ELIZABETH IN RETREAT
 
 BY THE SAME AUTHOR 
 
 ELIZABETH'S CHILDREN 
 
 (SIXTH EDITION) 
 
 HELEN ALLISTON 
 
 THE YOUNG O'BRIENS 
 
 PHYLLIS IN MIDDLEWYCH
 
 ELI ZABETH 
 IN RETREAT 
 
 BY MARGARET WESTRUP 
 
 (MRS. W. SYDNEY STACEY) 
 
 LONDON JOHN LANE THE BODLEY HEAD 
 NEW YORK JOHN LANE COMPANY MCMXII
 
 SECOND IMPRESSION 
 
 TUB LONDON AND NORWICH PRBSS, LTP., LONDON AND NORWICH
 
 TO 
 MY HUSBAND 
 
 2138734 f
 
 Elizabeth in Retreat
 
 Elizabeth in Retreat 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 IT was so like Elizabeth ! From the wild scrawl at 
 the beginning " Oh, Hugh, you must help me " 
 down to the wilder hieroglyphics at the end, 
 which, painstakingly deciphered, read " Your ever 
 grateful Elizabeth " it was so like her ! So like 
 Elizabeth ! And Hugh Latimer, striving to frown, 
 smiled. People always tried to frown over Elizabeth, 
 and always ended by smiling. 
 
 Latimer looked into Muriel's lovely face, and shame- 
 fully accused her : " You're laughing, Muriel ! It's not 
 a laughing matter. How long does she give me ? a 
 fortnight to find her a furnished house " 
 
 " Eighteen days," Muriel put in. 
 
 " What is eighteen days ? A mean thing that is 
 neither a fortnight, nor three weeks a thing without a 
 definite label." 
 
 " Oh," said Muriel, " I shall love to see those boys 
 again ! " 
 
 " You interrupted me, Muriel " 
 
 " Yes, and I'm doing it again ! Now, what does 
 she want ? How many rooms did you say ? " 
 
 " Rooms ? You don't think Elizabeth cares about 
 such unimportant things as rooms ? She must have 
 heaps of deep window-seats and cushions, and odd 
 corners, and beams across the ceilings, and roses grow- 
 ing all over the house, and she wants me to try to get
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 her some good spider destroyer or ' keep-them-away- 
 thing.' " 
 
 " They're none any good," Muriel said reflectively. 
 " What sort of sized place do you think she wants ? " 
 
 There was a little silence, then Hugh said : 
 
 " You've never seen your face amongst pink ane- 
 mones. You never will." 
 
 The face, earnestly peering at him between the bowls 
 of anemones, grew as pink as they. 
 
 " You're frivolling, Hugh," she said. " Go on with 
 Elizabeth's business." 
 
 " Oh, hang Elizabeth's business ! I want to look at 
 you. You've no conception of what you are, Muriel, 
 in a blue frock on a sunny morning in January, at a 
 man's breakfast table ! You you're adorable ! " 
 
 " I shall talk to Sol," she said, bending her beautiful 
 head over the dog. 
 
 " Sol," she said, " did you always know what a goose 
 you had for your master ? Or is it, alas ! only matri- 
 mony that has brought his latent geese-like proclivities 
 to the surface ? Poor Elizabeth ! So trusting ! So 
 unwitting of the real nature of the man to whom she has 
 entrusted the important business of finding a temporary 
 
 home for her and her husband and children Hugh," 
 
 she broke off, " why don't you interrupt me ? " 
 
 He laughed at her tenderly. 
 
 " I like to see you so ridiculous," he said ; " it just 
 gives me the touch of superiority I need to keep me from 
 becoming Uriah Heepishly 'umble ! " 
 
 " You ! " she said. 
 
 " Muriel, let's read her letter together ; it tires my 
 voice to read it all out loud. Come along, sweet." 
 
 Laughing, she rose, and went to him. " That's 
 better, "he said contentedly. " Now ! "
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 " I can't read her writing. Read it to me, Hugh." 
 " Well ; I've read a good deal. Let me see. She is 
 tired of gaiety, and feels a sudden longing for the deep 
 seclusion and peace of an English country village. Where 
 is it ? Oh, here we are ' a littla nestling village, Hugh, 
 with warm red roofs a sun-trap, I want warmth 
 and utter quiet and fragrance ; in fact, my wants are 
 real bookey wants, and will explain themselves in a 
 family-magazine sort of language. I want to be near 
 you. Don't flatter yourself too much it's for the sake 
 of peace, as those boys are always asking for their " cher 
 Monsieur." I've told them we are going to live near 
 you, and they are mad with delight. Renaud observed : 
 " I wish to see how dis marriage dat we arrange have 
 gone on," so you will have a chiel among you taking 
 notes.' 
 
 " Then she goes on about the need for strict economy. 
 It appears they have lost a lot of money. Do listen ! 
 ' We've lost a lot of money some way. I don't know 
 how, but it's gone, and I'm sure I haven't spent quarter, 
 so it must have been lost or stolen or something. And 
 I'm getting scared at the thought of the boys' education. 
 Alphonse and I hold frightfully strong opinions on the 
 wickedness of not spending heaps of money on one's 
 children's education, so we've got to economise rather 
 drastically. I've been making out economical menus. 
 Alphonse says I'm wonderful. We're going to have 
 soup one evening and fish the next, and things like that ; 
 and there must be shooting and fishing, because it saves 
 such a great deal. I'm going to be most awfully econo- 
 mical, but always hospitable. If my friends find only a 
 mutton-bone-and-crust-of -bread sort of thing, we will 
 share it with smiles, you know. I'd rather the house 
 wasn't furnished too prolifically, mon ami, because I'm
 
 ELIZABETH IX RETREAT 
 
 bound to hate it all, and buy fresh things. And if 
 there's no hot water laid on, will you see if it's possible to 
 have it done ? Oh, and a wistaria over some wall ! I 
 love them. And a glorious garden full of old-fashioned 
 
 flowers and things ' I don't know what she means 
 
 by ' things.' " 
 
 " Oh, I do," said Muriel. 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " Oh why things, you know." 
 
 " Oh, I see \ Of course ! Well, Elizabeth won't have 
 her old-fashioned flosvers, and her sun-traps in January, 
 I'm afraid! She " 
 
 " Cherry Cross ! " burst out Muriel. " Oh, Hugh, 
 Cherry Cross ! " 
 
 He stared at her. 
 
 " Muriel, you're a genius ! " 
 
 She laughed delightedly. 
 
 " The dear little old white-washed place ! And the 
 roses all over it and window-seats and only two and 
 a half miles from us. Oh, Hugh, you must go this morn- 
 ing ! Suppose it is let ! " 
 
 " I wonder if Elizabeth minds rats," he said. 
 
 " Oh, we'll put traps. Have you finished your break- 
 fast, dear?" 
 
 " I did mean to eat another piece of toast," he said 
 mournfully. " However " 
 
 " Oh, of course you are to have it ! Here's the marma- 
 lade. Poor darling! there's no hurry really, only it's 
 always being let and sub-let, and things like that. Oh, 
 Hugh ! isn't it exactly what Elizabeth wants ? And that 
 lovely little orchard with the cherry trees ! And that 
 dear old high wall all round it " 
 
 Hugh jumped up. 
 
 " Dear, you make me afraid to sit here another
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 minute ! One letter I must write before I go, and I 
 must see Parker for a minute or two ; then I'll ride over 
 to Underwood, the agent." 
 
 " Yes. And Hugh, I shouldn't think it would be a 
 large rent, would you ? The rooms are very small, you 
 know, and there aren't many. Oh, and Hugh, there is 
 very little furniture ! Don't you remember, old Mrs. 
 Haikes sold all her nice things ? " 
 
 " Yes, and it'll be so economical for Elizabeth to buy 
 new stuff for a month or two ! " 
 
 Muriel laughed. 
 
 " Oh, she'll never get tired of Cherry Cross ! "
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 ELIZABETH never had the opportunity to prove 
 if she would tire of Cherry Cross, for Cherry 
 Cross was let had been let for a week 
 when Latimer approached Underwood on the subject. 
 Underwood, of course, re-assured him. He told him 
 impressively that he need not feel any anxiety as 
 to securing a suitable house for Madame Du Pierre ; 
 they had several desirable residences on their books. 
 Hugh, scouring the country during the following fort- 
 night, opined that the desirable residences would remain 
 on their books. In the end, it was Miss Hoakes 
 who came to his rescue. (Elizabeth flippantly pro- 
 nounced the name a bad omen, and persisted in looking 
 for some hoax that lady had left behind her.) Miss 
 Hoakes was stout and brisk and determined ; she had, 
 on hearing of Elizabeth's proposed visit, decided sud- 
 denly that she would like to go and " do " Rome. In 
 two minutes she had planned it all ; in three, she had, 
 hatted and coated, set out to call on the Latimers, to 
 tell them that Elizabeth was to rent her place, Elm Hill, 
 from January 2oth. Miss Hoakes was one of those in- 
 tensely practical people who never see any point of 
 view but their own ; she was also one of those enviable 
 people who are incapable of perceiving any flaw in any- 
 thing pertaining to themselves. So that although, had 
 Elm Hill belonged to any one but herself, her practical 
 mind would have been aghast at some of its incon- 
 veniences, it wa? to her now perfect. Briskly, readily, 
 
 6
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 with unanswerable firmness, she bore down all 
 objections. 
 
 Rats ? Oh a few in the stables. Of course there 
 are always rats in stables. Come into the house ? Oh 
 no ! Well once or twice it had been thought so easily 
 got rid of. She hadn't troubled, as she didn't mind 
 them. A really old house ? Well, part of Elm Hill was 
 Queen Anne. Of course it had been renovated ; but just 
 look at the added comfort and convenience. Damp ? 
 Oh, not the slightest perfectly dry and beautifully 
 sheltered ; the stains on the wall-papers were due 
 to defective papering, that was all. Broad window 
 seats ? 
 
 At this point Miss Hoakes' eloquence was stopped by 
 sheer disgusted incredulity. 
 
 " You really mean that Madame Du Pierre would let 
 the chance of such a house slip for an utterly unimportant 
 reason like that ? " 
 
 " It happens not to seem unimportant to her, you see," 
 Hugh replied. 
 
 Miss Hoakes snorted ; she really did snort, just like 
 some one in a novel. In the end they took Elm Hill. 
 
 " I wish," Muriel said, " that there had never been any 
 chance of Cherry Cross." 
 
 She said it to Mrs. Darlington, and Mrs. Darlington 
 primmed her lips. 
 
 " I fancy we may all end by wishing Madame du 
 Pierre were there," she said. 
 
 Muriel did not ask her her reason for her fancy, because 
 the mysterious manner of the utterance warned her of 
 the nature of the communication she would receive. 
 But Mrs. Darlington, unable to keep away from a subject 
 so congenial to her, soon reverted to it. 
 
 " Their name is Wingfield. He's one of the Kent Wing-
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 fields ; his uncle is Sir John Wingfield. He disinherited 
 this man a few years ago." 
 
 " Hugh knows Sir John ; he's a charming old man, I 
 believe. More tea ? " 
 
 " No, thanks. This man's an invalid. There is one 
 child a boy. My maid comes from Chiverton in Devon- 
 shire, where they stayed a good while. She says there 
 were all sorts of stories about. In fact, I fancy there's 
 something really wrong. The man has an awful reputa- 
 tion, and she well, one hopes it isn't true." 
 
 " Probably it isn't," said Muriel. " Do have a cake." 
 
 Mrs. Darlington shrugged shoulders that looked meagre 
 beneath a huge hat. 
 
 " One hopes not, but I fear It's very awkward." 
 
 " Why ? " Muriel said. 
 
 Mrs. Darlington looked taken aback. " Oh well 
 about calling, you know " 
 
 " But no one bothers about Cherry Cross. It's always 
 being let for a month or two months, and it's nearly three 
 miles away, you know." 
 
 All of which was so true that Mrs. Darlington was 
 greatly annoyed.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 THEY had arrived at Elm Hill Elizabeth, 
 Alphonse her husband, and the three boys. 
 Hugh, eyeing the boys, thought of that day 
 when they had arrived on a visit to him, and he felt 
 thankful that this time they had brought their parents 
 with them, and were provided with another residence 
 than his roof. But, looking at Muriel, her arms full 
 of soft little Andr6, he felt a stirring of deep affection 
 for them, and he smiled. Immediately, as of old, 
 Renaud's dark little face lit up with an answering smile. 
 
 " By Jove ! Monsieur, are you not den pleased to see 
 us, n'est-ce pas ? " 
 
 " Hugh," broke in Elizabeth's petulant voice, 
 " couldn't we have these window-sills cut down some 
 way ? They're broad enough to sit on, but so ridicu- 
 lously high ! And the windows can't they be altered ? 
 They're so perfectly hideous ! I did so want leaded 
 
 windows and that sort of thing What is it, Louise ? 
 
 Oh, Hugh ! she says there's no water laid on upstairs at 
 all ! It can't be true. Why, we need tons and tons of 
 water. What will she do about baths and things ? 
 
 No bath-room ! Oh " Elizabeth sank into a chair 
 
 and became quiet. 
 
 " We can no doubt arrange these matters," Alphonse 
 said courteously ; and he looked anxiously from Elizabeth 
 to Hugh. 
 
 " Oh, cette pauvre Maman ! " shrieked Andre" 
 suddenly. " Oh ooo ! See she cry ! She weep ! 
 
 9
 
 io ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 O ooh ! " He flung himself upon her, rending the air 
 with sympathetic howls. 
 
 " De Eau de Cologne ! " cried Renaud. 
 
 " Louise, de Eau de Cologne ! Papa ! See she sad 
 she ill Oh, la pauvre Maman ! " 
 
 " De Eau de Cologne ! " yelled Armand. " Eau de 
 Cologne ! De smelling peppere ! " 
 
 " Bah, foolish one ! It is de smelling salt not 
 peppere !" 
 
 " Does it not make one sneeze ? It is den peppere ! 
 Peppere / Peppere I Pep pep peppare ! " 
 
 " Salt, I tell you ! Little donkey ! Salt I Salt ! Sal- 
 sal salt ! " 
 
 Hugh, eyeing the two slim little figures executing an 
 excited war-dance round Elizabeth's chair, shouting and 
 gesticulating, felt as if he were in a dream. Even 
 Andre's sympathetic howls were just as they had been 
 wont to be ! 
 
 " Dear Elm Hill ! " he murmured to Muriel. " It may 
 have no water laid on upstairs ; it may have no bath- 
 room ; but at least it has a roof to shelter those charming 
 heads ! " 
 
 Muriel, dashing to Elizabeth's rescue, cast him a 
 reproachful glance. 
 
 " You adored and spoilt them worse than any one ! " 
 
 Then she seized Renaud 's shoulder, and lifted her 
 voice in indignant protest. 
 
 " Renaud, you are making your mother's head worse ! 
 Be quiet." 
 
 With startling rapidity the gesticulations were stilled, 
 the voice dropped to a contrite whisper. 
 
 " See, I become as a leetle mouse, Madame ! " and 
 Renaud was mute. Armand, as was his wont, followed 
 suit, and a sudder dead silence succeeded the hubbub,
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT n 
 
 for Andre had rolled off Elizabeth's lap on to a rug, and 
 into sleep. 
 
 They all looked at each other. Elizabeth broke the 
 silence. " I know I'm behaving in a perfectly disgrace- 
 ful way," she said pathetically, and she looked at Hugh 
 with tragic, weary eyes. 
 
 Latimer immediately declared she was behaving 
 perfectly, and Alphonse assured her she was an angel 
 of goodness and sweetness. 
 
 " I'm very tired, and so ugly," Elizabeth said. " My 
 temper is always worse when I'm ugly. I was fearfully 
 bad coming over. So was Andre ; and he took a dislike 
 to Louise, and wanted me." 
 
 She leant back limply in her chair, and Hugh and 
 Alphonse brought more cushions, while Renaud brought 
 a wrap, and Muriel hurried out of the room to see what 
 was happening about tea. 
 
 " Hugh," Elizabeth said, "I'm not sure whether 
 I shan't dislike your wife ; she's almost irritatingly 
 lovely. I thought she'd be more the placid, goddess-like 
 sort of beauty that would never clash with my elusive 
 charms." 
 
 " You're irresistible together," Hugh said. 
 
 " Um," said Elizabeth ; " but is that the new husband 
 or the old friend speaking ? " 
 
 " Both, of course." 
 
 " Of course you had to say so. Renaud, if you whisper 
 in that ghastly way I shall smack you ! Alphonse, take 
 me upstairs ; and some one find Ame'lie. I want reno- 
 vating." 
 
 At the door she turned and looked back at 
 Hugh. 
 
 " Dear old Hugh ! " she said, "I'm an utter wretch ; 
 but it's only temper." And she smiled.
 
 12 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 Muriel, re-entering, was just in time to be included in 
 the smile. 
 
 When Elizabeth had gone, she said : "I'm glad I 
 came in just then. I was beginning to feel that Elizabeth 
 was rather too rude and childish." 
 
 Hugh laughed. 
 
 " My dear, unless you make up your mind to that, 
 you'll never like Elizabeth." 
 
 " Then," said Muriel, " I don't think I shall like her 
 much." 
 
 It was half an hour later that Elizabeth, tall and very 
 thin in a clinging tea-gown of a wonderful deep pink 
 hue, re-appeared. She came in with slim hands out- 
 stretched, her beautiful dark eyes appealing, her clever, 
 sensitive, mobile mouth very sweet. 
 
 " I'm so sorry I was so horrid," she said gently. 
 "I'm like that sometimes, but I am trying very hard to 
 grow better." 
 
 Oh," cried Muriel, " you weren't ! You were so 
 tired. Now, sit there. I'll pour out. Is that comfort- 
 able ? Hugh, that green cushion is softer, I think." 
 
 " She shall have the pink one as well ; it looks so 
 ripping with her gown," Hugh said, and he smiled.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 ELIZABETH wrote at once and insisted upon 
 Mark Ridgeway's coming to stay with her. 
 Ridgeway was not at all sure he wanted to 
 come just then ; he said he was busy painting. To 
 which Elizabeth replied that Hugh Latimer would 
 lend him a splendid mount ; and Ridgeway came down 
 in a few days. 
 
 But he came as an artist, and he had grown a beard. 
 
 " Has your horse broken his neck and you can't 
 afford another ? " was all Elizabeth said. 
 
 To which he replied that his horse had strained his 
 shoulder rather badly, but it was only a question of 
 time, and that he himself had been painting pretty hard. 
 
 " I suppose your horse strained his poor shoulder 
 carrying you and your paint-box and easel and 
 things ? " Elizabeth said. " It's a pity you've come, 
 Mark, for I'll never look at you with that hideous 
 growth on your chin." 
 
 To which he replied, stroking his beard : 
 
 " Oh yes, you will. You'll want to see if I still think 
 you're as charming as ever." 
 
 But at the end of two days he sought Latimer at the 
 Hall. 
 
 " Razors are messy, but prussic acid is, I believe, 
 exceedingly painful. It must be razors, I suppose. 
 Mine are blunt for want of use. Lend me yours, 
 Latimer, will you ? " 
 
 " To shave off your beard ? "
 
 14 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 " No. To shave off my head ! " 
 
 " He kill himself ! For can a man live widout de 
 head ? Monsieur, I beg you to wait till I have finish 
 de picture I paint now ! " 
 
 This was from Renaud, deep in contemplation at the 
 window of the misty landscape outside. 
 
 " Heartless little wretch ! Is that what I have come 
 to ? To be valued only as the teacher of babes ! " 
 
 " I am not a babe ! But no, I am not ! See, I can spik 
 de English now oh yes, but jolly well, de deuce ! " 
 
 Andre's placid little deep voice issued from beneath 
 a lounge. 
 
 " ' Oh, Mr. Moon, 
 We're all here ! 
 Honey-bug, Tissle-dift, 
 White-imp, Weird, 
 W'y face, Billiten, 
 Tidmunc, Teered ; 
 We're all here, 
 An' de coast is clear ! 
 Moon, Mr. Moon, 
 When you comin' down ? ' " 
 
 " Sweet, may I look ? " Muriel crept on all fours 
 to the lounge. 
 
 " S s-sh ! De little man is ver shy ! You may jus' 
 peep ! " 
 
 She peeped. Andre 1 sat in a nest of cushions sur- 
 rounded by odd little bits of brown and white paper 
 crumpled up into different shapes. His voice began 
 again, while his bright blue eyes gazed up earnestly at 
 the seat of the lounge above his head : 
 
 " 'O Mr. Moon, 
 
 We're de lickle men! 
 
 Dew-lap, Pussy-mouse, 
 
 Fern-tip, F'eak, 
 
 D'ink-adain, Shamblcr, 
 Talky-talk, Stweak. . .
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 15 
 
 " Renaud, wouldn't you care if I cut off my head ? " 
 said Mark Ridgeway pathetically. 
 
 " Bah ! " said Renaud. " I know dat you make de 
 joke, n'est-ce pas ? I am not an infant-babe, 
 Monsieur ! " 
 
 " You're not indeed, mon ami. How goes the 
 picture ? " 
 
 Renaud turned an earnest little dark face up to him, 
 and flung out his hands expressively, 
 
 " Monsieur, I try and try, but I cannot make de colour 
 like dat ! " 
 
 The painter looked out at the line of ash trees, deli- 
 cately dark yet so light against their background of 
 soft green and brown meadows. 
 
 " No, Renaud, I can't make de colour like dat either, 
 old man." 
 
 " You, Monsieur ? But you are de artist ! You paint 
 de beautiful pictures dat make one so glad ! " 
 
 Ridgeway stroked the dark cropped head. 
 
 " ' Finis,' " exclaimed Hugh, flinging down a novel. 
 " I wonder why I read piffle like that ? " 
 
 " The cleverest minds require piffle physic at times, " 
 observed Muriel demurely. 
 
 "Not that sort of piffle, it's dirty. You're not to 
 read it, Muriel." 
 
 She laughed. 
 
 " I should if I wanted to." 
 
 " You would ? Ridgeway, look away ! It's not 
 kind to gaze upon the pitiful spectacle of a hen-pecked 
 husband." 
 
 "It is now," said Ridgeway, " quite ten minutes 
 since I made the pathetic request for the loan of your 
 razors to cut my throat with, and no one has fainted, 
 or even exclaimed."
 
 16 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 " Well," Muriel mused, " it's not because a picture 
 has gone all wrong. I can see that. What is it ? " 
 
 " Where is Alphonse ? " Elizabeth came gently into 
 the room. " I have saved a child's life." 
 
 She ignored the buzz of talk and questions. 
 
 " Some one give me the most comfortable chair in the 
 room. It's rather tiring saving children's lives." 
 
 " What a tantalizing creature you are, Elizabeth," 
 Hugh said. 
 
 She raised her delicate eyebrows. 
 
 " Mais, ma mere, what did you ? Was it dat you 
 throw yourself into de rivere and save de child from de 
 drrowning ? Mais mon. See ! she is not wet ! She is 
 drry!" 
 
 " Ah ! she throw herself before de trrain ! By Jove ! 
 but where is de blood ? I ask you, where is de blood 
 den ? " Renaud, hopping from one foot to the other, 
 examined Elizabeth's skirt, her boots, her coat, even her 
 hat, while Armand diligently peered into her discarded 
 muff and gloves. Andr6 emerged from beneath the 
 lounge, shrieking ecstatically: 
 
 " ' Tallenough, Stwaretoes, ' 
 Amble, Tip, 
 Buddy-bud, Heigho, 
 Lickle black Pip, ' " 
 
 " Poor people's children are undoubtedly inclined to be 
 spiteful," Elizabeth said, encircling Andr6 with her 
 arms. " I held it upside down, and it scratched me most 
 cruelly. It was a very plain child, and quite dirty and 
 hard. I'm always so glad Andre is such a soft baby." 
 
 Ridgeway stroked his beard thoughtfully. 
 
 " Perhaps that position upside down induces a 
 longing to scratch," he observed. 
 
 " Don't talk to me until I have had some tea, please.
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 17 
 
 I hate talking to people without looking at them any- 
 way." 
 
 " Then why not look at me, dear lady ? " 
 
 " You know that I find you so horribly unattractive." 
 
 He sighed. 
 
 " Latimer those razors ! " 
 
 " Here conies tea," said Muriel. 
 
 " Maman, I wish to know ! De child dat you save ! 
 If you will not tell, I will say damn ! " cried Renaud. 
 
 " It was a little girl who had swallowed a bone," 
 Elizabeth said languidly. " Her people were all stand- 
 ing around screaming and scolding, while she choked, 
 and her face was a horrid colour. I think purple is a 
 distressing colour." 
 
 " And you held her up by her feet, and the bone fell 
 out ? " Hugh said. 
 
 Elizabeth nodded. 
 
 " It was a most fortunate thing for me," she said. 
 " I am trying so hard to interest myself in these poor 
 people, and I find it harder still to interest them in me. 
 The only ones who are really interested in me are those 
 with some horrible disease or ugliness, and then I become 
 interesting as a new audience. But I always run away. 
 Andre, you mustn't take bread and butter under that 
 lounge." 
 
 " S s-sh, Maman ! I will tell you." He came close, 
 his cheeks growing very red. " It is a big sec'et, oh, but 
 ver big ! See," he told her in a loud whisper, " de lickle 
 men are all under dere, waitin' for Mr. Moon to come 
 down, and deys ver hungry, oh, ver hungry indeed ! So 
 now I may take de bed and butter, n'est-ce pas ? " 
 
 Elizabeth looked down helplessly into the beseeching 
 blue eyes, at the fat little brown fist doubled on the 
 bread and butter.
 
 i8 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 " You will make grease spots, dear one." 
 
 " Andr, come here. I want to whisper," interposed 
 Muriel. 
 
 He trotted over to her, his face full of tragic anxiety. 
 
 Muriel bent her head. 
 
 " Don't you think the little men would like a nice 
 biscuit better than bread and butter ? " 
 
 And the next moment a beaming Andr6 disappeared 
 beneath the lounge, clutching a harmless dry biscuit, 
 and his voice, issued forth : 
 
 " ' O Mr. Moon, 
 
 Dere's not much time ! 
 
 Hurry, if you're tumin', 
 
 You lazy ole bones ! 
 
 You can sleep to-modder 
 
 While de Buz-buz dwones ; ' ' 
 
 " I'm going to call on those people at Cherry Cross," 
 Elizabeth said to Muriel. 
 
 " Are you ? Why ? They were here before you." 
 
 " I know. But I adore that place. I want to see if 
 they won't change with me. There are only three of 
 them, and we're rather cramped at Elm Hill." 
 
 Muriel laughed. 
 
 " And you're going in to suggest their turning out ? 
 He's an invalid, you know." 
 
 Elizabeth nodded. 
 
 " Much healthier for him up on the top of our hill." 
 She added : " Have people called on them ? " 
 
 " A few. No one bothers about Cherry Cross, as a 
 
 rule ; it's always being let, and is a good way off, but " 
 
 She shrugged her shoulders. 
 
 " You mean these people promise to prove more inter- 
 esting than usual ? " 
 
 "To them- -yes. Mrs. Darlington has called, of
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 19 
 
 course. Mrs. Wingfield sent down the same answer to 
 them all : she could not leave Mr. Wingfield. She's not 
 at home to any one." 
 
 " Shall you call ? " 
 
 " I never bother about Cherry Cross." 
 
 Elizabeth smiled lazily. 
 
 " And you see no reason to alter your custom now ? " 
 
 " No. Do you ? " 
 
 " I'm not afraid of contamination, but I don't think 
 I'd want to go unless it were that I want their house. 
 As a rule, unrespectable folk are just as dull as respect- 
 able. It's only in books they're so scintillating and 
 amusing." 
 
 Latimer strolled back from a discussion with Ridge- 
 way about an illustration in " Harper's." 
 
 " Ever read that little essay of Mrs. Craigie's on 
 " Disreputable dullness," Elizabeth ? " 
 
 " No ; it sounds promising." 
 
 " Oh, it's delightful ! Listen a moment." He picked 
 up a little slim book and turned its leaves. " ' Dullness 
 is a quality in the individual. If there are dull matrons, 
 there is also an infinite crowd of very dull wantons ; 
 there are dull villains as well as dull patterns of pro- 
 priety. If sermons can be dull, comedies can be much 
 duller. . . . 
 
 " ' When a virtuous woman is tedious, she is not tedious 
 because she is chaste, but because she is unimaginative 
 or mentally stupid, and when an immoral woman is 
 brilliant, she is not brilliant because she is immoral, but 
 because she happens to have brains.' ' He paused, 
 turning over the leaves. 
 
 " It's good," said Elizabeth. " Go on." 
 
 He glanced down the pages. 
 
 " ' Young people, as a rule, are warned against many
 
 20 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 places of amusement, not because they are dull, which is 
 the case, but because they are improper. And youth 
 at once forms the idea that the improprieties and irre- 
 gularities are forbidden because of their enchantment and 
 their undying delight. Those who have been allowed 
 most liberty in roving know better.' ' 
 
 " That's true," Elizabeth said. 
 
 "I'd like to know why it is," observed Ridgeway, 
 tugging at his brown beard, " that writers nearly always 
 make their improper people so much more exciting and 
 interesting than the proper ones." 
 
 Hugh gave a little laugh. 
 
 ' ' My friends, we have the answer here. ' ' He tapped the 
 little green book and picked it up again, but Elizabeth 
 interposed. 
 
 " I shall not like it any more. Mark has spoilt it," 
 she said petulantly. " It's just like some horrid old- 
 fashioned novel now, where they tried to cram one's 
 unsuspecting brain with knowledge imparted through 
 judicious questions on the parts of the characters." 
 
