any difference," he said. 
 " Above all, don't make any alteration in your everyday 
 habits. Just go quietly on." 
 
 But his own heart beat faster. Could it be that the 
 first brick of the barrier between himself and Nora had 
 been broken down ? He knew, just as her father knew, 
 that directly her own will-power began to assert itself 
 again even in a trifling matter then also would his 
 own chances of regaining her begin to take form and 
 substance. He had not any idea that Theodore Bevan 
 had been coupling his name with Nurse Isabel's, and 
 trying to poison Nora against him. He trusted her 
 implicitly himself, and believed so thoroughly that she 
 was passing through a bad time of impotence and 
 ignorance, from which she would emerge strong and 
 free. It never struck him to doubt her absolute belief 
 in him. And Roger had not told him what Nora had 
 said against him and Nurse Isabel, partly because it was 
 too painful, and partly because he did not believe that 
 Nora really entertained any doubts of Brian's entire 
 loyalty. Her doubts were mere pretences conjured up 
 by the evil magician's wand. 
 
 But one day Brian found it out by himself, in the most 
 ordinary manner. He had not been forgetting that 
 Nurse Isabel's character had been slandered, and that 
 in some mysterious way her best doctors had been 
 warned against her. She had been a long time out of 
 work, and one or two rivals, whom she detested with 
 true womanly hatred, had been deputed to take charge 
 of the cases which usually fell to her share. 
 
 " Being lack'd and lost," she began to think more 
 indulgently of all the dull bishops, authors, philosophers, 
 and irritable old ladies whom she had nursed. And she 
 fretted about her old mother. How was she to give her 
 
 271
 
 The Fowler 
 
 those little luxuries which had become such a necessity ? 
 Well, she could easily sell some of her stamps and other 
 treasures, and raise a few shillings that way until the 
 luck turned again, and if it did not turn, then she would 
 have to sell herself. Her mother need not know, and 
 she herself would not care no one would care. And 
 then she thought of Brian, and her mood changed at 
 once. A wonderful tenderness diffused itself in her 
 heart and spirit. 
 
 "No," she said to herself. "As long as I have a 
 friend in a man like that, I will not do anything to for- 
 feit his esteem. I would rather go and ask him to give 
 or lend me money, and thus help me over this bad 
 wave. And meantime, I will go and took up one or 
 two of my doctors." 
 
 So she went to one of the houses in Richardson 
 Street, and waited for a long time in the depressing 
 reception-room, until a long procession of consulting 
 visitors had paid in their separate two guineas, and 
 received their separate two minutes' advice and ex- 
 amination. Then there came a pause, and during this 
 interval Nurse Isabel was summoned by the reproachful- 
 looking man-servant into the great specialist's sanctum. 
 He looked up from his papers as she came in, and 
 nodded good morning in a kindly enough manner. He 
 was by nature a kind man, and success had not robbed 
 him of his birthright. Like most doctors whether 
 leading London specialists or obscure country practi- 
 tioners he was guilty of innumerable acts of generous 
 helpfulness, not even guessed at by the outside world. 
 
 " I am afraid I have no case for you just at present, 
 Nurse Isabel," he said, a little brusquely. 
 
 " I am badly in want of one, doctor," she said. 
 
 He looked at her, and his face relaxed. He had 
 272
 
 The Historian Loves and Works 
 
 always rather liked Nurse Isabel, and had often per- 
 versely judged her suitable for the most unsuitable cases. 
 
 " The fact is," he said, " unpleasant reports have 
 reached me about you. I cannot afford to employ any 
 nurse who earns a doubtful name for herself. There is 
 too much of that sort of thing nowadays, and I have felt 
 obliged to cross you out of my book. I am very sorry 
 yes, I am very sorry." 
 
 He rose, as all doctors do when they desire to put an 
 end to the interview. 
 
 " It is entirely a false accusation," Nurse Isabel said, 
 quietly. " I may not be an ideal nurse, either in action 
 or aspiration, but I am not a woman of loose character ; 
 and, I think, it is due to me that you should, at least, 
 tell me the name of your informant." 
 
 " I had it direct from one of my colleagues, Dr 
 Morgan," the specialist said ; " and you know that he 
 himself has refused you work. I am not here to decide 
 upon the truth or falsehood of these unpleasant charges 
 against your good name. I merely say that I do not 
 care to go on employing a nurse who is being talked 
 about. It is undesirable and impossible " 
 
 The bell rang, and the man-servant announced 
 another member of the morning's procession. 
 
 " Another time, Nurse Isabel," the doctor said, closing 
 his eyes, and waving his hand vaguely towards the door. 
 Nurse Isabel stepped out into the street, and then 
 paused a moment. 
 
 " When a woman is reported to have lost her good 
 name," she said to herself, " she might just as well go 
 and lose it in earnest, for the world will never again 
 believe in her virtue." 
 
 For a long time she wandered about, and fought a 
 good fight in her mind. Then she went straight back 
 
 18 
 
 273
 
 The Fowler 
 
 to her lonely lodging, and wrote Brian Uppingham a 
 cheery little note which she read with satisfaction. 
 
 u I went to my best specialist to-day, Dr James 
 Mathers, and he told me that he had taken my name off 
 his books, in consequence of some reports which had 
 reached him. It has been a great blow to me, for I 
 always regarded him as my best card. However, I am 
 bearing up with saint-like courage ; and, if the worst 
 comes to the worst, I can at least become a plague nurse. 
 People won't be over-squeamish about the morals or 
 immorals of a plague nurse, and she will be indulgently 
 allowed to sacrifice her life for the benefit of others, 
 even although there may be ugly reports going round. 
 I believe this is all the work of that little wretch 
 Theodore Bevan. And the worst of it is that the ball 
 once set rolling always rolls, because every one takes a 
 pleasure in giving it an extra kick." 
 
 When Brian received this letter, he sat thinking and 
 wondering what to do. He was divided between the 
 desire to go and give Bevan another shaking, and the 
 more sensible plan of visiting Dr James Mathers and 
 trying to set things straight for Nurse Isabel. He chose 
 the latter course. He got a letter of personal intro- 
 duction to Dr Mathers from his friend the chemist, and 
 sent it in with the usual application for a professional 
 interview. The specialist was glad to see him, and 
 welcomed him. 
 
 " But I am sorry you need my help," he said. " I 
 thought you were all right, and pegging away at the 
 continuation of your History." 
 
 " Yes, I am all right, " Brian answered, " and I have 
 come to see you, not about myself, but about a matter 
 which has distressed me." 
 
 He then spoke of Nurse Isabel, and he ended by saying : 
 274
 
 The Historian Loves and Works 
 
 " She may be vain and frivolous, but not worse than 
 most people, and at least she knows it, which most 
 people do not. I stake my own honour on her 
 stability." 
 
 Dr Mathers looked at him with an amused but some- 
 what puzzled smile. 
 
 " It is strange that you should be the one to come and 
 plead for this woman," he said. 
 
 " I don't see that it is strange," Brian answered. 
 " She is down on her luck, and a number of lies are 
 being told about her, and I simply come forward to speak 
 up for her. I ought to know something about her, 
 considering she nursed me for nearly three months." 
 
 " You are supposed to know a great deal about her," 
 Dr Mathers answered, grimly. 
 
 Brian stared. 
 
 "It is your name which is being chiefly- coupled with 
 hers," the specialist added. " Therefore I may well 
 think it strange that you should come and plead for her 
 to me. It is not the fashion for us men to care greatly 
 about the fate of the women whom we drag down." 
 
 But even as Dr Mathers spoke, he noticed the look of 
 unutterable astonishment on his visitor's face. Brian 
 might have sustained a severe but subtle shock. His 
 colour became ashen. 
 
 " I have never dragged her down," he said, quietly. 
 " If it is only my name which is doing an injury to her 
 good name, then I can doubly testify to the utter 
 falseness of the reports, and can trace them direct to 
 their origin. Our names have been coupled together in 
 order to injure us both in the eyes of some one very dear 
 to her and to me, dearer than life and light. It looks 
 after all as though I had been dragging Nurse Isabel 
 down, if she is to be included in a mean revenge 
 
 275
 
 The Fowler 
 
 measured out principally for me. But there has never 
 been anything questionable between us." 
 
 The quiet dignity of the man carried its own value 
 wherever he went. The great specialist, so accustomed 
 to observe and analyse, knew that he was dealing with a 
 good and pure-hearted man. But he said nothing ; he 
 was not a man of many words. He opened a large 
 note-book and played absently with his stylographic pen. 
 
 Then he spoke : 
 
 " I do myself the honour, Mr Uppingham, of 
 believing entirely in your honour. And you see I am 
 writing Nurse Isabel's name in my book again. If she 
 has a friend like you to plead for her, she must be worth 
 retaining. I am quite sure of that." 
 
 He grasped Brian warmly by the hand, and when 
 alone, he leaned back in his chair and thought of him 
 with a peculiar kind of tenderness. 
 
 " A dear fellow," he said, with a smile. 
 
 Even after a long procession of clients and coins, and 
 all the ills and aches of suffering modern rich humanity, 
 his mind wandered away to Brian. 
 
 " A dear fellow," he said again, " and as clear as 
 crystal." 
 
 276
 
 A Heart's Outpouring 
 
 CHAPTER V 
 A HEART'S OUTPOURING 
 
 ROGER PENHURST followed Brian's advice, and appeared 
 to be taking no notice of the change which was coming 
 over Nora's extraordinary infatuation. He studied his 
 Persian with redoubled enthusiasm, and did not give any 
 sign of desiring her companionship. But he often saw 
 her looking at him with wistful eyes, and it required a 
 strong effort of self-control to prevent him from throw- 
 ing off the mask of indifference, which fitted him so 
 uncomfortably. He longed to take her to his heart 
 again. He longed to ask her to listen to some fine old 
 Italian melodies which he had unearthed. But he tried 
 to be wise, and let her go her own way ; and although 
 she had referred several times to the friend whom she 
 was nursing, he asked no questions, and merely told her 
 that he was glad that she had some one in whom to be 
 interested. Theodore Bevan, on the other hand, knew 
 nothing about Nora's visits to a sick friend, and he could 
 not account for her variability of mood and manner. 
 
 He wrote in his journal : 
 
 " My Athene is most trying at times. Still, I have 
 every hope of subduing her. I am often at a loss which 
 weapon to employ : the weapon of being alone and 
 unloved in the world, or the weapon of tenderness, or of 
 masterfulness. But it is worth the trouble, and, by God ! 
 when she is thoroughly tamed, she shall remain tamed. 
 I have a strong hold on her, although she is always 
 trying to shake herself free. But she shall not escape 
 
 277
 
 The Fowler 
 
 from me. And I do not intend to do without her. 
 She is the only being that has ever roused in me the 
 faintest idea of love And I will have her, and to do 
 what I like with. She shall not thwart me like this 
 no one shall thwart me. I have set my heart on 
 her, my will on her ; and the stronger her desire to slip 
 away from me, the stronger my determination to hold 
 her against all odds. . . . Can it be that she has heard 
 things against me and that she is beginning to doubt my 
 sense of justice and my wonderful freedom from malice 
 and all uncharitableness ? " 
 
 He decided on the wisest plan in the circumstances, 
 and used the irresistible weapon of being alone and 
 unloved in the world. 
 
 " There is a shadow on your heart about me, my 
 Athene," he said, very gently, one evening, when he 
 came in and found her in her wonted place at home. 
 She had never been late after the one occasion when she 
 had refused to give any account of her movements. 
 " There is a shadow on your heart about me." 
 
 He looked miserable, and in the very last stages of 
 decline. It was most curious what a power he had of 
 suddenly making himself appear as though at death's door. 
 That ashen look on his face always went straight to 
 Nora's heart, and he knew it. 
 
 " Do not ever desert me," he said, smiling at her with 
 indescribable pathos and appeal. " You have all my 
 life's happiness yes, and my life itself in your hands. 
 You led me out of my death-like loneliness, and made 
 me live and love. It is your duty to stand by me. 
 The day you turn from me, my Athene, will be my 
 last day on earth." 
 
 After this, Nora had another wave of tenderness for 
 him, and Bevan was satisfied that his influence over her 
 
 278
 
 A Heart's Outpouring 
 
 remained unimpaired. But he wished to push on the 
 wedding, which had been arranged for June. When, 
 however, he suggested this to her, she would not hear 
 of it. So he let it alone ; but sometimes he brought in 
 a wedding present for her; and the very way in which 
 he offered it was pathetic in itself. 
 
 u You see I have no relations who would naturally 
 offer you a gift of greeting. So I must be my own 
 mother and father, my own uncles and aunts, my own 
 cousins." 
 
 He brought her beautiful gifts, carefully chosen ones 
 too : books and pictures, and fine old silver. 
 
 " This is what my aunt sends you," he said, pointing 
 to a splendid old Queen Anne's silver tea-service, and 
 smiling with a kind of melancholy pride. 
 
 Nora was touched by his devotion to her, and ashamed 
 of all her conflicting emotions and doubts ; for he had 
 never lost the power of making her feel in the wrong. 
 She was always uneasy about him, and went through 
 miseries of self-reproach when she wounded his sensi- 
 tiveness by doubt or neglect or indifference. All the 
 same, she was nearer to emancipation than she knew. 
 She had been endlessly kind to little Madge Carson, who 
 had proved at first a most unmanageable subject. Her 
 moroseness and ungraciousness were so persistent, that 
 Nora began to feel the task an impossible one, and wrote 
 so to Mrs Ellerton, who had suddenly sailed for South 
 Africa. And one day she told Madge Carson that she 
 would not be coming again. 
 
 " You seem to resent my coming," Nora said. " If 
 it were any pleasure to you, I should feel differently 
 about it." 
 
 The only answer the girl gave, was to burst out 
 crying. 
 
 279
 
 The Fowler 
 
 " Oh, don't forsake me ! " she cried. " I look forward 
 so much to your visits. You don't know how much I 
 look forward to them. It is just my horrid pride and 
 reserve which make me such a boor ; and then I am so 
 miserable and down on my luck that makes me a boor 
 too. But, indeed, I am grateful, do believe that." 
 
 " My dear girl, I don't want gratitude," Nora said, 
 bending over her. " I only wish to be sure that you do 
 not prefer my absence to my presence. Come, cheer up ! 
 I won't forsake you, if you really want me. I assure 
 you I am glad enough to have any one to help ever so 
 little and you more than any one. And you need a 
 little companionship and kindness just now, and I need 
 to give it. For, if you only knew, I am myself miserable 
 enough. So you see it is a give-and-take, and you must 
 not feel it necessary to your pride to be so forbidding and 
 disagreeable. I understand all about the pride, and you 
 can put it away quite light-heartedly. Some day, when 
 your turn comes, I'll put mine away. Now, is that a 
 bargain ? " 
 
 The ice broke with a crash, and the two women drew 
 closer together; and it was wonderful to see how Madge 
 Carson began to gather up strength under these more 
 favourable conditions of mind and spirit. With re- 
 newal of strength came renewal of hopefulness about 
 her plans for the future. She put aside all her reserve, 
 and every day endeared herself more and more to Nora. 
 Bits of fun flashed out, sparks of mischief too ; but gen- 
 erally, after an outburst of merriment, she fell into the 
 depths of misery ; and it was on one of these occasions 
 that Nora ventured to ask her what was the nature of 
 her secret trouble. She turned her almost blind eyes to 
 Nora, as though wishing to scan her face. 
 
 " I think I should like to tell you," she said, and with- 
 280
 
 A Heart's Outpouring 
 
 out pausing a moment, she plunged into the story of her 
 life. It seemed as though she were only too thankful to 
 ease her heart to Nora, and all her thoughts and feelings 
 and emotions came bounding out, glad to be released. 
 She spoke about her school-days, her life at home, and 
 her many ambitions. 
 
 " And just when I was in the hey-day of good health 
 and good spirits, self containedness and bumptiousness," 
 she said, " I met a very strange little man, who first 
 repelled me, and then attracted me, and then repelled me, 
 and then attracted me and held me fast. He had some 
 subtle kind of mesmeric power, and he mesmerised me." 
 
 She paused, and Nora's heart beat faster. Was it 
 right for her to go on listening, without telling Madge 
 Carson who she really was ? And yet there would be 
 no harm done to any one and Nora had a craving to 
 hear the whole story in this untrammelled way. If she 
 told Madge Carson that it was Nora Penhurst who had 
 been tending her all these weeks, she knew that a barrier 
 would immediately rise up between them not unsur- 
 mountable, but still a temporary hindrance and Nora 
 felt she could brook no delay. So she gave no sign, and 
 Madge Carson went on : 
 
 " One may call this curious influence by whatever 
 name one chooses, but I do not pretend to be telling 
 you anything sensational, or grotesquely out of the way. 
 That is the affair of the fiction-writers : they are obliged 
 to dress up their facts. But I only have to do with the 
 fundamental idea. The man mesmerised me, and entirely 
 against my will. I never wished to give in one inch to 
 him, and yet before a few weeks were over, he had me 
 completely in subjection, mind and spirit. It was my 
 mind that he wanted to seduce ; he let me recognise in 
 his own subtle way how safe I was with him in all other 
 
 281
 
 The Fowler 
 
 respects. And that gave him a tremendous power over 
 me, and he knew it, and used it to wither up everything 
 that was bright and joyous in my nature " 
 
 Nora bent forward and stirred the fire. Ah, she 
 knew. 
 
 Madge continued : 
 
 " It was much more satisfaction to a character like 
 his to make a mental wreck of a woman instead of 
 merely entrapping her in the usual way. So he took 
 the flowers of my mind, and turned them into hideous 
 weeds, and I don't think any man can do a worse thing 
 to any woman. He was full of rank poison, and his 
 daily joy was to inject me with it. And I never knew. 
 But those around me knew ; and they tried to beat him 
 off, as one might a foul reptile. I did not understand 
 all that until afterwards. But there came a day when I 
 awoke, and found myself alone and friendless. Every 
 one had been successfully hounded away by him and by 
 me, for he had taught me to see life through his eyes, 
 and I had hurled my bolt of scorn and distrust against 
 everything. But one day I awoke, and was free again. 
 It was the day my darling old aunt died, and as I bent 
 over her in those last moments, I realised in one flash of 
 intelligence how I had hastened her end by her anxiety 
 for me, and by my neglect and indifference, and by my 
 scorn of her old age. And now it was all too late. 
 
 " 4 My darling,' she whispered, * that man your 
 
 enemy my ene ' The word died on her lips, but 
 
 she looked imploringly to me. i Auntie,' I cried, l I see 
 it all now I am free from him you must live, dar- 
 ling, and we will regain our happiness.' ... A faint 
 smile passed over her dear face, and she died." 
 
 Madge Carson buried her face in her hands, and 
 seemed to have relapsed into a permanent silence. Nora 
 
 282
 
 A Heart's Outpouring 
 
 waited. Her face was very pale. The room was quite 
 dark, save for the light of the fire ; and there was no 
 sound in the house, nor outside in the little by-street. 
 
 At last Madge went on : 
 
 " It took me many months to right myself from Theo- 
 dore Bevan's influence, but, in the fulness of time, my 
 spirit lifted itself up again, and a smile came back into 
 my heart. I went away, and worked hard at book- 
 binding and gold-tooling. That braced me up. But I 
 missed him more than I can say for he had wormed 
 himself into my heart. I had to recall to myself 
 sternly his mean-spiritedness, his paltriness, his quiet 
 maliciousness." 
 
 " His maliciousness ? " Nora said. " I had always 
 thought him singularly free from malice." 
 
 But Madge did not heed her. 
 
 " And at last I recovered myself," she said. " And I 
 made a sacred vow, that whenever I heard of Theodore 
 Bevan in connection with any other woman, I would 
 seek her out, no matter who she was, and warn her 
 against that little human devil. Two occasions arose, 
 and I fulfilled my vow. Of course, I did no good at 
 the time. The Bishop's daughter said that doubtless I 
 meant well, but that Theodore Bevan was not the man 
 he appeared to my distorted vision ; and when some 
 stray truths came home to her, some unwelcome ac- 
 centuations of her own secret misgivings, she wept on 
 my shoulder, and then cried from rage for having been 
 so weak, and then apologised for her temper. She 
 seems later on to have rescued herself from his in- 
 fluence, and she married into the army. And the 
 other woman " 
 
 Nora bent nearer to her : 
 
 " Yes, and the other woman ? " she said, eagerly. 
 283
 
 The Fowler 
 
 " Ah, that is where all the trouble to me comes in," 
 Madge Carson said, bitterly ; " it is because I was fool 
 enough to bother myself about that other woman, that 
 I have been so cruelly punished. It was all wasted 
 on her, and she could have very well looked after her- 
 self hard, scornful creature and I should have spared 
 myself the injury which Theodore Bevan contrived as 
 his revenge." 
 
 Nora's hands were clasped tightly over her knee. 
 She bit her lips. 
 
 " Oh, it was a simple enough revenge," continued 
 Madge Carson, in the same tone of bitterness ; " but it 
 was masterly because irresistible. I had picked up 
 the threads of my life again, and I was engaged to a 
 man whom I loved with all my heart my employer 
 a master-bookbinder. I had never loved any one but 
 him. I did not love Theodore Bevan. And coming 
 after all that stress and strain of spirit, my love for him, 
 and his for me, seemed like 4 the white presences of the 
 gods.' But suddenly he turned against me. I saw the 
 change in him, and wondered what I could have done 
 to offend, and then by degrees the truth came out. He 
 had been told evil stories of me and he believed them. 
 Some one had taken my virtue, and torn it in shreds 
 for me and he saw it now only as a tattered rag. I 
 do not judge him harshly, for the best of men believe 
 at once evil things of a woman. It has always been so. 
 And the best of women find it hard to believe evil 
 things of a man ; and when they are forced to believe, 
 they forgive. It has always been so. But the whole 
 thing broke me up ; it ploughed into me terribly. He 
 offered to continue to give me work my gold-tooling 
 was satisfactory, even if my character was not. But 
 I could not accept it from him ; and so I drifted into 
 
 284
 
 A Heart's Outpouring 
 
 indifference and poverty, and fell ill from scarlet fever. 
 And you know the rest. But I sit and think of what 
 my life might have been, if I had gone my own way, 
 and let Theodore Bevan go his unchecked. Then I 
 should have kept my love, and not known that he 
 would have doubted me and turned from me if the 
 test came." 
 
 " And are you sure that it was Theodore Bevan who 
 spread these reports against you ? " Nora asked. 
 
 " Absolutely sure," Madge Carson answered. " I 
 heard it from my master-bookbinder himself. No one 
 else but Bevan could have thrown such a reality over an 
 untruth ; for our intimacy looked compromising enough 
 to satisfy all the hungry mouths and cackling tongues." 
 
 " And that other woman ? " Nora asked falteringly. 
 " What of her ? " 
 
 " I know nothing more of her. I hope never to see 
 her again," Madge answered, with renewed bitterness. 
 " She has brought all this trouble on me." 
 
 " But she was not to know that," Nora said, in plead- 
 ing tones. " And you yourself sought the interview 
 
 it was not her wish you pressed it on her " 
 
 " And how do you know that I myself sought the 
 interview?" Madge Carson asked. 
 
 " You told me so," Nora said ; " and it was not likely 
 that she would have been very friendly. She would 
 not have been at her best. How could she be ? You 
 would not have been at your best. And after all, she 
 was in the very net from which you had only just 
 freed yourself. She was probably very unhappy, and 
 full of doubts and misgivings ; and probably, as the time 
 went on, she became still more unhappy, and could 
 not, could not free herself from this man's influence 
 
 did not know how did not always want to know 
 
 285
 
 The Fowler 
 
 how, for in his own way he loved and needed her; and 
 that made her bondage the greater. Indeed, indeed, 
 you are hard on her she would not have wished to 
 bring unhappiness on you. If she had known it, she 
 would have come to you long ago, and held out her arms 
 to help and comfort you. There was nothing she would 
 not have done to bring balm to your troubled spirit. 
 She would have " 
 
 Madge Carson stood up and stiffened herself. 
 
 The truth broke in upon her. 
 
 "You seem to know a great deal about that other 
 woman," she said, in a low voice. 
 
 She stood there, a little, rigid, defiant figure. There 
 seemed to be no compromise about her. 
 
 But Nora put her hand fearlessly on Madge's 
 shoulders. 
 
 " Don't be hard on that other woman," she said, gen- 
 tly. " She has learnt to love you." 
 
 And the next moment they were both seated close to- 
 gether on the sofa, tear-stained hand in tear-stained 
 hand. 
 
 286
 
 Cowardice 
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 COWARDICE 
 
 IT was about six o'clock of that same evening when 
 Nora, who had not recovered from the shock of hearing 
 Madge Carson's pitiful story, sat in the drawing-room of 
 her home, working at her embroidery on a frame, and 
 occasionally looking up at Theodore Bevan looking up 
 at him as though she would have given anything in the 
 world to speak out her many tumultuous thoughts. 
 But his presence and individuality always constrained 
 her. He paralysed her tongue as well as her heart and 
 brain. She was afraid of him. And he was particularly 
 charming that night almost boyishly playful. He had 
 brought another wedding-present, a beautiful little read- 
 ing-lamp. 
 
 " That is what my youngest brother would have 
 given you, if I had ever had one ! " he said. 
 
 No, she felt she could not speak with him about little 
 Madge Carson that night ; perhaps to-morrow or the 
 next day some day and some hour when she could 
 conquer her cowardice. She knew it was cowardice. 
 She was ashamed of it. But she could not over- 
 come it. 
 
 The bell rang, and a strange thrill passed through her. 
 The door was opened by the servant, and Brian Upping- 
 ham came in. He glanced at Nora, at Bevan, at the 
 wedding-gifts on the table. He looked pale, but quietly 
 determined. 
 
 " Miss Penhurst," he said, " I think you will not re- 
 287
 
 The Fowler 
 
 fuse to grant me just two minutes' hearing. No, no, 
 Mr Bevan, I take no orders from you." 
 
 Theodore Bevan turned to Nora. His mobile face 
 was distorted with rage and every kind of evil passion. 
 He struck terror into her heart. There was no trace 
 now of that boyish tenderness and simplicity and yearn- 
 ing to be loved. She saw in that moment the outward 
 
 O 
 
 and visible sign of the real Theodore Bevan a man 
 cruel and malevolent. But in the next instant he had 
 composed his features. 
 
 "Tell him to go," he said, huskily, to Nora; "tell 
 him to go." 
 
 But Nora had gathered together some of her old 
 independence and spirit. 
 
 " No," she cried. " Mr Uppingham shall stay and 
 speak his mind." 
 
 At her words a glow of tenderness spread itself over 
 Brian's troubled countenance. 
 
 " Ah ! " he said, gently, " I have no wish to harass you, 
 and I did not even realise that you would not be alone. 
 But since Mr Bevan is here, I am glad to meet him 
 again, and in your presence. Once before, I met him 
 face to face, and laid hands on him. I dare say you 
 know all about that. Then he sought his revenge on 
 me, to which of course he was entitled. I do not blame 
 him for deciding on that particular kind of revenge 
 which would wound me more than anything else the 
 loss of your esteem. But he used a poisoned blade. It 
 was only yesterday that I learnt from more sources than 
 one, that he had been maliciously circulating Nurse 
 Isabel's name about with mine. It has been very hard 
 on her, and she has been suffering from poverty and 
 disheartenment. And I have been suffering from the 
 grief of fearing that you believed those evil words of her 
 
 288
 
 Cowardice 
 
 and me. So I am here to-day to tell you in the name 
 of my dear mother who brought me up to safeguard a 
 woman's honour, and not to wreck it I am here to 
 tell you in her dear name, that Nurse Isabel and I have 
 never been anything except the kindliest comrades ; and 
 if Mr Bevan has made you think otherwise even with 
 a passing shadow of a thought then, indeed, he has had 
 his full revenge on me. Nothing on earth could have 
 wounded me more. But I have at least the right to tell 
 you that we have been maligned, and you misjudge 
 Nurse Isabel if you believe any of the scandals about 
 her, strewn broadcast by Mr Bevan. It is the very 
 meanest thing for a man to do to a woman, because he 
 knows it to be effectual, even in these so-called advanced 
 days. And now that is all I came to 3^7. I thank you 
 with my whole heart, Miss Penhurst, for hearing me out." 
 
 The door closed, and he had gone. 
 
 If Theodore Bevan would only have spoken one single 
 indignant word against Brian and his visit ; if he had 
 turned on Nora and let loose his anger on her for having 
 dared allow the intruder to linger in the room; if he 
 had shown any sign whatsoever of antagonism or re- 
 sentment, Nora's spirit would have broken from its 
 prison-house that night. 
 