 " Hugh, I want to hear it," Muriel said. 
 
 " The dutiful wife now interposes with a conveniently 
 desirous thirst for knowledge," observed Elizabeth 
 crossly. 
 
 Hugh read calmly : 
 
 " ' For one hundred authors who can draw, with a 
 certain success, a person of either sex without prejudices, 
 and hit you off a scoundrel or a courtesan, there is not one 
 who can draw an ordinary human being who faces with 
 fixed principles the usual temptations, and make him, 
 or her, even endurable, far less alive.' ' 
 
 " By Jove, that's ripping ! " exclaimed Ridgeway. 
 
 " It's absolutely true," Muriel said thoughtfully. 
 " I wonder wny it is."
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 " Good folk need more delicate, subtle painting," 
 Ridgeway said. 
 
 Muriel, her face still a little shadowed, showed where 
 her thoughts lingered. 
 
 " Mrs. Wingfield doesn't look wicked," she said. 
 
 " Have you seen her ? What is she like ? " queried 
 Elizabeth. 
 
 " Oh, she's just a nice-looking girl with pretty 
 brown hair rather pale quite young and ordinary 
 looking." 
 
 " How does she dress ? " 
 
 " She had on an ordinary coat and skirt greyish 
 green and an ordinary floppity hat." 
 
 " That's nothing," Elizabeth said. " I know a woman 
 with a notoriously bad reputation, and she has an 
 insignificant nose, that gets red when she dines." 
 
 " Quick ! We fly ! Come den, mon petit Andre ! 
 Quick ! Oh, hurry up, thou foolish one ! Hurry your 
 stoomps ! It is dat imbecile dat Leelian ! " Shouting, 
 the three boys fled from the room. 
 
 Hugh and Mark made a simultaneous movement after 
 thsm. Then, as Walker threw open the door, announcing 
 Mrs. Dormer- Jones, they drew back, trying to look 
 innocent. 
 
 " Oh, my dear Mrs. Latimer, I know you won't mind 
 my bringing dear Lilian ; you are so fond of children ! 
 Oh, Madame du Pierre, are you better ? Not ill ? Really ? 
 Oh, but you look so terribly thin and delicate ! My hus- 
 band declares there's nothing of you. Of course, I told 
 him it was fashionable nowadays. I'm sure if I wore 
 corsets down to my knees I'd never get that fashionable 
 narrow look. Lilian will be slim. She has a very graceful 
 figure, hasn't she ? What do you think she said to me 
 yesterday ? ' Mother, when may I begin to pull in my
 
 22 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 waist ? ' Isn't it amusing ? Oh, Mr. Ridgeway, I do 
 want you to paint her portrait some day just a little 
 sketch, you know for friendship's sake ! She has such 
 delicate colouring. She'd be lovely to paint, wouldn't 
 she ? And I wouldn't mind you sending it up to the 
 Academy a bit. I do think your beard such a great 
 improvement ; Mrs. Darlington said to me this after- 
 noon, ' The man looks a cross now between an artist 
 and a sportsman ! ' She always says such clever things, 
 doesn't she ? It's so much more romantic, I think, for 
 an artist to have a beard. Was that why you grew it ? " 
 
 " Not exactly." 
 
 " Then why ? Do tell me." 
 
 Ridgeway looked across reproachfully at Elizabeth, as 
 he answered : 
 
 " It was because no one would believe I was an 
 artist. No one took me seriously. You see, unfor- 
 tunately I can't help knowing the difference between 
 a horse's head and his tail, and it seems that's imper- 
 missible in a serious painter. So I hoped a beard might 
 remedy matters a bit." 
 
 His eyes, very young and boyish above the brown 
 beard, still gazed reproachfully at Elizabeth, who 
 was yawning, and looking very bored. 
 
 " Oh, I see ! How interesting. But, do tell me 
 am I indiscreet ? Come closer, Mr. Ridgeway I think 
 I'd better whisper. Have you and Madame du Pierre 
 had a quarrel ? Oh, I hope you don't mind, but Mrs. 
 Darlington said she saw her cut you dead ! She said she 
 couldn't be mistaken ! I told her she must, but she said 
 she was in Jake's cottage, and she saw you come along, 
 and Madame du Pierre was driving, and she drove past 
 you, staring straight ahead ! " 
 
 " It's true, Mrs. Jones, too true."
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 23 
 
 Mrs. Dormer- Jones' red face grew purple with excite- 
 ment. 
 
 " Was that why you wanted my razors ? " queried 
 Latimer. 
 
 " Of course." 
 
 "What for? Razors? Why? Oh, am I indis- 
 creet ? " 
 
 " Not at all. To cut my throat." 
 
 " It would be more to the purpose to cut your beard, 
 wouldn't it ? " suggested Elizabeth. 
 
 " Even for you I can't do that. I am thinking of 
 wearing a soft collar, and speaking of a horse's ankles 
 and waist and hips. Oh, I shall be acclaimed as artist 
 yet ! " 
 
 " Couldn't you fatten your legs a bit ? " Latimer 
 said. 
 
 Ridgeway looked down at his legs with a comical 
 expression of genuine ruefulness. 
 
 " I don't think I could do that." 
 
 " Well, you could discard those exceedingly tight 
 gaiters, couldn't you ? " Muriel added unkindly. 
 
 He smoothed them lovingly. " Hunting to-morrow. 
 I'll discard them then for boots," he smiled. 
 
 " They're quite out of keeping with that hideous 
 beard," Elizabeth said. 
 
 " We will now change the subject," Ridgeway said 
 cheerfully. " Mrs. Jones, you really look younger every 
 time I see you ! " 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Ridgeway ! Well, I'm sure I feel young 
 enough ! If it's true a woman's only as old as she feels, 
 I'm not a day more than twenty. And all of you make 
 me feel younger still, you're so witty and amusing. 
 All about beards and horses and things; and I don't 
 believe there was a quarrel at all. Oh, / know ! It's
 
 24 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 just your fun and teasing. I found out long ago that 
 the smart people are never serious ! I soon picked 
 it up. I'm very adaptable, though I don't mind every 
 one knowing my father was a brewer not a bit. He 
 was thought very highly of too, and made a lot of 
 money. And now I must be going I really must, though 
 it's so hard to tear oneself away from this charming 
 room with its books and cushions and things, and it 
 always has such a curious smell so very sweet that 
 I've noticed in other old houses. Well, I must be off. 
 Good-bye. Lilian, my love, come along. How quiet 
 she has been ! What have you been thinking of, my 
 darling ? " 
 
 " I've been looking at Mrs. Latimer and Madame 
 du Pierre and their dresses. I can't make up my mind 
 which I'm going to be like when I grow up. Madame 
 du Pierre isn't half as pretty, but I like the way she sort 
 of flops, and looks at you as if you're dirt." 
 
 " Oh, my darling, hush ! There, come along. Good- 
 bye. I'm so glad there is no real quarrel. Mrs. Darling- 
 ton was quite anxious, because she says Frenchmen have 
 such hot tempers, you know. I really must go so diffi- 
 cult. Oh, are you going to call at Cherry Cross ? " 
 
 There was a little silence. 
 
 " I never call there," Muriel said. 
 
 " Oh yes," Elizabeth said tranquilly. 
 
 " Oh ! " Mrs. Dormer- Jones looked from one to the 
 other agitatedly. " Of course, you've lived so much in 
 France. I'm sure I don't want to be unkind, and she 
 looks so young to have that little boy and all, but 
 people are saying well, of course, one can't be too care- 
 ful when one has a daughter of one's own ; and it's such 
 a queer menage, and a beautiful horse that no one ever 
 uses, except that old groom who won't speak, and one
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 25 
 
 servant and a man ; and the stables have all been done 
 up, and they've got the most beautiful harness and 
 things, but nothing to drive, and every one is talking 
 about her, and she won't see any one " 
 
 When Mrs. Dormer- Jones had at last talked herself 
 from the room, there was a pause. 
 
 " I shall go and call to-morrow," Elizabeth said. 
 
 "Take me with you," Ridgeway said suddenly. 
 " The old lady's account of the stables sounds inter- 
 esting." 
 
 " I don't know if I care to with that beard." 
 
 " Perhaps I'll shave it off." 
 
 " Why ? " 
 
 " It tickles." 
 
 Elizabeth yawned again. 
 
 " No, I won't," Ridgeway said. 
 
 " I wonder if Alphonse has fallen down the well," she 
 said. 
 
 " Does he show a natural proclivity that way ? " 
 
 " Oh, there are some grubby sorts of animals who live 
 near the top of it. Muriel, aren't you going to call on 
 Cherry Cross ? Don't you think it unkind not to see 
 if you can do anything for them as he's so ill ? " 
 
 " No. I think it unkind to bother them when they 
 so obviously want to be left alone." 
 
 Elizabeth laughed softly. 
 
 " What an awful dear you are," she said. 
 
 " It's very kind of you to think so." 
 
 " Could one help it ? " 
 
 Elizabeth rose, and she looked at Hugh with lazy, 
 amused eyes. 
 
 " Oh, but it is delicious ! " she said. 
 
 " Muriel, you lack the incentive that would take you 
 to Cherry Cross," Hugh said lightly.
 
 26 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 Muriel's beautiful worried eyes brightened childishly. 
 A gleam of mischief shone in them as she closed her lips 
 on the question that rose to them. 
 
 Elizabeth said, after a pause : 
 
 " What is the incentive ? " 
 
 " The longing to pry into things that seem a bit 
 shady and doubtful," Hugh responded smiling. 
 
 " What childish nonsense ! " Elizabeth said with 
 impulsive bad temper ; and she added drawlingly : 
 
 " How marriage has ruined your sense of humour, 
 Hugh." 
 
 " Has it ? Well, thank Heaven, marriage hasn't 
 quenched your habit of asking the questions you're 
 intended to ask ! " 
 
 The corners of Elizabeth's drooping mouth curled up 
 in the old irresistible way, and she laughed out. 
 
 " You're not a bit altered, Hugh ! You're still a 
 brute," she said.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 OT much insight to be gained from this room," 
 Elizabeth said. 
 Mark Ridgeway looked round and pondered. 
 
 " Of course it was already furnished, and I should say 
 nothing has been altered," she added. 
 
 He pointed to a painted wooden horse lying on the 
 ugly carpet. She nodded. 
 
 " It's a delightful room. Oh, I could make it charm- 
 ing ! I'm going to see if I can't get her to change houses 
 at the next quarter. That's what I've called for, you 
 know." 
 
 The door was jerked open and the young scared face 
 of the maid re-appeared. 
 
 " Mistress says she's hengaged." 
 
 " Oh, I'm so sorry. I want very particularly to see 
 her. Will you tell her it is on business ? I won't keep 
 her more than a few minutes." 
 
 The scared face disappeared, and in its place appeared 
 the round little fair head of a boy. 
 
 " Hulloa ! " Ridgeway said. " What's your name ? " 
 
 The child did not answer ; he fixed his grey eyes on 
 the toy horse lying on the carpet, and stood gazing 
 at it. 
 
 " Let me come, Dickon." And a girl came into the 
 room. 
 
 " Sceptre," Dickon said. 
 
 " Excuse me a moment," she said to Elizabeth, and 
 went across and picked up the horse. She gave it to 
 
 27
 
 28 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 the boy, and closed the door on him. Then she turned 
 and waited gravely. 
 
 " How do you do ? " Elizabeth said. "It's most 
 awfully good of you to let us bother you like 
 this." 
 
 " Won't you sit down ? " the girl said, and Ridgeway 
 experienced a curious feeling. It was as if she brushed 
 aside all small talk all except what should prove to be 
 the cause of their coming. Elizabeth went on talking, 
 and the feeling deepened. It was as if she waited, suffer- 
 ing the talk with a cold patience. Yet she was courteous 
 enough. She listened ; she did not allow her attention 
 to stray. Ridgeway wished he had not come ; he became 
 completely alien to his character self-conscious, and 
 in his discomfort he fancied her cool grey yes questioned 
 his purpose in coming. And yet he could not imagine 
 her interested in the purpose. There was a curious aloof- 
 ness about her ; a subtle suggestion that rendered 
 the thought usual on such occasions of further ac- 
 quaintanceship, of possible future friendship, impossible. 
 Ridgeway, feeling that she would be mildly, indifferently 
 pleased when they rose to go, wished Elizabeth would 
 get up. But Elizabeth had come to ascertain whether 
 it might not be possible to exchange houses at the next 
 quarter, and she would not go till she had broached the 
 subject. Unlike herself, she found it unexpectedly 
 difficult to begin ; but, once begun, it proved to be a short 
 and simple matter. The girl did not give the idea a 
 second thought ; she merely said she was sorry, but it 
 was impossible, and then quietly waited for them to go. 
 She did not by the tiniest flicker of expression in feature 
 or voice evince surprise that the suggestion should have 
 been made to her, but Ridgeway's face grew red, and he 
 wished miserably that he had stayed at Elm Hill.
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 29 
 
 Elizabeth said charmingly : 
 
 " I do hope you don't think it an odd thing for me 
 to suggest ; but, you see, when you took this place, Elm 
 Hill isn't it a horrid name to say ? was not to let, and 
 I thought you really might prefer it " 
 
 " Yes ? " the girl said, and it was as if she had been 
 minded to ask why Elizabeth should have thought so, 
 but was not sufficiently interested to put the question 
 into words. 
 
 But Elizabeth felt the question, and hastened to 
 answer it. 
 
 " You see, it's rather a tight fit for us ; there are such 
 a lot of us five, without the servants, and you " 
 
 She paused. 
 
 " There are three of us, and three servants," she said 
 at once, before Elizabeth's involuntary pause had time 
 to grow uncomfortable. 
 
 " Well, you see. And then we have such a nice 
 large paddock, and we heard about horses, and I thought 
 you see." 
 
 " We have one horse." 
 
 " And you have a paddock a small one haven't 
 you ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " It's so useful if you want to turn a horse out, and 
 that sort of thing." 
 
 Elizabeth, with a little more talk, and after having 
 won a grave assurance that her suggestion had not been 
 thought queer, took her departure. In the governess 
 car that, together with the fat and amiable pony, had 
 been hired for the boys' benefit, Elizabeth turned on 
 Ridgeway. 
 
 " I don't believe you opened your mouth once," she 
 said peevishly.
 
 30 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 Ridgeway, limply holding the reins, remarked that 
 he had felt a fool, that he still felt a fool, and always did 
 in a governess car with a fat pony you tied up to 
 gates. He added that he thought the present equipage 
 ludicrously incongruous for Elizabeth's occupation, and 
 suggested the purchase of the latest thing in automobiles. 
 
 Elizabeth merely replied by observing that Muriel 
 had been quite right. She was a most ordinary looking 
 girl. 
 
 After a pause she gave a little low laugh. 
 
 " Mark, that was painfully obvious feminine spite, 
 wasn't it ? But she's the sort of young person who 
 would disapprove of the can of hot water I have in my 
 morning cold tub." 
 
 " I dare say." 
 
 " She's colourless, isn't she ? " 
 
 Ridgeway considered. 
 
 " Yes ; but she's awfully paintable." 
 
 " Is she ? " exclaimed Elizabeth in genuine surprise. 
 " How ? " 
 
 " Oh, there's such subtle sort of stuff about her and 
 the texture of her skin is so wonderful ! " 
 
 " Mark," Elizabeth now, feeling she had failed, con- 
 fessed, as was her wont, " my chief reason in going was 
 to see if I could help her ! Truth ! I feel rather a 
 worm, only well, they said she was so young, and I 
 thought she might have genuine convictions on the 
 subject of marriage against it, you know " 
 
 She paused. 
 
 " Do you think she has now ? " 
 
 Elizabeth wrinkled her brows. 
 
 " If she has, no one or anything would alter them," 
 she said. 
 
 " Is there anything definite said about her, then ? "
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 31 
 
 " Surely you know ? They say that man Evelyn 
 Wingfield is not her husband." 
 Ridgeway looked thoughtful. 
 
 " Then the child " 
 
 " Yes," Elizabeth said. " Poor mite."
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 THEY stood, one on either side of the old weather- 
 worn green gate, and stared at each other. 
 There was a suggestion of grimaces in the 
 stare, but on neither side did it get any further than 
 quite a subtle suggestion. Mark Ridgeway, turning 
 round from his canvas, watched amusedly. It interested 
 him to see how alike boyhood was all the world over. 
 
 " Three to one on the Frenchman's breaking the ice," 
 he muttered; and the next moment he had won his 
 wager, for Renaud said politely : 
 
 " Hulloa." 
 
 There was a pause before his greeting received any 
 response, and the fair-headed, grey-eyed little boy 
 continued to stare with an extreme gravity, which was 
 in no wise relaxed when at last he responded. 
 
 " Hulloa," he said. 
 
 " See, I paint ! " now cried Renaud, excitement, 
 pride and anxiety for a fresh opinion on his work urging 
 him rapidly onward. " Now, look ! Behold him ! It 
 is qu'est-ce que c'est You tell me what it is, eh ? " 
 
 The other studied the water-colour block held out to 
 him. 
 
 " Tree sky grass," he said. 
 
 " Bien ! Bien ! " cried Renaud, capering with a 
 joy that did credit to his evidently very modest expecta- 
 tions. " But you also are an artist," he added graciously. 
 " N'est-ce pas ? " 
 
 To this there was no answer, but slowly over the fair 
 32
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 33 
 
 little square-chinned face there spread a smile. It was an 
 attractive smile, and the difference of the character of it 
 in its slow, frank sweetness from the flashing adorable 
 smile of Renaud interested Ridgeway, so that on an 
 impulse he lifted his canvas from the easel and ap- 
 proached the gate with it in his hand. 
 
 " I wonder what you think of this ? " he said. 
 
 The boy's eyes went to Ridgeway's face, and studied 
 it earnestly. 
 
 " Voila ! " cried Renaud excitedly. " See ! De 
 picture ! Mais que c'est beau ! Look, foolish one ! " 
 
 " Dickon ! " 
 
 A curious silence fell on the little group at the gate. 
 The girl came forward, walking with an easy long-limbed 
 gait, and Ridegway thought she was taller than he had 
 fancied. The sun shone on the brown head that, in its 
 smallness, made her look taller than she really was ; 
 it showed the exquisite fairness of her white skin. To 
 Ridgeway it also showed the coldness of the small, 
 grave lips and indifferent eyes, in which he met no 
 recognition. 
 
 " I expect you don't recognise me. I've shaved off 
 my beard, you know," he said. 
 
 She inclined her head, and Mark at once felt savagely 
 that there had been no need to tell her about his beastly 
 beard that she wouldn't have cared or noticed if he had 
 had beards growing all over him ! 
 
 " Mother," said Dickon seriously. " I want to be an 
 artist-man." 
 
 " Bien ! " cried Renaud. " Did I not say it ? See, 
 Madame, he say dat a tree dat grass dat de sky ! 
 And I know dat he an artist ! " 
 
 She smiled, a grave, sweet smile like the boy's. 
 
 " Did you paint that ? " she said.
 
 34 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 " Mais oui ! I wish to become de great paintere ! 
 I wish to paint as de ole Mark paint. But as yet my 
 trees are not as his, my sky also is different, and de grass. 
 But in time dey will be as his. Ah, look, Madame ! Is 
 it not beautiful his picture ? " 
 
 Her eyes were studying it, and Ridgeway held it up 
 for her. When he would have put it down, she stayed 
 him with a gesture of her hand. After awhile she spoke. 
 
 " Yes," was all she said, and she added, " Thank you." 
 She turned to Dickon. " Come, Dickon," she said. 
 "It is cold here." 
 
 " Mother, may I be an artist-man ? " 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 " But why mayn't I ? " 
 
 " Yesterday you wanted to be a sailor," she reminded 
 him. 
 
 " Now I want to be an artist-man." 
 
 " Always changing, Dickon," she said ; and suddenly, 
 to Ridgeway's surprise, the colour sprang to her cheek. 
 " Come, Dickon, and you cannot be an artist ! " she said 
 sternly. 
 
 Dickon glanced back to the boy, the lucky boy, who 
 stood on the other side of the gate, absorbed in the 
 picture he had painted, and his wide brows came down 
 in an obstinate frown. 
 
 " I won't come in ! " he said. " I want to be an 
 artist-man ! " 
 
 " Dickon ! " 
 
 Ridgeway was surprised to see, during the little fight 
 that followed, that she was upset. He saw it in the pallor 
 of her face, the fear in her eyes ; in the look of earnest 
 gratitude she gave him when he put in a word about an 
 artist's having to learn first to be a man, and so deciding 
 Dickon not to cry and to obey.
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 35 
 
 Ridgeway went back to his easel and picked up his 
 palette and brushes. But his mind was not with his 
 work, and his hands were so cold that he found it difficult 
 to paint. He put down his palette again, and clapped 
 his hands, ejaculating : " Damn the cold ! " He turned 
 and saw the girl coming towards him. She was close 
 behind him, and he knew she must have heard his 
 exclamation. 
 
 " I came to ask you if you would care to come in and 
 warm your hands when they get too cold to hold your 
 palette and brushes ? " she said quietly. 
 
 He was conscious again of her unusual directness, and 
 simplicity ; it also struck him that this was the longest 
 speech he had heard her make, and that the deep quality 
 of her voice with a curious throaty note in it, was 
 oddly attractive. 
 
 " It's awfully kind of you," he said, surprised. 
 
 She turned away. 
 
 " Are you coming ? " she said. 
 
 " Rather ! My hands are like lumps of ice." 
 
 She moved on towards the house. 
 
 " Has the little boy gone ? " she asked. 
 
 " Yes, fetched away. Too cold for him." 
 
 She led the way up the path, and into the house. 
 Ridgeway followed her into the charming white-panelled 
 hall where a great fire glowed in the wide, old-fashioned 
 grate. Ridgeway went towards it gratefully, and held 
 out his frozen hands. 
 
 " This is ripping," he said heartily. 
 
 " Will you come in and warm yourself whenever you 
 like ? " she said, moving towards the stairs. 
 
 " Really ? It's awfully kind of you " 
 
 He watched her go up the little twisting staircase ; 
 she had slipped off her coat, and in her blue frock was
 
 36 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 exquisite against the white wall. Mark felt that at all 
 costs he must make her pause ; he watched the small 
 brown head, the delicate profile mounting higher against 
 the wall. 
 
 " M ," he began impulsively, and suddenly he 
 stopped ; he puUed up with a sickening jerk. What 
 was he to call her ? Miserably he watched her disappear ; 
 she looked so young, so boyish in a way. Slowly he 
 reddened all over his face ; he felt, here in her house, 
 that he had been guilty of low-down sort of behaviour ; 
 he felt that he should have addressed her as Mrs. 
 Wingfield, as a matter of course. Why should he heed, 
 or listen to, gossip ? He waited anxiously for her to 
 reappear ; but there was no sound in the house ; even 
 from the kitchen there came no cheerful voices or clatter 
 of china. Ridgeway wondered where the child was. 
 Then the silence was broken by sounds dear to his ears. 
 A voice saying soothingly : " Steady ! Steady, my little 
 lass," the faint jingle of bridle, hoofs on the gravel path. 
 At once the place seemed alive and warmly human to 
 him ; he crossed eagerly to a little low window that 
 looked out to the west. 
 
 " By Jove ! What a little beauty ! " he ejaculated. 
 
 The brown thoroughbred mare waiting outside with 
 a little jockey-like groom at her head, became aware of 
 him at once. Her delicate nostril opened wider ; 
 Ridgeway caught sight of the white rim round the pupil 
 of her great eye ; she fidgetted away from the window, 
 and stood pawing the ground impatiently. 
 
 A window was opened above the hall, and the mare 
 lifted her head and whinnied. 
 
 " I'm coming in a minute, my little beauty ! No 
 time to lose, or we sha'n't be there when the ' 'osses' 'eads 
 turn one way, th' 'ounds brisk up at the move, the coffee-
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 37 
 
 room breaks up, friends pair oft to carry out jokes, while 
 the foot people fly to the 'ills, and the bald-'eaded keeper 
 stands 'at in 'and at the gate ! ' 
 
 " ' To let the 'ounds into cover,' " finished Ridgeway 
 involuntarily. " Jorrocks, by Jove ! " 
 
 The voice a deep, pleasant, cultured voice from 
 above did not speak again ; the window was closed, and 
 the groom led the mare away. Ridgeway watched with 
 intense interest. 
 
 " What ripping quarters ! Oh, don't you pick your 
 feet up pretty, then ? Where's the fool of a groom 
 taking her ? Out into the road at the front ? " 
 
 Realising suddenly that he had not been asked to 
 spend the morning there, he fled. He was greatly per- 
 turbed and puzzled in his mind. Where was the owner 
 of the voice and the mare going to hunt ? The meet was 
 over at Tillingford, more than twelve miles away, and it 
 was now a quarter to eleven. Had the man a car ? 
 And how was he going to get the horse over there ? 
 Could it be that he knew they would draw in this direc- 
 tion later on, and was going to trot gently towards the 
 spot ? It seemed unlikely, and Latimer had said they 
 always drew in the opposite direction. Anyhow the 
 groom was evidently going to bring the mare round to 
 the front. Ridgeway guiltily moved his easel a yard or 
 two so that his eye commanded the front of Cherry 
 Cross, without his having to turn round, and then he 
 waited. He waited till twelve, and nothing or nobody 
 disturbed the peace of the road, except two farm girls, 
 who passed along carrying milk. 
 
 " She doan't look so wicked neither." " You can't 
 
 never tell ; I heerd tell t'other day as how " the 
 
 voices passed on, both heads turned over shoulders, 
 studying the windows of Cherry Cross.
 
 38 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 And then Ridgeway slung his easel back to its former 
 position, knocked his canvas to the ground, trod on his 
 palette, and began to paint furiously. He did not go 
 back to the hall at Cherry Cross, though his hands were 
 as cold as before. He was ashamed of the time he had 
 wasted, ashamed of the intense, and quite unusual, 
 feeling of interest that the place and the man and the 
 voice had awakened in him. 
 
 " I might be Mrs. Darlington herself ! " he said, with 
 furious irritability, and deciding that he was merely 
 ruining what he had done earlier, he packed up his 
 painting gear in a tremendous hurry, and started off for 
 his two mile walk to Elm Hill.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 I WISH," Elizabeth said, " I had never married." 
 Alphonse, her husband, went on mending his 
 fishing tackle. 
 
 Muriel laughed. 
 
 " Where I think husbands are such a mistake," 
 Elizabeth, bending low over the fire, continued, " is 
 that they're always there. One can't have a cold in 
 comfort, because he is there to see how red and puffy 
 one's nose gets ; one can't even thoroughly enjoy a good 
 cry, because the thought that afterwards he will see 
 how hideous one looks with little swollen-up eyes, spoils 
 it all the time. Of course, it only applies to old-fashioned 
 husbands and wives, but- Alphonse is old-fashioned, 
 he's quite a hundred years behind the times." 
 
 " And how glad you are that I am, Elizabeth," 
 remarked Alphonse, with the odd little quirk at the 
 corner of his mouth that gave his utterances at times 
 such a gentle humour. 
 
 " His complacency degenerates sometimes into colossal 
 conceit," Elizabeth told the fire. " Where is the use 
 of my going into retreat sick and weary of the world 
 if I have to take a husband with me ? For the retreat 
 to do me any good I ought to live in a teagown with 
 my hair loosened " 
 
 " You would look charming," Alphonse said. 
 
 " No, I don't ; not with my hair really comfortably 
 loosened. The loosening you think so charming is 
 
 39
 
 40 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 achieved with many hairpins, and has to be treated 
 with respect. I think I'm tired of being in retreat." 
 
 " In a month or two " Muriel began soothingly. 
 
 " My dear, do you think I've never lived in England ? 
 It's now February. Well, perhaps in June, one may 
 
 occasionally get sun-warmed Someone send for 
 
 Andre", please." 
 
 Andre" was brought, protesting. 
 
 " But, Maman, I am de cook tu comprends ? I cook 
 de plums and de chockys and de bit of red meat I found 
 in de kitchen-place " 
 
 " Dirty little monkey, come and hug me." 
 
 Andre" trotted up to her chair, flung his fat arms 
 round her neck in a perfunctory embrace, exclaiming 
 at the same time : 
 
 " May I den go now ? " 
 
 " No ; you hard-hearted child ; you are to sit on my 
 lap." 
 
 Andre" blinked tears away, and climbed into her lap, 
 where he sat, stiffly erect and tense, his whole little 
 body one protesting question. 
 
 " Mother and child," Elizabeth said. " Isn't it 
 touching ? " 
 
 " May I den go " 
 
 " No ! " 
 
 " Mais pourquoi ; I do not understan'," he quavered. 
 " What for is it dat you wish me, ma mere ? " 
 
 " I wish you to stay here : that is enough for you, 
 Andre." 
 
 " For how long ? " he asked patiently. 
 
 " For as long as I tell you to stay," Elizabeth said, 
 and flung her arms suddenly about him. " Oh, you 
 poor little martyr ! How cruel I am " 
 
 " May I den go now ? " Eager hope sounded in the
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 41 
 
 question, eager hope was in the wriggles of his little 
 body. 
 
 " Yes, go," Elizabeth said, and he slid to the floor, 
 and trotted happily out of the room. 
 
 " Alphonse thinks it's most reprehensible of me to 
 act like that," Elizabeth told Muriel. 
 
 " I think Andre is an angel," Muriel said. 
 
 " Don't you, Alphonse ? " Elizabeth asked crossly. 
 
 " I think it is a pity," Alphonse said. 
 
 " Don't you despise me for it ? " 
 
 He screwed up his eyes in a kindly smile. 
 
 " Quel drole d 'enfant ! " he said. 
 