 But he said nothing at all. He crouched over the 
 fire, shivered, put on a fresh log, shivered again, looked 
 the very picture of illness, childlike helplessness, and 
 loneliness ; and his apathy numbed her. She made 
 no comments. She asked no questions. She thought 
 of little Madge Carson and her master bookbinder; of 
 Nurse Isabel and her damaged reputation ; of the his- 
 torian and his dignified denial. And she thought of 
 Theodore Bevan's distorted face. And she too shivered. 
 
 But she remained silent. 
 19 289
 
 The Fowler 
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 THE REINSTATEMENT OF NURSE ISABEL 
 
 THE great specialist sent for Nurse Isabel, much to her 
 astonishment, for she had regarded his dismissal of her 
 as final. He told her that the reason he had written 
 her on his books again was that he had received a visit 
 from Brian Uppingham, which had greatly impressed 
 him. 
 
 " He came to speak up for you," the doctor said, in 
 his practical, rather brusque way. " I was utterly sur- 
 prised at his coming, because in the reports which reached 
 me, it was his name which was coupled with yours." 
 
 " His name coupled with mine ? " Nurse Isabel 
 repeated. 
 
 " He evidently had no idea of the nature of the report," 
 continued the doctor, glancing at her with his keen eyes. 
 11 And he was able to deny it as man to man. Do you 
 mean to say that you also did not know of this ? Yet 
 you knew that slurs were being cast on your reputation. 
 I told you so myself, and that I did not care to be 
 bothered with the ins and outs of the matter." 
 
 " You never even gave me a chance of denying this or 
 any other slander," Nurse Isabel said. " Oh yes, I 
 knew that unpleasant things were being said against me, 
 but until now it never struck me as possible that Mr 
 Uppingham's name could be dragged in to injure me 
 and him. He has always been most kind to me, and 
 I should be the last person to wish to wound him. 
 I nursed him for three months. He laughed at my follies 
 
 290
 
 The Reinstatement of Nurse Isabel 
 
 and frivolities and all my professional and human short- 
 comings, and I often thought him intolerably slow " 
 
 (The doctor smiled. There was something very 
 quaint in Nurse Isabel's frankness.) 
 
 and depressing. And when it was all over, and 
 he had gone back to his usual work, I found I was a 
 stronger woman, with a stronger hold on the best things 
 in life. And that is the whole history of it from begin- 
 ning to end." 
 
 The Doctor had risen from his comfortable arm-chair. 
 This great specialist was great enough to be feeling 
 ashamed of himself. 
 
 " The fact is, Nurse," he said, furridging amongst his 
 papers, " the fact is, that in the hurry and scurry after 
 wealth and position, one is liable to think only of one's 
 own self, and of what is conducive to one's own interests 
 and comfort. One has scarcely the time to be human, 
 and never the time to be just. I felt that I had quite 
 enough to do without examining into the pros and cons 
 of your morality. It was far easier to scratch your name 
 off my books. Cowardly of me and like a man. But 
 I am very sorry. Pray forgive me, and take this case 
 from me. Some day, when I have leisure, I will talk 
 further with you. You women are strange creatures. 
 And look here when you have done with this partic- 
 ular patient, I shall have plenty of other work for you. 
 And I will see you safely through these troubled waters." 
 
 He patted her kindly on the arm, gave her all his 
 instructions, and dismissed her. Meanwhile the electric 
 bell had been sounding incessantly, and the over-heated 
 waiting-room was being filled up with the usual crowd 
 of sufferers real and imaginary. But when Nurse 
 Isabel had left him, and he had returned to his usual 
 impersonal routine, it was a satisfaction to him to feel 
 
 291
 
 The Fowler 
 
 that he had spared the time to be human. It influ- 
 enced the whole of his morning's work too ; and he 
 prescribed easier distances for hopeless cases, and less 
 impossible undertakings for those who were short of 
 time and money. And some people only paid half 
 fees that day, and others paid nothing. But that was 
 not anything unusual in his or any one else's consult- 
 ing-room. And Nurse Isabel went on her way, torn 
 by many varying emotions, of gratitude, relief, vexation, 
 and distress. She was wounded beyond all words for 
 her historian's sake. That was her first and strongest 
 concern. She thought of his clean life and upright man- 
 hood j and with all the real generosity and unselfishness 
 of her nature she was indignant for him. Truly women 
 are curious complicated creatures such subtle entangle- 
 ments of heart and head, worldliness and spirituality. 
 She did not say : 
 
 " Oh ! it does not matter for a man. He can look 
 after himself; a little more or less of that sort of thing 
 makes no difference to him in his social life, and the 
 women think it is smart and suitable." 
 
 No, she did not dismiss it like that. She thought of 
 his deep unalterable love for Nora, and that it would 
 wound him cruelly to think that she would have heard 
 this, and perhaps been influenced by that little Bevan to 
 believe it. She saw the whole process clearly : Bevan's 
 revenge on her for her interference between him and 
 Nora in the old days, and his fixed determination to keep 
 her out of Nora's life, because he knew that she read and 
 understood him, and therefore she was dangerous ; and 
 Bevan's revenge on Brian Uppingham carried out in 
 this simple but effectual plan of depreciating him in the 
 eyes of the woman whom he loved. It was a capital 
 idea of his, to kill two birds with one stone. It was 
 
 292
 
 The Reinstatement of Nurse Isabel 
 
 true economy of labour. Nurse Isabel pictured to her- 
 self the expression on his face when he was evolving 
 this scheme. 
 
 " Little contemptible earth-man," she said to herself 
 as she went along. " If I only could see him, I'd like 
 to horsewhip him." 
 
 Engrossed with these thoughts, she passed into a 
 restaurant in Oxford Street. She made up her mind 
 to take a good lunch in celebration of her reinstatement, 
 and then, before entering on her new professional duties 
 in the evening, to hurry off to see Nora Penhurst. She 
 settled herself down at the only table where there was a 
 vacancy. There was a man buried in a newspaper, but 
 she did not even glance at him. She studied the menu, 
 and ordered her lunch with her usual air of a princess 
 incognita what an admirable and helpful attribute in 
 this snobbish old world ! and then the man emerged 
 from the newspaper. It was Theodore Bevan. There 
 they sat, side by side, those two, and never spoke. A 
 less worldly woman than Nurse Isabel would perhaps 
 have spoken. Her rage and indignation would have got 
 the mastery over her discretion. But she knew better. 
 He might have charged her with annoying him. As a 
 matter of fact, directly he recognised her, he made up 
 his mind that if she addressed him, he would have her 
 removed and thus disgrace her. But she was discreetly 
 silent and self-contained, and contented herself with 
 glancing at him and wondering more than ever what 
 Nora could have found in him to admire. And then 
 she thought of Brian. And it was for this little worm 
 that the historian had been put on one side. It was 
 scarcely credible. And it was this little worm who 
 had been deliberately injuring her own good name, and 
 burrowing where no one might see him at work. Nurse 
 
 293
 
 The Fowler 
 
 Isabel nearly had a seizure from suppressed rage, but 
 she did not give in ; she sat there and ate her lunch, 
 ordered her coffee, sipped it leisurely, paid her bill with 
 graceful condescension, put on her gloves in a sort of 
 poetical reverie, and finally went on her way. 
 
 " Little beast ! " she thought. " At least he cannot 
 think that his presence embarrassed me." 
 
 She had no idea that it was her presence which em- 
 barrassed him ; for he was himself full of unrest. He 
 had lost or mislaid his journal, that record of his thoughts 
 meant for no eyes except his. He had been feeling over- 
 wrought these last few days, and at times strangely 
 absent-minded. Was it possible that he had strapped 
 it up with the volumes which he had sent back to the 
 library, or had he perhaps included it in the box of 
 second-hand books despatched that day to a Working 
 Men's Club in the North ? Oh, perhaps, after all, it 
 was reposing in some safe corner in his room : still, he 
 had looked for it until he was dazed. What books had 
 he taken to Nora last evening ? Was it possible ? 
 A horrible fear came into his mind, and then he dis- 
 missed it, and remembered with relief that he had tied 
 together an edition de luxe of 'Omar Khayyam' and 
 Shelley, taken them to Nora's home, and placed them 
 on the table where his other wedding-presents were 
 kept. Brian Uppingham's sudden appearance on the 
 scenes had made him forget to give them to her, 
 and had indeed upset all his quiet calculations. He 
 had hoped that none of his plans and methods would 
 have revealed themselves until after his marriage with 
 Nora. After marriage nothing mattered. When he had 
 once got her safely under his roof as his wife, he would 
 allow none of these ups and downs, these varying moods, 
 these periods of doubt and belief. There should be an 
 
 294
 
 The Reinstatement of Nurse Isabel 
 
 unbroken submission. He had made up his mind about 
 that. And whenever he thought of it his face grew 
 harder and more determined. If Nora could have seen 
 him thus, what would she have thought ? But she had 
 had a glimpse of his real nature as expressed on his 
 countenance; and the consciousness of that added to 
 his mental uneasiness. And now that detestable woman 
 Nurse Isabel cropped up from nowhere to accentuate 
 his fears. Supposing that she, as well as the historian, 
 took it into her head to go straight to Nora ? But 
 perhaps the report had not yet reached her for prob- 
 ably Uppingham had not told her. And reports gener- 
 ally reached last of all the very people against whom 
 they were levelled. He became more uneasy. Sup- 
 posing she was on her way even now ? Theodore 
 Bevan hurriedly paid his bill and followed her. Yes, 
 he saw her get into an omnibus which would land her 
 near Nora's home. Of course she might not be going 
 there but there was the chance. He took a hansom, 
 and of course arrived first. The servant told him that 
 Nora was out, but he passed into the drawing-room. 
 The servant disliked him, but she could not help 
 noticing how ill he looked. 
 
 " At least I shall be here to prevent my Athene from 
 seeing that odious woman, if she does come," he 
 thought. 
 
 He went straight to the table where Nora kept some 
 of her wedding gifts, and there to his unutterable relief 
 he found the edition de luxe of ' Omar Khayyam ' tied 
 up with a handsome volume of Shelley, and with noth- 
 ing else. That was his own especial knot, and thes 
 parcel had been put on one side and forgotten. Then 
 the journal had either gone to the North, or else was 
 waiting with the six library books in his offices in the 
 
 295
 
 The Fowler 
 
 City. He knew it was not likely that he would have 
 made such a terrible mistake, but even the coolest heads 
 blundered sometimes, and for the moment he had been 
 anxious. Ah, that journal ! How many profitable 
 hours he had spent over it ! How he had loved it, and 
 lingered over it ! It was intolerable that he should 
 have misplaced it. More than once he determined to 
 hurry away and renew his searches for it, but his dogged 
 persistence deterred him from leaving Nora's home. 
 So he waited. 
 
 Now it so happened that Roger Penhurst got into 
 the same omnibus with Nurse Isabel, and they came 
 together. She had not seen him for some time, and 
 the change in his appearance shocked her. Still, the 
 old geniality was there, though modified by sadness. 
 
 " Thank you, my dear," he said, as she gave him a 
 help out of the omnibus. " I feel about a hundred and 
 three to-day, but not too old not to feel considerably 
 younger when a charming damsel like yourself deigns 
 to smile on my unworthy and prehistoric self." 
 
 She told him about Brian and herself and the doctor, 
 and that she owed it both to herself and the historian 
 to see Nora personally. Roger knew that she had 
 called at the house several times, and that Nora had 
 made excuses about seeing her, and finally had asked 
 her not to come. 
 
 " But you shall see her this time, my dear," the old 
 man said. " We will go straight up to my study, and 
 when she comes in I will send for her. Not that it 
 will do any good. That Bevan fellow has completely 
 changed her. And to think that in six weeks from 
 to-morrow she marries him." 
 
 He stopped in the middle of the pavement and tapped 
 the ground with his stick. 
 
 296
 
 The Reinstatement of Nurse Isabel 
 
 " That is the day I think I am going to die," he said. 
 And then he added, with pathetic humour, " But of course 
 I shall not. Things don't fit in like that in life. And 
 I shall probably live for ages yet, and take up Sanskrit, 
 and learn to bicycle. In fact, my dear, I have ordered 
 the bicycle. And I had my first lesson this morning ! " 
 
 When they reached his home, he told the servant to 
 send Nora up to his study when she came in, and merely 
 to say that he wished to see her at once. 
 
 " Mr Bevan is waiting in the drawing-room," the 
 servant said. 
 
 "Ah," said Roger, "be sure and send Miss Nora 
 direct to me. Mr Bevan can continue to wait." 
 
 Then Nurse Isabel and Roger went upstairs, and the 
 kind old man signed to her to take his easy-chair. There 
 was an air of desolation about the room, which seemed 
 to correspond with the vague sort of desolation encom- 
 passing Nora's old father. There were little signs of 
 neglect which only a woman would notice. The plants 
 were dead in the pots. One or two of the pictures were 
 awry. The c Dreshout Shakspeare ' had broken its string 
 and fallen down. 
 
 " I don't spend much of my time here now," the old 
 man said, following Nurse Isabel's glance round the 
 room, which had once been such a happy sanctum to 
 him. " It does not look lived in, does it ? " 
 
 " No," said Isabel, gently, and she picked up the pic- 
 ture, and began re-tying the cord. 
 
 " You see," he continued, more to himself than her, 
 "the whole thing has ploughed into me terribly 
 terribly." 
 
 Nurse Isabel nodded her head sympathetically. She 
 felt that any comment from her would seem like an 
 intrusion on his grief. 
 
 297
 
 The Fowler 
 
 " But I don't blame her, poor child," he said, tenderly. 
 " Life is a very difficult language, and there are not 
 many of us who can write even one sentence of it with- 
 out a serious blunder. And no one shall dare to blame 
 her, if I don't. I am quite determined about that." 
 
 He had been leaning back, looking intensely fatigued. 
 But he straightened himself as he spoke those last words. 
 Then, without any warning, he sank back and fainted. 
 Nurse Isabel was astir at once, doing all she could for 
 him.; but he did not show any signs of returning to con- 
 sciousness, and she was just becoming thoroughly alarmed 
 at his condition, when the door opened softly, and Nora 
 came in. She was almost as ashen as her father lying so 
 still on the couch. 
 
 " Oh, father, father," she cried passionately, kneeling 
 beside him. She kissed his dear hands covered them 
 with kisses. She kissed his grand old brow ; all the old 
 endearing names, which he had so loved, leaped from her 
 in a very torrent of love and tenderness. 
 
 " Oh, my old father, my old father," she cried, "what 
 have I been doing to you all these months what have 
 I been thinking of? Open your dear eyes speak to 
 me listen to me. I see it all clearly, clearly now. 
 Oh, my darling old father-friend always so good to me, 
 so gentle, so genial, so undemanding my darling old 
 chum and playmate no one on earth like you never 
 has been never will be again and I to have so 
 wounded and neglected you and pushed you on one side, 
 and darkened your bright spirit. But it is all over, my 
 old sweetheart of a father and the scales have fallen 
 from my eyes. . . ." 
 
 And then, with a deep sigh of returning consciousness, 
 Roger Penhurst opened his eyes. 
 
 " Why, God bless my soul ! " he said, dreamily. 
 298
 
 The Reinstatement of Nurse Isabel 
 
 The two women bent eagerly over him. 
 
 " My Nora," he said, gradually coming to " and that 
 other villain, Nurse Isabel. Ah yes, I remember now. 
 No, I don't, but ..." 
 
 Then there came a pause and a relapse into lethargy. 
 And then : 
 
 "Surely, surely," he murmured, "I heard something 
 about an old sweetheart of a father or was I dreaming 
 that my dear girl spoke so lovingly to me just like her 
 old young self? " 
 
 They helped him to raise himself, and he leaned his 
 head on Nora's shoulder. 
 
 "My old, old sweetheart of a father," Nora whispered, 
 "it is I who have been dreaming all this time, but now 
 I am awake." 
 
 He made no answer, asked no questions, but lifted her 
 hand to his lips and kissed it silently. The old man 
 knew that he had found his beloved daughter again. 
 
 299
 
 The Fowler 
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 THE NET IS BROKEN 
 
 NORA had been stirred to the depths of her being by 
 Madge Carson's account of Theodore Sevan's influence, 
 
 o ' 
 
 and of the cruel way in which he had set to work 
 to punish the little bookbinder for having warned 
 her. He had hit on the best device, for he had broken 
 her heart and spirit. Nothing but intimidation had 
 prevented Nora from taxing him with it that same 
 evening. She went to bed ashamed of her cowardice, 
 shocked by this discovery of Theodore Bevan's con- 
 temptible meanness, and curiously thrilled by the unex- 
 pected appearance of Brian Uppingham. She saw him 
 standing there now, denying in Bevan's very face the 
 truth of these libels concerning himself and Nurse 
 Isabel, so ingeniously circulated by his successful rival. 
 Had she herself really believed them ? When she saw 
 the historian and heard his voice again, her heart yearned 
 to him, and she knew, as indeed she had known all 
 along if, poor girl, she could only have allowed herself 
 the benefit of the knowledge that there could never 
 have been a doubt about his unalterable loyalty to 
 her that it was foreign to his nature to be toying 
 and tampering with one woman and offering a soiled 
 love to another woman. During that long night in 
 the silence of her bedroom, Nora strove with herself 
 for her own freedom, as we all must. And when the 
 grey dawn came, she was still a bondswoman, even 
 though she had seen herself face to face : seen her 
 
 300
 
 The Net is Broken 
 
 folly, realised her weakness, her cowardice, her selfish- 
 ness. Yes, she understood the whole history of it now ; 
 she saw how she had wronged Brian and wronged 
 Nurse Isabel ; she saw how she had neglected her 
 old father and broken his heart dimmed his bright 
 spirit bitterly, bitterly she reproached herself for that. 
 She saw how she had turned from her old friends, 
 given up every one and everything, lost her enthusi- 
 asms, her honest belief in people and things, and in 
 the value and beauty of life, lost even her simple, un- 
 sectarian confidence in God, the Great Mystery of whom 
 one may assuredly catch a golden glimpse through any 
 one of the creaks of creed or all of them or some- 
 how, no matter how. But even this had slipped from 
 her. It had gone with all the rest. And for what, for 
 whom? And then all her doubts and misgivings of 
 these last two years ranged themselves before her mind's 
 eye in a formidable phalanx, and were reinforced by 
 little Madge Carson's experience, and by the discovery 
 of Theodore Bevan's contemptible slandering. She had 
 always known that he was not this or that, that or 
 this, great or gallant, expansive, noble; but she had 
 ever believed him to be just and singularly free from 
 malice. And now, if that belief were shaken, what 
 remained ? Oh, she must free herself from him, she 
 must summon up the resolution to shake him off and 
 be done with him for ever it was not too late other 
 women had done it at the eleventh hour: other women 
 had gathered themselves together, and why not she ? 
 She would no longer suffer this evil influence in her life. 
 Ah, all along she had known it to be evil. Ever since 
 he had found her at the Castle, she knew that the good 
 in her had been struggling with the evil, and the evil 
 had conquered. 
 
 301
 
 The Fowler 
 
 Education, environment, temperament, her own pride, 
 her own self-respect nothing had sufficed to save her 
 from the primeval struggle between good and ill and 
 nothing had helped her. She had been as weaponless 
 as any girl in the street. And she had fallen like any 
 girl in the street. Oh, perhaps not in the same way, 
 but there was the debasement of spirit, and the cancer 
 in the heart, and the bitterness of defeat, and the sick- 
 ening sense of mental servitude. It was past all bearing. 
 No, no ! . She would not stand it one moment longer. 
 To-morrow she would be done with him for ever. She 
 would harden herself against him. She would remember 
 that evil look on his face. She would try to forget 
 that he needed her, and that she was all his life to him 
 all he had, and all he cared for. . . . And yet how 
 could she forsake him ? Had he not told her time after 
 time that the day when she turned from him would be 
 his last day on earth ? . . . And how could she bring 
 heiself to do it ? ... And yet, what right had he to 
 bind her thus ? Only a coward would tell a woman that. 
 . . . But then he was not like other men, and his life 
 had been desolate, and his character misunderstood, and 
 his nature warped. . . . And perhaps, nay, surely, he 
 was not to be judged in exactly the same way as any one 
 else. And perhaps Madge Carson in the bitterness of 
 her heart had exaggerated and yet. . . . 
 
 So when the grey dawn came, her spirit was still at 
 war within her. She rose from her bed, put on her 
 dressing-gown, and paced her room. Her beautiful fair 
 hair fell over her face and throat. She seemed like poor 
 distraught Ophelia, for whom life had been too much. 
 
 " Is there nothing to help me ? " she said, wringing 
 her hands. 
 
 She crept downstairs, and stood outside her father's 
 302
 
 The Net is Broken 
 
 bedroom. She put her cheek against the door, leaning 
 almost as a suppliant. 
 
 " Father," she cried, " if I could only break these 
 bonds ! " 
 
 She passed into his study, where she had spent so 
 little time lately. She touched his things his books 
 and papers, his Sanskrit grammar, his spectacles, his 
 almanac. She looked at the quotation for the day. It 
 was from Shakespeare : 
 
 " Lift up thy brow and with a great heart heave away 
 this storm." 
 
 She stood thinking : " Is that an omen ? " But there 
 was no hope in her heart with which to take the omen. 
 
 Then, like some restless spirit, she went downstairs 
 into the drawing-room and paced about there, wrestling 
 with her foe, conquering, being conquered, and becom- 
 ing faint with the contest. She turned to the table 
 where she kept the wedding-presents which Theodore 
 Bevan had given her. Her eyes rilled with tears as she 
 glanced at them, all so carefully chosen to suit her taste 
 in every way. 
 
 " He loves me," she said. " He has meant well by 
 me. Even his injustice and unkindness to others have 
 been the outcome of his love for me." 
 
 She handled the gifts, the books, the miniatures, the 
 reading-lamp. The tears were streaming down her cheeks. 
 
 Suddenly she saw a packet of books addressed to her. 
 She remembered that Theodore Bevan had brought it 
 on the previous evening, and they had both forgotten 
 it, owing to the mental disturbance caused by the his- 
 torian's arrival. Nora now unfastened it ; and, to her 
 surprise, the package contained an inner packet of two 
 books done up together in Theodore Bevan's precise 
 way and addressed to her, also a Mudie book and 
 
 33
 
 The Fowler 
 
 another book this last one with an unlocked clasp. 
 She held the inner packet in her hands, but did not 
 open it. She glanced at the Mudie book. It was a 
 volume of Asiatic travels which he had particularly 
 recommended to her. The other book was . . . She 
 turned it over and looked inside. The pages were 
 closely covered with Theodore Bevan's miniature hand- 
 writing. . . . What could it be ? What could it con- 
 tain ? Was it an outpouring of his love something 
 he had written about her ? He was always saying that 
 he was always writing about her, and now he wanted 
 her to see it. ... Ah, if it was that, it would be better 
 for her not to look. It would make the task of dis- 
 missing him greater and bitterer. . . . She put the book 
 on the table, and turned away. But the temptation was 
 too great. She took hold of it feverishly, stood unde- 
 cided for a moment, and then opened it again. She 
 stared at the pages. Her face became rigid as she read. 
 She was reading his journal. . . . 
 
 Long after she had dropped the book from her hands, 
 she sat as one paralysed. . . . 
 
 Before any one stirred in the house, she went straight 
 off to Madge Carson. She had told her everything the 
 previous evening, and Madge had begged her to throw 
 up her engagement before it was too late. Now there 
 was no need for Madge to entreat, but in Nora's bitter 
 humiliation and mortification she sought and found 
 solace from one who had been humiliated by the same 
 man. She stayed with Madge until late in the after- 
 noon, and when she left, she made a solemn promise 
 that she would not delay another single day before 
 ridding herself of Theodore Bevan. 
 
 " Be of good courage," Madge had said ; " you can 
 do it." 
 
 34
 
 The Net is Broken 
 
 Then Nora had come home and had met the servant, 
 who told her that her father was lying unconscious. 
 Then she had bent over him, and poured out her heart 
 in grief and love. And now she and Nurse Isabel were 
 keeping watch in his bedroom, relieved to see him sleep- 
 ing so quietly, and with a happy smile on his face. There 
 had been no time for any explanation or astonishment 
 between these two women, who had not met for many 
 months : for where illness and anxiety are concerned, any 
 one who helps is taken for granted. But now they 
 looked at each other, and Nora's pale face flushed with 
 shame. 
 
 " Nurse Isabel," she said, in a whisper, " I know how 
 badly I behaved to you. I feel quite broken-hearted 
 about everything. I blame no one but myself. I ought 
 to have understood better, and seen more clearly. I don't 
 think any one was ever so wretched as I am, and I feel 
 torn in pieces. And you've been so good to me. If you 
 did what I deserved, you ought to turn from me : instead 
 of which, here you are, just as kind and friendly as at 
 the very beginning, although you know what I have been 
 thinking of you, and what I have been saying too." 
 
 Nurse Isabel glanced at the old man, and then signed 
 to Nora to follow her out of the room ; and they stood 
 together in his study. 
 
 "Look here, Miss Penhurst," she said, brusquely, "you 
 have wounded me, and it is no use pretending you haven't. 
 I never did any harm to you. But you have done a great 
 deal of harm to me, and in more ways than you know." 
 
 She stopped suddenly, and when she spoke again her 
 voice had changed. 
 
 " My poor dear girl," she said, as she put both her 
 hands on Nora's. "This is not the time for scolding 
 you. And indeed I did not come to say disagreeable 
 20 305
 
 The Fowler 
 
 things. I only came to tell you that you were never to 
 believe a single word against Brian Uppingham ; that 
 you were always to believe that he is the soul of honour, 
 without any thoughts of love in his pure heart except for 
 you : that nothing and no one could ever change him ; 
 and that those who love him best would never wish him 
 to change would even feel that they had lost an ideal 
 in life if he could change. I came to plead with you for 
 his love and loyalty, Miss Penhurst. You may think 
 what you like of me in other ways, but you must never 
 believe that there was any truth in these malicious reports 
 set on foot by Theodore Bevan." 
 
 There was a very gentle and beautiful smile of protect- 
 ing love on Nurse Isabel's face. It spiritualised her whole 
 presence. Nora saw it, and forgot all her own troubles. 
 
 " Nurse Isabel," she said, with sudden comprehension, 
 44 you love him yourself! And yet you would not have 
 him falter one hair's-breadth away from me me, so 
 unworthy of his loyalty and love, and so unworthy of 
 your kindness and forgiveness ? " 
 
 " Not one hair's-breadth," Nurse Isabel said, gently. 
 " For the wind bloweth where it listeth, and you know 
 the historian loved you from the beginning. When you 
 came into his life, he sprang up to greet you. He had 
 been waiting for you as he is waiting now . . . and for 
 no one else. . . ." 
 
 Nora shook her head. 
 
 " No, no," she said, " you must not say that." 
 
 " This shadow on your soul will pass," Nurse Isabel 
 continued, as though she had not heard. " You will look 
 up again and see the sunlight. And I for one will be 
 glad, for his sake and yours. And then there is your 
 old father sleeping so peacefully in the next room. You 
 know how glad he will be. It will mean new life to 
 
 306
 
 The Net is Broken 
 
 him, and before it is too late. And then there are all 
 your friends who cling to you and believe in you and 
 I still wish to be one of them they will be very glad. 
 And Theodore Bevan " 
 
 She left off, and even in the midst of her earnestness, 
 a twinkle came into her eye, and a smile of mischief 
 played about her mouth. 
 
 " Good gracious ! " she said, " we've forgotten all about 
 him. He is downstairs in the drawing-room. He came 
 in just before your father and myself." 
 
 Nora leaned against the bookcase and looked deadly 
 pale. She knew that her moment had come. It must 
 not be to-morrow, nor the next day, nor the next : it must 
 be now. She went into her bedroom, and fetched the 
 journal; and when she returned she said tremblingly: 
 
 "Nurse Isabel, would you go down and make sure he 
 is there ? I don't think I could string myself up unless 
 I knew for certain." 
 
 Nurse Isabel asked no questions, and, nothing reluc- 
 tant, went downstairs, and very slowly opened the 
 drawing-room door. 
 
 " At last you have come, my Athene," Theodore 
 Bevan's voice said. 
 
 Nurse Isabel smile delightedly. She lit a match, for 
 there was no lamp, and the fire was low. 
 