 " I've got neuralgia in my temper," Elizabeth 
 exclaimed. " It's this eternal rain and wind, and the 
 roof over my bedroom is leaking, and there are damp 
 patches on the dining-room wall, and I want Cherry 
 Cross. And I wish I could get up an interest in worms 
 and things. Alphonse is interested in everything in the 
 world, from elephants to fleas. If j^ou mentioned the 
 word flea he would probably be able to give you an 
 interesting lecture on the subject." 
 
 Mark Ridge way came in, wet and in a bad temper. 
 
 " I know that the big ones have little ones to tease 
 'em and to bite 'em, and the little fleas have lesser fleas 
 and so ad infinitum," he said. 
 
 " Mark," cried Elizabeth, " I do believe you're in a 
 bad temper, too ! " 
 
 " Vile." 
 
 " Oh, come and sit by me ! Bless you ! Muriel 
 and Alphonse are so irritating. You may swear." 
 
 " I can't, without being so hopelessly tautological ; 
 I'm used up." 
 
 " Perhaps," said Alphonse, " I could assist you- 
 in French ? "
 
 42 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 " Another time good idea when Mrs. Latimer 
 isn't present." 
 
 Muriel laughed softly. 
 
 " I'm much too sleepy to notice ; in fact, that's the 
 explanation of my good temper." 
 
 He looked at her admiringly. 
 
 " Mark, you're not to do it !" cried Elizabeth sharply. 
 " You're to look at me ! If you look at her, lying there 
 like a beautiful sleepy princess in a fairy tale, you'll 
 get good-tempered at once." 
 
 He turned his eyes to Elizabeth's little dark face, and 
 laughed. 
 
 " What's up, Lizzie ? " he said. 
 
 Elizabeth was, for the moment, mute. 
 
 " Mark," she said then in a strangled sort of -voice, 
 " I'm really in a vile temper. I won't stand that." 
 
 " All right, Betsy." 
 
 Alphonse looked up from his fishing tackle. 
 
 " Alphonse," Elizabeth said, " call him out " 
 
 " Pistols for two, coffee for one," Ridgeway put in. 
 Alphonse approached him. 
 
 "I'd like to have a go is it not ? with the gloves 
 with you." 
 
 " Right you are ! " 
 
 Ridgeway rose, his thin, brown face eager, his bad 
 temper forgotten. 
 
 " No ! " Elizabeth cried. " Not now ! Tea is coming. 
 Alphonse, you are not to leave me now." 
 
 " Afterwards, then," Alphonse said. 
 
 Ridgeway nodded. 
 
 " I don't believe you're a bit cross really, Mark," 
 Elizabeth said reproachfully. 
 
 " I was. I've mucked that thing I was doing of the 
 river."
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 43 
 
 " Oh, no ! " Muriel cried, sitting up. 
 
 " Afraid I have. Anyhow, the light was all wrong, 
 only I'm so sick of beginning things and never being 
 able to get on with them." 
 
 " You've never gone on with that sketch you began 
 down by Cherry Cross, have you ? " Muriel asked. 
 
 " No ; that was sunshine misty sunshine." 
 
 " Oh, of course." 
 
 " Renaud wants to go out sketching with that little 
 boy," Elizabeth said thoughtfully. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " You know, I'm not a prude, but well, Muriel's dear 
 little aunt when she was staying with Muriel last 
 week was talking to me about those people she 
 hates gossip, and is such a dear and she was saying 
 that what makes it so peculiarly well, disagreeable 
 is that Mr. Wingfield is quite an old man, and that 
 apparently the attraction is his money, of which he 
 has plenty." 
 
 Ridgeway was silent. 
 
 " I thought there was probably a tragic story a 
 passionate falling in love a lunatic wife in an asylum 
 something of that sort ; or, failing that, earnest prejudice 
 
 against the debasing shackles of matrimony, but " 
 
 She shrugged her shoulders. 
 
 " How do you know you weren't right ? " 
 
 " Oh, my dear boy a fat old man of sixty and 
 romance, passion, or serious convictions ! It's in- 
 conceivable ! It becomes ridiculous." 
 
 Ridgeway ate a sandwich thoughtfully. 
 
 " Have you seen him ? " 
 
 " Seen whom ? Oh, Mr. Wingfield. No. Muriel's 
 aunt saw him in the garden one day as she drove past." 
 
 Ridgeway dwelt in imagination upon the picture of
 
 44 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 the girl's face as she had asked him to come into her 
 house to warm his hands. He said quietly : " That 
 girl's not a rotter." 
 
 Elizabeth protested. 
 
 " I hope not. Still, it's absurd to pretend that one 
 can tell. One can't." 
 
 " I can," Ridgeway said, with the quiet obstinacy 
 some people liked and some found extremely irritating. 
 
 " Of course, your intimate and wonderful intuition 
 
 regarding women " began Elizabeth, then broke off 
 
 laughing. " Bags I saying ' Rats ! ' first ! " 
 
 They all laughed. 
 
 The door was gently opened a little way, and Renaud's 
 dark head was inserted. 
 
 " Mille pardon, but I wish to know whedder you prefer 
 a a visitor to have tea in here, or in de schoolroom ? " 
 
 The beautiful dark eyes, so saint-like and serious, 
 peering round the door, were irresistible. 
 
 " Oh, darling, come in here ! " Elizabeth cried. " Oh, 
 Alphonse," she said aside to her husband, " wasn't I 
 good to give him my eyes ? " 
 
 " You were indeed, ma chere." 
 
 " Who is your vis " Elizabeth went on. " Oh ! " 
 
 she said, half -rising. " Where is his mother ? " 
 
 " He was ver wet oh, of a wetness.! And I say to 
 him, ' Behold, dere is de house of my father and my 
 mother, and de pony has galloped into de wood.' " 
 
 " What pony ? " put in Ridgeway. 
 
 " It was a pony dat pass his gate, and he come out 
 and follow it." 
 
 " Renaud, you are both wet through ! Have you 
 been out ? " cried Elizabeth. 
 
 " I wish," said Renaud with tremendous dignity, 
 " to see how de trees look with de rain on dem. I wish
 
 45 
 
 to see how to paint de shim of de brranches." He 
 turned eagerly to Ridgeway. " Ah, but you will under- 
 stand, old Mark ! We artists must go out to see, n'est- 
 ce pas, Monsieur ? " 
 
 " We are crushed," said Elizabeth, " and meanwhile 
 you are both getting horrible colds. Someone ring a 
 bell. It's over in that corner. You have to pull very 
 hard. Renaud, were you out alone ? " 
 
 " But yes, Maman ; for are de oders de artists den ? " 
 
 Louise appeared in a whirl of excited French and 
 broken English excuses, indignation, and imminent 
 collapse mingled inextricably, and all ruthlessly cut 
 short by Elizabeth. Louise, still ejaculating, retreated, 
 and Renaud, followed by the serious-eyed Dickon, was 
 led away to be nibbed and changed. 
 
 " Won't his mother be anxious ? " Muriel suggested. 
 
 " She may be, as he is the only one, and not half 
 French," Elizabeth acquiesced tranquilly. " I must 
 send him back at once." 
 
 " Without his tea, the poor little boy ? " Alphonse 
 put in. 
 
 " If someone would lend me a horse, how I'd love a 
 gallop ! And I could take Cherry Cross in my stride," 
 Ridgeway observed, looking sweetly at Muriel. 
 
 " Oh, do take Flourish," she said. " She's had such 
 a slack time lately no meet anywhere near." 
 
 He rose, smiling delightedly. 
 
 " I'll tell Mrs. Wingfield you'll send her son home 
 after his tea, eh ? " he said to Elizabeth. 
 
 " Yes. Would you like the governess car as far as 
 the Hall ? " she suggested. 
 
 He laughed. 
 
 " Shanks' mare will beat that fat thing you call 
 Polly any day."
 
 46 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 And he was gone. 
 
 Cantering along the soft wet roads in the dark, he 
 whistled gaily, talking to his horse in between whiles, 
 and filled suddenly with the conviction that he would yet 
 do great things in the way of painting. He saw suddenly 
 a new way of treating the river picture of which he had 
 made a fiasco that afternoon ; he saw why he had 
 failed, and his whistle rose gay and sweet and light as 
 a bird's. Oh, for to-morrow ! for a grey, misty 
 to-morrow with rain-filled skies above, and an uneasy, 
 
 restless river below ! Then The rain swept against 
 
 his face, the wind whistled past his ears. 
 
 " You shall have the biggest mangold I can find 
 when we get home," he told the mare. 
 
 Along the road the gleam of a lighted window. That 
 was Cherry Cross, with the window high up under the 
 eaves. For the rest, the house was in darkness. Ridge- 
 way pulled up outside, hesitating what to do next. 
 Remembering the tale of sickness in the house, he did not 
 like to shout. He turned the mare's head, and made 
 his way to the stables. Here the illumination was 
 comparatively brilliant ; a lamp stood on the little 
 flight of stone steps that led to the loft ; there was 
 another hanging on a nail outside one of the loose boxes, 
 and the door of the harness room stood ajar, a brilliant 
 light picking out gleams and glitters on the beautifully 
 kept harness. But there was apparently no one about. 
 Ridgeway, an appreciative eye on the alluring array of 
 leather and steel, thought how easy it would be to walk 
 off with a nice little bridle or a whip or two. 
 
 At that moment the door leading into the back of the 
 house was opened, and the little groom came out. He 
 looked with a scared expression at Ridgeway. 
 
 " If you'll wait a minute, sir, and and would you
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 47 
 
 mind drawing back a bit ? His lordship's coming out, 
 and I'm afraid he might be upset." 
 
 Ridgeway led the mare away towards the road again ; 
 but as he reached the gate he heard voices, and thought 
 it better to stand still. From the house there walked 
 feebly the figure of a man of middle height, so wrapped 
 up that it was difficult to distinguish anything about 
 him ; he was leaning on the arm of the girl, and Ridge- 
 way could see that he leant heavily. 
 
 " Just one piece of sugar, Prue, and then I'll come in 
 again. I always like to give her a piece of sugar. The 
 poor little mare has a beastly time of it with me on the 
 sick list like this. Where's Ferney ? Damn the fellow ! 
 What d'you mean by going on in front like that ? I can 
 find my way to my own stables. I'm not as far gone as 
 that yet. Urn, yes looks all right." He had paused at 
 the door of the harness room. " Where's the Pelham ? 
 Eh ? Other side ? What d'you want to move it for ? 
 I hate things to be moved. Damned impertinence to 
 move things ! " 
 
 From the further loose box a horse whinnied. 
 
 " There she is, bless her ! " 
 
 The queer, dream-like figures, dark against the lights 
 of the lamps, moved round the corner of the buildings, 
 and Mark quietly opened the gate. Flourish lifted her 
 voice and answered the other horse. The next moment 
 the groom came running down to the gate. 
 
 " His lordship heard your horse, sir." 
 
 Ridgeway explained the reason of his presence. 
 
 " Yes, sir. Will you come up to the stables, sir ? " 
 He took Flourish from Ridgeway and led her up the 
 yard. 
 
 Ridgeway followed, feeling curiously as if he were 
 acting in a dream, and was met outside the harness room
 
 48 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 by the two dream figures which he had been watching 
 from the gate. He made his explanations once more. 
 
 " Awfully kind, don't you know," murmured the man. 
 " Young monkey ! Followed a pony," he chuckled. 
 " You hear that, Prudence ? True son of his father, 
 eh? " 
 
 " Evelyn, it is very cold and wet out here." 
 
 " Yes, yes ! I'll come in now. Come in, won't you ? " 
 he said hospitably to Ridgeway. " Treat to see a good 
 riding leg again ! Ha ! ha ! The only legs I see 
 nowadays are fat or flabby. Come in, and have a 
 smoke." 
 
 "I'm afraid I must get back." 
 
 " Spare me a few minutes. Lord, if you knew how dull 
 it is nowadays." 
 
 " Won't you come in ? " came from the lips of 
 Prudence ; and Ridgeway fancied he heard a note of 
 appeal. 
 
 " Oh, well, thanks," he said, and followed them in 
 along a tiled passage, up the twisting staircase, down 
 another passage and three little shallow stairs, into a 
 cheerful room from which the light had shone on to 
 the road. 
 
 " Sit down will you ? " Prudence said, and passed 
 on with Evelyn Wingfield into another room that led 
 out from the first. 
 
 " Going to be unswathed a bit," Wingfield called out 
 genially. 
 
 Ridgeway, alone, looked round the room with the eager 
 interest aroused by these people. It was a comfortable 
 room with essentially a sporting atmosphere about it. 
 The walls were hung with those quaint coaching and 
 hunting prints of the early nineteenth century ; beneath 
 a fine fox's mask there was a rack full of racing-whips,
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 49 
 
 and hunting-crops ; a table in the corner was heaped 
 with a medley of pipes, cigar-boxes, parts of a bridle, and 
 a pair of racing irons. Ridgeway crossed the room to 
 the bookstand by the fireplace, and read the titles of the 
 books " Badmington Hunting," " Hayes' Horse Break- 
 ing," "Handley Cross," "Soapy Sponge's Sporting 
 Tour," "Riding Recollections," "Market Harboro," 
 " Fitz-Wygrams' Horses and Stables." 
 
 As he read the last title Prudence re-entered the 
 room. 
 
 " I always want to see the titles of books," Ridgeway 
 said smiling. 
 
 " Yes ; I suppose they indicate the character of the 
 owner more plainly than anything else. I came in to ask 
 you if you will insist on going in ten minutes ? Mr. 
 Wingfield is very tired, and I am afraid he will have a 
 bad night." 
 
 " Oh, I'm awfully sorry I came in." 
 
 "No; I wanted you to. He would have worried if you 
 had refused." 
 
 She went back into the other room. Ridgeway sought 
 for the reason of a curious uncomfortable impression, 
 and found it in the echo of her words, " Mr. Wingfield." 
 Impulsively the thought formed : " Oh, poor child ! " 
 She came back with Wingfield, and helped to settle him 
 into the large easy chair beside the fireplace, and close 
 to the bookstand. 
 
 Ridgeway looked with interest at him, and was con- 
 scious of being irritatingly unable to make up his mind 
 about him. The face showed signs of extreme good 
 looks, but was now pale and flabby ; it was scored 
 heavily with lines, the mouth was loose, the bleared 
 blue eyes were set rather wide apart, and the flesh bagged 
 beneath them. The whole face was ruined either by ill- 
 
 E
 
 50 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 health or dissipation, or both. Ridgeway could not 
 make up his mind. In the talk that followed, chiefly 
 of old hunting runs, there was now and again a humorous 
 or a kindly gleam, that seemed to lift the heavy face into 
 a queer attractiveness. Ridgeway fought the prejudice 
 he could not help feeling, the prejudice caused by the 
 mere fact of the man's age as opposed to that of the girl 
 who sat quietly sewing beside them. How could he 
 judge ? He knew nothing of the circumstances. And 
 the man looked so beastly ill. Ridgeway exerted himself, 
 and when he rose to go at the end of the ten minutes, he 
 was begged cordially to come again. 
 
 " A sick man's a dull dog, and his friends desert him as 
 the rats desert a sinking ship ; but I can always give you 
 a good cigar ! Ha ! ha ! Can't you stay a bit longer ? 
 You haven't had anything to drink. Whiskey ? I'm 
 under doctor's orders myself no alcohol. Under wife's 
 orders too. Daren't let my man smuggle me a thimble- 
 ful. Ah well ; I always was soft-hearted with the fair 
 sex always been under some feminine thumb since I was 
 sixteen ! By gad, it was before that ! There was that 
 little gel when I was at Eton " 
 
 " Evelyn, you will tire yourself." 
 
 " And I must be off. They'll be sending out search 
 parties for me," Ridgeway said. 
 
 " Jealous ! They're all the same ! " A chuckle fol- 
 lowed him from the room. " Jealous of the little gel 
 what was her name with the yellow curls." 
 
 Down in the hall Prudence stood, tall and slim and 
 anxious-eyed, questioning Ridgeway. " Was Dickon 
 very wet ? Did he seem tired ? How had he been 
 found ? Was he miserable ? " 
 
 Ridgeway answered patiently, realising with sudden 
 clearness how she had been keeping back her anxiety ;
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 51 
 
 realising the firmness of will that had kept even her exit 
 from the sick room slow and calm. But now she was 
 restless, uneasy. He saw it only in small signs a pulse 
 throbbing in the long throat, a strenuousness in the clasp 
 of the hand on the back of a chair, a glowing sort of 
 darkness in the grey eyes. For the rest, she was still 
 and calm as she wondered why he had not yet been 
 brought home 
 
 Ridgeway reassured her. Elizabeth was bound to 
 keep him, once she knew his mother would not be anxious. 
 Renaud had taken a great fancy to him. He was to be 
 rubbed down and have a good tea. 
 
 He was pleased to see how soon his words soothed 
 away those small signs of uneasiness. 
 
 " I must go back," she said, turning towards the stairs. 
 She hesitated ; then : " Mr. Wingfield had a bad attack 
 this afternoon. That is why Dickon's absence was not 
 discovered, and why why there were no lights or any- 
 thing, and why I had to give in to his wish to go round 
 to the stables " 
 
 " He'll probably have all the better night for getting 
 his wish," Ridgeway said gently, suddenly conscious of 
 how extremely young she seemed. 
 
 " Yes. You have been very kind. Will you thank 
 Madame du Pierre ? " 
 
 Her foot on the lowest stair, still she lingered, her head 
 down bent in thought. 
 
 " Yes ? " Ridgeway said kindly. 
 
 " You you can find your way to the stables," she 
 said, and he knew that it was not what she wanted to 
 say. Then, as if words spoken made the other easier of 
 utterance, she said : 
 
 " Did you think Dickon very naughty the other 
 day ? "
 
 52 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 It was unexpected, yet obviously what she had been 
 wishing to say. 
 
 " Dickon ? When ? Why ? For wanting to be an 
 artist, poor little chap ? Good lord, no ! " 
 
 A faint smile lightened her tired face at the boyish 
 heartiness of his response. 
 
 " But he was naughty. He refused to come in when I 
 told him to." 
 
 " D'you call that naughty ? Well, I suppose it isn't 
 exactly good; but it's only healthy, you know. You 
 wouldn't have him a saint,, would you ? " 
 
 Her eyes, intent on his face, grew quickly worried 
 again. 
 
 "Oh no, no ! " she cried, in a low voice. " Not 
 that ! You don't think he is unnaturally good, do 
 you ? " 
 
 " I should say " Ridgeway spoke deliberately, watch- 
 ing the effect of each word, and feeling his way to give 
 her what she wanted " from what I have seen of him, 
 that he's neither unnaturally good nor unnaturally bad, 
 but just a healthy little chap with a will of his own, 
 which is a good thing." 
 
 He saw the worry die from her eyes, but she said : 
 
 " He is always changing his decision as to what he 
 wants to be when he is a man always vacillating." 
 
 " Oh, they always do," Ridgeway said cheerfully. 
 " I was always veering from a soldier to a sailor, an artist 
 and a horsebreaker. Sometimes I was going to be a 
 jockey or a groom. Once it was a chimney sweep. I 
 can't imagine the attraction now " 
 
 " Prudence ! Prudence ! You've been away hours ! 
 I'm sick of being alone ! Prudence ! " 
 
 " Oh good-bye," she said over her shoulder, as she 
 sped up the stairs in answer to the peevish call.
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 53 
 
 Ridgeway went round thoughtfully to the stables. 
 
 He found Ferney taciturn and stolid ; there was a 
 depressed look about the little man ; his red, creased 
 face wore a queer expression as of a sort of crushed 
 humour. Ridgeway thought that at any moment humour 
 might dart into the sad little blue eyes, crinkle the thin, 
 dreary mouth, set alive all the innumerable wrinkles 
 that had been surely scored in the first place by laughter. 
 Riding back to the Hall, Ridgeway passed the carriage 
 conveying Dickon home. Dickon sat erect, his arms 
 round a water-colour block, a paint-brush in one hand. 
 
 " So the artist is still in the ascendant," Ridgeway 
 mused, and his mind went back to the anxious 
 face of the boy's mother. The wind had dropped, 
 and the rain died away into a faint, almost im- 
 perceptible mist. It was a still evening now, 
 fragrant with the scent of wet mould and grass, 
 mysterious with the drip, drip of rain from the boughs 
 of the trees, looming soft and cloudy in the faint 
 moonlight. Ridgeway, sitting still on Flourish, looked 
 and listened, and in his mind, mixed curiously, vaguely, 
 with the mist and the moonlight and the dream-like 
 shadowy trees, was the image of Prudence Wingfield. 
 It looked up at him from the mist the pale face, with 
 its delicately proud features, its small lips, its cool 
 
 eyes Cold as the mist itself, and as 
 
 aloof as the moonlight the dignity 
 
 the gentle indifference 
 
 Ridgeway touched the horse with his heels and 
 cantered on.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 MURIEL came softly into the study. 
 " Hugh, I'm going to drive over to Cherry 
 Cross this afternoon." 
 
 Latimer looked up surprised from his papers. 
 
 " Why ? " 
 
 She hesitated. 
 
 " Shan't we leave it till later ? " She glanced at the 
 piles of papers and envelopes. 
 
 He smiled. 
 
 " You just come here, and tell me what's 
 wrong." 
 
 She came and leant against his chair. " I feel sort of 
 mingy," she said childishly, rubbing her cheek against 
 his head. " You know, Hugh, they say sorrow is good 
 for one. You don't think happiness is making me a 
 prig, a Pharisee ? " 
 
 " My dear one ! But I thought you decided that it 
 was kinder not to worry those people." 
 
 " Yes," she said ruefully. " But, I rather think that 
 was a trifle Jesuitical. I wanted to think that, you see ; 
 at least, I think I did. Hugh " she laid her cheek closer 
 still, her voice sank lower " I am so happy. I've 
 been thinking. She is quite young and alone in a new 
 place and he is ill. How can we tell what tragic 
 story there is there ? When Mark Ridgeway said yester- 
 day that she was not a rotter, that he could tell it 
 swept over me our love, our joy, and that girl I 
 
 54
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 55 
 
 felt that I must see if I could help her, however little. 
 I felt oh, Hugh, I can't put it into words ! " 
 
 He drew her into his arms. 
 
 " I think I know, my darling ! " he said tenderly. 
 
 Muriel, in the hall, waited. 
 
 Above, a hoarse whisper : " She says she woant keep 
 'ee no time, mum." 
 
 And: 
 
 " If I was to stay outside with my ear to the key-'ole 
 now, I could call 'ee at oncet if he wanted 'ee, mum." 
 
 Flap, flap the maid with a loose shoe came down the 
 stairs. 
 
 " Missis says she caan't leave th" maister." 
 
 Muriel hesitated. She had expected this, and had 
 made up her mind to risk being intrusive, to risk a snub, 
 just in case the refusal to see callers should arise from 
 pride, and in case she might be able to help, if help 
 were needed. But it was more difficult than she had 
 expected. 
 
 " Aren't 'ee going ? " the maid inquired with interest. 
 
 " Will you ask your mistress if she will let me know 
 if there is any time of day she would be able to 
 see me ? " 
 
 The maid flapped up three stairs, then turned : 
 
 " Will 'ee just say it agin, mum ? It's a bit long like, 
 and I never had no memory since Lizzie dropped me 
 on th' stone floor." 
 
 Muriel said it again, and the maid flapped up the 
 remaining stairs.
 
 56 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 " She says now I must get it roight she says, 
 sweet loike, ' You go and tell your missis I want to know 
 when she'll see me, and I'll come,' she says." 
 
 When the next minute Prudence Wingfield came down 
 the stairs, Muriel seemed to hear her bullying message 
 echoing round her head. 
 
 " I'm so sorry to be a nuisance ; but really I couldn't 
 help hearing I didn't send quite such an arrogant 
 message." 
 
 Prudence looked into the lovely smiling face. 
 
 " I know to allow for alterations," she said. " Will 
 you come hi here ? The hall is draughty." 
 
 Muriel, seated on one of the few chintz-covered chairs 
 in the drawing-room, wondered a little how she was 
 going to start with her help. 
 
 " I hope I'm not keeping you from Mr. Wingfield," 
 she began. " I know callers are a horrible nuisance when 
 one has sickness in the house ; but I have lived near here 
 a good while now, and it struck me that of course every- 
 thing is strange to you, and I might be able to help a 
 little." 
 
 " It is very kind of you." 
 
 " For instance, never order your meat from Jarvis," 
 Muriel, went on, with a little laugh. " He is a mile nearer 
 you, but isn't to be relied on." 
 
 " He called for orders," Prudence said, and somehow 
 the atmosphere seemed suddenly lighter, " and so I have 
 been getting meat from him. It seemed all right, I 
 thought ; but perhaps I'm not much of a judge. I want 
 the best man, especially for the beef tea." 
 
 " Huddon at Deanwood is the best, I think. The 
 other man has a way of dealing well with newcomers at 
 first, and then falling off." 
 
 " Huddon thank you. I have milk and cream and
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 57 
 
 butter and eggs from the Woodhouse farm : I think 
 they are very good." 
 
 " Oh, yes ; and do you bake your own bread ? Yes ? 
 Standard bread, I hope ? " They both /aughed. 
 
 " Isn't there anything else you want to know ? " 
 
 " I wonder if you could tell me Mr. Wingfield is 
 taking those Willington capsules do you know them ? 
 and they won't keep for long, so that it is impossible 
 to order a large quantity at once, and the postage " 
 
 Muriel, advising her, was thinking pitifully that Ridge- 
 way had been right. She rose to go. 
 
 " I suppose you won't come and see me just yet ? " 
 she said gently. 
 
 " No, thank you." 
 
 " I wonder if I may come again ? I should like to 
 come, if I don't worry you." 
 
 The girl's eyes met hers clearly. 
 
 " You know " she said coldly. 
 
 " Yes, I know." 
 
 There was a little pause. 
 
 " Please, mum, he's a-callin' for 'ee, and he says you've 
 been away for two hours " 
 
 Prudence turned hurriedly to the door. " I will let 
 you know when I can see you again. I'm sorry I can't 
 stay to give you tea." 
 
 The maid let her out. 
 
 " There's how 'tis all day long ! She caan't stir a 
 fut, but what 'e's a-calling, jus' as if he was a sick 
 baby " 
 
 The muttered grumble accompanied Muriel to the 
 step and, growing fainter, down the path.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 PRUDENCE came in from a walk in the wind and 
 rain : there was a faint colour in her cheeks, 
 her eyes were clear and bright. Dickon looked 
 up from his drawing. 
 
 " Your hair is very untidy, mother," he said in a 
 serious, disapproving little way. 
 
 Prudence paused, watching him with a curious expres- 
 sion. 
 
 " I wonder if you are rather a little prig, Dickon," 
 she said. 
 
 Dickon, tongue in cheek, took no notice. 
 
 Prudence, remorseful, drew near and looked over his 
 shoulder. 
 
 " Why, what a beautiful little house," she said. 
 
 " It's a redgment of soljers," Dickon responded. 
 
 She laughed. 
 
 " Papa wants you," Dickon observed casually. " He 
 was yellin' for you ever so a little while ago." 
 
 She turned, and running swiftly up the stairs, quietly 
 entered Wingfield's room. He was sitting, a pitiful 
 huddled figure, in his chair. 
 
 " You've been away for hours," he complained, in a 
 whining voice curiously different from the pleasant tones 
 Ridgeway had heard. " I feel very bad shockin' 
 bad." 
 
 " Where is Davenport ? " Prudence said, removing 
 her hat and coat. 
 
 58
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 59 
 
 " I sent the fool away ! He had the impertinence to 
 think he had a grievance." 
 
 " What was it ? " 
 
 " Oh, I don't know. Usual sort of thing," with a 
 pitiful leer. " Some little gel, don't you know. Not 
 my fault. I swear it's not my fault " 
 
 Prudence sat down beside his chair, and took up her 
 work. 
 
 He sat mumbling and grumbling to himself. Pre- 
 sently he said shakily : 
 
 " Prue, may I hold your hand ? " 
 
 She put down her work and gave it to him silently. 
 
 " I don't feel quite so frightened if I've got hold 
 of your hand," he whispered. "They all hate 
 me so, Prue, all of 'em, and they've all found 
 out where I'm livin'. Two of 'em called this 
 afternoon when you were out, my dear it was I 
 forget names so my memory's not what it was, but it 
 was that tall, pale fellow with the dark eyes, don't you 
 know little Milly's sweetheart never much of a 
 fellow it wasn't my fault but oh, my God, how he 
 hates me ! He I'm afraid he'll come back, Prue to 
 murder me " he clung to her hand, his voice dying 
 away into a frightened whimper. 
 
 " He won't come back, Evelyn : he has gone away." 
 
 " He's such an artful devil. They're all artful devils 
 that class cads, all of 'em. Never know how to take 
 a beat in'. He's so devilish angry with me wasn't 
 my fault why can't he take it like a gentleman ? 
 He'll come back Prue, I'm afraid he'll come back 
 and I'm no match for him now " 
 
 " He won't come back, Evelyn " 
 
 " He will ! I know he will ! He hates me. You 
 don't understand, my dear ! It's er rather difficult
 
 60 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 to explain er rather a delicate matter. You see, he 
 was in love with Milly pretty neck and shoulders she 
 had, by Jove, but not much else they were to be 
 married " 
 
 " I think I understand," she said, quietly. 
 
 " Oh, now you're angry with me too ! " he whimpered 
 and began to cry. 
 
 " Evelyn ! Oh, Evelyn, don't do that ! I I can't 
 bear it ! Evelyn ! " frantically she pushed his handker- 
 chief into his hand, and hid her eyes from the pitiful 
 sight of his childish tears. " I'm not angry," she said 
 in a stifled voice. " Shall we have a game of chess ? 
 Or would you like me to read to you ? Shall we have 
 Jorrocks ? " 
 
 " Old Jorrocks," he said in a pleased voice, " let's have 
 old Jorrocks." 
 