 " It is not your Athene, you see," she said. " Ah, 
 don't alarm yourself about me. I have not come to take 
 you to task about all the malicious lies you've been tell- 
 ing of me. I have only come to say that Miss Penhurst 
 will be down at once. Her father has been ill. We 
 knew you were here, but in the hurry and anxiety you 
 were forgotten. So now good evening. I am going 
 up to watch by Mr Penhurst's bedside. Thank you, 
 there is no danger, but still a nurse in the house is always 
 
 37
 
 The Fowler 
 
 useful on these occasions. And I happened to have 
 planned my visit for the right time. Dear me ! It 
 strikes cold in this room. Pray make yourself quite at 
 home, and put some more coals on the fire. What a 
 capital restaurant that was ! " 
 
 She slipped out of the room, and told Nora that Bevan 
 was there. 
 
 Then Nora went down. She looked miserable, but 
 there was a certain dignity and resolution about her 
 which had not been present for many months. Her 
 beautiful hair, once so resplendent, had lost its glow and 
 vitality. Her face had thinned down, and wore an ex- 
 pression of perpetual strain. She did not look like a ship 
 in full sail now. She looked as though she had been 
 storm-driven, dismantled, disabled, and yet with one 
 supreme effort was at last making her way towards the 
 harbour. Only for one moment she paused, with her 
 hand on the latch of the door. In the other hand she 
 held the journal. Then she went in. Theodore Bevan 
 was standing in front of the fire, supporting his chin 
 with both his hands. He seemed lost in thought. He 
 did not move his position when Nora entered. 
 
 " Here is your journal," Nora said, quietly, stretching 
 out the lost volume. 
 
 He started. 
 
 " Yes," she went on, deliberately, " this record of your 
 thoughts and plans intended only for your eyes. Here 
 it is and I have read it." 
 
 He made no comment. 
 
 " But even if I had not read it," she continued, gather- 
 ing in strength, " I should have freed myself from you 
 this very day." 
 
 He remained silent. 
 
 " But, having read it, my eyes have grown still clearer, 
 308
 
 The Net is Broken 
 
 and everything from the beginning of our acquaintance 
 up to this very day stands revealed to me, and by you. 
 
 " Oh," she said, with sudden excitement, " you may 
 think to intimidate me by standing there speechless as 
 you have so often done but that has passed, Theodore 
 Bevan, that has passed and I have shaken you off 
 and I have no fears of you now, and no feelings about 
 you except the most withering contempt for you, and 
 even more contempt for myself for ever having suffered 
 myself to be held in bondage by such a thing as you. 
 Good God ! And I've cheated myself into believing you 
 just and generous-minded, and free from malice and un- 
 charitableness. Hundreds of times I have said to my- 
 self : ' He is not this or that, but he is just.' And I have 
 always admired that more passionately than anything 
 else, and therefore I've clung to it in you. Through 
 all my misgivings about you, I've clung to that belief 
 for I doubted you from the very outset, as you know, 
 and in my heart of hearts I knew you were an evil in- 
 fluence. The good and evil in me has been incessantly 
 at strife ever since I first saw you and the evil con- 
 quered. Oh, you know what you have done to me 
 your journal tells me that you have carried out what you 
 intended, you have taken a human soul and played 
 with it, touched it with your poison, watched it slowly 
 corrode, and revelled in your work. What a mind 
 what a nature ! And that is the mind and the nature 
 which has been mastering me. But I am free at 
 last. . . ." 
 
 She gave a great sigh as though she were taking a 
 long breath. She stretched her arms out as though to 
 feel an infinite space. And still he stood there, his head 
 slightly bowed, and no single word passing his lips. 
 
 " A few weeks more," she went on, hurriedly, " and it 
 309
 
 The Fowler 
 
 would have been too late. But you see, I have been 
 nursing little Madge Carson, and I have learnt the whole 
 truth from her the whole truth about what you did to 
 revenge yourself on her for having warned me against 
 you. She did not even succeed in her attempt, yet you 
 set yourself to punish her, in a very simple but effectual 
 way. I cannot find words to tell you what I think of 
 your malicious meanness in taking hold of a woman's 
 good name and slandering it deliberately for your own 
 purposes. That alone would pronounce you to be 
 beneath even the consideration of contempt. Bad men 
 are bad enough in all conscience, but I believe that the 
 worst of them would pause at that. . . . But you did 
 not hesitate. Madge Carson was to be punished in the 
 way which would wound her most. Nurse Isabel was to 
 be slandered and deprived of work ; and the journal tells 
 how you reckoned on her naturally frivolous character 
 to aid you in your undertaking. Brian Uppingham was 
 to be punished for having shaken you like a rat a rat, 
 and whilst you posed to me as being magnanimous and 
 forgiving, and I believed you poor fool I ! all the 
 time you were devising his penalty. And when you hit 
 upon it, you laughed in triumph. The journal says so : 
 
 " c I laughed in triumph. For this was an inspiration.' 
 You see I have studied your journal well. Ah, I dare 
 say you wonder how it came into my possession. You 
 brought it yourself. You yourself put it amongst my 
 wedding-presents with those other books " 
 
 He started. Yes, he remembered now the mistake 
 he had made. He bit his lips, but gave no other sign 
 of discomfiture. 
 
 " And I thank you for your choicest wedding-present," 
 she continued. " I don't know why you brought it, but 
 I only know that I found it whilst I was hardening 
 
 310
 
 The Net is Broken 
 
 myself to speak to you to-day and I opened it, think- 
 ing it was a gift from you, and I saw your writing, and 
 thought it was some personal outpouring which would 
 make my task of dismissing you heavier for you had 
 worked on my feelings and made me believe that you 
 needed me, that I was your very soul's necessity and I 
 paused. . . . But the temptation was too great, and I 
 read. I know well enough that it was a dishonourable 
 thing to do, that I ought to have thrown it on one side, 
 but I could not resist, did not wish to resist : for there 
 was the whole story of my bondage to you, the whole 
 project revealed, and all the details of fulfilment com- 
 mented on. Oh, I have no regrets and no shame about 
 that yet the time will come, I suppose, when I shall 
 feel ashamed. Let it come. It will work in with all 
 the degradation of this most miserable period of my life, 
 when I followed the voice of evil rather than of good, 
 and turned aside from all who loved me and believed in 
 me for you an evil spirit. For make no mistake about 
 that, Theodore Bevan : in my heart of hearts I have 
 never believed you anything else except an evil spirit. 
 You have rankled in my soul, as all evil things must of 
 necessity. I blame myself bitterly that I did not cut you 
 out at the very beginning. But you interested me ; you 
 amused me ; you were so different from every one else, 
 that I thought it would be a new experience to have 
 some one like you in my life some one whom all other 
 people detested and so I played with you. No one 
 could ever condemn me more harshly than I condemn 
 myself. I despise myself more even than I despise you. 
 And you know now what I think of you, therefore you 
 may judge what I think of myself. But in spite of you 
 and in spite of myself, yes, in spite of this two years' 
 misery, I shall recover my pride, my independence of 
 
 3 11
 
 The Fowler 
 
 spirit, my liberty of mind, my joy in life all this shall 
 come back to me, and in full measure. I will fight for 
 it as no one has ever fought before. 
 
 " And now, go. 
 
 " If you had wished to say anything, you would have 
 broken in upon me before this. Therefore, go " 
 
 At last Theodore Bevan raised his head. 
 
 " The little good that was developing in me," he said, 
 in a low voice, " you originated in me. You have read 
 the journal. The journal tells you that. This day you 
 have yourself uprooted that germ of good. With you to 
 help me, who knows what I might not have become ? 
 As it is, you have forsaken me, and on you lies the 
 responsibility of my soul and my life." 
 
 Then he went dreamily towards the door, and there 
 he turned. 
 
 "I always told you that the day when you forsook me 
 would be my last day on earth . . . and I am a man of 
 my word ... as the journal has shown you. Never- 
 theless, I thank you for what you began to do in 
 me " 
 
 And he left her. 
 
 312
 
 Part IV 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 THE SELLING OF THE PUNCHBOWL 
 
 " WELL, I never ! " said Mrs Mary Shaw, putting down 
 her bread-tins, which she had just been buttering. " A 
 letter for me, and from one of them foreign outlandish 
 places ! I never did hold with people going and hiding 
 theirselves in them distant spots. All the folk as I ever 
 knew doing that came to no good and small wonder 
 too ! Not that I did know any one as went and did it, 
 except my poor husband bless him ! But he were 
 quite enough to convince me poor soul ! He wrote to 
 me from across the seas, and I do declare this letter, 
 coming as it were from nowhere, puts me in a sort of 
 tremble. Ah, deary me ! That was a beautiful letter 
 he sent me some fourteen years agone and he signed it 
 * Ever your miserable Jim without you.' ' : 
 
 " He seemed to prosper uncommon well without you," 
 snarled Great-great-aunt Rebeccah Renaldson. 
 
 " That were his way, poor creature ! " said Mrs Mary. 
 " People can't be broke of their ways." And she added, 
 in an undertone, " No one has ever broke you of your 
 tongue. There you've got it safe and sound at ninety- 
 six year old." 
 
 " And she'll have it for another ninety-six year," said 
 Mr Parrington, who had just then come into the kitchen. 
 " What's this I hear about a letter from foreign parts ? " 
 
 " Now look here, Mr William Parrington," said Mrs
 
 The Fowler 
 
 Mary, severely, " I can't have you a-poking and a-prying 
 into my private correspondence. Letters is secret pro- 
 perty, and I'll trouble you to mind your own business." 
 
 " That's just what I've come to do," returned Parring- 
 ton, amiably. " I've come to sit in my favourite arm- 
 chair and mind the business." 
 
 "Oh, really," said Mrs Mary Shaw. "Much obliged, 
 I'm sure ! But you're forgetting yourself, Parrington. 
 It ain't your business. It is my business." 
 
 " As you like, my dear," he replied. " I'll sit here and 
 look after our business." 
 
 " Our business ! " she cried. " Was there ever such a 
 man ? Well, since you are here, you may serve out the 
 beer, and give liberal measure to every one except Tim- 
 othy Evans, who can't stand the tiniest extra drop. For 
 I've got a letter from dear Miss Nora; and the King's 
 Head is proud to be a little generous on joyful occasions. 
 Of course, at the Punchbowl it be different altogether : 
 people do say trade is awful bad there. There's no 
 denying it be a trim little building, but folk don't as 
 a rule call in to drink the building. It's the beer 
 they're after ! " 
 
 She then fled into the parlor and read her letter 
 from Nora. Nora wrote from some place in Lower 
 California. This was part of the letter : 
 
 " I dare say father told you that Mrs Ellerton invited 
 me to come out and join her here you remember Mrs 
 Ellerton ? " 
 
 " Ay, that I do, dear Miss Nora," put in Mrs Shaw, 
 as comment. 
 
 " I was very glad to come, for I was wanting a 
 change, and you would be amused to see how busy I 
 always am. Out in this life, one has to do most of the 
 housework oneself, and I have not had much time to feel 
 
 3*4
 
 The Selling of the Punchbowl 
 
 even homesick. Now I can understand why poor 
 people who are always overworked are much more cheer- 
 ful than leisured individuals who do not have to put their 
 hands to uncongenial tasks. And I think of you how 
 cheerful and bright you always are " 
 
 " Ah, but my dear Miss Nora, I have my bad times 
 under the apron, you know/' said Mrs Mary Shaw, 
 shaking her head sadly. " And as for being cheerful, 
 that's what you might call natural-like. There aren't no 
 virtue in being light-hearted when you weren't born 
 heavy-hearted ! Now, when Aunt Rebeccah Renaldson 
 behave herself, I call that wonderful virtuous; for she 
 wasn't born pleasant poor creature ! " 
 
 " Already I feel better than I have been for months," 
 the letter continued. " And sometimes I can't help 
 laughing heartily over our misadventures and experi- 
 ences. A week ago I nearly sat down on a rattlesnake. 
 Think of that, Mrs Mary ! The other day when I was 
 in the dumps, and was moping on the verandah, Mrs 
 Ellerton came to say that the larder was invaded by red 
 ants. Another time when I was feeling horribly de- 
 pressed, Mr Ellerton rushed in to say that all the horses 
 had got loose, and were tearing over the ranch, and 
 trampling down the trees. Another time, the reservoir 
 burst. And so on. But I will tell you all about my life 
 out here when I return. If you have not already married 
 Mr Parrington, I still hope to be present at the ceremony, 
 for I shall be at home in a few months now. I trust you 
 are being kind to poor Parrington, and not overtaxing his 
 patience. I so often think of the happy times I have 
 spent at Graystoke, and of all the fun we have had over 
 Mr Parrington." 
 
 " Ay, that we have ! " said Mrs Mary Shaw, smiling. 
 " And as for marrying him, dear Miss Nora, I shouldn't 
 
 3*5
 
 The Fowler 
 
 think of doing such a thing until you return. And I'll 
 go and tell him now the tiresome man ! " 
 
 So she went back to the kitchen, and found Parrington 
 installed there. 
 
 " You seem to be making yourself pretty much at 
 home," she said. 
 
 " I'm just getting my hand in, my dear," said Parring- 
 ton, benignly. " Lots of things want seeing to in this 
 shanty. When I come and live here, things will be very 
 different." 
 
 " When you come and live here" repeated Mrs Mary 
 Shaw, slowly. 
 
 " Well, my dear, we've got to live somewhere, I sup- 
 pose," said Parrington. " And I've understood you to 
 say wild horses wouldn't drag you to the poor little 
 Punchbowl." 
 
 " And you said nothing on earth would make you live 
 in the King's Head," replied Mrs Mary Shaw, toying 
 with the flour-scoop. 
 
 "Did I, Mrs Mary? Well, I've changed my mind. 
 Some one has got to give in. And with alterations, I 
 begin to think " 
 
 " No, no, there mustn't be no alterations ! " put in 
 Mrs Mary. 
 
 " All right, my dear, there shan't be no alterations," 
 said Parrington. 
 
 But Mrs Mary, nothing mollified, continued sternly : 
 
 " I can't have you coming and living at the King's 
 Head if you " 
 
 " If," repeated Parrington. " There ain't no l if ' about 
 it. If I don't come to you, where do I go ? What's to 
 become of me ? Pve sold the Punchbowl. I must live 
 somewhere," he added, plaintively. " And very soon 
 poor Parrington won't have no home at his time of 
 
 316
 
 The Selling of the Punchbowl 
 
 life too fifty year old and bald and no home ! 
 Think of it ! " 
 
 " Sold the Punchbowl ! " cried Mrs Shaw, delightedly, 
 and she gave Mr Parrington a hearty kiss on his cheek. 
 
 " There, Parrington," she cried. " That's for you. 
 And I don't care as who sees it." 
 