 She took Handley Cross from the book-stand, and 
 opening it at random with trembling fingers, began to 
 read : " ' If Green 'orn gets fairly up, the chances are 
 he likes his mount. It is pleasant to find oneself carried 
 instead of kicked off, and some 'osses never ride so well 
 as ' " 
 
 " You you're sure you're not angry with me, 
 Prue ? " 
 
 " No, no, of course not, Evelyn. Now listen ; you 
 know this is his lecture on horse buying you like that 
 ' never ride so well as on trial, but then Spooney goes, 
 and tries all his paces ; a self-satisfied smile ' ; 
 
 " I can't bear you to be angry with me, Prue." 
 
 " No ; I'm not ' smile plays on his mug, as rein on 
 neck he returns down the covered ride, and the dealer, 
 with a hair of indifference, axes, " Ow he likes him ? ' 
 
 She paused, casting a quick glance at his face ; his 
 wet bleared eyes met hers at once pathetically.
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 61 
 
 " Don't be angry with me, Prue," he quavered. 
 
 She took his handkerchief, and gently wiped the tears 
 from his cheek. 
 
 " Shall I read something else to you ? I don't think 
 you feel quite like Jorrocks this evening." 
 
 His face brightened childishly. 
 
 " I don't believe you're angry with me any longer ! 
 It was always the same. Lord, women are soft-hearted, 
 my dear, none of 'em could ever be angry with Evie 
 Wingfield ! " He began to chuckle, and cast sly 
 glances at her. " Oh, you needn't be jealous, my dear ! 
 I'm on the shelf now a wreck a hulk that's all. 
 But once eh, you weren't so very hard-hearted your- 
 self, my cold Princess, were you ? I remember one 
 evening " 
 
 " What would you like me to read to you, Evelyn ? 
 Shall I read some of those poems that came to-day ? 
 See, here is one it looks promising " 
 
 " Poems ? What poems ? " 
 
 " Paterson's you remember ? Shall I read them to 
 you ? " 
 
 He nodded. 
 
 " I'll read 'Old Pardon, the son of Reprieve ' ! " 
 
 She plunged into it. 
 
 " You never heard tell of the story ? 
 Well, now, I can hardly believe I 
 Never heard of the honour and glory 
 Of Pardon, the son of Reprieve ? 
 But maybe you're only a Johnnie 
 And don't know a horse from a hoe? 
 Well, well, don't get angry, my sonny, 
 But really, a young un should know ! " 
 
 " Thank you, that is enough," he said, as she paused 
 at the end of the verse. "I'd like a game of chess." 
 She put the book down, and fetched the board and
 
 62 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 men. They began to play. Presently he dropped the 
 piece he was holding, and shrank back with a look of 
 horror on his face. 
 
 " It moved, Prue ! Moved in my fingers ! I tell you 
 it moved ! " 
 
 " Your fingers slipped, Evelyn, that was all. I 
 believe I shall beat you to-day. I'm playing better." 
 
 " Take them away," he moaned, shrunk back into his 
 chair. " It moved ! I tell you it moved. It is alive. 
 A horrible soft, live thing. Take them away." 
 
 She cleared them away quietly. 
 
 " Read me some of Market H arbor o' that'll buck me 
 up, Prue ! He's the man for me good old Whyte 
 Melville let me die in my saddle that was his wish, 
 and he did it too ! That's a proper death for a man. 
 That's the death for me. Not a miserable, damned 
 milk and sops affair. I'll get better yet just to spite the 
 doctors, and live to die in my saddle ! On the little 
 mare's back that's where I'll die. Who says I won't ? 
 Eh ? " his voice rose to a scream of fury, " who says I'll 
 die in my bed ? Who dares to say it ? Eh ? " 
 
 " Hush, Evelyn, I want to read Market Harboro' to 
 you ; we left off at the end of Chapter VI. , didn't we ? " 
 
 For five minutes he let her read, then he said he was 
 tired of it ; he'd like to play a game of cribbage. But 
 when she had set the board out he turned from it in 
 loathing. 
 
 " It will move like the other," he muttered. '' I 
 daren't take it up. I daren't. It will move in my 
 fingers." 
 
 Her tired eyes searched the room, and arriving at the 
 table littered with odds and ends, lightened a little. 
 
 " I do believe this rainy day has made your racing 
 irons rusty," she said.
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 63 
 
 He straightened his limp figure ; the vague, dreary 
 look left his face. 
 
 " Eh ? What ? Give 'em to me, my dear, I'll give 
 'em a rub up. Where's the burnisher ? I'll have my 
 little bridle too the beauty. I'll make 'em sparkle 
 hi a minute. Who's that ? Oh, that fool of a Daven- 
 port with some filthy slop for me to drink " 
 
 The man came noiselessly into the room, his long, 
 smug face and fleshy nose expressing a Christian meek- 
 ness that was determined to bear all trials as sent from 
 heaven in token of special favour. 
 
 " What is it, you fool ? What slop is it this tune ? " 
 
 " Allenbury's food, sir." 
 
 " D'you think I'm a baby ? Why don't you bring a 
 bottle too ? I won't touch it ! I tell you I won't touch 
 the stuff. Take it away ! D'you think I'm a baby ? " 
 
 " No, sir." 
 
 " Damn your impertinence, why don't you take it 
 away ? " 
 
 " Because it's for your good, sir." 
 
 " Evelyn, try to drink it ; it will make your hand 
 stronger to burnish the irons." 
 
 " Will it, Prue ? You don't say so. Give it to me 
 quickly then, and send that solemn-faced fool away. 
 Confound it, I ain't ready for the undertaker yet ! " 
 
 Davenport retired noiselessly. 
 
 Wingfield ate the food, eager to get back to his irons ; 
 in his hurry he dropped some on his coat. Prudence 
 averted her gaze as he fumbled shamefacedly at the 
 stains with his handkerchief, casting anxious glances 
 at her the while. 
 
 " I've finished it, Prue. May I clean my irons now ? " 
 
 She took away the tray, and gave him what he 
 wanted.
 
 64 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 " You'll stay here, Prue, won't you ? Dick doesn't 
 want you, the young rascal. Now then, won't we make 
 you shine, eh ? " Muttering over his work with childish 
 pleasure he rubbed and patted and fingered it feebly, till 
 at last he sank back into his chair, and slept, a racing iron 
 still in his hand. Prudence rose and gently loosening 
 the slack fingers, took the stirrup from him, and laid 
 it down on the table. She arranged a cushion and a rug 
 more comfortably, and quietly left the room. She went 
 downstairs slowly and found a pot of cold tea, and some 
 cold toasted scones awaiting her on a table. 
 
 " They've been there for hours and hours," Dickon 
 told her. 
 
 " Have you had your tea ? " 
 
 " Oh yes, I had it in the kitchen with jam out of a 
 stone pot. Hike jam like that." 
 
 Prudence rang a bell. 
 
 " Lydia," she said to the maid who answered it, 
 " tell Davenport his master is asleep, and he will remain 
 within hearing." 
 
 " There now, mum, if you haven't touched yer tea, 
 and me making you hot scones and all. But I can soon 
 hot 'em up again " 
 
 " I don't want any tea, Lydia," Prudence said, sinking 
 into a chair. 
 
 " Oh, come now, a nice hot scone, and not a bit burnt 
 this time ? " 
 
 Prudence shook her head. 
 
 " I couldn't eat it, thank you, Lydia. Give Daven- 
 port my message, and take away the tea tray." 
 
 Dickon was still busy with his drawing : presently he 
 looked up. 
 
 " Are you tired, mother ? " 
 
 " Very tired, Dickon."
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 Dickon sighed. 
 
 " What a pity ! I wanted you to be my gal'pin' 
 horse." 
 
 " Oh, well, I dare say I can manage a gallop," Prudence 
 said.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 IT was a few days later, on another wet and stormy 
 afternoon, that Renaud, kneeling on the high 
 window-sill in the schoolroom at Elm Hill, 
 declaiming : 
 
 " De trrtmks black de boughs a more pale black 
 behind dem ah, comment puis-je le dire ? It is of 
 a too great beauty ! " broke off to exclaim : 
 
 " Dere is Madame Wingfield, she look ver tired." 
 
 Armand, acting as faithful transcriber, flung down 
 notebook and pencil, and clambered to the sill. 
 
 " Let us bang, and see her jump ! " was his idea. 
 
 So they banged with such a will that Prudence heard 
 the clamour above the weary shrieking of the wind, and 
 looked up. 
 
 Elizabeth came into the room then. " Don't break 
 the window, dears, it would be so cold this weather." 
 
 " It is Madame Wingfield, and she look ver tired. 
 Shall I not den enter de rain and tell her to come in, 
 Maman ? " 
 
 Renaud was already at the door. Elizabeth went to 
 the window and looked out ; she looked at the girl's 
 back as Prudence walked on up the road. 
 
 " She does look tired " she said. 
 
 It was enough for Renaud ; he was out of the room 
 and the house before Elizabeth had realised anything 
 except the fact of a struggling Armand held firmly in 
 her hands. 
 
 66
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 67 
 
 Renaud reappeared, wet, but triumphant, with Prud- 
 ence at his heels. 
 
 Elizabeth went to her with outstretched hand. " How 
 nice of you to come in," she said, smiling. 
 
 Prudence looked at her with tired, dull eyes. 
 
 " He said you wanted me ? " 
 
 " I'm afraid for no very important reason," said 
 Elizabeth charmingly. " Only that I'm so bored, and I 
 wanted you to have tea with me, will you ? It will be 
 such a charity " 
 
 Prudence hesitated. 
 
 " It's very kind of you, but I'm afraid I ought to go 
 back " 
 
 " You will have tea here you and Maman also 
 n'est-ce pas ? With us in dis room ! Yes ? See, you 
 
 shall have dis chair so and a cushion so . Ah 
 
 yes, and I will rub your head with de eau de cologne, as I 
 do for Maman " 
 
 Renaud 's eager little hand was coaxing her towards 
 the chair, his face upturned, beseeching. 
 
 Elizabeth saw suddenly a mist creep over the grey 
 eyes before the heavy lids hid them. She looked away 
 and talked in her charming, inconsequent way, while 
 Prudence sat down in the chair indicated by Renaud, 
 and submitted to be deprived of her hat and rain coat. 
 She wore an absent, dreamy expression, as if she were 
 hardly conscious of what was happening to her. A 
 squabble arose over her gloves. 
 
 " Dey are mine to put aside ! " Renaud declared. 
 " She is mine ! Was it not / who found her ? Is it 
 not I who will now doctor her ? I ask you, foolish 
 one, is it not so ? Pig ! Donkey ! Bete-ane ! Im- 
 becile ! " 
 
 Elizabeth intervened. Peace ; and presently Prud-
 
 68 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 ence felt a cold little fragrant dab on her brow, another, 
 a cooing voice : 
 
 " Dere den, ma pauvre petite ! See now, it grow bet- 
 tere. Hush den, che"rie hush. Do not move. Restez 
 tranquille. Ne vous derangez pas, pauvre che"rie. . " 
 
 It was an hour later that Ridgeway came into the 
 house, and made his way to the schoolroom. He found 
 it dark and empty, lit only by a great red fire. He went 
 across to the fireplace, and gave the coal a kick that 
 brought forth a flickering flame. Turning his back 
 to it he became aware of a figure lying back in the big 
 old chair that was his favourite. It was Prudence 
 Wingfield, asleep. He looked down on her quiet, pale 
 face, and as he looked she moved her head restlessly, 
 and flung out her hand as if warding something off. 
 
 " Not that ! " she moaned. " Not that, Evelyn. 
 I can't I can't " 
 
 Ridgeway turned away and moved quietly to the 
 door, but before he reached it, she had sat up with a 
 sudden movement, and her voice rang out fearfully. 
 
 " What has happened ? Evelyn " 
 
 " Hush, you have been asleep. You are at Elm 
 Hill." 
 
 " Oh ," he saw her hand go to her throat, then she 
 
 spoke quietly. 
 
 " I remember. I was so tired, and they were so kind. 
 Have I been asleep long ? I I must hurry back." 
 She lifted her head and looked at him. " How long 
 have you been here ? " 
 
 " Only a minute or so." 
 
 She twisted her hands together silently. Ridgeway 
 said deliberately : 
 
 " You were restless, you were muttering in your
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 69 
 
 sleep " he saw the hands grow still. " Something 
 
 about the rain and getting wet." He gave a little 
 laugh : " You seemed aggrieved that it was such wet 
 rain," he said. 
 
 The hands unlocked, she smiled. 
 
 " I was very wet," she said, rising. " I can't under- 
 stand my falling asleep like that. What is the time ? " 
 
 " Only just a quarter past four." 
 
 " But I'm more than two miles from Cherry Cross. 
 I I must hurry. I don't know where every one is 
 
 " Here are some of them, anyway," Ridgeway said. 
 
 Renaud, Armand and Andre" all on tip-toe, all wide- 
 eyed, each carrying a bottle. 
 
 " Oh, Madame, you have awaken ! By Jove, did 
 that old Mark wake you, den ? See now, we leave you 
 to make de good medicine drinks. Behold, eau 
 sucre'e ! " 
 
 " De orange water ! " 
 
 " De lemon water ! " 
 
 Three bottles were waved triumphantly before her 
 eyes. 
 
 " How kind of you," Prudence said. 
 
 " Here is tea. Voila ! A cup why not ? You 
 must first drink de eau sucre'e ! " cried Renaud. 
 
 " Den de orange water ! " 
 
 " Den de lemon water ! " 
 
 Three beaming, capering little figures Prudence 
 drank all three drinks, and won their hearts for ever. 
 
 " Could she do less ? " she asked, when Ridgeway 
 admired her courage. 
 
 " Ah, but what an inbleed she would make ! " cried 
 Renaud longingly. " Pour moi how I would like to 
 be her doctor ! "
 
 70 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 " Madame," Andre flung fat arms round her knees. 
 
 May I den doctere you when you's malade ? " 
 
 She bent and kissed his dimples. 
 
 " I should love you to," she said. 
 
 " Eh bien, mais moi aussi ! " cried Renaud. " For 
 was it not I dat make you to sleep ? " 
 
 She stroked his head gently. 
 
 " It was indeed." 
 
 Elizabeth coming in, made her stay to tea and pro- 
 mised she should be driven back to Cherry Cross. 
 
 Prudence apologised for falling asleep ; she thought 
 Renaud must have mesmerised her ; she said she had 
 had a bad night, that was all. 
 
 Ridgeway wondered silently what had made him tell 
 that lie ; after all, what she had really said in her sleep 
 did not amount to much. He and Elizabeth talked 
 lightly, argued, disagreed, and Prudence sat very quiet, 
 amused now and again, but Ridgeway felt that she was 
 not with them really. A queer sensation came upon 
 him with the sudden wonder as to what she would be 
 if she were really with them ? With the thought of 
 coldness, came marble, then Galatea Pygmalion 
 Had she ever loved that man more than thirty years her 
 elder ? Looking on her delicately featured, calm and 
 reticent face, he could not fancy love had ever softened 
 warmed it. Was it capable of warming into tenderness, 
 into passion ? He thought not. He could not imagine 
 that quiet aloofness fired into a coming down, a coming 
 near, a dear intimacy. Yet there was for him a great 
 attraction about her ; beside her, in thought, other girls 
 became noisy, uninteresting, shallow. He mused, deep 
 and long. 
 
 " Mrs. Wingfield has no cake," so Elizabeth aroused 
 him.
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 71 
 
 Cakes were pressed upon her from four different pairs 
 of hands. Ridgeway became extraordinarily conscious 
 of his muteness, but could think of no words with which 
 to break it. 
 
 " I met Miss Delford to-day," so he broke it, grateful 
 to Miss Delford. " Nice girl." 
 
 Elizabeth demurred. 
 
 " She's such a butty person. I'd sooner have a person 
 with a good, honest dislike of everything than a butty 
 one." 
 
 Prudence said seriously she hardly knew what a butty 
 person was. 
 
 " Oh, the sort who always qualifies a liking with a 
 ' but.' There 're heaps of them in the world. I always 
 think God must hate them much worse than real bad 
 people they're so grudging and ungrateful ' Don't 
 you love gathering primroses ? ' ' Oh, yes, but there 
 are always such a lot of brambles to scratch one's hands.' 
 ' Are you fond of horses ? ' ' Oh, yes, but they're such 
 delicate creatures, aren't they ? One never knows 
 what will go wrong with them.' ' Do you like the 
 country ? ' 'Oh yes, but isn't it shocking how muddy 
 one gets one's boots and skirts,' and so on, from 
 an earthquake to a periwinkle it's just the 
 same." 
 
 Prudence gave a little low laugh that arrested Ridge- 
 way's attention again ; she was nice when she laughed : 
 how it altered the character of her mouth ! It was a 
 very characteristic mouth, with its queer little dip 
 down in the centre of the upper lip. With a short 
 upper lip like hers, that was rather attractive. Every- 
 thing was characteristic about her that was it 
 that was her distinctive charm : she could never be 
 massed with a hundred other girls, as many pretty
 
 72 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 girls could ; one would never dare decide beforehand 
 how this girl would act . . . 
 
 And her hands were characteristic long, thin hands 
 with pointed finger tips he would like to draw her 
 hands. Her feet were characteristic they were small 
 feet, but not very short, rather, their extreme slimness 
 gave an impression of narrow length . . . 
 
 She was going. He was sorry. Might he go with 
 her? 
 
 She said " No," with indifferent decision. 
 
 He suggested that Mr. Wingfield had asked him to 
 come again ? And wondered had he imagined a faint 
 expression of terror in her eyes, as she replied 
 that he was not well enough to see any one that 
 evening. 
 
 She went, and he wandered out into the rain, uneasy, 
 restless. He was dining at the Hall that night ; they 
 did not worry him at dinner, supposing some picture was 
 occupying his thoughts. He sat silent for the most 
 part, worrying. His nature was essentially protective 
 towards weakness, and Prudence had for him, in some 
 subtle way, lost her strength and become pitifully 
 weak. The attraction she undoubtedly had for him, 
 and which he recognised with healthy interest, lent this 
 change in her, or in his thought of her, a poignancy that 
 worried him acutely. Her aloneness grew for him 
 terrific ; possibilities in Wingfield 's face rose up and 
 tormented him. . . . 
 
 He left early ; in the doorway he paused and looked 
 back at Muriel, laughing and bending over Sol, with 
 Latimer watching her. 
 
 " I wonder," he said abruptly, " what you'd have 
 done if Latimer hadn't been able to marry you ? " 
 
 There was a startled rush of colour to her cheeks ;
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 73 
 
 she looked up at him gravely, her hand still on the dog's 
 beautiful head. 
 
 " Don't suggest such gruesome horrors," Hugh 
 interposed. 
 
 But Muriel said quietly : 
 
 " I do not know. I am afraid to probe." 
 
 Ridgeway went out into the misty night. 
 
 Hugh said passionately : 
 
 " God, child, how beautifully honest you are ! " 
 
 Ridgeway did not cheat his mind as to his purpose ; 
 he never did that sort of thing. He knew that he had 
 left early because he was going to Cherry Cross, and he 
 knew he had no reason for his going, beyond a totally 
 uncalled-for feeling of uneasiness. He walked sharply 
 through the night till he came within sight of the gleam- 
 ing light high up under the eaves, then he slackened 
 his step, walking slowly, listening, watching. He 
 turned up the lane at the side of the house, and reaching 
 the gate that led into the stable yard he stopped, and 
 resting his arms upon it, stood there. The night was very 
 quiet and moist and cold; now and then an owl's cry broke 
 the stillness ; a cat walked across the yard, dark against 
 the white walls ; he heard the stealthy rustle of a rat 
 in the straw close by. The wet night was hay-sweet 
 from the great stack that loomed through the moonlit 
 mist in the paddock on his left ; to him the smell of 
 stables came pleasingly, bringing with it a reassuring 
 sense of homeliness ; there was the rattle of a chain, 
 the lazy snort of a horse as it pushed about in the manger 
 for stray oats, the stamp of a hoof . . . 
 
 No sharp edges no detail a marvellous merging 
 into the background a wonder of delicacy and mystery 
 colour ? in a way, but soft greyish gleams of
 
 74 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 light picked out so in the leaded casements. The 
 fields behind what was it showed the boundaries ? 
 Lord, what a thing to paint ! The meadows were there 
 separated yet no defined outlines and the mist 
 over it all veiling it shadows dark but not black 
 
 a wonderful glooming dark The misty gleam of the 
 
 windows 
 
 A few hours later, falling asleep, he muttered trium- 
 phantly : 
 
 " I could do it ! I see how you'd get it ! "
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 DICKON, would you be sorry if I had a 
 headache ? " 
 " Have you got one, mother ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 Dickon stuck his tongue back into his cheek, and went 
 on with his drawing. 
 
 Prudence eyed him wistfully ; was he selfish, callous ? 
 
 " You wouldn't bathe my forehead with eau-de- 
 Cologne if I had a headache ? " she said, with an 
 unusual somewhat bitter touch of foolishness. 
 
 Dickon did not reply. She was obliged to push 
 further. 
 
 " Would you ? " 
 
 " I haven't got any eau-de-Cologne," Dickon re- 
 sponded. 
 
 It was so true that she hardly knew how to meet it. 
 
 " Would you put me into a comfortable chair, with 
 cushions ? " 
 
 " I couldn't carry you, mother, you're too heavy, and 
 there's only one cushion." 
 
 Prudence said more impulsively than usual : 
 
 " Would you like to go and spend the day at Elm 
 Hill?" 
 
 " Yes," he said. 
 
 " Very much ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 He had put down his pencil ; his grey eyes were 
 glowing. 
 
 75
 
 76 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 " How inarticulate you are," she mused. 
 
 She rose and came over to the table where he sat. 
 
 " Dickon, " she said, then stopped abruptly and 
 turned away. 
 
 " When may I go, mother ? " 
 
 " In about half-an-hour Madame du Pierre will call 
 for you on her way back from Barchester. I had a note 
 from her this morning." 
 
 He took up his pencil again, and resumed his drawing. 
 
 Prudence stood and watched him in grave thought. 
 She had spoken on impulse when she had asked him 
 if he would like to go and spend the day at Elm 
 Hill ; till that moment she had not made up her mind 
 whether to accept Elizabeth's invitation. In the past 
 there had once been a cruel snub ; she remembered 
 Dickon's questions, his baby woe over the loss of his 
 companions. . . . 
 
 " I hate to have to ask you such a question, Mrs. 
 Wingfield, but I must do it for my children's sake " 
 
 That was how it had been excused. 
 
 Was it an excuse ? Could her baby harm any one ? 
 
 And then the firm withdrawal and tears such 
 
 passionate baby tears Bobbie Gwennie Ronald 
 where were they ? 
 
 The gap made in the small life the accentuated 
 loneliness 
 
 She had sworn he should never suffer it again. 
 
 But Madame du Pierre she had spoken so softly 
 
 " A house of sickness so bad for a child only grown- 
 ups wasn't it like putting a wild flower into a green- 
 house ? " 
 
 Was it ? 
 
 " Dickon, are you happy ? " 
 
 " Yes, thank you."
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 77 
 
 Foolish question ! Would she never learn to control 
 her tongue ? 
 
 " Dickon, look at me ! " 
 
 " You do worry, mother." 
 
 " Go on with your drawing, you poor little martyr." 
 
 Was he like other boys ? Quite ? 
 
 " Dickon, shall we go round to the stables and see 
 Mirth ? " 
 
 An instant dropping of the pencil ; such an eager 
 slipping to the floor. 
 
 Was she right to have suggested it ? A moment 
 she hesitated ; then : 
 
 "I'm sorry, dear, I forgot. I must go to your father." 
 
 " I shall go alone," Dickon said defiantly. 
 
 " You know I have forbidden it." 
 
 " You shouldn't say you'd come and then not 
 come." 
 
 " Dickon, you are rude ! " 
 
 " You shouldn't." 
 
 He did not say it rudely : she knew it ; he merely 
 told her a fact that went very deep, and meant much 
 to him. She knew that he would never forget it. She 
 said gently : 
 
 " Come, then. Your father will not mind waiting 
 when I tell him what it was for." 
 
 They went round to the stables ; Ferney was in the 
 harness-room listlessly rubbing up shining leather and 
 steel. He touched his cap, and went on with his rub- 
 bing. The mare called from her loose-box, and Dickon 
 whispered tremblingly : 
 
 " I do believe she knows me. If only you'd let me 
 come round here sometimes, mother, she'd soon call 
 for me, same as she does for father." 
 
 " Mind her heels, Dickon."
 
 78 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 " She won't kick. How frightened you are of horses, 
 mother ! " 
 
 She watched him curiously as, quite fearless, he went 
 up to the mare. 
 
 " Well, my little beauty ! Steady then. Woa, my 
 little girl " 
 
 " Dickon, where do you pick up that sort of 
 talk ? " 
 
 " I don't know. Doesn't her coat shine, mother ? 
 Do you think she loves me just a little bit ? " 
 
 The mare was nozzling his fair little head with her 
 soft nose ; Dickon stood, entranced, scarcely breathing. 
 
 Prudence watched broodingly. Was this the real 
 Dickon ? In spite of her ? She said sharply : 
 
 " Come. I must go to your father now." 
 
 " Oh, mother, mayn't I stay just a minute ? " 
 
 " You won't be ready when Madame du Pierre 
 calls for you." 
 
 " Let me stay." 
 
 A minute she was silent ; then slowly " Would you 
 give up your day at Elm Hill to stay here a little while ? " 
 she asked, and scarcely breathed as she awaited his 
 answer. 
 
 " Yes," he said without hesitation. 
 
 Her face was contorted with a sudden spasm of pain. 
 
 Yet his goodness ! Her mandate meaningless to 
 him that he was not to go to the stables never 
 disobeyed 
 
 Was it natural for a boy to be so good ? Wouldn't 
 other boys disobey again and again ? Fight a decision 
 so cruel ? 
 
 She said : 
 
 " Come, Dickon," hoping, against reason, to be met 
 with a flat refusal.
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 79 
 
 " Goodbye," Dickon whispered, and burrowed for a 
 moment into the mare's chest. 
 
 " Dickon ! She might hate it ! " Prudence caught 
 his shoulder and pulled him back ; the mare startled, 
 shied away. Ferney's head appeared at the door ; 
 he spoke soothingly : 
 
 " She ain't used to you, m'lady," he said, and went 
 back to the harness-room. 
 
 Prudence returned to the house with Dickon ; when 
 she caught sight of his face, she exclaimed : 
 
 " Darling, you weren't frightened ? " and knew at 
 once how foolish the question was. 
 
 " You made her shy ! You think I'm a baby ! 
 Ferney'll think so too, now." 
 
 There were tears in his eyes. 
 
 Prudence reassured him : Ferney had not seen ; 
 he would not think him a baby. 
 
 " He said she wasn't used to us. He'll think I don't 
 know how to behave in a stable." 
 
 The funny, old-fashioned words were strenuous with 
 deep feeling. 
 
 " It's I who don't know, not you, Dickon." 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 He picked up his pencil again, and climbed into his 
 chair. 
 
 " Ferney doesn't like me," he said sadly. 
 
 Prudence, thinking of the mare, said: "Dickon, 
 whom do you love best in the world ? " 
 
 He replied without hesitation : 
 
 " Ferney." 
 
 She was amazed. 
 
 " But you never speak to him " 
 
 A deep red had surged up into his cheek. 
 
 " You never see him "
 
 8o ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 " I do. I can see him from the window on the stairs." 
 
 Enlightenment was coming to her. She recalled a 
 small figure, cramped on the narrow sill, for an hour 
 at a time. . . . 
 
 " I can spit just like him," he said, shy pride in his 
 tone. 
 
 " Dickon ! Only poor men do that." 
 
 He said nothing, only his face settled into quietness, 
 and she knew she had stopped his tentative confidences. 
 She tried to start him again. 
 
 " What else can you do like Ferney ? " 
 
 " I don't know." 
 
 " Do you love him more than me ? " 
 
 He bent low over his drawing and did not answer. 
 
 " Do you, Dickon ? " 
 
 " That's silly," he said. 
 
 Prudence was silent. She stood a minute watching 
 him, an infinite yearning tenderness transfiguring her, 
 a wondering fear with the tenderness making her face 
 curiously like that of the Sistine Madonna. . . . 
 
 Then she went quietly upstairs to Wingfield. He 
 was sitting in his chair, chuckling. " That Davenport's 
 an artful devil ! With his smug face, and the air of an 
 undertaker at a funeral ! He told me a story just now 
 about the Marquis of Tonningford Ha ! ha ! " 
 
 " What was it ? " Prudence asked, kneeling to pick 
 up some wood that had fallen from the fire. 
 
 " I can't tell you, my love ! I really can't. Man's 
 story, don't you know, but it was deuced good. Ha, ha, 
 ha ! The marquis too. Goes in for being pi, you know. 
 Told me one day I'd live to regret the wasting of my life 
 told me I was ruining my constitution. Amusin' thing 
 to tell a Wingfield, wasn't it ? All got constitution of 
 an ox But that sly dog of a man of mine ! He makes
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 81 
 
 a story devilish funny, by Jove, with his smug face, 
 and his pulled down lips devilish funny ! Not been so 
 amused for a long time ! " 
 
 Prudence, kneeling by the fire, looked at him thought- 
 fully, then she said : " Dickon is going to spend the day 
 with those children at Elm Hill." 
 
 " Glad to hear it ; perhaps they'll knock some of the 
 priggishness out of him." 
 
 A little flush rose to her face ; she was worried over 
 the sanity of his answer. Could it be true that Daven- 
 port. . 
 
 " You seem better this morning ? " she said, watch- 
 ing him. 
 
 " Better than I've felt for a long while, my dear. At 
 this rate I'll soon be in the saddle again, eh ? Oh, not 
 just yet, of course. I'm not a fool. You needn't pull 
 a long face like that," he grew peevish. " Any one 
 would think you don't want me to get well. You're 
 so devilish chary of your encouragement ! " 
 
 She moved about the room, putting things away, 
 picking out the dead flowers in the vases. 
 
 " Prue, don't be cross. I didn't mean it. It was 
 only that I'm pretty well sick of being cooped up indoors. 
 You know, I was never in the house when I could be out 
 of it not in the old days." 
 
 " I'm not cross, Evelyn," she said gently. " I 
 think you are wonderfully good. Would you like 
 to walk along the corridor and look out into the 
 yard ? " 
 
 He shook his head, and gave a queer little laugh. 
 
 " I don't think I could stand that to-day, Prue." 
 
 " Shall I call Dickon to say good-bye ? " 
 
 " It isn't the boy I want," he said wearily. " He 
 stares so."
 
 82 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 " I must go and help him to get ready, Evelyn, I won't 
 be long." 
 
 " No, don't be long, Prue, I feel very lonely to-day." 
 
 She gave him a pitiful glance, and quietly left the room. 
 
 About five minutes later she came back, and found 
 him standing at the open window ; he looked round 
 eagerly. " Prue, ask her to come in ! She smiled at me 
 most delightfully. Prue, it's so long since I've talked 
 to a lady except you Would she excuse a sickroom, 
 and all this, do you think ? " he waved his delicate white 
 hand around. " I'm sure she would. Ask her to take 
 pity on a poor brute shut off from all that makes life 
 bearable. Ask her, Prudence ! " 
 
 " It will tire you, Evelyn " 
 
 " It will do me more good than all the doctor's rub- 
 bish you ddse me with ! Ask her, Prue." 
 
 " Another day perhaps " 
 
 " No, now ! I'm quite well enough to see her. Gad, 
 it's quite a treat to see those sorts of clothes again. 
 There'll be a faint scent about 'em I know. I'll ask 
 her myself ! " 
 
 She saw him put his head out of the window, heard 
 him make his request in his most charming manner, 
 heard Elizabeth's gay reply, was forced to go forward 
 and add her request to his. 
 
 " Quick, Prue ! Give me a hair brush that's right. 
 And a few drops of eau de cologne. D'you think this 
 coat's all right ? All right all right I won't talk 
 much. What a worrier you are ! Pull that curtain 
 across a bit there's no need to accentuate what a wreck 
 I am. That's better. Now, if she sits there. How do 
 I look ? What the deuce is up now ? Anybody would 
 think it was a chorus girl I'd insisted on having in ! Lord, 
 it's no wonder if I get a bit tired of that glum face, and
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 83 
 
 want to see another ! Aren't you going down to receive 
 her and bring her up ? Madame du Pierre, you said 
 Um, nice French flavour about it. Wait a minute, give 
 me the looking-glass. . . ." 
 
 Prudence, in the hall, asked Elizabeth not to stay 
 with him long, and not to excite him. 
 
 Elizabeth, coming softly into the room, was received 
 in the most courtly way ; she found him charming. She 
 stayed about a quarter of an hour, talking in her most 
 delightful way, listening to his stories, accepting his 
 charming deference as her due. Prudence sat near him, 
 quiet and grave ; she forgot to laugh several times when 
 a laugh was expected of her ; she hurried Elizabeth 
 away before there was the least suggestion of weariness 
 or excitement about him. 
 
 Elizabeth, passing Ridgeway near the Hall, painting, 
 opined to him that she was not so much surprised now. 
 
 " Oh," said Ridgeway, not asking to what she alluded, 
 because he wanted her to leave him to his painting. Then 
 he looked up and saw she had Dickon in the carriage. 
 
 " Been to Cherry Cross ? " he said, with a little more 
 interest. 
 
 " I had to drive into Barchester, so called for him. 
 I've been sitting with his father." 
 
 " Oh. What do you think of him ? " 
 
 " A charming man ! I could fall in love with him 
 myself. I always can with that type of man. He must 
 have been a dear before he was so wrecked by sickness." 
 
 Ridgeway squeezed more white out, and did not 
 answer. 
 
 " I suppose you want me to go ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Artists are rude beasts ! Give me a good old 
 sporting gentleman ! It was very interesting anyway,
 
 84 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 and I've discovered that the lady is exceedingly jealous ! 
 Drive on, John ! " 
 
 It was a few hours later when Prudence came along. 
 
 " I heard Madame du Pierre mention that you were 
 painting the old mill to-day," she said in her direct way, 
 " so I came to find you. I wanted to know, whether 
 if you had nothing else to do, you would just come in 
 for a little while this evening, and sit with Evelyn." 
 
 " Of course I shall be delighted." 
 
 " Thank you ; he is very depressed to-day." 
 
 " By Jove, I don't wonder ! " Ridgeway ejaculated. 
 " To be shut up in a sick-room on a day like this ! " 
 
 She looked about her thoughtfully ; at the mill with 
 the stream running past it, the foam of its haste over rocks 
 a-gleam in the pale sunshine ; at the tall elms behind, 
 so delicately and wonderfully etched against the fresh- 
 washed blue sky. . . . 
 
 Ridgeway said, stepping back to judge the effect of 
 what he had just done : " If I were a poet I would write 
 endless poems on these days we get in February and 
 March. There's that thing " 
 
 " I do not care for poetry," she said, and turned 
 away. 
 
 " You mean in a wholesale sort of way ? Just because 
 it is poetry ? Oh, neither do I " 
 
 " I mean any poetry." 
 
 " Don't you really ? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 Ridgeway, on a rueful impulse, called after her : 
 
 " Won't you look at my daub ? " 
 
 She did not turn her head. 
 
 " I mustn't wait," she said. " I must get back." 
 
 He looked after the slim upright figure in its extremely 
 well-cut, but shabby, coat and skirt.
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 85 
 
 " Snubbed, by Jove ! And it's rather a good daub 
 too ! " 
 
 Ferney greeted him that evening with a curious con- 
 traction of the muscles around his mouth, which made 
 the tip of his funny little nose quiver, and which Ridge- 
 way construed into a smile. 
 
 " Heard you used to go out with the V.W.H., sir ? " 
 
 Ridgeway assented. 
 
 " Second whip with 'em two seasons, sir." 
 
 He came closer. 
 
 " I 'oudn't mention 'em too intimate, if you don't 
 mind, sir, it was out with 'em his lordship lost 
 
 Triumph II. " his husky voice trailed off into 
 
 silence. 
 
 " Triumph II. ! The Grand National Triumph of 
 six or seven years ago ? " ejaculated Ridgeway. 
 
 " Same, sir." 
 
 The groom peered up at him wistfully. " Ever see 
 'im, sir ? " 
 
 " Rather ! Why, man, I saw him win the National ! 
 Why, good lord, it was you " 
 
 " Yes, sir, I was ridin' 'im, sir." 
 
 Ridgeway held out his hand, and they shook silently. 
 
 " Always 'ot, sir came to grief over a stone wall 
 broke 'is neck. His lordship don't like to talk about 'im 
 to no one but me, sir." 
 
 " I understand," Ridgeway said, and went ruminating 
 into the house. 
 
 " Poor little chap ! " he muttered. " I begin to see 
 the tragedy of his life here ! " 
 
 He found his host in his most affable mood, and 
 pathetically pleased to see him. 
 
 "It's most awfully decent of you, my dear boy, to look 
 up a poor old cripple like this ! I've had quite an excit-
 
 86 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 ing day friend of yours most charming creature you 
 forgive an old man ? I declare when she went away I 
 
 went down down down " he pointed to the floor 
 
 with a gesture of his beautiful hand, and shrugged his 
 shoulders. " The sight of so much beauty and youth 
 such vivacity and amiability. I felt ill and old and good 
 for nothing ! I am afraid," turning to Prudence with a 
 winning smile, " I was a sore trial to this patient child." 
 
 " No, Evelyn, only I was sorry." 
 
 " A gentle heart," he murmured vaguely ; then 
 turned again to Ridgeway : 
 
 " But I am better to-day. I haven't felt so strong 
 for a long while. Next season Ah, I have hopes. 
 There's a certain little coat put away in that cupboard 
 there a glorious colour, my boy, a good colour ! What 
 d'you think of that curtain there over the door, eh ? 
 Couldn't get just the pink in anything but velvet, could 
 we, Prue ? Now, you're an artist, isn't it a good match, 
 eh?" 
 
 " Ripping ! " Ridgeway assented. " And the shadow 
 in the folds there why, isn't it a good old worn bit 
 at the end of the season ? " 
 
 " Good ! Good ! You hear that, Prudence ? I've 
 seen it just that colour, many a time. Fetch that little 
 coat I was speaking of, my dear. No worn patch there 
 yet. New coat one of Poole's never went to any one 
 else," he stretched out trembling hands for the hunting 
 coat, and sat smoothing and fondling it. " Fits me like 
 a glove. I was made for the saddle so I've been told 
 by many soft tongues. Well, well who knows ? When 
 I was a lad of fourteen some few years back so the 
 story runs, I wrote in a fair lady's album in answer to 
 ' What is your dearest ambition in life ? ' 'To die in 
 the saddle ! ' Not bad for a youngster, that, eh ?
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 87 
 
 Never changed got a bit scared it'd be a bed, after 
 all, once or twice lately, but I'm a lot better 
 to-day " 
 
 Prudence left the room quietly, and went along to 
 Dickon's little bedroom. 
 
 " Not asleep yet, Dickon ? " 
 
 He sat up in his bed, the candle she carried flickering 
 its light on his fair little head. 
 
 " I want a pony to ride," he said. 
 
 " You are too young, Dickon." 
 
 " I'm more than six." 
 
 " Only a few weeks more." 
 
 " I'm more than six." 
 
 " Anyway I cannot afford to buy you one." 
 
 " Then I hope I will die to-night," Dickon said, and 
 lay down. 
 
 " Dickon ! " she put the candle on a chest of drawers, 
 and sat down on his bed. " Don't you know that I 
 would let you have it if I could ? " 
 
 No answer. 
 
 " Dickon ! " 
 
 No answer. 
 
 She bent over him. 
 
 " Oh, my dear, don't be so naughty ! Why won't 
 you answer me ? " 
 
 " Go 'way ! I'm tryin' to die." 
 
 " Would you die and leave me, Dickon ? " 
 
 " Would God give me a pony to ride ? " 
 
 " If He did, would you leave me for a pony? " 
 
 Dickon thought. 
 
 " I 'spect I would," he observed honestly. 
 
 "Oh, Dickon." 
 
 " Well you see, mother, you can't gal'p on four legs 
 with your tail streamin' behind, nor you can't jump
 
 88 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 ditches and hedges. Renaud is goin' to have a pony. 
 His mother gives him every thin' he asks for," he added 
 reproachfully. 
 
 Prudence rose. 
 
 " If you care more for a pony than you do for me, 
 you won't want me to kiss you good-night," she said. 
 
 She walked to the door. 
 
 " You see, I'd gal'p down from Heaven sometimes 
 to see you, mother." 
 
 " Good-night, Dickon." 
 
 He did not call her back, and Prudence returned sadly 
 to the other room. Ridgeway, eyeing her in her plain 
 white shirt and grey skirt, wondered what she would 
 look like in a pretty evening frock. He spoke on the 
 thought : 
 
 " There's a furious discussion being waged in the 
 Hourly News have you seen it ? as to what form of 
 clothing is most becoming to the average woman." 
 
 " Why, gay rags, of course," Wingfield laughed. 
 " Unless it's a riding habit I don't know I've seen 
 some deuced pretty women in habits. Prudence looks 
 well on a horse, though she hasn't ridden much. But you 
 should see her in her finery. Prue, why don't you ever 
 wear anything but that ugly white shirt and a short 
 skirt ? Think I'm not worth taking any trouble over, 
 now, eh ? " he looked at her wistfully. "I'd like to see 
 you in a pretty white frock again, little girl," he said 
 gently. 
 
 Ridgeway looked at her expectantly ; he was glad it 
 was to be white ; he thought she would look charming 
 in white, or in light green a greyish green she'd 
 be ripping in that with her white skin 
 
 "It is too late now, Evelyn. I want you to go to 
 bed early," the quiet voice sounded somehow inexorable.
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 " Go to bed ? My dear, don't be absurd ! It's not 
 half-past nine. You know I cannot sleep if I go before 
 ten or eleven. Do you want me to have a good night ? 
 Then give me something sweet to dream about. A 
 little girl in a pretty little frock, eh ? Come, Prue, 
 don't be unkind." 
 
 " Not to-night, Evelyn," she said. 
 
 " Yes, to-night, my dear ! Run away and put it on 
 something soft and frilly, don't you know that 
 sort of thing. Come now, Mr. Ridgeway's an artist. I 
 want him to see you in a decent frock. He wants to 
 see you, don't you, my boy, eh ? " 
 
 Ridgeway smiled, and said, just too late to call it 
 back in answer to what he thought was a faint appeal 
 in the eyes she turned to him : 
 
 " If it's not too much trouble." 
 
 " It really doesn't affect the matter, one way or 
 the other, Evelyn, what Mr. Ridgeway wishes. I am 
 too tired to go and dress to-night." 
 
 She left the room, and went down into the hall, 
 where she sat down in a chair pulled close up to the fire. 
 To her, Dickon came. 
 
 " I want you more'n a pony, mother, so you may's 
 well come up and tuck me in." 
 
 She followed him up the stairs and into his bedroom. 
 
 " It was very unkind of you to go away like that, 
 mother." 
 
 " Was it, Dickon ? " her arms were round him, pressing 
 him closer and closer. 
 
 " Yes, because you see I'd got to think about it, 
 'fore I could decide which I liked best." 
 
 " Apparently you had. What made you decide you 
 preferred me ? " 
 
 " Well, I thought in Heaven there would be no ditches
 
 go ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 and hedges to jump over only clouds and a pony 
 can't tell me tales and and - " 
 
 "What/Dickon?" 
 
 " I'd got to have you say good-night properly some 
 way." 
 
 She gave a little laugh, and her arms tightened about 
 him. 
 
 " You don't very often hug me like this, do you ? 
 Renaud's mother kisses him ever so." 
 
 Presently he said : 
 
 " I do think you ought to tell me a tale now, as I've 
 decided to have you instead of a pony. It's very 
 sad not to have a pony to ride." 
 
 Down in the hall when Ridgeway bade her good-night 
 he paused. 
 "I'm awfully sorry if I er worried you about that 
 
 " No ; you didn't worry me. Good-night. 
 
 Still he lingered. 
 
 " That man Davenport is he er satisfactory ? " 
 
 She gave him a swift glance. 
 
 " I think so." 
 
 " Oh : looks a mournful sort of fool, doesn't he ? " 
 
 " Yes ; but he does his work, and Evelyn doesn't 
 dislike him." 
 
 " No ? " 
 
 He moved towards the door. 
 
 " You don't dislike him either ? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 She hesitated, then, a slight colour in her cheeks, said 
 quietly : 
 
 " You know, of course, that Evelyn's mind is 
 affected. He doesn't I mean, he sometimes fancies
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 91 
 
 things makes up stories, and and that sort of 
 thing." 
 
 " Oh, does he ? Yes. He is extraordinarily clear 
 on some points." 
 
 " Yes. He is, of course, worse some days than others. 
 This has been a very good day. But if you are coming 
 to sit with him sometimes, you ought to know." 
 
 " Thank you," he said gently. " Has he been like 
 this for long ? " 
 
 " Four years last November." 
 
 " Good God ! " 
 
 The exclamation was involuntary ; he apologised 
 absently. 
 
 '' He had a stroke. Before that he had been ill a 
 terrible fall hunting the horse was killed. Evefyn 
 went about as usual before he was strong again. Then 
 
 he had the stroke " She spoke in short sentences ; 
 
 if was as if speaking were a relief, and yet had not 
 been indulged in for so long that she found it difficult 
 to give expression to the impulse. 
 
 Ridgeway went very thoughtfully away.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 SHE'S nursed him like that for more than four 
 years." So Ridgeway told Muriel out on the 
 terrace, where the subtle elusive suggestion of 
 spring lay waiting in grass and tree, and swelling 
 buds of narcissus and daffodil ; where the sun 
 gleamed on every drop of moisture and turned the 
 wet boughs of the trees to a wonderful pale gold ; 
 and the scent was the will o' the wisp scent of the 
 lurking spring, faint and poignantly sweet, and not to 
 be labelled by mortal tongue. 
 
 Muriel wrote to her : 
 
 " Can't you come and have tea with me ? I know 
 visitors are a nuisance in a house of sickness, but could 
 you not get away for an afternoon ? Forgive my 
 interfering, but it does one so much good to get away 
 from a sick room sometimes." 
 
 Prudence replied in a stiff note of thanks, and 
 regretted that she could not manage it. 
 
 Muriel, driven to it, upheld her to Mrs. Darlington 
 by mention of the long nursing. Mrs. Darlington's 
 face, as much as was visible beneath her hat, was 
 sarcastically amused. She replied that to her the 
 man's illness and the woman's hanging on, were the 
 most disgusting parts of the whole business. She pointed 
 out that Prudence was desperately holding on for what 
 he might leave her when he died. 
 
 " She can't have any affection left for him, if she ever 
 had any to start with, which one doubts, but he is 
 
 92
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 93 
 
 frightfully rich, and she daren't leave him for a day in 
 case he should alter his will ! At present he has left 
 most of his money to her. Of course, one excuses her 
 a little because of the child, but still it's very nauseating." 
 
 " Servants' gossip always is, don't you think ? " 
 Muriel suggested. 
 
 Mrs. Darlington's sharp chin beneath her hat-brim 
 reddened a little. 
 
 " People are most frightfully amused at your casting 
 your protective shadow over the place," she observed. 
 
 " Yes ? " 
 
 " Madame du Pierre one hardly wonders at. She is, 
 of course, exceedingly broad-minded and very French, 
 but really, you ! It is too funny to see you consorting 
 with a naughty, bad woman ! " She ended on a playful 
 note, being ever mindful of the social importance of the 
 mistress of the Hall. 
 
 " You see," said Muriel calmly, " I happen to think 
 she is probably a very good woman." She rose. "I'm 
 sorry, but I have an engagement " 
 
 Mrs. Darlington got to her feet in a fluster of anger 
 and conciliation. 
 
 " One hopes you may be right one hates to be 
 uncharitable Where is my bag ? I do hope I haven't 
 kept you Mr. Ridgeway thinks with you, doesn't 
 he ? Or does his interest in Cherry Cross mean that he 
 thinks just the opposite ? One knows men I must 
 hurry " 
 
 Walking down the drive Mrs. Darlington was chiefly 
 conscious of a fierce and vindictive wish for a carriage, 
 or a car. Outside, Mrs. Dormer- Jones' car passed her, 
 and was hailed angrily by Mrs. Darlington. She got 
 in, unasked. 
 
 " I don't care where you are going," she said, sinking
 
 94 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 back with a sigh into the padded seat. "I'm sick of 
 my own legs ! " 
 
 " I don't wonder ! It's these new skirts they're so 
 awfully indecent ! D'you know / couldn't wear them. 
 George said to me the other day " 
 
 " To think George means this and your delightful 
 
 house and your little house in town Lord, what a 
 
 fool I was to be romantic and marry a penniless young 
 lieutenant ! " 
 
 Mrs. Dormer- Jones' face behind its thick veil grew red. 
 
 " I'm sure, Dolly, you needn't talk as if I wasn't 
 romantic, too ! I'm sure, I fell in love with George 
 head over heels ! And " 
 
 " Are you sure it was George, and not what was 
 included with George, Mary ? " 
 
 " You're very unkind to me ! I don't know why 
 you should be " 
 
 " Oh, well, don't cry about it. Where are you 
 going ? " 
 
 " To Barchester." 
 
 " You'll have to take me along then. I refuse to 
 walk a step at the present moment." 
 
 " You know I'm only too glad to give my friends a 
 lift, Dolly. I remember too well the days when I had 
 to walk wherever I wanted to go. I've never got over 
 the delight of having a motor car of my own ; I don't 
 think I ever shall. George says that's why I keep so 
 young, because I'm so keen about things " 
 
 " You pass Cherry Cross, don't you ? " interrupted 
 Mrs. Darlington. 
 
 " Yes. I always feel so glad it isn't nearer, so that 
 there need be no question of calling, you know, because 
 I'd hate to be unkind, but people do say such horrid 
 things about them "
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 95 
 
 " Well, the woman does seem pretty bad so horribly, 
 sordidly bad, you know one can't forgive that sort of 
 thing. You may drop me there, Mary." 
 
 " What ? Drop you at Cherry Cross ? Why ? You're 
 not going to call, Dolly ? After what you've always 
 said about her ! Why, you said " 
 
 " That's just why I am going to call, my dear creature. 
 I'm bored. I want to see what she's like the man too, 
 if only I get the chance." 
 
 " Oh, Dolly ! George would never allow me to, even 
 if I wanted to ! " 
 
 " Well, my George, whose name is Teddy, is in India, 
 thank heaven, and can't forbid my doing anything ! " 
 
 " But surely his wishes would be even more sacred to 
 you " 
 
 " Oh, Heavens, how more than prehistoric you are, 
 Mary ! Isn't this the place ? " She bade the chaff eur 
 stop. " Good-bye. When will you be passing back ? " 
 
 " In about I don't know an hour, perhaps. Oh, 
 go on, Wilson ! Go on ! Dolly, hadn't you better come 
 with " 
 
 The words were cut off with a swirl of dust and petrol. 
 
 Mrs. Darlington pursued her way up the path to the 
 door and rang. 
 
 " Oh, she was so sorry, her car was returning from 
 Barchester at once it was so cold might she just come 
 in and wait ? " So she spoke upon receiving Prudence's 
 usual refusal to see visitors. 
 
 She was admitted into the hall, and informed she 
 had better sit there, as there was no fire in the drawing- 
 room ; she was supplied with papers and magazines, told 
 that the mistress was sorry she could not leave the mas- 
 ter, and left alone. 
 
 Mrs. Darlington smiled, remembered the shops in
 
 96 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 Barchester, gave the car two hours at least, and settled 
 down to wait. The house was very quiet ; once the 
 quiet was broken by the dreary voice of a man singing, 
 out of tune, the verse of a hymn. It was stopped by the 
 hoarse admonition in the little maid's tones, to remember 
 that the maister was asleep. 
 
 Mrs. Darlington smiled again. He was asleep ; it 
 was evidently important that he should not be dis- 
 turbed ; her messages had been taken upstairs cheerfully 
 enough ; it meant that the woman was not with him, 
 and her excuse for not coming down, a lie. 
 
 Mrs. Darlington rose and rang a bell. 
 
 " I'm so sorry to trouble you, but " she coughed, 
 "I've such a tiresome throat could you bring me a 
 glass of water ? If I have to go without my tea, I 
 invariably start coughing." 
 
 The maid disappeared, and Mrs. Darlington heard her 
 thudding up the back stairs. 
 
 " Good ! " she muttered. 
 
 The maid poked her head round a door, and said 
 consolingly : 
 
 " You may have some tea Mistress says so." 
 
 Mrs. Darlington, eating cake and sipping tea in 
 solitude, looked direfully at the stairs, and pondered the 
 possibility of hearing a fancied call for help from 
 upstairs ; her mouth had settled into a thin line. Then 
 Dickon came down the stairs. 
 
 " Mother told me not to come," he said, pausing half 
 way down. 
 
 " I should like you to come and say how-de-do," 
 responded Mrs. Darlington, who hated children. 
 
 " I'll go and ask mother if I may." 
 
 " Oh, you may. She only told you not to in case }-ou 
 would worry me. What is that you are carrying ? "
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 97 
 
 " A drawing. I copied one of Renaud's. Renaud is 
 an artist. I think I'd better ask mother," he turned 
 to go upstairs. Then Mrs. Darlington, from sheer bad- 
 temper and no instinct of a boy's susceptibility, hit him 
 sharply with a : 
 
 " What an excessively good little boy you are ! " 
 
 He paused, his square little back to her ; Mrs. Darling- 
 ton pushed with a spiteful : " Well, why don't you run 
 back to your mother, like a good little baby ? " 
 
 And Dickon came down into the hall. 
 
 " Show me your picture. Why, how nice ! Did you 
 really draw that yourself ? What a clever little boy. 
 It's beautiful." 
 
 " What is it ? " Dickon asked. 
 
 She risked : 
 
 " Oh, a house and a garden, of course." 
 
 Dickon turned away without answering. 
 
 " Isn't it ? " she asked sharply. 
 
 " It's a mount 'in torrent gushin' over rocks." 
 
 " Oh dear ! Of course ! How foolish of me." 
 
 " I knew," said Dickon over his shoulder, " you 
 didn't know what it was." 
 
 " Really ? And did you think it very foolish 
 of me ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 Mrs. Darlington smothered a longing to rise and 
 smack him, with a suave : 
 
 " Your poor father is very ill, isn't he ? '' 
 
 " Sometimes." 
 
 Mrs. Darlington, alert, begged him to have a piece 
 of cake, but he refused. 
 
 " Do you love your father very much ? " 
 
 " He's goin' to take me out ridin' when he's better ; 
 he says he'll buy me a pony." 
 H
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 " Oh ! will that be soon ? " 
 
 " He said next week." 
 
 " Oh ! " 
 
 So his illness was a fabrication ! 
 
 " He's goin' to ride Mirth." 
 
 " I see. That will be very nice. Are you very fond 
 of horses ? " 
 
 " I'm father's son, you see." 
 
 What a little prig ! 
 
 " Shall I draw you ? " he asked. 
 
 " Yes, do. Am I easy to draw ? " 
 
 " I think so ; }'ou're like a parrot, and I can draw 
 parrots." 
 
 " Dickon, come here." 
 
 Dickon's fair little face grew very red. 
 
 " Oh, it was my fault ! Do forgive me, but he's so 
 sweet ! " 
 
 Mrs. Darlington rose, and hurried towards the figure 
 coming down the stairs. " I told him he might come 
 to me. I did so want him. I have so enjoyed my 
 tea, but I feel so conscience-stricken. A glass of water 
 was all I needed. Do sit down and talk. How is your 
 poor how is Mr. Wingfield ? Is he better ? " 
 
 " He is about the same as usual, thank you." 
 
 " It's very sad. I hope you didn't mind my calling. 
 I know you do not want callers, and of course I under- 
 stand quite and the car had gone on, you see so 
 stupid of the man ' 
 
 " I hope you will stay here till your car fetches you, 
 but you must excuse me. Come, Dickon." 
 
 In Mrs. Darlington's mind ran 
 
 " Ordinary dull no charm pallid too thin no 
 figure no wonder she has to work hard to keep the man 
 and his money ! "
 
 99 
 
 " Oh, won't you stay just a minute ? Mustn't I 
 really keep you ? It's so dull all alone " 
 
 " I am sorry : I must go back." 
 
 " Prudence ! " 
 
 The man's voice ! Such a pleasant voice too ! Mrs. 
 Darlington, a-fire with baffled curiosity, rage, spiteful- 
 ness, watched for a second the girl's form disappearing 
 round the bend of the staircase called : 
 
 " Is that you, Mr. Wingfield ? I am so sorry you are 
 too bad to receive visitors ! " 
 
 Waiting breathlessly she heard him : 
 
 " What's that, eh ? Prue, was that a lady speaking 
 to me ? " 
 
 And Prudence, soothing him, endeavouring to get him 
 back to his room. With one swift glance in the mirror, 
 hanging on the wall, she cried, patting her hair : 
 
 " It was only me ! Do forgive me, but I hoped you 
 were coming down to see me." 
 
 " Prudence, I really must insist ! I am quite well 
 enough to receive this lady " 
 
 " Oh, may I come up ? Really ? How kind of 
 you ! " 
 
 Mrs. Darlington was up the stairs on the last word, 
 and advancing graciously to the little group in the 
 corridor. 
 
 " If you will forgive my receiving you in a sick room," 
 Wingfield said. " Ah, it is most gracious of you, dear 
 lady, to take pity on an uninteresting invalid " 
 
 " I'm not so sure he is uninteresting," Mrs. Darlington 
 archly said. " Oh, one hears stories," she shrugged her 
 shoulders. " One can't shut one's ears ! " 
 
 "Stories? Stories about me ?" Wingfield chuckled. 
 " Sunday school stories, eh ? Now this is a comfortable 
 chair. You pardon an invalid's room ? I can manage,
 
 ioo ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 Prue, I can manage ! The dear child is apt to forget 
 how strong I grow lately. This morning I went for a 
 nice little canter very gentle, don't you know, and felt 
 all the better for it little mare as gentle with me as if I 
 were a baby ! Passed a perambulator without a 
 glance. What do you think of that ? Ordinarily we 
 have a fight over 'em, don't you know can't bear 
 'em terrified of 'em. Oh, she knew, bless her. Fond 
 of hunting, Mrs. er " 
 
 " Darlington. I adore it, but I get so few chances ; 
 we're as poor as church mice disgustingly poor ! My 
 husband has only his pay, and a pittance that barely pays 
 for my hats, and a few things like that, you know ! " 
 
 He cast a glance between half -closed lids at her hat. 
 
 " That face surely should always have a beautiful 
 frame," he said. 
 
 " I think he should rest now," Prudence said to Mrs. 
 Darlington. 
 