 " Ah, she be aging wonderful quick," muttered Aunt 
 Rebeccah Renaldson. " I notice a deal of difference in 
 Mrs Mary Shaw these last four year." 
 
 " Never you mind what the old cuss says," returned 
 Parrington, in a comforting tone of voice. " Perhaps 
 the time will come when she'll be aging wonderful 
 quick." 
 
 " No, Parrington," said Mrs Mary, suddenly taking 
 up the cudgels for her ancestors. " That time will 
 never come. Don't you be a-reckoning on that. The 
 ancestors will always be here as long as you and me. It 
 may be fifty year, and it may be a hundred. And if 
 you come and marry me and live in my King's Head, 
 you'll have to put up with my great-great-aunt, and my 
 great-uncle, and my father, and my son all my ances- 
 tors as ever was. So there ! " 
 
 " Wullie ain't your ancestor," said Parrington, grin- 
 ning. " And that reminds me, my dear, we must give 
 Wullie a good chance, and 'prentice him to that archi- 
 tect-fellow in Langton." 
 
 " And I tell you, Parrington, you're not coming here 
 to turn things topsy-turvy, and send my poor Wullie out 
 into the cruel world," said Mrs Mary a little tearfully. 
 
 Parrington smiled at his wayward sweetheart. 
 
 " And oh, Parrington," she said, still more tearfully, 
 "you won't be unkind to them poor old ancestors of 
 mine, poor, dear creatures, innocent, patient old things 
 as never harmed no one. They've always done what
 
 The Fowler 
 
 they wanted bless them ! and nobody shan't inter- 
 fere with them now. Promise me, Parrington, you 
 won't be unkind to them. Oh, I be terrible frightened, 
 and I wish I was dead. I do indeed. How I do wish 
 you hadn't sold the Punchbowl such a nice little place 
 too, and just the very spot for you." 
 
 " Ah, it be too late now," said Parrington, lighting his 
 pipe. " What's done can't be undone." 
 
 "I suppose it can't," replied Mrs Mary. "I wish it 
 could. Oh, dear, to think of a strange man living in 
 my King's Head ! " 
 
 u And you won't be a-changing the whisky and 
 bottled-ale brand, will you ? " she added, after a pause. 
 " 1 know you will but promise ! " 
 
 " I promise," said Parrington, with a twinkle in his 
 eye. 
 
 "And you'll promise not to marry me till dear Miss 
 Nora comes ? " said Mrs Mary. 
 
 u 1 promise," said Parrington. 
 
 " And I think that's about all," she said, smiling. 
 
 " There's a good deal of promising going on here," 
 said David the blacksmith, who had just come into the 
 bar. " A glass of bitters, please, Mrs Shaw." 
 
 " Ah," said Parrington, " 'tis a very peaceful occupa- 
 tion to sit in an easy-chair and smoke your pipe and 
 promise ! " 
 
 " Don't take no notice of what he says, Mrs Mary," 
 said David. "You'll be able to hold your own with the 
 likes of Parrington any day. Ah, Parrington be a lucky 
 fellow ! And here be I, as know'd you since we could 
 toddle together, broken-hearted and miserable, and going 
 quickly into the consumptions." 
 
 " Get along ! " laughed Mrs Mary Shaw, looking at 
 David's strong frame. " Oh, I must tell you, Davy,
 
 The Selling of the Punchbowl 
 
 I've a letter from dear Miss Nora in foreign parts. 
 And a queer sort of place she's got to. Red ants and 
 rattly-snakes in the larder ! Did you ever hear the 
 like ? Now, if she'd said blackbeetles, I could under- 
 stand. And she says she feel a deal better for the 
 change. She don't speak of the little viper gentleman, 
 and it's to be hoped she's forgot all about him. Poor 
 dear girl ! Red ants and rattly-snakes ! However, they 
 seem to do her good. I'm sure I don't know how, for 
 beetles never do me no good. But lor' ! it don' tmatter 
 how folk get better, so long as they do get better. And 
 we've all got our own ways, and can't be broke of 'em. 
 That's what I be always saying." 
 
 " Has it ever struck you, my dear," said Parrington, 
 " that I too have got my own ways and can't be broke 
 of 'em ? " 
 
 Mrs Mary Shaw stood still one moment, and then 
 said : 
 
 " Oh, Parrington, why did you go and sell that sweet 
 little Punchbowl ? It were the very place for an elderly 
 gentleman to live quietly all by hisself ! " 
 
 3 T 9
 
 The Fowler 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 A LETTER FROM HOME 
 
 " MY BELOVED NORA, It is now three months since 
 you left us, and although I miss you sorely, my own 
 dear girl, I never cease to rejoice that we were all sen- 
 sible enough to recognise that nothing except emotional 
 change of a most thorough kind would ever set you on 
 your legs again, and at the same time screw your dear 
 head firmly on your shoulders once more. Emotional 
 change has always seemed to me the only sensible pre- 
 scription invented by erring physician. I remember 
 years ago, long before you were born, going to a doctor 
 with a long list of ailments, and expecting, of course, a 
 long list of medicines. He took his prescription-book, 
 and then glanced at me very kindly. 
 
 " c I could not afford to give this prescription to every 
 one,' he said, in a reluctant sort of way, l but I will give 
 it to you.' 
 
 " Then he wrote it, and put it in an envelope. When 
 I looked at it, all I saw were the words, l Emotional 
 change to be taken at once, and kept on continuously 
 for several months.' And he was right. 
 
 " You see, Nora, my girl, if you had stayed at home, 
 you would, after the first excitement and effort of giving 
 Mr Bevan up, have relapsed into depression, and tortured 
 yourself into a fever about your responsibility over his 
 death. I do not believe that he has committed suicide. 
 I believe that he is very much alive somewhere, and 
 that with his characteristic quiet cunning he arranged 
 
 320
 
 A Letter from Home 
 
 that report, in order to make all of us miserable es- 
 pecially yourself, of course and leave us in the wrong. 
 We shall see : and meanwhile, I am glad to think that 
 even with this burden on your mind, and in spite of the 
 sadness and mistakes of these last three years, you are 
 beginning to take up your life again, and find it full of 
 interest and promise. You could not do otherwise. At 
 twenty-seven you have the world before you and every- 
 thing on your side : love, friendship, abilities, and good 
 health. But, as old Spenser says, ' It is the mynd that 
 maketh good or ill.' And I see, with tears of gratitude 
 in my eyes, that your dear spirit is healing itself. 
 Yesterday I dipped into Clough's poems, and when 
 I read these words, I thought of you : 
 
 " * With silent woods and hills untenanted 
 
 Let me go commune , under thy sweet gloom, 
 Oh, kind maternal Darkness, hide my head. 
 The day may come I yet may reassume 
 My place, and these tired limbs recruited, seek 
 The task for which I now am all too weak.' 
 
 I wrote in pencil in the corner, ' My Nora.' 
 
 " To my mind nothing could have been more op- 
 portune than Mrs Ellerton's suggestion that you should 
 go out and join her in her rough new life. Your ac- 
 counts of your everyday life amuse me immensely. I 
 would give anything to see both you modern young 
 women, followers of Ibsen and Maeterlinck and other 
 mysterious prophets, doing battle with rattlesnakes, 
 tarantula spiders, Chinamen, and red ants. I am in- 
 clined to think that a sort of foreign mission should 
 at once be started in aid of modern young women of 
 hyper-morbid tendencies. They would all come back 
 in the best of health and spirits, having quite forgotten 
 how to be unnecessarily miserable. Ah well ! I have 
 21 321
 
 The Fowler 
 
 no intention of criticising the ladies only, for I notice 
 numberless modern young gentlemen of ability who 
 would soon give up being decadent if they only were 
 obliged, even for a short time, to become ' hewers of 
 wood and drawers of water.' They too require a 
 mission to be started on their behalf. As for myself, 
 I am too old to profit by any mission, however admir- 
 able. That's the advantage of being old, you see j we 
 are left in peace to work out our lifelong mistakes. 
 And one of my many mistakes was the way I behaved 
 over the Bevan affair. If I could have been different, 
 you would have been different, my poor child. No, no, 
 you must not make yourself miserable by heaping re- 
 proaches on yourself. It was a difficult time for both 
 of us, and we have come out of it somehow with all 
 the old affection, and some added. And who can say 
 more than that ? Life is full of intricate problems, 
 and I have always thought it hard on youngsters that 
 they are called upon to decide important questions for 
 themselves when they have no knowledge of life, no 
 sense of the true proportion of things, and of course 
 no forethought. So they generally blunder, as we old 
 people have done before them, and they have to spend 
 the rest of their lives in suffering for their mistakes. 
 More misery is brought about by want of judgment than 
 by deliberate sin. And I think that when all our cases 
 are tried in the Great Court if they ever are tried 
 there will be some one to plead for us who will say 
 if we really erred from want of judgment : 4 Alas ! they 
 did not know, and there was no one at the time who could 
 have made them understand' 
 
 " So cheer up, my beloved and foolish child ; and 
 do not make yourself unhappy about your ancient 
 father. People who love each other, do not have to 
 
 322
 
 A Letter From Home 
 
 forgive each other. And all my grief was healed when 
 I heard you say, after many months of silence on the 
 subject l My old sweetheart of a father.' Then I 
 knew that my wayward vessel was coming into harbour, 
 laden as ever with her golden grain. I do not grudge 
 you your remorse and regret. It is only right that you 
 should have them. Even the most hardened amongst us 
 have them. I sometimes think they are the last linger- 
 ing bit of divinity in us left from the wreck. I have 
 moralised a good deal, haven't I ? But do not be alarmed 
 about me. I am not ill, and I am not going to become 
 a parson ! I am awfully busy with my Sanskrit and my 
 bicycle. I have had several falls, thank you, and suc- 
 ceeded in spraining most of my legs and arms ! I enjoy 
 myself deeply. I shall be an expert by the time you 
 come home. We will then make an expedition to 
 Gracechurch and dine at the Three Sadlers ; stewed 
 steak and onions, Welsh rarebit, and a good cigar ! 
 
 "Uppingham is well and busy. You know he in- 
 sisted on my living with him, and at first I gave in. 
 But I prefer being in mine own inn. However, we are 
 nearly always together, and he is very good to me. You 
 know what he feels about you. But I am under strict 
 orders not to mention his name to you, and so I dare 
 not say more. Nevertheless he waits. 
 
 " Don't hurry home, my Nora. Stick to the rattle- 
 snakes until you have got rid of the other poison. I 
 have obeyed your commands, and looked after Miss 
 Madge Carson. She is much better, and the doctors 
 seem to think that no operation will be necessary for 
 her eyes. Her master-bookbinder has sought her out 
 again, and renewed his addresses. But she will have 
 nothing to say to him. And I don't wonder. Mrs 
 Mary Shaw refuses to marry Parrington until you return. 
 
 3 2 3
 
 The Fowler 
 
 Nurse Isabel has been to see me several times. She is 
 in capital form, and half thinks of accepting an offer 
 of marriage from her present patient, a captain in the 
 Merchant Service. c However,' she said in her quaint 
 way, c he may think better of it when he is quite strong 
 .again. Man-like, he was terribly afraid that he was 
 going to die, and intensely grateful to me when he did 
 not ! ' 
 
 " How strange ! And that same man would have 
 gone down with his vessel without so much as a murmur. 
 
 " Well, my dear, God bless you. ROGER." 
 
 324
 
 Renewal 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 RENEWAL 
 
 " MY DARLING OLD FATHER, Your letters cheer and 
 touch me beyond words. I know well how your gener- 
 ous heart forgives me. But I don't forgive myself. And 
 so often I think of how you used to tell me when I was 
 a little girl, that the very last person on earth that one 
 should forgive was one's own self. But I feel wonderfully 
 better already, and this life has done marvels for me. 
 Mrs Ellerton gives me plenty to do, partly on principle, 
 she says, and partly because I can do it so much more 
 easily than she can. She is really very frail. Mr Eller- 
 ton already regrets having come out here, and I suppose 
 the end of it will be that we shall all return home together. 
 But I am awfully glad I came here, instead of eating my 
 heart away doing nothing in a hotel on the Continent. 
 Mrs Ellerton is very humorous about her husband's 
 attempts at manual labour. 
 
 " l Why, my dear girl,' she says, c he could not have 
 summoned up the strength to transplant a geranium in 
 England. And now to see him digging up eucalyptus 
 trees nearly makes me hysterical ! ' 
 
 " It is lucky for Mr Ellerton that he has the money to 
 throw away over fads. Many people come out to these 
 regions, and lose all their money and all their courage. 
 And then there is the home-sickness when one knows 
 that one has burnt one's boats. I think that must be 
 something terrible. Mrs Ellerton says that this present 
 departure is not any more expensive than patent medi- 
 cines purchased on the Continent ; and her spirits rise 
 
 3 2 5
 
 The Fowler 
 
 in proportion as the discomforts of the life make them- 
 selves more apparent, for she knows the experiment is 
 approaching its inevitable fulfilment of failure. We have 
 great fun over it all, and as c Chinaman after Chinaman 
 departs who hath not lost a Chinaman?' we turn 
 to, and do the cooking to the best of our abilities and 
 much to Mr Ellerton's disgust. You see he deliberately 
 singled out for his abode the most solitary habitation 
 even in this remote part of the world ; and after a few 
 days' sojourn with us, the Chinese servants all discover 
 that they have dying relatives in China, and that they 
 must repair to their native country at once. So they go, 
 and we are left lamenting. Mr Ellerton had an idea 
 that if he could get right away from all human beings 
 and distractions, that he would be able to put his spirit 
 in harmony with that of the universe whatever that 
 means. We know not whether this mysterious process 
 is really taking place. If it is, I may add that the out- 
 ward and visible signs of it are extreme irritation over 
 our bad cooking, a good deal of grumbling over his many 
 discomforts, and regrets of and longings for all the joys 
 and advantages of Europe. But we have a fair amount 
 of fun too, and I thoroughly enjoy the riding and driv- 
 ing. It is becoming very hot now, and we take our 
 mattresses into the garden, and sleep out of doors. At 
 first I did not sleep, and was content to lie hour after 
 hour watching the stars, and thinking. You tell me not 
 to fret, dear old father, but I am very downhearted 
 sometimes. I think I should feel quite different if I 
 could know that Theodore Bevan had not killed himself. 
 You have not any idea how my unalterable belief in his 
 suicide weighs me down. He has left me, as I always 
 felt he left me, completely in the wrong. Sometimes I 
 dream that this great load is lifted from my mind, and 
 