 " Are you tired ? Shall I go ? You look so well and 
 bright it is hard to believe you are an invalid." Mrs. 
 Darlington, smiling, seemed to accept his compliment. 
 
 " I am not in the least tired. If you will be so good as 
 to stay a little longer. My wife's anxiety is, perhaps, a 
 little excessive at times." 
 
 " She likes to keep you all to herself perhaps! " Mrs. 
 
 Darlington laughed as she spoke. " It's a way wiv 
 
 they have, I believe." 
 
 " Ha ! Ha ! Jealous, perhaps ? It's always been 
 the same ! Not my fault, I assure you. But always the 
 same. Never any cause, of course you understand ? " 
 
 " Of course. The stories I have heard help me to under- 
 stand that at once ! " 
 
 " Good ! Very good ! Ha, ha, ha ! Mrs. Darlington, 
 you have a pretty wit, as well as a pretty face, and when
 
 ELIZABETH IX RETREAT 101 
 
 they go together well " he raised his delicate hands. 
 
 " Be gentle with me," he besought, " I am still weak." 
 
 " Is that a new symptom where women are con- 
 cerned ? " she asked. 
 
 He was again delighted. Prudence intervened pre- 
 sently once more, then sat silent while the interchange 
 of innuendo, compliment and joke went on, till Mrs. 
 Darlington, hearing the car outside, rose to go, and he 
 said to her : 
 
 " Next autumn ah, perhaps there'll be a nice little 
 mount waiting here for you then, eh ? That so charming 
 a lady should get no opportunity for displaying " 
 
 " Th' moter's waiting and puffin' ' as if it's going to 
 burst, mistress," so Lydia's voice came through the 
 aperture of the door which Prudence had opened. 
 
 " It's too kind of you ! And will you take me, dear 
 Mr. Wingfield ? I'm rather a timid rider " She 
 caught herself up at the unmistakable frown of pending 
 refusal upon his face. " Only to the meet, of course ! 
 I always refuse to hang on to some poor wretch of a man 
 who probably wants to tear straight across country, 
 over horrible ditches and hedges and things " 
 
 " Well, well, that's very sensible of you ; nothing 
 makes a woman so disliked as when, as you say, she 
 insists upon hanging on to some unfortunate wretch 
 Ha ! ha ! Your description of a man's hunting is very 
 amusing, don't you know. . . ." 
 
 In the hall she said to Prudence : 
 
 " Your Mr. Wingfield is not nearly so ill as I 
 expected." 
 
 " No ? " 
 
 " I have so enjoyed talking to him ! I wish I lived 
 nearer, so that I could run in more often than I'm 
 afraid I shall be able to manage. Good-bye."
 
 102 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 " He is worse than he sometimes seems," Prudence 
 said. " He must not be excited. It is very kind of 
 you, but I must ask you not to come again." 
 
 Mrs. Darlington expressed extreme surprise. " Oh, but 
 indeed you are quite wrong ! Do believe me, my visit 
 has done him a world of good. And it really is no hard- 
 ship to sit with him, as it is with most invalids, he is so 
 amusing, isn't he ? So charming " 
 
 " It is very kind of you to say so, but you must allow 
 me to know best." 
 
 " Ah, but I do not allow you ! Visitors are bad for 
 him, you say ? Yet I understand that Mr. Ridgeway is 
 a favoured visitor ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " You make an exception in his favour ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 Her cold calmness was incensing Mrs. Darlington to 
 a bitterer spitefulness. She gave a little affected laugh. 
 
 " And Mr. Wingfield makes an exception in mine, you 
 see." 
 
 There was a slight pause. 
 
 " Mr. Wingfield is too ill to be capable of judging what 
 is good for him." 
 
 " I see. And you are to judge ? " 
 
 " Yes. I am afraid I must go " 
 
 " And your judgment is in favour of male visitors 
 alone ? " 
 
 " My judgment is in favour of what is good for him." 
 
 " Mr. Ridgeway of course is good for him ? " 
 
 ' Yes ; he has tastes in common, and does not excite 
 him at all." She turned to go up the stairs. 
 
 Mrs. Darlington laughed again. 
 
 " Jealousy, you know, we are taught is a very yellow 
 sin!"
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 103 
 
 It was then, with the genuine look of incredulous 
 surprise which Prudence involuntarily turned upon the 
 sharp, powdered and rouged face, that Mrs. Darlington's 
 rage rose to a point when at all costs, it had to be fed, 
 and she said drawlingly : 
 
 " Really, Mrs. Miss er " 
 
 Prudence waited. 
 
 " Miss er I really don't know your name " 
 
 " Willoughby," Prudence said. 
 
 " Oh thanks, well really, Miss Willoughby, Mr. 
 Wingfield has entreated me to come and see him again, 
 and I consider it only kind to do so. Good-bye." 
 
 Prudence went slowly up the stairs, her head high, 
 and into Wingfield's room. 
 
 " That woman most amusing creature lord, I know 
 her sort through and through, my dear ! A lady by 
 birth, and by nothing else, don't you know ! All the 
 instincts of a washerwoman, only it's rather hard on the 
 washerwoman " 
 
 " Then, Evelyn, you won't want to see her again, will 
 you ? " 
 
 " Eh ? " he gave her a sharp obstinate glance. " Why 
 not ? She amuses me ! She wants to come ; she's 
 pretty keen on coming ! Ha, ha ! And she's not bad- 
 looking has been a deuced fine woman in her time. 
 Lord, don't she swallow flattery, my dear ? They're so 
 easy to get on with that kind impossible to offend 
 'em. Not like you " 
 
 " Evelyn, she insulted me." 
 
 " Did she, by Jove ? Ha, ha, ha ! Oh, you women ! 
 So I'm not too old and done-for to have two women 
 quarrelling over me yet ? Lord, how familiar it seems ! 
 Makes me feel a dozen years younger. So she insulted 
 you, my poor little snow-princess, did she ? Wish I'd
 
 104 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 been there, by Jove ! Did she fire the ice at all, I won- 
 der ? Very funny very funny that," he chuckled and 
 
 muttered. " Fire ice " he seemed to collapse 
 
 suddenly in his chair. "I've got no fingers, Prue," he 
 whispered with a frightened whimper. " They they've 
 gone I daren't look but I can feel they are gone 
 lumps of ice heavy dead stuff " 
 
 She knelt beside his chair, and gently chafed his hands. 
 
 " You are over-tired, Evelyn, and your hands are 
 cold." 
 
 " You won't tell me the truth you are too kind 
 but I know ! Don't let her see that woman, Prue. 
 Quick, fetch me a pair of gloves hideous hideous 
 stumps " 
 
 She fetched the gloves, and worked them over his 
 limp fingers. 
 
 " That's a cruel stroke,'* he was muttering. " A 
 Wingfield's hands always one of his chief beauties 
 how hold rein ? Can't hold rein with no fingers poor 
 devil ! Oh, poor old chap Prue, I want my crop 
 one of 'em that one see if I can hold it with stump 
 of hand one in bedroom not that " 
 
 She went into his room to fetch it, and coming back, 
 found him on all fours crawling aimlessly about the 
 room. 
 
 "Whatsis it, Evelyn?" 
 
 " Rings, my love ! Where are my rings, I want to 
 know ? If my fingers have gone, the rings must be some- 
 where. Confound it, that's the merest common sense ! 
 There's the one with the emerald pretty little woman 
 gave that to me great dark eyes Lady Hamilton sort 
 of woman forget her name. And the opal beauty 
 ' unlucky ' she said, ' well, you don't deserve anything 
 else.' Cruel, wasn't she ? But such a beauty "
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 105 
 
 She rang the bell sharply twice, and Davenport came 
 into the room. 
 
 Wingfield peered up at him through the legs of a table. 
 
 " There's that artful dog ! " he said and began to 
 chuckle. " Any more stories, eh ? Oh, you needn't 
 look at me with that long monkey's face now, my man ! 
 Want me to get up, do you ? Well, it's like your damned 
 impertinence, confound you ! Mayn't I sit where I 
 choose, eh ? Get out, you fool, or I'll fetch you one in 
 the wind, and then you'll feel pretty sick." 
 
 " If you'll just hallow me, sir " imperturbably 
 
 Davenport continued to raise him, till he had settled 
 him into his chair. Wingfield drew a deep breath, and 
 then fell to swearing horribly at the man. Prudence 
 left the room.
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 TO them at the Hall having breakfast, came 
 Renaud. A whirl of happiness, of excite- 
 ment, an incoherent beseeching, and all the 
 glad young meaning of the springlike day seemed to 
 find its expression in him. " For indeed if I do not 
 den live de day, in de out of door I die ! I bust, by 
 Jove ! " He had finished. 
 
 He stood there, in the charming sunny room, fragrant 
 with the scent of flowers, agleam with glints of sun- 
 shine on china, silver and damask, full, in a glowing, 
 subtle way, of the happiness of the two who breakfasted 
 there every morning with the joy of a new day, begin- 
 ning. . . . 
 
 Muriel was smiling. 
 
 " I believe I too should bust, Renaud." 
 
 Ridgeway, who was breakfasting at the Hall, after 
 an early gallop with Latimer, twisted his head over his 
 shoulder and observed that he believed he was begin- 
 ning to already, and called upon Renaud to examine his 
 coat across the back. 
 
 Renaud, beaming, exclaimed : 
 
 " Eh bien, but you are de old buck, Mark ! " and 
 preparing for an exit called back : " Den I go to tell 
 Maman dat we all come here, and spend de day out of 
 de door, c'est decide ! " 
 
 Latimer said sadly : " Don't you care that I'm not 
 coming, Renaud ? " 
 
 " You ? En verit6, Monsieur ? Ah, mais pourquoi ? 
 106
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 107 
 
 I ask you, Monsieur, why stay in de house and bust ? " 
 He was upon Hugh, beseeching. 
 
 " I shan't be in the house, old man, much. I've to 
 ride about to see one or two farmers, and that sort of 
 thing. Business, you know, Renaud." 
 
 Renaud flung his hands wide in a gesture of ineffable 
 weariness. 
 
 " Ah, dis beesiness ! I go to Maman, and she say, 
 ' Non, mon enfant, je suis occupee ! Je n'ai pas le temps.' 
 I go to Papa, he have to write a book about de worrms. 
 ' I am busy, Renaud.' I am glad dat I shall be an 
 artist ! For dey have no business, n'est-ce pas ? " 
 
 " Oh, haven't they ? " exclaimed Ridgeway. " Beastly 
 hard business sometimes." 
 
 But Renaud did not heed him, he was away out of 
 the open window, with a last admonition : 
 
 " Sol he will come also ! " 
 
 " We must take rugs the ground is wet " Muriel 
 
 mused. 
 
 Back came Renaud 's head : 
 
 " Mark, you will paint, eh ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, old chap." 
 
 " I also will paint. Au Voir." 
 
 Back once more. 
 
 " I would ver much like to take with us le pauvre 
 petit Dickon. I am giving him de lessons in painting, 
 you see, and he has no pony to ride." 
 
 " We could picnic in the glen beyond Wootley," 
 Muriel said. " And call for him." 
 
 " Bien ! " 
 
 Renaud disappeared well-pleased. 
 
 Muriel said thoughtfully : 
 
 "I wonder if we could get Mrs. Wingfield to come too ? "
 
 io8 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 " Thank you very much, but I couldn't possibly come. 
 If you will take Dickon I shall be very grateful." 
 
 " You are looking very white," Ridgeway said with 
 a grave kindliness. " I think you'd feel all the stronger 
 afterwards." 
 
 " I am never ill. I believe Dickon is in the garden. 
 Let us go and look." 
 
 In the garden fresh, sweet, softly warm three little 
 voices entreating in French and English Andrews fat 
 arms encircling her knees Prudence looked out help- 
 lessly to Muriel's face. Dickon said : 
 
 " I do wish you'd make up your mind, mother, the 
 pony's tired of standin' " 
 
 Back to the grave little fair face came her eyes. Did 
 he, of all of them, not care whether she came or stayed 
 behind ? 
 
 She loosened clinging arms. 
 
 " I cannot come," she said quietly. " Dickon, come 
 in, and I will get you ready." 
 
 Ridgeway said : 
 
 " I wonder if I might run up for a chat till the boy's 
 ready ? " 
 
 " I wish you would." 
 
 Prudence, lacing shoes, buttoning gaiters, blinked 
 queer, unaccustomed tears from her eyes. The sweet 
 appeal of the garden and those boys had unnerved her 
 more than was usual with her. It was as well that 
 Dickon's staid voice had come to steady her. She 
 looked up wistfully, and met brimming eyes. . . . 
 
 " My darling " 
 
 " Well, I I did think when you w wouldn't 
 say that you wouldn't come " 
 
 " You want me, sweet ? " 
 
 " Yes."
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 109 
 
 " I must not leave your father ; he wouldn't like 
 it, dear. But you must enjoy yourself and tell me all 
 about it when you come home. Now come and say 
 good-bye to your father." 
 
 " A picnic in March ? Well, I'd join you myself if I 
 could. Prudence, my dear, I don't see why you should 
 stay at home, because I have to. It would do you good 
 to go, my child. I fear I am very selfish. I keep you 
 too much at my side. Run and put on your hat, and a 
 warm coat be careful to take a warm wrap of some sort. 
 We can't have you catching cold." 
 
 " Oh, but Evelyn " Prudence looked at him 
 
 astonished. " I would rather not leave you for so 
 long " 
 
 " There, there, my child ! I insist ! I feel particu- 
 larly well to-day. I have a little idea I wish to work 
 out it's about horses for the army, my dear boy 
 and I shall be quite happy. Now, Prudence, I really 
 must insist. Run away, my dear, at once ! You are 
 keeping your friends waiting." 
 
 Gracious, kindly, he waved aside her objections, and 
 Prudence gave in. Going down the path she said to 
 Ridgeway : 
 
 "Did you ask permission for me to go ?" 
 
 " Oh no," Ridgeway said, but he looked guiltily away 
 from her clear eyes. "It's only half a mile further on 
 the glen do you know it ? It's rather hidden away. 
 If you'll get in, I'm going to walk on." 
 
 Prudence, apologising for keeping Muriel waiting, 
 settled down vaguely in a nest of boys, and waved her 
 hand to the white face smiling benignly down at them 
 from the window. 
 
 She was, at first, absent, distraite, her mind evidently 
 not at ease, but Muriel, tactfully leaving her chiefly to
 
 no ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 the boys, saw with pleasure that slowly she was begin- 
 ning to enjoy herself. She noticed how her eyes followed 
 Dickon, was surprised once or twice to detect an unex- 
 pected sternness towards him. Was her nature hard ? 
 Was that coldness in her features in her nature too ? 
 Yet she further surprised Muriel by detailing carefully 
 to her two or three very ordinary sayings of the child's, 
 asking tentatively if she thought them very unusual for 
 a boy of six ? 
 
 Maternal pride most certainly ! And then followed 
 a long list of his likes and dislikes ; it appeared he would 
 not eat potatoes, and he preferred sweet puddings to 
 meat. Then a cold apology for such uninteresting 
 talk. 
 
 And again a sternness over a childish naughtiness. 
 
 Was Elizabeth right, she thought, when Prudence sat 
 unmoved through Mark's beautiful reading of " The Eve 
 of St. Agnes," in thinking her bovine ? Was she bovine 
 just a little ? 
 
 Gently probing she met the blank wall of an indifferent 
 " I do not care for poetry." 
 
 Not care ! On a day like this ! Muriel, childishly 
 desperate, found herself pointing out this that the 
 wonder of boughs and tiny branches against the blue sky ; 
 the brilliant blue of the pools in the ruts made by the 
 carting away of trees, the glorious sun-swathed mist 
 hovering lower down the glen. . . . 
 
 Prudence looked up, she looked down, she looked 
 forward, coolly assenting. . . . Muriel fell silent. 
 
 Galatea ? Was her soul asleep too ? So Ridgeway 
 mused, deeply interested. Was her devotion to Wing- 
 field sheer stern duty, after all ? Had he never aroused 
 the slumbering depths of her nature ? No slumbering 
 depths to arouse ? There was the fact of her alliance
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT in 
 
 with him. . . . Depths must have been roused, or 
 there was no reason surely ? 
 
 What she missed ! This calm, cold, boy-like girl ! Her 
 hard life no beautiful interest to make it bearable. Did 
 she read much ? He repeated it aloud. 
 
 " A good deal," he was told. 
 
 " What ? " this eagerly. 
 
 She studied languages chiefly and histories, and philo- 
 sophical works. . . , 
 
 He rang out a few of his special favourites. . . . 
 no no no no, she preferred her histories and lan- 
 guages, her philosophical works. 
 
 How did she bear her life ? This only to himself. 
 Had she no conception of what she missed ? Of the 
 solace and comfort she passed so coldly by ? Yet he 
 thought he surely read feeling of some sort in the quiet 
 eyes as they rested again and again on that wonderful 
 mist with sunbeams imprisoned in its blue and grey soft- 
 ness ? He spoke to her : 
 
 " Shall I paint it ? " 
 
 A quick upward glance, an impulsive " Yes." 
 
 He had stirred something ; he wanted to stir more ; 
 he wanted to help her this lonely, brave girl he set 
 himself deliberately to the task of helping her to find 
 her soul ; he thought she would find it in books and 
 beauty, in poems, pictures, the spring world. . . . 
 
 To Muriel later that day Prudence said : 
 
 " I should like to tell you " 
 
 In the long pause Muriel said gently, "If it is any- 
 thing that hurts, don't tell me." 
 
 " You know that I am not Evelyn's wife ? " She said 
 it coldly, very quietly. It was Muriel who flushed. 
 
 " There are things said " 
 
 " It is true. We were married seven years ago. Two
 
 H2 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 years later he found that his first wife was not dead. 
 That is all." 
 
 All ? Muriel thought deeply. Seven years ago ? 
 Two years later ? What was it Mark had said " She's 
 nursed him like that for more than four years. . ." 
 
 She put her hand on Prudence's, and found that it 
 was trembling. Surprise drove the words back 
 
 " You poor child," she whispered, and Prudence 
 heard the catch in her beath. 
 
 Sol came and lay his long length down beside them. 
 
 . . the grass rustled as a tiny breeze flew through it 
 a little way off Ridgeway painted with furious energy. 
 Behind him Renaud stood absorbed ; near at hand 
 Dickon sat on a rug laboriously painting a tree in front 
 of him, while Armand, who had no artistic aspirations 
 and resented the fact that he had not, mimicked Ridge- 
 way's every frown and gesture. To them across the 
 grass, beaming and sleepy, came Andre 1 : 
 
 '"Oh, Mr. Moon, 
 We's firty score; 
 Yellow beard, Piper, 
 Lie-a-bed, Toots, 
 Meadowbee, Moonboy, 
 Bully-in-b-boots ' " 
 
 A tremble " I want Maman ! " 
 
 Muriel's arms around him, a muffled plaintive refrain : 
 
 " I want Maman " more alertly. " I want 
 
 ' Lickle Fairy.' " 
 
 " What is it, sweet ? " 
 
 The little bullet head was lifted, a drowsy blue eye 
 gazed at her with sleepy reproach. 
 
 " It is my bed song. Maman, she sing it to me, and 
 I hear all de lickle fairies in de wood sittin' on de f'owers 
 and de one lickle fairy comin' so near and near and
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 113 
 
 her wings goin' swish swish so soft I always hear 
 dem when Maman sing it to me " 
 
 " I forget it, darling " 
 
 " I know the words," Prudence said. " I heard 
 Madame du Pierre sing it to him when I had tea there." 
 
 " Oooh," he chuckled, clambering from Muriel's lap 
 to hers. " Sing, Madame ! " 
 
 " I will tell you the words, and you can sing it to 
 him," she said to Muriel, but Andre clung with soft 
 obstinacy to her. 
 
 " Mais chantez done ! Madame, je vous en prie." 
 
 Prudence began to sing in a low voice : 
 
 "Hush-a-b>e, hush-a-bye, 
 Little fauy's drawing nigh ; 
 Music from the fairy -band 
 Seranading in dreamland, 
 Soft soft fluttering wings, 
 Slumber slumber songs she sings ; 
 Soft and low, hush-a-bye, 
 Little fairy's drawing nigh; 
 Hush-a-bye, hush-a-bye." 
 
 She sang in rather a deep voice, her eyes looking out 
 into the blue mist, her arms around him, her body 
 gently rocking him to sleep. 
 
 Muriel saw suddenly back into the years. So she 
 had sat with her own baby singing him to sleep 
 dreaming what of his future ? Then before she knew 
 that he had no right to the name he bore 
 
 She bent forward suddenly, she laid her hand on 
 Prudence's arm. 
 
 Oh " she murmured inarticulately. 
 
 Prudence turned upon her a face ice-cold with a 
 tragedy borne so long that the flame of it had died. 
 Then suddenly the hardness was broken ; the eyes 
 flashed with a wild instinctive jealousy. 
 i
 
 H4 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 " Take him " it was breathed out with a deep 
 
 fierceness ; she pushed Andre's warm body from her 
 with a gesture of unutterable pain. Then sat silent 
 and still . . 
 
 " Can't you talk a little to me ? " Muriel's voice 
 was at her ear, tender, very gentle. 
 
 A pause, a queer breath as of one making some longed- 
 for endeavour, then cold silence ; at last : 
 
 '' No," that was all. 
 
 Till Muriel broke the silence with a normal : 
 
 " Shall we get tea now ? It's only half -past two, 
 but I dare not leave it later, it gets cold and damp. 
 After all, we lunched at twelve." 
 
 Like the sudden noisy quarrels that arise amongst 
 birds a clamour between the boys ! 
 
 Prudence rose hastily. 
 
 Dickon, flushed, obstinate, faced Renaud and Armand, 
 who danced around him gesticulating, shouting. 
 
 " What is it ? " 
 
 " Am I not den his professeur ? Do I not teach him 
 to paint ? Je vous demande ! Et lui, il " 
 
 " Can't you speak English ? " this from Dickon, 
 phlegmatic scorn stinging the excitable Renaud. 
 
 From the storm that ensued it was presently dis- 
 covered that Renaud had given Dickon a painting 
 to copy, and that now Dickon, urging as his only excuse, 
 that he had painted something else, refused to show 
 what he had done. 
 
 " I ask you, is it right ? How den can I teach him 
 to paint ? He will not show me what he paint ! Mais 
 pourquoi " 
 
 " English," from the immovable Dickon. 
 
 " Dolt ! Imbecile ! I am speak de English ! " 
 Renaud stamping, almost choked with rage.
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 115 
 
 " Dickon, don't be so foolish," Prudence spoke 
 sternly. " Show us what you have been doing." 
 
 Dickon, his painting held behind him, stood firm, 
 and did not answer. 
 
 " Dickon ! " 
 
 " No," he said, his under lip stuck out obstinately. 
 
 " Ah, but why ? See, I wish to give you a lesson 
 upon it ! I am your professeur ! " 
 
 " English." 
 
 " Oh oh blow your Engleese ! I will fight you ! 
 Idiot ! Imbecile " 
 
 " Renaud ! " Muriel interposed. " Dickon, why won't 
 you let us see your picture ? " 
 
 Dickon was silent, his face sullen. 
 
 Prudence approached him, but he backed, frowning 
 heavily. 
 
 " I am his I teach him ! I will see his picture ! 
 He refuse Que voulez-vous ? " 
 
 " English." 
 
 " Comment done ? Je park 1' Anglais," screamed 
 Renaud, and flung himself upon his irritating antagonist. 
 
 Another moment and a curious stillness seemed to 
 fall upon the group. Renaud drew back, very red, his 
 left hand in his pocket, while Dickon deliberately tore 
 his picture into shreds. 
 
 Ridgeway awoke to the fact of other people's exist- 
 ence, and came strolling across the grass. 
 
 " Tea ? Ripping. My effect's gone," he flung him- 
 self down on the rug, and began to take out cups and 
 saucers, calling out to Muriel, who went across to his 
 easel : 
 
 " It's a beastly daub not worth looking at." 
 
 To Prudence when she drew near after looking at it 
 he said :
 
 n6 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 " I'll do it yet. I was a fool to start that ; it 
 doesn't compose, but that mist with the sun caught 
 in jt I've tried it before, and it's beat me each 
 time." 
 
 " It would need fairy brushes," Muriel said. 
 
 " Then mine will have to become fairy." 
 
 " Your sketch is beautiful, all the same." 
 
 He laughed. 
 
 "It's very mortal no I'll do it some day." 
 
 Muriel eyed him thoughtfully. 
 
 " Why so cheerful ? Usually, if you fail, you get 
 down and downer " 
 
 "I'll show you why after tea." 
 
 Prudence said unexpectedly 1 
 
 " I would like to know now." 
 
 " Come then. I'm afraid you'll have to approach 
 the canvas." 
 
 Before the easel " There," he pointed. " You see 
 that inch or so of mist before that tree in the corner 
 here ? That's why." 
 
 Muriel laughed. 
 
 " You mean that for that little inch you have painted 
 as you wish to paint ? " Prudence asked earnestly. 
 
 " Well, not quite that, but getting on that way." 
 
 She stood gravely studying it. 
 
 Amongst the teacups they found Dickon sitting with 
 tears running slowly down his cheeks ; he would not 
 eat ; he would not explain the cause of his grief ; he 
 grew pallid and red-eyed, and Prudence appeared 
 unsympathetic and cold. 
 
 It was not till he was in bed that night that he broke 
 his obstinate silence. 
 
 " I bit Renaud's hand," he said. 
 
 " Oh, Dickon ! "
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 117 
 
 " He's swore an oath on the trunk of the oak tree 
 never to tell any one." 
 
 Prudence looked tired and pale. 
 
 " I was very disappointed with you, Dickon, to-4ay ; 
 you were rude and naughty. I shall not let you go and 
 see Renaud again very soon." 
 
 " No," he acquiesced. 
 
 He lay down and prepared to go to sleep. 
 
 " Why wouldn't you let any one see your picture, 
 Dickon ? " 
 
 " It was very bad," he said, reddening. 
 
 " But you ought to have let Renaud see it, and help 
 you." 
 
 " He would laugh." 
 
 " Well, are you such a vain little boy that you can't 
 stand laughter at your picture ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 She sighed. 
 
 " What was the picture ? " 
 
 " Ferney." 
 
 " Ferney ? Did you paint Ferney ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " What made you do that ? " 
 
 " I don't know." 
 
 "He's not very beautiful," she said, with a little 
 troubled laugh. 
 
 He did not answer. 
 
 Presently he said : 
 
 " It's worse than murd'rin' a person to bite them 
 when you're fightin'. Renaud said so." 
 
 " Is that why you cried ? " 
 
 " He hadn't said so then." 
 
 " Then why were you crying, Dickon ? " 
 
 He struggled with it awhile, then said :
 
 u8 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 " 'Cause I wanted to fight myself, and you can't fight 
 yourself, can you ? " 
 
 She put her arms round him and drew him to her. 
 
 " Tell me, darling don't keep it all back so ! " she 
 cried passionately. " Tell me everything ! " 
 
 "I'm very sleepy, mother." 
 
 Her arms slackened. 
 
 " You want me to go ? " 
 
 " I'd like to He down." 
 
 She laid him down on his pillow, and rose. 
 
 '' When I'm a grown-up artist I shall paint Ferney's 
 picture," he said.
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 RIDGEWAY, with a clear boldness of purpose 
 characteristic of him, set to work to make her 
 life easier. He went often to Cherry Cross, 
 and sat with Wingfield, and he almost invariably 
 managed on these occasions that she should be sent 
 away. At first she demurred coldly, but later she 
 gave in, the only sign of anxiety being shown in the 
 remark : 
 
 " You will remember that he he is not quite right 
 in his mind ? " 
 
 Ridgeway bore the tedium, sometimes worse than 
 tedium, of these visits, with a certain satisfaction. 
 For Prudence he bore it, and for her he felt a great 
 friendship, a great and deep pity. Slowly, he noted, 
 pleased, Galatea was coming to life. She accepted his 
 presence at first with indifference, then w r ith gratitude, 
 and, in an aloof way, friendliness, and thus, too, she 
 accepted his poetry, his love of beauty in any form. 
 
 Wingfield at this time grew so much better that he 
 was able to come downstairs, and he expressed a constant 
 desire for visitors. So it came about that when Mrs. 
 Darlington made her second call, and Lydia, obeying 
 instructions, refused her admittance, Evelyn in the 
 drawing-room heard her high voice, and told Prudence 
 to ask her to come in. 
 
 " Evelyn, I told you she insulted me." 
 
 " Yes, yes, I know ! Ha, ha ! It will amuse me 
 119
 
 120 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 to see you two scratch each other. Tell her to come 
 in at once, Prudence ! " 
 
 She stood by the door, tall and slim, her face white. 
 
 " I will not," she said. 
 
 " Eh ? What ? Oh ho, disobedience, eh, my lady ? 
 So you have a temper, after all ! It only needs a little 
 jealousy to bring it out " 
 
 " You know that I am not jealous, Evelyn." 
 
 "Do I, by Jove ? What other reason have you ? " 
 
 " She is not a nice woman. She was rude to me. 
 Evelyn, you're not going " 
 
 " Ah, but I am. Confound it, do you think I'm going 
 to be defied in my own house ! Let me come ! " 
 
 For a minute she stood before the door barring his 
 way, her erect figure confronted his bowed form 
 almost the same height her dilated eyes almost on a 
 level with his. 
 
 " Evelyn, I ask you not to have her in." 
 
 The words dragged out on a desperate impulse. 
 
 " Stand aside ! D'you hear ? " he put out feeble 
 hands to thrust her from before the door, and she shrank 
 away with a little shiver. A minute she stood, her 
 hand over her eyes, and then she was waiting, ready to 
 greet Mrs. Darlington with a cool bow. 
 