 326
 
 Renewal 
 
 then all sorts of beautiful possibilities float in upon my 
 consciousness ; and, worked upon, no doubt, by the 
 sweet soft night-air falling so graciously on me, I dream 
 of joyous rides over the far-stretching plains, with no 
 thoughts except a delight in life and nature, and the 
 gratitude of being free free to ride on and on into 
 the great distances, unhampered by any hauntings of 
 the mind or any weakness of the body. Then I awake, 
 and remember Theodore Bevan, and his last words to me : 
 1 Nevertheless I thank you for what you began to do in me.' 
 When I am in that mood, the stars look down on me 
 coldly, critically, and a chilliness creeps into my heart. 
 But it is not always so, dear old father- friend. Some- 
 times the stars and the quietness of the night bring to 
 me ineffable peace, and a sense of newly-acquired and 
 restful strength, and then those words of William 
 Watson come into my mind : 
 
 " ' I too have come through wint'ry terrors and cataclysm of soul, 
 Have come and am delivered. Me, the Spring, 
 Me also, dimly with new life hath touched, 
 And with regenerate hope, the salt of life ; 
 And I would dedicate these thankful tears 
 To whatsoever Power beneficent, 
 
 Veil'd though his countenance, undivulg'd his thought, 
 Hath led me from the haunted darkness forth 
 Into the gracious air and vernal morn ' 
 
 11 So you see, dear, you must think of me as renew- 
 ing myself, and all the time, in spite of inevitable back- 
 slidings, working myself back to a healthy happiness and 
 participation in life, and a gratitude, beyond words, for 
 all your love and tender forgiveness. There never was 
 such a father as yourself; nor such a lovable, gentle- 
 hearted, and original parent. So often, so often I think 
 of your dear quaint ways and sayings ; and the tears 
 
 3 2 7
 
 The Fowler 
 
 come into my eyes. So often I think of the beautiful 
 unworldliness of your spirit. I would have given any- 
 thing to know you as a young headlong man, though 
 I don't mean to say that you have not always been a 
 headlong father. I don't want to take that away from 
 you, dear. So often I think, too, of all the fun we've 
 had together, and I laugh aloud. I am sure that if I 
 were to lose you even, I should always be able to laugh 
 over the fun for it has been part of our lives together, 
 hasn't it ? And I think, too, of all I have learnt from 
 you. I have learnt everything I know from you. You 
 have interpreted everything for me : nature, books, 
 music, art, philosophy, and God in them all. I remem- 
 ber so distinctly one of the first stories you told me 
 when I was quite a wee child : it was about a little old 
 man who had been withered up ever since any one 
 could remember, and all because he had lost a great 
 treasure which he did not take the trouble to find again 
 at once and without delay. And then it became too 
 late. And he began to shrivel away into nothing. And 
 you told me the name of the treasure : it was joy in all 
 God's beautiful gifts. I don't think I ever forgot that 
 until Theodore Bevan came into my life. Then I for- 
 got it. But now I remember it again. And I have 
 gone in search of the treasure. 
 
 " I know you do not believe that he has taken his 
 life. But I think you don't quite understand that, in 
 his way, he was attached to me, and was learning to 
 love me. You see I read that in his journal. There 
 could be no mistake about that. You ask me whether 
 I fret for him, and I can honestly say that I do not 
 now. At first I missed him terribly. But my wounded 
 pride has helped me a great deal. Oh, it is such a 
 relief to be able to speak freely to you about it all ! We 
 
 328
 
 Renewal 
 
 must never, never have any more barriers. And now 
 I want to say something about Brian Uppingham. I 
 think of him too; but I feel too ashamed to send him 
 even a message of greeting. I don't even know how I 
 shall be able to face him when I return home. I know 
 he loves me, of course. If things had gone differently 
 with me, I was ready to love him and be loved by 
 him. He is a man after my own heart. But he came 
 into my life at the wrong time for me : he should 
 have come earlier, father dear or later; then I should 
 not have treated him so unkindly so shamefully. If 
 he had come later, there would have been one thing 
 less for me to regret in this miserable record of the 
 last three years ; and if he had come earlier, there 
 would have been a different record for us all. And 
 I should not have wounded my old father. 
 
 " I am writing this on what we call the l honeysuckle 
 verandah.' It is the hour of sunset, and the colours in 
 the sky are unbelievably gorgeous, that royal violet 
 tint, and fiercest red, and glowing yellow. And now 
 the barren mountains have put on their heliotrope gar- 
 ments, and seem to have suddenly become covered with 
 pale purple heather. That makes one think of the 
 dear old country. How I shall love to walk over the 
 heather again ! But I am not coming home until I 
 have c found myself.' When you see me, you will 
 know that I have come home because all was well 
 with me, and because I felt able to take up my old 
 life again and make something better of it for you and 
 me and all of us. Your own NORA." 
 
 329
 
 The Fowler 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 GOOD NEWS 
 
 IT was now nearly ten months since Nora accepted Mrs 
 Ellerton's invitation, and went out to Lower California, 
 where Mr Ellerton had bought a vast and desolate ter- 
 ritory, which he, later on, abandoned with feelings of 
 thankful relief. 
 
 In her absence, every one had wanted to take care of 
 Mr Penhurst ; and, between them all, it seemed prob- 
 able that he would not have a moment's peace. At first 
 he lived with Brian, but after a time he drifted back to 
 his own home. He was not unhappy, but he was often 
 very restless; and once it seemed as though he were 
 going to have some kind of brain attack, for he harped 
 so continuously on Theodore Bevan's supposed suicide. 
 
 " Little damned centipede," he would say, putting 
 down his Sanskrit book. " It was just like him to go 
 away, and leave my poor girl in the wrong." 
 
 " Don't always be thinking of him," Brian would 
 answer. " He has passed out of our lives." 
 
 " But not out of our minds," answered the old man. 
 " He will never pass out of our minds until we know 
 for certain that he did not commit suicide. I would 
 give up anything to know that. Yes, I would give up 
 the joy of seeing my dear girl again, restored, as I feel 
 sure she will be, to her own bright self." 
 
 Nurse Isabel came in one day and found him in one 
 of these moods. 
 
 " Now, look here," she said, soothingly, " if you go on 
 
 33
 
 Good News 
 
 like this much longer you will drive yourself mad, and 
 then you will not be able to learn any more of that 
 absurd Sanskrit. And you will also drive Mr Upping- 
 ham mad. He looks quite harassed, and as though he 
 had not anything in the world to rely on, excepting his 
 career, poor man ! And he is not one of those self- 
 contained people who can be satisfied with a career only. 
 I think you are a nasty, selfish, ungrateful, unreasonable, 
 and wicked monster. And I am ashamed of you. What 
 is the use of reading all those stupid philosophers look 
 at them in the bookcase if you cannot even practise a 
 little amateur philosophy ? Most people of average in- 
 telligence, when they have studied a subject for years 
 and years, begin to have a vague idea of it, if nothing 
 more. But you oh, I'm ashamed of you ! Why," 
 she added, smiling, "I am more of a philosopher than 
 you ! " 
 
 He held out his hand to her. 
 
 " Thank you, my dear, for chiding me. I deserve it," 
 he said, gently. 
 
 " You see," she said, " the poor historian cannot go 
 on living perpetually on Bevan, Bevan, Bevan. He is 
 becoming depressed, and I assure you, from my own 
 personal experiences, that his depression is something 
 quite unique. It will be infinitely worse than our dis- 
 comfort caused by Theodore Bevan's supposed suicide. 
 Take my advice, and do anything on earth to prevent 
 Mr Uppingham from having an attack of despondency ! " 
 
 Roger roused himself from his gloominess, and, with 
 that simple-heartedness so characteristic of him, asked 
 forgiveness of Brian. 
 
 " I've been a selfish old fellow," he said. " But Nurse 
 Isabel has made me see the error of my ways, and now 
 I am going to reform." 
 
 33 1
 
 The Fowler 
 
 Brian was delighted with the sudden alteration, for 
 he himself, in spite of all his quiet patience and persist- 
 ence, was beginning to feel overborne. His work had 
 been a strain on him for some time past ; and of course 
 he had been greatly wounded by the knowledge that 
 Bevan had been trying to injure him in Nora's sight. 
 Her treatment of him, her engagement to Theodore 
 Bevan, her sadness and misery, and her final struggle 
 for freedom, and now the consciousness of this great 
 burden on her mind, had told on Brian. He had never 
 once wavered in his firm belief that she was his. But he 
 felt more and more the difficulty of reaching her. Scores 
 of times he began letters to her, but he never sent any, 
 and he never sent messages. He did not neglect his 
 work, nor his self-imposed duty of looking after Nora's 
 father ; and he interested himself in little Madge Carson, 
 and tried to help her in his own kind way. 
 
 " When you get well again," he said, " we shall have 
 to overwork you. I have at least ten books waiting to 
 be bound by you and you only." 
 
 She was recovering her health, and with it her 
 courage, and she told him she owed both to Nora. 
 That cheered him. One afternoon some proofs came 
 of an important chapter on the " Rise and Fall of the 
 Inquisition," and the historian, feeling that he wanted 
 sympathy and advice, took them to Roger's home. 
 Roger was out, and so he waited in the study. He 
 had not been there ten minutes before Nurse Isabel 
 called in, and found him looking disconsolate. They 
 had met several times since Theodore Bevan's malice 
 had been revealed to them ; but in talking over the 
 whole subject of Nora's infatuation, engagement, and 
 escape, they had never once referred to that part of 
 the story which affected them conjointly. But Nurse 
 
 33 2
 
 Good News 
 
 Isabel had told him that the doctors had changed their 
 minds about her moral character, and that in con- 
 sequence she had plenty of work to do. 
 
 " So you see," she said, gaily, " my beautiful and in- 
 herent worth has triumphed over evil reports ! Quite 
 like a fairy -book, isn't it ? " 
 
 But she knew what she owed to him, though her 
 words were lightly chosen. And now they sat together, 
 and she saw some printed pages in his hand. 
 
 " Something you've been writing ? " she asked. 
 
 " Part of my new volume," he answered, indifferently. 
 
 " Aren't you glad that you are getting on so well with 
 it ? " she said. 
 
 " I don't know," he answered. " It is a lonely thing 
 having a career and nothing else. I am not sure 
 whether any success is worth having, unless there is 
 some one with whom to share it." 
 
 " Then you feel alone, and as if no one cared ? " she 
 asked, kindly. 
 
 " Something like that," he answered. 
 
 " Poor fellow," she said. " You have had a hard time 
 of it." 
 
 " Do you ever write to her ? " Nurse Isabel asked, 
 after a pause. 
 
 " No," he said, without looking up. " I don't see 
 how I can write to her." Then he added : u I have 
 written many letters to her and torn them up." 
 
 " And much good that has done ! " answered Nurse 
 Isabel. " Upon my word, I do think you are one 
 of the densest people I ever met. I can't see where 
 your intelligence comes in. I suppose you use it all 
 up for your books. Anyway, let us hope it is some- 
 where perhaps in this very volume though I doubt 
 it ! Why, of course, you ought to write to her. It 
 
 333
 
 The Fowler 
 
 is awfully unkind and hard-hearted of you to remain 
 silent. Do you mean to say that all these months 
 have gone by and you've not forgiven her yet ? " 
 
 " Forgiven her ? " he said. " Why, Nurse Isabel, 
 what are you thinking of? There's no question of 
 forgiveness between me and her." 
 
 " She behaved very badly to you," Nurse Isabel said, 
 with assumed warmth. 
 
 44 No one shall say one word against her," he said. 
 " She was caught in a net and could not escape. That 
 was all." 
 
 " And now that she has come to her senses, of course 
 she is feeling miserable about you," said Nurse Isabel, 
 without heeding him. " Any woman would. And she 
 is not worse than any of us." 
 
 u Worse than any of you ? " repeated Brian, ex- 
 citedly. 
 
 Nurse Isabel put her hand to her mouth to conceal 
 her smile. 
 
 " And the least you can do, is to write a few lines 
 to cheer her up and reassure her," she persisted. " If 
 you are not careful, some one will be getting in front 
 of you again perhaps a North American Indian this 
 time and you'll deserve it. You are so very slow, 
 and so very dense. All the intellectual people I have 
 ever met have been entirely without a gleam of in- 
 telligence, but you are the worst. However, as I said 
 before, let us trust that they put it into their books 
 though I doubt it ! If they do, of course that is another 
 matter. For one can't eat one's cake and have it. 
 Obviously your intelligence has gone somewhere. Don't 
 you see for yourself that she will not know how to meet 
 you unless she knows how to greet you ? Don't you 
 understand that she knows she has behaved abominably 
 
 334
 
 Good News 
 
 to you, and that she is thinking all the time that she 
 has wounded you, and alienated you for ever ? Write 
 to her at once and comfort her." 
 
 Then she paused a moment, and added gently : 
 
 " That is what I should be yearning for, if I were 
 she." 
 
 " If I have not written to her, it is because I have 
 felt so sure that she knew I was waiting for her," Brian 
 said. " It never entered my head that she might think 
 I had ceased to wait for her merely because she had 
 wounded me. When one loves there is no question of 
 forgiveness. And she is more dear to me now than 
 three years ago when she came to see me at the Moat 
 House. Then she came into my life as a spirit of hope ; 
 and she has remained with me as a spirit of fulfilment. 
 Even if I am never to see her dear face again, nothing 
 can change what she has done for me." 
 
 " You have a wonderful way of loving," Nurse Isabel 
 said, as she poked the fire. 
 
 " I learnt it from my dear mother," he said. " She 
 had the genius of loving." 
 
 " But genius is rare," she answered, " and most of us 
 have not even any talents for it, though we may think we 
 have. We soon find that they are worn out, and that 
 nothing remains for us except the commonplace of for- 
 bearance or indifference or positive dislike. I wonder 
 which stage I shall reach if I marry my agreeable sea- 
 captain." 
 
 u But you do not seriously intend to marry him ? " 
 Brian asked. 
 
 " Why not ? " she said. " I am very tired of nursing." 
 
 " Do you love him ? " he asked. 
 
 Isabel laughed softly. 
 
 " Ah, that's another thing," she said. 
 335
 
 The Fowler 
 
 " Have you ever loved ? " he asked, with curious 
 persistence. 
 
 She closed her eyes, and leaned back in the arm- 
 chair. 
 