 Throughout the visit she stayed there ; she heard 
 her antagonistic attitude described and laughed at ; 
 bowed silently to the degradation of hearing it ascribed 
 to jealousy ; saw the skilful play that spitefully brought 
 out all that was most ignoble, most vulgar in Evelyn 
 Wingfield ; she submitted to the skating on thin ice 
 that each practised with great skill and much laughter, 
 and she kept her place there, at the tea-table, though 
 Mrs. Darlington stayed a long while after tea was done. 
 
 She went at last, and Wingfield, sulkily on his dignity
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 121 
 
 now, demanded Davenport, and ignored Prudence. 
 It was about half-an-hour after she had gone that 
 Ridgeway came in. Prudence was sitting in the dark 
 before a dying fire in the drawing-room. 
 
 " It's bitterly cold out," he said. " That's not much 
 of a fire." 
 
 She staj'ed him as he would have put on more coal. 
 
 " There is a fire in the hall. We shall not need this 
 any more." 
 
 She heard the tremble in her voice with an access 
 of nervous surprise that sent her hurriedry to her feet. 
 
 " I must go to Evelyn," she said, and hastening 
 blindly, stumbled over a stool. Ridgeway caught her 
 arm and found she was trembling ; he pushed her back 
 gently into her chair. 
 
 " You're not fit to go ; you're not well," he said 
 curtly. 
 
 In the firelight her face its coldness gone only a 
 pitiably young worried alarm 
 
 " I don't seem a-able to bear it somehow." 
 The words were to him poignantly simple. 
 
 "It is because you're not well." 
 
 " But, you see, I've got to bear it." 
 
 She was asking him to help her to bear it ; she was 
 unconsciously appealing to him ; her quivering lips 
 could hardly frame the words. 
 
 He went into the hall and fetched a log or two of wood 
 he had seen there. She watched him throw them on the 
 fire, coax the flames with the bellows ; she assented 
 vaguely when he asked might he have fresh tea made, 
 he was so thirsty ? She let him pour it out, drank some 
 with apathetic obedience, said at length : 
 
 " I think I won't listen to any more poetry, or read 
 your books."
 
 122 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 Asked why, she gave, for the first time, a suggestion 
 of her deliberately thought-out reason for adhering to 
 languages and histories and philosophy. She said 
 barely : 
 
 " It is better to keep hard and dull." 
 
 He answered her : he picked up a Henley he had 
 left there, and read to her : 
 
 " ' Out of the night that covers me, 
 Black as the Pit from pole to pole, 
 I thank whatever gods may be 
 For my unconquerable soul. 
 
 ' In the fell clutch of circumstance 
 I have not winced nor cried aloud. 
 Under the bludgeonings of chance 
 My head is bloody, but unbowed. 
 
 ' Beyond this place of wrath and tears 
 Looms but the Horror of the shade, 
 And yet the menace of the years 
 Finds, and shall find, me unafraid. 
 
 'jit matters not how strait the gate, 
 How charged with punishments the scroll; 
 I am the master of my fate : 
 I am the captain of my soul.' " 
 
 The logs had caught ; in the light of their flame he 
 saw tears glisten on her pale cheek, and he forebore to 
 speak, knowing intuitively that with her tears would be 
 an aching pain and shame. 
 
 " I am going upstairs," he said presently, " you will 
 stay here." 
 
 She made a movement to rise. 
 
 " Please," he said, and she sat down again. 
 
 In a little while she followed him upstairs. 
 
 " Here's my little offended queen, eh ? Am I for- 
 given yet ? Oh, these women, my boy, take my advice 
 and remain a bachelor ! Not that that's much good ;
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 123 
 
 rather, enter a monastery, and even then one hears 
 eh ? But we have a little Puritan here. You know 
 she has Puritan blood in her veins ? Oh yes. She's 
 one of the Willoughbys the Challis Willoughbys, you 
 know old grandmother, a severe old lady tall as a 
 lamp post lamp post ; a useful thing when you're not 
 very sure of your legs, eh ? Never found that out ? 
 Ah, you drink aerated waters nowadays, and er 
 what was I saying ? That illustration there lamp-post 
 led me astray. Well, a few years ago I belonged to 
 the ' good old days ' coterie. Never heard of it ? Why, 
 it was famous, my boy ! Fact ! Used to get drunk 
 at dinner, y'know proper old style. Lord, what a 
 head I had in those days ! Jimmy Challoner ran me 
 pretty close, but I could always watch 'em all go down, 
 and keep my end up. Funny some of 'em were ! There 
 was little Boddington chap with red hair by the time 
 he couldn't sit up he'd begin to weep and talk about his 
 poor old mother. Jimmy 'd stare at him solemnly : 
 ' Funny shing only sheem to have a mother when 
 you're sh drunk ! ' My mother was the beautiful 
 Miss Golding ? Heard of her ? Pun about her hair 
 golden and name too sort of thing " he wandered off 
 on to the subject of puns. 
 
 Prudence had sat down quietly and was darning a 
 vest of Dickon's ; her face looked pale and cold, and 
 when Ridgeway went away she bade him good-night, 
 from her chair, coldly. But always to him that day dated 
 their friendship : he knew that at last she had accepted 
 him as her friend. He knew that to her the unveiling 
 of her thought to another was a thing impossible other- 
 wise : that to her deep pride an appeal for help meant 
 much : her quiet silent nature could only have turned 
 to one it recognised as friend.
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 " T THINK something ought to be done," Mrs. 
 Darlington said. 
 
 Mrs. Dormer- Jones, red-faced, with hot but- 
 tered toast in her fingers forgot to eat it, so perturbed 
 was she. 
 
 "You you don't think / ought to do it ?" 
 
 " I think it is every one's duty to try and think of 
 some way in which to help the poor man." 
 
 Elizabeth had once said : " When Mrs. Darlington 
 grows moral, beware ! " 
 
 " I'm sure I'm willing to help any one who needs it, 
 and if the poor man is really shut up in one room and 
 kept a prisoner against his will, when he isn't really ill 
 at all " 
 
 " I don't say that. He has had an illness, but he is 
 recovered sufficiently to ride, anyway. He told me of a 
 lovely gallop he had had the very morning of the day I 
 saw him " 
 
 " You speak of him as if he is a child. Can't he look 
 after himself ? " said Eleanor Browne, who was so used 
 to running down men on principle that she found it 
 difficult to adjust her point of view to regard one in the 
 light of a martyr. 
 
 " Well, he's one of those charming, soft-hearted men ! 
 A woman can twist him round her little finger. You 
 know the sort one meets them seldom nowadays 
 
 chivalrous, gallant " 
 
 124
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 125 
 
 " Why not twist him round your little finger then, 
 and drag him out of the den ? " put in little Mrs. Gordon 
 frivolously. 
 
 " I don't choose to fight over a man with a woman of 
 that sort." 
 
 " What sort is she, by the way ? " asked Eleanor 
 Browne. " Mrs. Latimer and Madame du Pierre appar- 
 ently approve of her." 
 
 Mrs. Darlington shrugged her shoulders. 
 
 " You know perfectly well what she is. So do they. 
 That they choose to pose as wide-minded philanthropists 
 doesn't affect the question." 
 
 " There's Mr. Ridgeway too," Mrs. Gordon said plain- 
 tively. She thought Ridgeway had such delightful legs. 
 
 " Oh, him ! " Mrs. Darlington managed to get a great 
 deal of a peculiarly nasty expression into her face. 
 
 Again, Elizabeth had said : 
 
 " It gives food for thought that some exceedingly 
 moral women are able to convey such a tale of immorality 
 by mere expression. It rather suggests that they are 
 moral only through force of circumstance." 
 
 Mrs. Gordon opened wide blue eyes. 
 
 " Oh, but he's such a dear ! Bobbie says he is." 
 
 Bobbie was her husband. 
 
 " Men," observed Eleanor Browne sententiously, 
 " have such a different standard from women." 
 
 Mrs. Gordon would have liked, in a vague way, to stand 
 up for her husband, but the mention of standard set her 
 mind off on another much more interesting track. 
 
 " Do you know Betty won't touch Standard bread ! 
 I don't know what to do, because apparently she will 
 grow up with no teeth or bone or anything if she eats 
 white bread " 
 
 " Here comes Elizabeth," Mrs. Darlington said.
 
 126 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 She was one of those women who rush to the use of 
 Christian names. 
 
 Mrs. Gordon rose to greet her. 
 
 " Well, have you been doing any more visiting amongst 
 the poor ? " 
 
 Elizabeth sank into a chair, annoying Eleanor Browne 
 exceedingly by the curious fact that immediately upon 
 her entrance she became the centre of attraction in the 
 room. She never made the slightest effort to obtain 
 notice, but it was always the same, and it always 
 annoyed Eleanor Browne, who, sententious, loud as she 
 was, never succeeded in securing the audience she desired. 
 
 " I've put a piece of cotton round a wart," Elizabeth 
 said in a tired voice. " She wasn't a bit grateful ; 
 she said she hadn't no faith in a cure that didn't hurt a 
 good bit. She wanted but no " she shuddered. " I 
 will not tell you that." 
 
 " I do think it's very good of you to worry about the 
 people like you do," said Mrs. Dormer- Jones. "It's 
 not many would do it, only staying in a place as you 
 are." 
 
 " I think one ought to try," Elizabeth said gently, 
 and the room buzzed round her with approbation and 
 admiration. 
 
 Eleanor Browne asked loudly if tying a cotton round 
 a wart was the extent of her boundless charity ? 
 
 Elizabeth lifted lazy eyes and studied her face 
 amusedly. 
 
 " You would do more ? Then will you go and cut 
 poor old Jane Harbie's toe nails ? " 
 
 " Certainly not ! " 
 
 " Oh, why ? She has a fancy to have them cut by 
 one of the soft-fingered gentry, and I really cannot ! 
 But no, not that ! "
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 127 
 
 " Oh, Madame du Pierre, perhaps you can help us ! " 
 There was a glint of mischief in Mrs. Gordon's innocent 
 blue eyes. " Mrs. Darlington has been telling us a 
 moving tale about that poor Mr. Wingfield " 
 
 " Yes ? " 
 
 " It appears he is not really ill well, not very ill, 
 you know, and she keeps him shut up, and won't 
 let him see people, and all that sort of thing." 
 
 Elizabeth sipped her tea. 
 
 " How interesting. What for ? " 
 
 " Oh well I don't really know. Why did you say 
 she did it, Mrs. Darlington ? " 
 
 " I really hardly care to discuss her reasons in public ; 
 they're not very nice." 
 
 " That's so good of you," Elizabeth murmured," but 
 if you state a fact in public ? " 
 
 " That's different." 
 
 " Oh, yes, of course, so much easier. Reasons are 
 always tiresome and difficult to evolve." 
 
 " I don't know what you mean. You seem to have an 
 infatuation for the woman ! " 
 
 Mrs. Darlington was forgetting her usual caution. 
 
 "Well, hardly that," Elizabeth mused. "Say a 
 sincere liking, rather." 
 
 " Oh, have you really ? " interposed Mrs. Dormer- 
 Jones anxiously. " Oh, Dolly, perhaps you are wrong, 
 after all ! Isn't it true then that that you know 
 that " 
 
 " That what ? I am rather dense, you know." 
 
 " That she isn't his wife," Mrs. Dormer- Jones 
 stretched her neck and whispered. 
 
 " Oh, yes, that is true." 
 
 " Then, how why she can't be anything but wicked ! 
 Oh, Madame du Pierre, it's living in France, I suppose,
 
 128 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 and all that, but what a pity ! I always do 
 
 say " 
 
 " He married her quite correctly," Elizabeth said, 
 choosing a chocolate cake. " A few years ago you 
 and Mrs. Darlington would have been overwhelming her 
 with polite attentions. Now ! " she shrugged her 
 shoulders. 
 
 " It's unkind to mystify us," Mrs. Gordon protested. 
 
 " What is it you all want to know ? Prudence Wing- 
 field's history ? I don't know it. I merely know that 
 two years after her marriage it turned out that the first 
 wife was not dead as had been believed that is all." 
 
 " Then why didn't she leave him at once ? " cried 
 Mrs. Dormer-Jones, drowning the scoffing sort of snort 
 produced by Mrs. Darlington. 
 
 " I believe because the poor man was so ill," Elizabeth 
 replied. " Aren't we growing very gossipy ? " 
 
 " We are indeed," responded Eleanor Browne. " What 
 do you think of the latest suffragette movement ? " 
 
 Elizabeth raised deprecating eyebrows. 
 
 " Oh, don't ! C'est impossible ! I would sooner 
 discuss black beetles 1 " 
 
 " Why ? " 
 
 " Oh, because they're so modest and retiring," Eliza- 
 beth said sweetly. 
 
 Eleanor Browne grew red. 
 
 " You're insulting ! " she said. 
 
 " Whom to ? The beetles ? " Elizabeth looked at 
 her inquiringly. 
 
 " I suppose you sympathise with the women who 
 shiver at the sight of a black beetle ! " 
 
 " Doesn't one always sympathise with the congenial 
 spirits who share one's own weaknesses ? If I see a 
 black beetle a mile off, I shiver ! "
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 129 
 
 " You must at least confess that the suffragettes have 
 courage ? " 
 
 " It depends on the point of view, doesn't it ? I think 
 the bravest deed I ever heard of was performed by a 
 woman who was terrified of black beetles." 
 
 " What was it ? " Eleanor Browne's tone was 
 aggressive. 
 
 Elizabeth took a sandwich. 
 
 " Why," she said gravely, " she went down into a 
 basement, beetle-haunted kitchen in the middle of the 
 night to fetch some milk for her sick child ! " 
 
 " And I suppose woke the whole household with her 
 screams ! " 
 
 " No ; she filled her arms with boots and boxes, and 
 hurled them before her into the kitchen," Elizabeth 
 said serenely. 
 
 " If we had votes," Mrs. Gordon said, " would we have 
 to share the babies with the men ? " 
 
 " Oh, please spare us that ' hand that rocks the cradle,' 
 etc.," exclaimed Eleanor. " We've been told so often 
 that the nursery and the kitchen are women's proper 
 places ! " 
 
 " I don't think I mean that exactly," said Mrs. 
 Gordon, wrinkling her pretty brows. " I mean that 
 Bobbie is jealous of Betty and the boy, and, you see, if 
 I shared his work, would he want to bath baby ? I 
 do love doing it so, and even now I have to insist because 
 nurse wants to do it, so if Bobbie had a right to do it 
 too " 
 
 " I don't wonder men refuse us votes when there are 
 still such fools in the world ! " Mrs. Darlington said 
 rather more loudly than was quite polite. 
 
 " They refuse us votes because they want to try 
 and keep us fools," said Eleanor. " Men love fools."
 
 130 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 " It's a curious thing how exceedingly conservative 
 suffragettes are," Elizabeth said thoughtfully. " It's 
 so anomalous, isn't it ? Their ideas of men remain so 
 early Victorian." 
 
 " Don't you think men like fools ? " 
 
 " No ; I'm sure they don't." 
 
 " Madame du Pierre should speak from experience," 
 put in Mrs. Darlington. 
 
 " I do," said Elizabeth placidly. 
 
 Eleanor glanced expressively at Mrs. Gordon. 
 
 Elizabeth said smiling : 
 
 " Some women are not such fools as they sometimes 
 choose to appear." And Nancy Trevor, coming into the 
 room, laughed out. 
 
 " Oh, well," she cried in her fresh young voice. " I'm 
 a suffragist anyway, and although I'm afraid I'm an 
 awful shirker, at least they have my admiration and my 
 sympathy." 
 
 " Which they would value more if they were of the 
 other sex, my dear," observed Elizabeth. 
 
 Eleanor pounced. 
 
 " There ! Aren't you making out now that at any 
 rate men are fools ? " 
 
 "Why, no, I think that would be most sensible of them." 
 
 " You're hopeless ! I suppose you've never formed 
 a real, genuine opinion of men." 
 
 " Oh, long ago." 
 
 " What is it ? 
 
 " Good gracious, isn't that rather colossal ? " 
 
 " I should like to know your opinion of men." 
 
 " It demands an epigram men are like chairs, they 
 have legs and arms and backs no, chairs have no 
 heads that won't do. Well, in ordinary real live con- 
 versation, I think men are good, bad and indifferent,
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 131 
 
 just as women are ; and I think a good man's well 
 rather nice, you know, and on the whole more interesting 
 to me than a good woman. And I'm always thank- 
 ful man was made before woman, because if the woman 
 had been made first she'd have managed somehow to 
 have a finger in the pie of his making, and would have 
 spoilt it. A shilling and was it sixpence or seven- 
 pence ? " she added at a startling tangent. " You 
 see," she explained gently, " I'm practising the strictest 
 economy, and so I'm keeping accounts. I never have 
 before. And I've just remembered a fish man who 
 came round, and I had some fish. That's why they 
 wouldn't come right this morning." 
 
 " Were you one and sevenpence short ? " asked Mrs. 
 Dormer- Jones, interested. 
 
 " Yes, only more than that. It was seventeen 
 shillings and something " 
 
 " In how long ? " 
 
 " Two days." 
 
 Mrs. Dormer- Jones was scandalised ; she began to 
 unfold an infallible method ef keeping accounts, while 
 Elizabeth listened earnestly. 
 
 Eleanor Browne, balked of her longing to continue 
 the discussion of man, eyed Mrs. Dormer- Jones with 
 disfavour. She said, in a pause, to Elizabeth : 
 
 " I'm afraid women's minds are small." 
 
 Elizabeth replied with frivolity that she thought hers 
 must be gigantic, since she found it so difficult to take 
 little things like pennies and threepenny pieces and 
 farthings into consideration. To this Eleanor responded 
 with a somewhat crushing little lecture on the modern 
 tendency to frivolity. 
 
 Alphonse came in then to fetch Elizabeth. In the 
 brougham Elizabeth said to him :
 
 132 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 " You mustn't kiss me, Alphonse, because my hat 
 is so beautifully firm just now, but look at me, and tell 
 me that I'm too darling to need to be good or clever or 
 anything, but just selfish me." 
 
 Alphonse looked at her, his earnest dark face very 
 tender. 
 
 " You are beautiful all through, Elizabeth ; you could 
 not be selfish if you try." 
 
 " Tried," she corrected, with a soft little laugh. 
 
 He took her hand in his, and unbuttoning her glove 
 took it off, and kissed her palm. 
 
 " That I may do : it wears no hat," he said with 
 satisfaction. 
 
 " No ; but it tickles " Elizabeth said.
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 RENAUD was spending the day at Cherry Cross. 
 Told that there was illness in the house he 
 vowed " to creep, to become as a little mouse " 
 and consequently he was upon his best behaviour. 
 
 Prudence, having accepted Ridgeway's silent offer 
 of friendship, had, with characteristic simplicity, pro- 
 ceeded to ask his advice about Dickon. She began by 
 asking if he could remember what sort of little boy he 
 was when he was six years old. 
 
 " Pretty well," he told her. 
 
 Was he like Dickon ? Not a bit ? She was dis- 
 appointed. Asked why, she replied : 
 
 " I think you are the sort of man I should like Dickon 
 to become." 
 
 Ridgeway was rather ludicrously distressed ; he 
 was at pains to assure her of his unworthiness, his bad- 
 ness, the while she listened gravely, with clear eyes upon 
 his face. At the finish : 
 
 " No men are perfect. I think you are the sort of 
 man I should like Dickon to become," she said, with the 
 quaint touch of primness he had grown to know in her. 
 And she proceeded to question him. Had he done this ? 
 Had he liked that ? The stumbling-block appeared to 
 be his love of horses. 
 
 " You always loved horses ? You wanted to be in 
 the stable with them ? " 
 
 " Yes."
 
 134 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 He broke her troubled pause. 
 
 " Don't you like horses ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes ! I've had very little to do with them, but 
 I love Mirth." 
 
 " Yet Ferney tells me you don't go round to the 
 stables." 
 
 "No." 
 
 She added : 
 
 " I wanted to keep Dickon away." 
 
 " Why ? " 
 
 " I do not wish him to be fond of horses." 
 
 " He will miss a great deal." 
 
 " He will perhaps gain more than he misses." 
 
 " I don't think so." 
 
 She did not answer. She was inarticulate through 
 much living alone. Not yet could she put into words 
 what must be silently acknowledged between them, 
 silently accepted, since he sat now so often with Evelyn 
 Wingfield. Not yet could she voice her nervous dread 
 of the influence of horses in Dickon's life. To her they 
 had become one of the few tangible things that had 
 helped to ruin Wingfield, one of the things from which 
 his son, with his inherited tastes, must be guarded. 
 Musing on this inherited taste, she said : 
 
 "His greatest joy is to go round to the stables." 
 
 " Then don't teach him to hide it as if it is a sin," he 
 said quickly. 
 
 She recoiled aghast. 
 
 " I ! Am I teaching him to be a hypocrite ? " 
 
 " He looked guilty when he confessed his liking for 
 Mirth to me." 
 
 " I ! To make him a hypocrite ! " 
 
 He felt as if he had dealt her a wound. 
 
 " No. But don't stifle a good, wholesome impulse in
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 135 
 
 the boy. It's a splendid thing that love of horses and 
 dogs and animals." 
 
 She turned from him silent and pale ; storm-tossed 
 with the surging sea of words at her throat, which could 
 not yet find an outlet. 
 
 He watched her go. 
 
 " If only she would make Muriel Latimer her friend ! " 
 
 It was as an outcome of this that Renaud was invited 
 to Cherry Cross. 
 
 And to Dickon Prudence said sombrely : 
 
 " You may take him round to the stables. Ferney 
 will take you into the horse-box." 
 
 She added, the thought and laboured decision of 
 years not to be easily changed : 
 
 " You mustn't stay long." 
 
 She left them alone together, striving painstakingly 
 to work out the line that should be most beneficial to 
 Dickon ; but when once or twice she came upon them 
 she thought the visit was not proving very successful. 
 Dickon's face was heavy, almost sullen, while Renaud 
 appeared to be bored. 
 
 She watched them, a world of pain in her eyes. 
 
 " Have you been painting ? " she said, though the 
 question, in the light of green smudges on Renaud's 
 nose, red on his hands, and blue on his painting coat, 
 was surely superfluous. 
 
 " Pour moi yes ! But he," with a weary gesture, 
 " does not wish to paint ! " 
 
 Prudence drew Dickon to her with a sudden fierce 
 movement of protection. 
 
 " Don't you, dear ? " she said. 
 
 "No." 
 
 " What would you like to do ? " 
 
 " I don't know."
 
 136 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 " Ah, Madame, I ask you, is he not queer ? For me, 
 I have always de one two five thousand t'ings I wish 
 to do. But he he does not know what he want to 
 do." 
 
 " Are you tired, Dickon ? " 
 
 " But why, Madame ? Why should he be tired ? 
 He is not ill " 
 
 " I asked him, not you, Renaud." 
 
 The coldness of her tone stopped his agile tongue very 
 effectually. A slight flickering smile of pleasure dis- 
 turbed the heaviness of Dickon's face for a moment. 
 
 " Someone comes ! " Renaud cried, as in the pause 
 the hall bell rumbled in its usual heavy way. 
 
 They were in a room on the first corridor where Dickon 
 usually played. Renaud ran to the window. 
 
 " It is Mrs. Darlington. / call her Mrs. Horrid-ton." 
 
 Prudence paled. 
 
 " Oh she must not come in," involuntarily it escaped 
 her, as she hurried from the room. 
 
 " Your mother does not wish her to come. I also do 
 not wish it." 
 
 Dickon came to the window. 
 
 " Mother cried last time when she had been." 
 
 " Den, she will not allow her to enter, n'est-ce pas ? " 
 
 "She can't stop her." 
 
 " Mais pourquoi ? " Why ? Why ? " 
 
 " She will not go away. Lydia tried to make her, 
 but she just pushes in, and then father hears her and 
 tells her she may come in. He's asleep now, I think." 
 
 Renaud softly pushed up the window, and hung out. 
 
 " My good girl, allow me to pass ! Mr. Wingfield has 
 asked me to come and see him " 
 
 A chuckle of glee from Renaud as the door slammed 
 in her face. Immediately the bell rumbled noisily.
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 137 
 
 " That's what she'll go on doing till father wakes and 
 tells her she may come up, and then mother will cry," 
 observed Dickon pessimistically. 
 
 " Will she, by Jove ? " Renaud flashed from the room, 
 seemed gone an instant, and was back carefully carrying 
 a garden syringe. Dickon's eyes widened. 
 
 The next moment the ringing of the bell ceased 
 abruptly ; there was an angry exclamation, and Renaud 
 darted from the room, re-appearing with a jug of water. 
 
 " Now we will wait ! " 
 
 They clambered on to the window seat and crouched 
 breathless. 
 
 " Do not let her see you ! Wait ! Ah, but this is 
 jolly good fun, eh ? " 
 
 Dickon nodded, his face one wide smile of wondering 
 
 joy. 
 
 A faint preliminary jerk of the bell the syringe 
 spurted out and down gaily, and the bell was not rung. 
 Mrs. Darlington's voice, shrill with rage, rang out : 
 
 " This is disgraceful ! Mr. Wingfield ! Mr. Wingfield 
 your son is behaving disgracefully ! Mr. Wingfield ! 
 
 " She thinks it's me ! " whispered Dickon in a tone of 
 sublime satisfaction. 
 
 " She must have anudder, to stay her voice ! " 
 
 The door was pushed quietly open and Prudence looked 
 in ; she watched, with wide eyes, as Renaud, dodging 
 behind the curtain, skilfully squirted down a syringe 
 full of water, and then she quietly withdrew. 
 
 Silence. 
 
 " She has gone ! " ejaculated Renaud, peeping out. 
 " Quick, dere is den some oder door, n'est-ce pas ? " 
 
 Dickon nodded, and slipping to the floor ran to the 
 door. Renaud hastily filled the syringe and followed 
 him. Dickon led him to the window on the stairs, where
 
 138 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 he so often sat himself, and Renaud clambering up, 
 was just in time to greet Mrs. Darlington with his 
 syringe. 
 
 " Run down den and lock de door ! " he whispered to 
 Dickon. 
 
 Ferney was down there, carrying a bundle of straw ; 
 he saw the spray of water descend, saw Mrs. Darlington 
 jump back. 
 
 " Did you see that ? " she gasped, turning on him 
 furiously. 
 
 " Beg pardon, mum ? " 
 
 " Didn't you see that water ? Didn't you feel it ? 
 Some of it must have gone on you ! " 
 
 " Water, mum ? I thought it looked like rain." 
 
 "It's not raining ! It hasn't rained all day ! Please 
 go in at once, and tell your master Mrs. Darlington is 
 here." 
 
 " If you'd go round to the front, mum, the maid will 
 let you in." 
 
 " She won't do anything of the sort ! I I cannot 
 ring the bell, because that naughty boy Master Dick- 
 is playing tricks on me. He is throwing water down on 
 me!" 
 
 Mrs. Darlington felt extremely foolish as well as 
 angry, and was acutely aware that she must appear 
 quite as foolish as she felt. She tried to recover a scrap 
 or so of dignity by professing to treat the matter with 
 amused tolerance. 
 
 " Dick," she called up to the walls, " You're a monkey ! 
 But I'll forgive you this time. Shall we call quits 
 now ? " 
 
 She essayed to ring the bell, but was obliged to draw 
 back. 
 
 Ferney, sweeping up stray bits of straw, observed
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 139 
 
 nonchalantly that that gutter had got stopped up, and 
 leaked badly. 
 
 " My good man, it's not the gutter. Will you kindly 
 ring the bell for me ? " 
 
 " If you'll just go round to the front, mum, the maid'll 
 let you in," said Ferney, picking up his straw, and 
 disappearing into the loose box with it. 
 
 Mrs. Darlington was a bad walker ; the Dormer- 
 Jones' car overtook her within a few yards of her home. 
 She had been an hour walking the two miles. 
 
 Prudence had tea with Renaud and Dickon ; there 
 was a fauit colour in her cheeks, her eyes wore almost 
 an amused expression. She did not ask how Renaud 
 came to be so wet, or what was the cause of the pool in 
 Dickon's room. After tea she played a game of Blind 
 Man's Buff with them, and she seemed to thoroughly 
 enjoy the game. 
 
 "He is a dear little boy," she said to Alphonse, 
 who came to fetch him home. 
 
 " He has been good ? " 
 
 " Oh, perfectly," said Prudence. 
 
 To Dickon up in bed she said : 
 
 " Have you enjoyed your day ? " 
 
 " I liked the last part." 
 
 She did not ask for details. 
 
 " Why didn't you like the first part ? " 
 
 " I didn't." 
 
 He added : 
 
 " I don't want Renaud again, thank you." 
 
 " Oh Dickon, I thought you liked him so much." 
 
 " I don't." 
 
 Her face was troubled.
 
 I 4 o ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 " Don't you like to be with other boys ? To have 
 boys here ? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 She put her hands up over her face and sat in silence. 
 She saw him growing older a man lonely pedan- 
 tic ? A prig ? Alien amongst his kind ? Would he 
 be that ? Different ah, and she had fought so hard 
 that there should be no difference 
 
 " Then don't teach him to hide it as if it is a sin !" 
 
 It echoed in her ears, hurt and wounded her 
 
 Was she doing that ? She, who of all things loved 
 truth the most ? Held truth more precious than all else. 
 
 A hypocrite ! A dissembler her boy No no ! 
 
 Yet was he like other boys, with his silences, his re- 
 serves ? What was he holding back now ? Was she to 
 fail with him ? She and he had no one else. . . . 
 
 She took her hands from before her face and looked 
 down on him. 
 
 " Did you have a quarrel, Dickon ? " she said gently. 
 
 " No." 
 