 " Yes," she said, gently. " But that belonged to the 
 Past, if one can speak of a sacred thing as ever belong- 
 ing to the Past. One ought rather to say that it per- 
 meates the Past, the Present, and the Future." 
 
 The tears coursed down her cheeks, and she did not 
 try to hide them. 
 
 " Then he died," Brian said, sympathetically. " Poor 
 Nurse Isabel." 
 
 " No," said Isabel. " It was not that. He loved 
 some one else very dearly." 
 
 " And he married her ? " 
 
 u No," she answered. 
 
 " But he may yet turn to you," Brian said, kindly. 
 " Don't throw yourself away on some one for whom 
 you don't care. You are too good for that. Wait for 
 the man you love. Put all the best of yourself into 
 your love, and make it so strong and compelling that it 
 will conquer in the end." 
 
 She had risen from the chair, and turned from him 
 for a moment to pick up her veil, which had fallen to 
 the ground. 
 
 " Ah, I could not have influenced him," she said. 
 " Sometimes I have thought he was a little like you 
 only not so slow and dense but then he was not 
 intellectual with a fixed idea in his heart and brain. 
 He loved the woman of his heart much in the same way 
 as you love Nora: it was part of his very life, his glory, 
 his manhood. Nothing could have changed him, 
 neither time nor circumstance. And I knew it. But I 
 knew also that my unspoken love could never harm him, 
 
 33 6
 
 and that whatever happened to me in life, at least I had 
 not missed that uplifting." 
 
 " I have always thought you had some beautiful bit of 
 romance in your life, Nurse Isabel," Brian said. 
 
 " Most of us have something beautiful hidden away," 
 she replied, " but we are ashamed to show it ; perhaps 
 because it is old-fashioned, out of date, or has a crack in 
 it. But my treasure is at least flawless, for it is an 
 Ideal." 
 
 u And now," she said, returning to her usual bright- 
 ness, " I must be getting back to my patient. She is 
 very trying, but I am thankful to say that she does not 
 want to be read to out of geography books, and that she 
 does like a little air occasionally. But she shares the 
 very prevalent belief that trained nurses are trained 
 never to sleep. Isn't it funny ? Ah, here is Mr Pen- 
 hurst at last ! Now I shall learn whether he has 
 been carrying out his promise to behave more like a 
 philosopher." 
 
 But there was nothing of the quiet philosopher in 
 Roger's manner when he saw Nurse Isabel and Brian. 
 He threw his felt hat up to the ceiling and caught it, and 
 seemed to be dancing around like any schoolboy. He 
 was in the very abandonment of good spirits. 
 
 " Oh," he said, " I have such news, I have such news, 
 I can scarcely tell it. I've seen him the little Bevan 
 the centipede I've seen him with my own eyes 
 sat with him in the same railway carriage " 
 
 " Where ? Where ? " they asked, excitedly. 
 
 " On the Metropolitan," he said, sinking into his 
 chair. " I got in at Gower Street, and found him there 
 alone. He's quite alive looks in excellent health 
 and sunburnt, as though he has been on a long voyage. 
 And I said to him politely : 
 22 337
 
 The Fowler 
 
 " c I perceive you have been on a long voyage, but not 
 so long as you have led us to suppose.' 
 
 " Of course he made no answer, and he scurried out 
 at Portland Road, leaving me in a state of exultation. 
 For now that burden will be lifted from my dear girl's 
 mind. I have a sort of feeling that I behaved like a 
 madman for the rest of the journey. Anyway, people 
 came to the carriage door, looked at me, and departed in 
 hurried alarm." 
 
 " Are you quite sure that it was Theodore Bevan ? " 
 said Brian. 
 
 "My dear Uppingham," returned the old man, clasp- 
 ing hands with him, " there is only one centipede in the 
 world, and I should know it anywhere ! " 
 
 " I propose that we telegraph to Nora," said Nurse 
 Isabel. 
 
 u Yes, yes," they cried, " we'll telegraph, and at once ! " 
 
 And they all three set off together, and despatched 
 this cablegram : 
 
 " Theodore seen in robust health in London by me. 
 Cheer up. ROGER." 
 
 Brian went home to write to her. As he took up his 
 pen, he thought of Nurse Isabel. 
 
 " I always thought there was some romance in her 
 life," he said aloud. 
 
 He smiled as he recalled her warning about the North 
 American Indians. And he bent over his lover's task, 
 and forgot Nurse Isabel. It was a long letter, and at 
 the end of it he wrote : 
 
 " And so I pray that you will forget that I have ever 
 been in your life. Then I can come once more into it, 
 and take my chance as any stranger, not handicapped by 
 time or circumstance. It is not every one with a heart 
 
 338
 
 Good News 
 
 full of love who prays to be forgotten. And yet I pray 
 thus, in order that I may have a clear running." 
 
 The old father went home, and touched the strings of 
 his violoncello. 
 
 " Nora will come, Nora will come ! " they seemed to 
 be singing. 
 
 He went up to her bedroom and fingered her books 
 and some of her work, which had never been moved. 
 He opened her cupboard and touched two of her gowns 
 hanging there. 
 
 u Ah," he said, tenderly, " she must have some new 
 gowns bright ones. I must consult Nurse Isabel, 
 something blue, I think." 
 
 Then he crept down to his study and took up a 
 volume of Spenser. 
 
 " Ah," he said, sadly, " and now the other man will 
 take her away." 
 
 And Nurse Isabel, making some gruel for her patient, 
 dropped some salt tears into it. 
 
 " He will never know," she thought. " But I shall 
 always love and bless him. No one can take that from 
 me. It is my own. And now he is sitting writing to 
 her. I can see the smile of tenderness on his face." 
 
 339
 
 The Fowler 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 WEDDING GUESTS 
 
 IT was two or three days before Mrs Mary Shaw's mar- 
 riage with Mr William Parrington. Mr Parrington had 
 broken his solemn promise to wait patiently until Nora 
 Penhurst's return to England. There seemed to be some 
 excuse for his perfidy, since he had been courting the ob- 
 stinate hostess of the King's Head for about nine years. 
 
 " Either you marry me on the twenty-fifth of October, 
 my birthday," he said, " or else we part, and you never 
 see poor Parrington no more. Now, my dear, take your 
 choice. Be careful how you choose. Remember, you'll 
 miss me very much if you send me away for ever and 
 evermore. 'Twill be a terrible thing for you." 
 
 " And for you also," said Mrs Shaw, pouting. " You'll 
 miss me something shocking." 
 
 " Of course," replied Mr Parrington. " I shall be a 
 lone miserable wretch, and die of a broken heart, or 
 else of the bronchitv. The doctor was only a-saying 
 yesterday that my days was numbered. He sees a 
 wonderful change in me he do." 
 
 " Oh, Parrington, don't talk like that ; it stirs me up 
 dreadful," said Mrs Mary. 
 
 " Well, my dear, it be no fault of mine," he answered. 
 " And you must take your choice and abide by it." 
 
 " I give in," said Mrs Mary. " I'll marry you with- 
 out fail on October twenty-fifth, your birthday I think 
 you said it were your sixty-second birthday ! You see 
 it won't be for long, as you be so old and so ill ! I 
 give in, Parrington." 
 
 34
 
 Wedding Guests 
 
 Parrington's eye twinkled. 
 
 " All right, my dear," he said. " I'm sure you've 
 decided for your happiness. And I am sure 'twill be 
 a comfort to you to think it be only for a short time ! " 
 
 So this important matter was decided finally, and Mrs 
 Mary Shaw wrote to ask Mr Penhurst and Mr Upping- 
 ham to the wedding. 
 
 " I shouldn't feel it legal-like without Mr Penhurst, 
 bless him," she said. " He always promised he'd play 
 the organ for me the wedding-march by Mendelsome- 
 thing or other. I'm not a-going to give that up, Par- 
 rington not for no one." 
 
 " Right you are ! " said Parrington. " But don't you 
 dare to go a-sweethearting after Mr Uppingham, who 
 always puts you in mind of that artist-chap with the 
 light-brown moustache as never paid no bills. Nothing 
 of that sort, Mrs Mary ! " 
 
 " Right you are ! " answered Mrs Mary Shaw, laugh- 
 ing ; and the invitations were sent and accepted. Roger 
 arrived in the best of spirits, and was followed on the 
 next day by the historian, who also seemed to have 
 cheered up wonderfully. Their minds had been relieved 
 of a great burden when they learnt that Theodore Sevan 
 had not committed suicide. Roger was very quaint 
 about it ; and, inspired by the certainty of Bevan's un- 
 impaired health, wrote some doggerel lines called " The 
 Centipede's Death." They ran as follows : 
 
 " There was a wily centipede whose name was little Bevan, 
 He did not like to live in hell, and couldn't live in heaven. 
 So he took up his abode on earth, and always lay in wait 
 To sting the wretched victims assigned to him by fate. 
 He stung, he clung, 
 With all his might and main, 
 Injecting venom, diffusing pain. 
 
 341
 
 The Fowler 
 
 But after many years of work the centipede fell ill; 
 No longer could he lie in wait to poison or to kill. 
 The last part of my story is the pleasantest to tell : 
 The centipede was driv'n from earth and forc'd to enter hell! " 
 
 He showed them proudly to Brian when the historian 
 arrived at the King's Head. 
 
 " Ah," he said, with some of his old fun, " you didn't 
 know I was a poet did you ? " 
 
 " We must send them to Nurse Isabel," Brian said, 
 laughing. " Here, give them to me. I will copy them 
 out." 
 
 " Oh, I like that," Roger said, gaily. " You want 
 to pass them off as your own. I shall have a limited 
 edition of one printed on vellum poet's proof, in 
 fact ! " 
 
 They were still amusing themselves with this am- 
 bitious production when Mrs Mary Shaw came into the 
 parlour to lay the cloth for supper. 
 
 " I do declare, it quite enlivens me to hear your cheery 
 voices," she said, as she put a fresh log on the grate. 
 " I've been that dumpsy to-day." 
 
 " Why, you ought to be in the best of spirits now 
 that you've made up your mind to marry Parrington the 
 day after to-morrow," said Roger. 
 
 " Oh, I'm not bothering about that," said Mrs Mary, 
 " But the ancestors, poor creatures, be awful sour- 
 tempered to-day, and great-uncle keep on saying : c Mary 
 Shaw, you be making a terrible mistake, and you'll live 
 to find it out.' And Aunt Rebeccah nods her head and 
 says : c Ay, ay, Mary Shaw, you be making a terrible 
 mistake, and you'll live to find it out, and you be aging 
 wonderful quick/ 'Tisn't what you might call encour- 
 aging-like, on the eve of marriage, is it, Mr Uppingham, 
 sir ? " 
 
 342
 
 Wedding Guests 
 
 " And what does Wullie say ? " asked Roger. 
 
 " Oh, Wullie says : c Don't be a goose, mother ! 
 Cheer up. Parrington be the best chap as ever was, and 
 we'll all be mighty happy together, and I won't give 
 no trouble till I be growed up ! ' 
 
 " Hurrah for Wullie ! " said Roger. " That boy will 
 turn out trumps yet. I am much afraid that you will 
 live to be disappointed in him, Mrs Mary. I am con- 
 vinced that he will never consent to go on that down- 
 ward path. You will have to bear your disappointment 
 as bravely as possible." 
 
 " How you do make fun of me ! " said Mrs Shaw, 
 laughing. " But it quite braces me up. And to think 
 you've both come down special to be present at my 
 wedding. I take it very kind, Mr Penhurst, dear, and 
 Mr Uppingham, sir. If only our dear Miss Nora was 
 here too. 'Twould round everything off for me, and 
 I'd be the happiest woman in the world. But, you see, 
 Parrington wouldn't wait." 
 
 " Ah, if only she were here," the two men thought, 
 as they looked dreamily into the fire. 
 
 343
 
 The Fowler 
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 NATURE'S PROMISE 
 
 IT was one of those radiant days in the late autumn, 
 when summer returns as a welcome intruder and lends 
 a golden lustre to all the beautiful colouring on the 
 moors and in the lanes and by the winding river. The 
 withered brown leaves smiled their answer to the sun's 
 warm greeting. The reddened branches gleamed like 
 fire. The reeds in the river, bowing to the gentle wind 
 and murmuring soft words of welcome, were tipped with 
 bright jewels of light. Away on the hill, at the back 
 of the King's Head, the pines were illumined with floods 
 of sunshine ; the carpet of sombre cones and needles 
 glistened in the tender embrace of the strong warm 
 rays. There was a softness in the air, and a soothing 
 fragrance of dampness autumn's own especial charms. 
 Summer and autumn were spending the day together, and 
 Nature was well pleased to see her beloved children in 
 harmony. 
 
 Roger and Brian, faithful comrades as ever, strolled out 
 together, their steps leading them by instinct to Nora's 
 favourite haunts. When they spoke, it was of her only. 
 
 " This is a day after her own heart," the old man said, 
 as they sat near the weir and watched the rush of clear 
 sweet water. " If she were here, she would say that 
 there was a sort of mystic promise in the air : I feel it 
 myself." 
 
 " And I feel it," Brian answered. 
 
 "She will come back soon," Roger said. "I am ex- 
 344
 
 Nature's Promise 
 
 pecting at any moment to have a message to say that 
 she has started homewards." 
 
 Brian made no answer. He was thinking of the 
 words he had written to her : 
 
 " Let me come as a stranger into your life" 
 
 They lingered for some time by the river, and then 
 turned off in the direction of the moors, and came slowly 
 back to the village. Just as they were nearing the 
 King's Head, Mrs Mary Shaw hastened out to meet 
 them. She was in a state of great excitement, but, from 
 the radiant smile on her face, it was evident that she was 
 not the bearer of ill-tidings. 
 
 " Something wonderful have happened ! " she cried, 
 u I don't know how to tell you. Davy went to the 
 station this morning, all unbeknown to any one, and 
 brought back " 
 
 The old man looked up and saw a dear, gallant figure 
 approaching him. 
 
 He ran forward. 
 
 " My Nora, my own beloved girl ! " he cried. 
 
 " Oh, father," she cried, " my old sweetheart of a 
 father ! " And she held him in her strong young arms. 
 
 Brian stood apart, as one stunned. 
 
 She went up to him, and put out both her hands to 
 him. 
 
 " Not as a stranger ! " she said, and her voice thrilled 
 through him. 
 
 He lifted her outstretched hands and pressed them 
 reverently to his lips. 
 
 THE END 
 
 345
 
 
 
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