 Monosyllabic ! Had she made him so ? She slipped 
 her arm about him. 
 
 " How did Renaud like Mirth ? " 
 
 She had been right ; she saw the slight quiver of the 
 small lips ; it was there the trouble lay. 
 
 " Prudence ! " 
 
 She called back clearly : 
 
 " I will come soon, Evelyn ! I cannot come just yet ! " 
 
 Dickon opened surprised eyes. 
 
 " Won't he be very cross, mother ? " 
 
 " I hope not, dear. I want to stay with you a little. 
 Did Renaud like Mirth ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " And Ferney ? "
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 141 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Prudence ! You have been away for hours ! I 
 want you." 
 
 She rose. 
 
 " I will be back in a minute, Dickon." She left the 
 room, and met Wingfield in the corridor. 
 
 " What do you want, Evelyn ? " 
 
 " I want you to read ' Jorrocks ' to me," he said 
 peevishly. " I can't think what you find to do all day ! 
 You never come near me ! I'm sick of being alone. 
 It's all very well for you you were brought up like a girl 
 in a convent you like solitude you are content to have 
 only me and the boy but I can't stand it. What's 
 more, I won't ! I want you to write to Billy Severne. 
 I'll have him down for a bit and George Arbuthnot, 
 too and Teddington my pride's knocked under. I 
 know they've deserted me like the swine they are ! 
 but I can offer 'em plenty of champagne confound it, 
 I can still offer 'em a good game at bridge, and Ferney 
 had better look out for a couple more nags They're not 
 going to ride Mirth not one of em, damn 'em. Eh ? 
 what ? where are you going ? Can't you stay a minute 
 with me ? I want you to write those letters " 
 
 " I will be back in a few minutes, Evelyn, Dickon 
 wants me " 
 
 " Damn the boy ! It was always the same ! From 
 the moment the squealing brat was born you had 
 eyes and ears for no one else ! You're spoiling him ! 
 You'll make him a little milksop. He's afraid of horses 
 now, I believe ! He tells me he never goes round to the 
 stables alone. Ferney hardly knows him. Why, at his 
 age I lived in the stables ! I knew all the men by heart 
 shared their beer as often as not whiskey, too, some- 
 times J I was drunk before I was six ! Dead drunk.
 
 142 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 Old what's-his-name friend of the governor's plied 
 me with champagne took to it to the manner born " 
 
 " Dickon loves horses ; he doesn't know what fear is 
 where they are concerned." For once she tried to 
 convince him of error, unable to keep silent. But, as she 
 had learnt long since, it was of no use. 
 
 " Of course you shield him ! You always did. Queer 
 thing a good woman will alwaj's lie for her child ! 
 The boy's a little fool what ? Going ? Confound it, 
 isn't the child mine aa well as yours ? Mustn't I say a 
 word about him ? Am I to have no say in his up-bring- 
 ing ? D'you think I'm going to sit humbly by always, 
 and see a Wingfield grow up a fool ? A milksop ? An 
 effeminate ass ? Good God, I'd see him dead sooner ! 
 D'you hear ? D'you understand ? " 
 
 " Oh, hush, Evelyn, you will make yourself ill ! " 
 
 He shouted her down ; he had worked himself into 
 an unreasoning rage ; his face was suffused, the veins 
 in his forehead swelled, his eyes streaked with blood. 
 
 Prudence rang for Davenport, and together they 
 managed at last to calm him. He sat huddled in his 
 chair, white and feeble and shaking. 
 
 " Don't be angry with me, Prue. I lost my 
 temper " 
 
 " You may go," she said to Davenport. 
 
 " Wingfields all have devils of tempers don't be 
 angry, Prue. I didn't mean any harm " 
 
 "I'm not angry, Evelyn. Try to rest now." 
 
 " About the boy, wasn't it ? Always was jealous of 
 the boy, you know devilish jealous once remember 
 what was it ? Memory's so bad nowadays what 
 was it ? know I was in a hell of a fury you looked at 
 the boy not at me that was it didn't care a hang 
 when I came home, did you ? Despised me awfully
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 143 
 
 proud of the brat yes that was it. You're not angry 
 now, are you, Prue ? My head's swelling, I'm afraid 
 feel it heavy as lead " 
 
 "It's only because you've made it ache so, Evelyn ; 
 I am going to read to you. You sit still and rest." 
 
 " 'Jorrocks ' then " 
 
 "Yes; 'Jorrocks.'" 
 
 She opened at random and read : 
 
 " ' And here let me observe, that to 'unt pleasantly two 
 things are necessary to know your 'oss and to know 
 your own mind ' >: 
 
 " That's true, Prue, you know. Little Barclay never 
 knew his own mind go on about coming to a leap " 
 
 " ' have a good understandin' with yourself afore 
 ever you come to a leap, whether you mean to go over it 
 or not, for nothing looks so pusillanimous as to see a chap 
 ride bang at a fence as though he would eat it, and then 
 swerve off for a gate or a gap. Better far to charge 
 wiggorously ' " 
 
 " Prue, my head's getting so large. Does it look very 
 beastly ? " 
 
 "It's just the same size as usual, Evelyn." 
 
 " I I can't find out, because I can't lift my hands to 
 feel it. Prue," his voice sank to a scared whisper, " I've 
 felt it before. D'you know what will happen one day ? 
 My head will swell and swell till I'm all head s-sh 
 don't you tell anyone. But that's what it may come to. 
 It's it's swelling horribly now I I'm frightened, Prue 
 it's getting larger and larger heavy like a ton of 
 lead " 
 
 " Evelyn, do listen to this. This is one of your fav- 
 ourite bits. Do you remember Jorrocks' advice how to 
 take a leap ? " 
 
 " Eh ? What ? My head, Prue "
 
 144 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 " Do you remember Jorrocks' advice how to take 
 a leap ? You know ' Better far to charge wiggor- 
 ously ' Try to remember, Evelyn." 
 
 " ' And be chucked over by the 'oss stoppin' short ; for 
 the rider may chance to light on his legs, and can look 
 about unconsarnedly, as though nothing particular had 
 'appened ' " Oh, I remember never forget old Jor- 
 rocks. Go on, my dear." 
 
 She went on reading, and presently he fell asleep in 
 his chair. 
 
 When she went back to Dickon's room, Dickon was 
 asleep. She stood, shading the light of the candle from 
 his eyes, and looked down on him. Thought whirled 
 and strove in her tired brain, pushed her hither and 
 thither, till at last came calm in the decision : 
 
 " I will follow his advice." 
 
 She referred to Ridgeway. 
 
 Presently she stooped and touched Dickon's cheek 
 with a gentle finger. It was, as she had thought, wet. 
 
 " I left him to go to sleep, unconsoled," was her sad 
 thought as she turned and left the room.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 RIDGEWAY, striding back to Elm Hill, glum 
 and tragic because the rain had come down 
 and stopped his painting, overtook Prudence, 
 walking slowly. 
 
 " Coming to Elm Hill ? Elizabeth will be so glad." 
 
 She shook her head. " I'm just walking." 
 
 " Beastly day for that. Won't you come ? It's 
 only about half a mile well, not much more." 
 
 " No, thank you." 
 
 The tone was cold. They walked in silence awhile. 
 He glanced at her face, saw it white, tired wondered 
 how he could help her. 
 
 " Please don't dawdle for me." 
 
 "I'm in no hurry. Let me stay and grumble ; it's 
 collected inside till it's a huge great black mass." 
 
 She did not assent or dissent ; she maintained an indif- 
 ferent silence while he talked. He felt that they had 
 gone back ; their friendship was slipping from their grasp. 
 He groped against the high wall she had erected between 
 them ; he fumbled and gently pushed, till he came 
 against something that yielded a little. She said 
 merely : 
 
 "I'm tired of poetry," in answer to a slight quotation 
 made by him. 
 
 He forebore to lean hard against the wall. He said 
 gently : 
 
 " One feels that way sometimes." 
 
 She was not satisfied ; she was conscious of a curious 
 L H5
 
 146 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 wish to hurt him ; she held him accountable for her 
 suffering just in that way. Had it not been for the diffi- 
 culty she found in giving expression to her feelings, she 
 would have turned on him with a storm of indignation 
 and protest. She said only : 
 
 " You are very sure you are always right." 
 
 He drew a breath of relief. He had felt her antagon- 
 ism, hardly understanding what it was ; he was glad to 
 have it put into words. He answered : 
 
 " Am I ? What an insufferable sort of fool I must 
 seem to you ! " 
 
 She did not reply. A few steps farther on she stopped. 
 
 " I want to be alone," she said. 
 
 " I'm sorry." He raised his cap. " Are you going to 
 walk much farther ? " 
 
 " I don't know." 
 
 He hesitated. 
 
 " You're about two miles from Cherry Cross now," 
 he said tentatively. " You're tired. Hadn't you better 
 go back ? " 
 
 " If I go back, I have to go to Evelyn," she said. " I 
 came out to rest." 
 
 " Can't you lie down ? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 He risked rebuff with an involuntary, impatient : 
 
 " Why not ? " 
 
 '' Unless he knows I am not in the house, he worries 
 for me." 
 
 She said it calmly, simply; as if unconscious of all that 
 it held ; but, as he walked on alone, he saw the long years 
 stretching behind her, and he wondered at her strength. 
 She called after him, and he turned and came back to 
 her. 
 
 " When you were a little boy, did your mother make
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 147 
 
 a great fuss if you were not very well ? " she asked 
 quietly. 
 
 He laughed. 
 
 " No ; I don't think so. It's a pity to fuss over a boy 
 too much. Anything wrong with Dick ? " 
 
 " It makes him, of course, inclined to be hypochon- 
 driacal," she said thoughtfully. " Thank you." 
 
 " Dick's all right, I hope ? " 
 
 " I suppose, according to your standard, he is in 
 robust health." 
 
 There was an unusual note of bitterness in her voice. 
 Ridgeway looked after her puzzled, as she turned and 
 began to retrace her steps towards Cherry Cross. The 
 slim figure, erect, in the drifting rain, the grey land- 
 scape, seemed symbolical to him. The long wet road, 
 slightly uphill, stretched empty before her. She was 
 alone. No other sign of life appeared only the one 
 figure going on slowly, erect, up the long hill, in the 
 mist and the rain. 
 
 Ridgeway looked up to the skies. He wanted a break in 
 the greyness a ray of light for her. Something any- 
 thing. Anything to break the dead, drear loneliness of 
 it for her. A dog ! A cow or a horse ! But there was no 
 sign of life. Then she disappeared round the curve of the 
 road. And it seemed to him that so she would dis- 
 appear one day out of his life. Just as quietly, as 
 indifferently, going straight on her way. 
 
 Wingfield grew tired of places. They had left Devon- 
 shire because he suddenly declared that the hills were 
 cruel for the little mare's legs. And he worried. She 
 had told him that. 
 
 He would miss her if she went away like that. She 
 would leave a blank in his life perhaps. But more than 
 that. He would have failed in his purpose to help her.
 
 148 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 To him, with his strong, perhaps obstinate, will, to fail 
 was unbearable. Ordinarily he took life easily some 
 thought too easily. He did not worry, he did not fret. 
 He was strong and healthy, and he found life of an absorb- 
 ing and wholesome interest. But were he roused from 
 his ease, he was tenacious never fitful. In the bigger 
 interests of his life his energy was untiring, his grip 
 strong. He made no noise, but pursued an unwavering 
 course. 
 
 Before even his sense of friendship for Prudence Wing- 
 field, he put his purpose to help her, and that seemed 
 likely to fail. She seemed not to want his help ; after 
 her apparent acceptance of him as a friend, she had 
 drawn back ; he realised dimly the depth of her reserve, 
 the fostering of it during these last years of her life, and 
 he knew it was a difficult task he had set himself. The 
 one tangible way he had as yet found was to take Evelyn 
 Wingfield off her hands. He did it often, revealing the 
 patience and determination that he always brought to 
 bear on any sufficiently strong interest in his life. 
 
 Suddenly he went after her ; he pursued her up the 
 long hill. He did it because he wanted to say something 
 to her, not for any more subtle or fanciful reason, although 
 afterwards it struck him with a certain sense of satis- 
 faction that by his action he had driven away that lone- 
 liness, had supplied the life he had been wanting for 
 her. . . . 
 
 He found that he caught her up with surprising ease, 
 and it struck him suddenly how tired she must be, since 
 her pace as a rule was swift, covering the ground with a 
 rather long, graceful and very easy stride. His own 
 pace slackened a little as he drew near ; he felt a sudden 
 shrinking from the look of surprised patience he expected 
 to receive. It came upon him with disconcerting
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 149 
 
 strength that after all he had no right to worry this girl ; 
 no right, through whatever perhaps mistaken notion of 
 helping her, to add by so much as a hairsbreadth to the 
 burden of her life. ... He felt suddenly that he 
 was an intruder merely, not a friend. . . . 
 
 He turned, perhaps for the first time in his life relin- 
 quishing his purpose, and began to go quickly down the 
 hill again. But some feeling made Prudence look round ; 
 she obeyed an involuntary surprised impulse and called 
 to him. When he came he seemed to have nothing to say. 
 
 " You came after me ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " You were going away again." 
 
 He nodded. 
 
 " Why ? " 
 
 " I changed my mind." 
 
 She was silent ; then she said quietly ; 
 
 " I am sorry if I was rude to you this afternoon." 
 
 " Don't " he said quickly and added lightly : 
 
 " You weren't, but you may be. Please do any 
 time. It's good to get it off sometimes." 
 
 " Is it ? " 
 
 She did not say it idly, but thoughtfully, wonder- 
 ingly. 
 
 " Rather ! And I we know each other well enough 
 for that, don't we ? " 
 
 She did not answer, but said presently, 
 
 " Why did you come after me ? " 
 
 " I had something to say." 
 
 " What made you change your mind ? " 
 
 He hesitated, then told her truthfully : 
 
 " It struck me I had no right to worry you. That 
 you wanted to be alone. That I must often worry you 
 to death."
 
 150 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 She looked at him thoughtfully. 
 
 " You have always been kind," she said haltingly, and 
 added : "I'm grateful " and broke off. 
 
 He spoke very directly. 
 
 " I should like to be your friend. But if you wish, 
 I will go away out of your life, I mean. I shan't 
 think you unkind or ungrateful for any little thing I 
 may have done. There isn't anything really, only the 
 wish to do things." 
 
 She stood, her eyes downcast, considering ; and it 
 was borne in on him chillingly how little he counted in 
 her life, since he saw that she was considering, that she 
 was making up her mind. He was disappointed deeply, 
 but not hurt ; there was no vanity, no petty pride in 
 his nature, and his friendship was not yet deep enough 
 for a more serious hurt. He realised that if she decided 
 to go back to her solitary life, he and Muriel Latimer 
 Elizabeth the boys would have to bow to her decision ; 
 he realised more clearly every moment her perfect right 
 to decide for herself. She was not a child ; she was a 
 woman who had suffered deeply, who had been capable 
 of great self-sacrifice ; it was for her only to arrange the 
 smaller ways of her life, as she only had arranged the 
 larger. If she thought it better to go her way lonely, 
 unhelped, they must let her go, though they might know 
 she was wrong. . . . 
 
 Prudence was very tired. An old friend of Wingfield's 
 had come down the day before unexpectedly to see him. 
 She had felt that she had not the right to forbid 
 it, but she had given in shrinkingly, knowing the 
 man and knowing Evelyn. It had fallen out as she 
 had foreseen. There had been champagne. . . . 
 The excitement had made Wingfield very bad had set 
 him feebly weeping. . . ,
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 151 
 
 The friend had drunk too much, to drown the tiresome 
 pathos of seeing his old chum like that had made 
 Wingfield drink too much. . . . From weeping 
 and maudlin sentiment they had grown uproari- 
 ous. . . Prudence had had to fight it alone. 
 Davenport professed himself too upset and shocked to 
 be of any use. She had stood alone, till Ferney had 
 come in. Ferney had put the friend to bed. . . . 
 he had gone by the early train to London this morning. 
 
 She had almost broken down, almost, in her nausea, 
 shrunk away from trying to help Evelyn. . . . 
 Before that night, in the past, there had been other scenes 
 which she had faced more firmly. Why was it she had 
 almost failed this time ? Why had it been almost unbear- 
 ably painful, so nearly unbearable that once she had 
 gone to the door. . . . 
 
 She pulled herself up sharply. She must think. 
 But her tired brain refused to move clearly in direct 
 thought ; ideas thronged and strove. Dickon Evelyn 
 her mind swung dizzily from one name to the other. 
 She had to consider them no one else. Evelyn and 
 Dickon. This man who wanted to be their friend 
 that was it would it be well for those two, for Evelyn 
 and Dickon ? They liked him. Evelyn looked forward 
 to his visits ; dare she take the smallest healthy enjoy- 
 ment out of that terrible life ? . . . 
 
 But last night she had almost failed him. . . . 
 
 If this friendship meant that, would it not be 
 worse for Evelyn, than if he slipped out of his life ? 
 
 Was it fussing to make Dickon stay in bed ? She 
 wanted to know that Dickon Evelyn 
 
 Was Ferney a good companion for Dickon ? 
 
 But if he went she could not know, and there were 
 other things . . .
 
 152 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 She needed him for Dickon . . . 
 
 And Evelyn 
 
 But last night she had almost failed him. If she 
 failed, he had no one. . . 
 
 This man and his friends their doing, kindness, 
 sympathy, friendship were they for her ? To her 
 undoing ? Their creed that beautiful things helped 
 wasn't it wrong ? . . . 
 
 Evelyn and Dickon 
 
 She did not put herself aside, because it never entered 
 her mind to take herself into consideration at all. It 
 was Dickon and Evelyn . . . 
 
 She lifted her head at last and looked at him, her 
 pale face strained with over-much thought was raised 
 to his in a last effort, and then suddenly it drooped, 
 her whole figure slackened. She said suddenly, with a 
 childish tired appeal : 
 
 " You decide." 
 
 It was so unlike her that he was for a moment taken 
 aback, but he had no hesitation ; he said gently : 
 
 " I can't do that. You go home now, and leave it. 
 We'll talk of it another day." 
 
 She tried haltingly to break through her reserve. 
 
 " You are good Evelyn and Dickon both need 
 you " 
 
 He did not help her : he did not thoroughly under- 
 stand. 
 
 " I must keep strong," she murmured distressfully, 
 and the effort of even so much self-betrayal brought the 
 faint colour to her cheek. He understood now. 
 
 " It's a false strength," he said firmly. 
 
 Her eyes questioned him earnestly. 
 
 " An unnatural strength. A strength like that saps
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 153 
 
 all your resisting powers ; it may fail you at any moment 
 when you need it most." 
 
 Oh no " 
 
 " It's against nature. One must relax sometimes. 
 You don't. You live all day long night too, probably, 
 at a fearfully high tension. One day it will snap. 
 You push away all outside interests ; you build up a 
 stone wall round yourself and live behind it no sun or 
 good strengthening air can get to you ; you are under- 
 mining your strength. Don't you see ? You are call- 
 ing upon it all the time it answers bravely so far but 
 it can't go on. You're human. You'll break down 
 badly horribly you can't go on living like this. I 
 know it. I'm sure of it." 
 
 She was trembling. 
 
 " It seems easier so. The the other weakens 
 
 " Because you're fighting it all the time. Don't 
 fight. When you're alone give way a little " 
 
 No " 
 
 " Well " 
 
 But she turned away. 
 
 " I must go." 
 
 She hurried from him, upset by the admittance of 
 him into her confidence ; quivering sensitively as if 
 she had bared her soul. To her her utterance of those 
 few words loomed as large as if she had indeed bared 
 heart and soul to him. 
 
 But she wished to keep him as a friend . . . 
 
 Evelyn and Dickon . . .
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 RENAUD, Armand and Andre" looked in upon 
 Muriel and Hugh, and scattered the beautiful 
 quiet of the dusky room. 
 
 " Voila ! He is ill, le pauvre enfant, and Madame, 
 she has send Ferney for de doctor " 
 
 "111? Dickon?" 
 
 " Who else ? La pauvre Madame she look white, 
 of an illness ! " 
 
 " Of a fear ! " from Armand. 
 
 " Will de doctor give me a medicine bottle wiv a 
 label on it ? " this from Andre", with great anxiety. 
 " I do want a med'cin bottle wiv a label on it." 
 
 " Renaud, tell me what you know," Muriel said, 
 looking anxious. 
 
 " De little Dickon ! He lie ill we go to de house 
 to ask if he may come to-morrow " 
 
 " We drrive with Louise. William, he drive us in de 
 carriage dat Maman have hired from Barchester," put 
 in Armand. 
 
 " Ver soon / will drive you, foolish one ! Papa, he 
 say dat ver soon " 
 
 " Bah, not for days and days and many days ! " 
 
 " Tais-toi, imbecile ! Do I not tell you dat papa " 
 
 " I do want a med'cin bottle wiv a label on it." 
 
 " Renaud ! What is the matter with Dickon ? " 
 
 " Pour moi I do not know " 
 
 " He eat too many green apples," cut in Armand,
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 155 
 
 who was rapidly outgrowing his echo-ship to Renaud, 
 and sought to vie with him. 
 
 " Green apples ! Ah bah, que tu es enfant ! Green 
 apples in March ! " 
 
 " I did not say green tummucky apples mais non 
 are dere den not green sweet apples ? Je tu demande 
 are dere not " 
 
 "Oh! Mediant! Me"chant ! You did mean " 
 
 " I do want a med'cin bottle wiv a label on it." 
 
 " Hugh," Muriel appealed to him. 
 
 But he shrugged his shoulders impatiently. 
 
 " Little devils, I never get you to myself nowadays ! 
 Here, boys, clear out ! " he added in a louder voice. " Is 
 Louise waiting outside? Run along, then. Hurry up ! " 
 
 A storm of explanation, expostulation, through 
 which ran Andrews plaintive refrain : 
 
 " I do want a med'cin bottle wiv a label on it." 
 
 Latimer, wily through desperation, remarked that 
 it was pretty rough on the horses, standing out there 
 in the rain, on a beastly afternoon. . . . 
 
 Alone with Muriel again, he said : 
 
 " Now come and sit here, where you were." 
 
 She came slowly back to the fireplace, and stood 
 looking down into the flames. 
 
 " What is it, sweetheart ? " 
 
 " That child and she is all alone." 
 
 " Oh, only some childish sickness. Muriel, you were 
 going to tell me " 
 
 She stopped him. 
 
 " Hugh, I can't go back not now." 
 
 He stood looking at her. 
 
 " That sick boy ? " 
 
 She nodded. 
 
 He gave a little laugh.
 
 156 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 " It seems every one even strangers are to be put 
 before me now." 
 
 She lifted astonished eyes ; it was so unlike him. 
 
 "It's just because you're put so very, very far before 
 every one that I I have to make myself oh, you 
 know what I mean ! " 
 
 He was contrite. 
 
 " Last night we were out ; the night before the 
 Favershams and those other people dined here ; to-day 
 I've been out till just now. We're never alone, are we, 
 Muriel ? " 
 
 " And now I'm going again, Hugh." 
 
 He nodded. 
 
 " I knew that was what you were up to." 
 
 He drew her closer. 
 
 " Must you go, darling ? " he whispered. 
 
 " Hugh, she is all alone. And that man is so bad 
 sometimes what will she do between the two ? 
 I must go and see if I can help anyway." 
 
 She added, ashamed : 
 
 " Isn't it awful that it should seem quite a big thing 
 to have to do ? Is love selfish, after all ? " 
 
 " You're going, just the same. It's not selfish it 
 gives you an added power of selflessness." 
 
 " Let me go, dear. . . ." 
 
 She went alone ; she would not have Hugh waiting 
 for her ; she did not know how long she might stay. 
 She had unconsciously formed a picture of Prudence 
 distraught, distracted, but she found her looking as usual, 
 perhaps a little colder in manner, although she ex- 
 pressed gratitude. 
 
 " I do not expect there is much wrong. A cold, that 
 is all. But it is very good of you to come."
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 157 
 
 Muriel was at a loss ; the thought of Hugh, before 
 the fire, in the study at the Hall, grew poignant. 
 
 " May I see him ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes ; he is asleep now." 
 
 Dickon asleep was unexpectedly cherubic and baby- 
 like ; his cheeks were flushed, his short hair tumbled ; 
 he moved restlessly ; muttered in his sleep : " Ferney 
 likes him Renaud knows about horses he laughed 
 'cause I called her pastern her hock I'd like to shoot 
 him " 
 
 Prudence pulled Muriel away with almost a rough 
 movement, and led her from the room. 
 
 " You have sent for Dr. Fielding ? " 
 
 " Mother ! " 
 
 She turned back. Dickon was sitting up in bed. 
 
 " Is my head on fire ? " he asked. 
 
 " No, darling. Is it very hot ? " 
 
 " Yes, and my neck hurts. Am I very ill, mother ? " 
 
 " No ; you have a bad cold, Dickon, that is 
 all." 
 
 " I think I am very ill," he said reproachfully. " I 
 shouldn't be a bit surprised if I die." 
 
 " Oh, darling, you mustn't speak like that." 
 
 He was silent for a while, then he said : 
 
 " The man in that story you read to me wrote a 
 farewell letter when he was dyin'. I want to write a 
 farewell letter, mother." 
 
 " You are not dying, Dickon." 
 
 " How do you know ? " 
 
 " You are not really ill." 
 
 " Then why am I in bed ? " 
 
 " You have a cold, dearest. Lie down again, and 
 keep the bedclothes over you." 
 
 " I want to write a farewell letter, mother. Very
 
 158 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 likely in the mornin' when I wake up I'll be dead, and 
 then you will be sorry." 
 
 She smoothed his head gently. 
 
 " It's foolish to talk like that, Dickon." 
 
 He began to cry. 
 
 " Ferney wouldn't care if I died ever so. I want 
 to write a farewell letter. I've g-got to tell him th 
 that I forgive him " 
 
 " Forgive whom, dear ? " 
 
 " Renaud. I've got to t-tell him. You have to when 
 you're dyin'. I want to wr- write a f -farewell letter " 
 
 " Very well, dear, only don't cry. I will fetch paper 
 and pencil." 
 
 She tucked the bedclothes round him, and gave him 
 a book to rest his paper on ; he took the pencil and 
 began to scribble with an exceedingly grown-up air, 
 forming the letter " d " over and over again, that being 
 his favourite. Then he handed the paper to her. 
 
 " Read it, while I read it to you, mother." 
 
 She read assiduously, while he said : 
 
 " Dear Renaud, 
 
 " I hope you are quite well as this leaves me dying, 
 and so I forgive you for knowin' more about Mirth 
 than me and talkin' to Ferney and makin' him laugh 
 and laughin' at me for callin' a pastern a hock and 
 chewin' a bit of straw and hittin' your leg with a crop, 
 and Ferney sayin', ' You'd never startle a hoss you 
 knew what you were about. When this reaches you 
 I shall be dead " 
 
 Prudence stopped him with a little cry. 
 
 "That's what the man in the story wrote, mother." 
 
 " You're not the man in the story. Now lie down, 
 Dickon, and try to be quiet." 
 
 Muriel, in the doorway, marvelled at her sternness.
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 159 
 
 " Oh, take him up in your arms hug him up tight 
 poor baby ! " she almost cried it aloud. 
 
 Dickon lay down, a sullen expression on his flushed 
 face. He turned and lay flat on his back, and osten- 
 tatiously folded his hands on his chest and closed his 
 eyes. So the stone warrior in that big church had lain 
 when he was dead. 
 
 " I'd like my sword beside me, mother." 
 
 " You are to try to sleep, Dickon." 
 
 " You'll be awful sorry to-morrow when I'm quite 
 dead." 
 
 Her face quivered, and she put out her hand impuls- 
 ively. 
 
 " Dear, try not to be so foolish," she drew her hand 
 back, and merely smoothed the bedclothes. 
 
 Then she turned away and joined Muriel in the 
 doorway. 
 
 Out in the corridor a word burst from her : 
 
 " Morbid . . ." 
 
 " Dickon ? I don't think so. All imaginative chil- 
 dren have those sorts of tragic ideas at times " 
 
 Prudence hung on her words. 
 
 " Overstrung unnatural," she muttered. 
 
 Muriel said : "I remember when I was quite tiny 
 making a wreath of white pansies and daisies, and 
 taking it to bed with me, in the hope that I would die 
 of a broken heart during the night. That was because 
 I considered my mother had been unkind to me, and 
 I wanted to make her suffer. Didn't you ever do that 
 sort of thing ? " 
 
 " No ; there wasn't any one to make suffer." 
 
 " Prudence ! Quick that chap with the white face 
 has come back ! He won't go away for any one but 
 you "
 
 160 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 Muriel was left alone in the corridor. She stood a 
 moment, the frightened, whimpering tones ringing in 
 her ears, no other sound in the house, except a distant 
 mournful voice moaning a hymn out of tune. She 
 shivered and went downstairs and into the drawing-room. 
 She hesitated whether to leave, but the thought of 
 Dickon, alone, stayed her : he might need some 
 one . . . 
 
 " There wasn't any one to make suffer." It seemed 
 to stand out on the walls the patient, ordinary tone of 
 voice vibrated still on Muriel's heart. If it had been 
 
 bitter tragic But this was worse, this acceptance 
 
 of a fact not thought of particular importance now 
 lived with for ever so that it had no special poignancy. 
 
 Oh, to help her ! Mark Ridgeway had begged her 
 help had she been slack ? Had she allowed self- 
 conscious fear of a hurt to her pride to stay her too 
 easily ? Or had it been the great happiness of her 
 life. . . . 
 
 She went upstairs again and to Dickon's door ; she 
 waited outside listening. All was silent for a while, 
 then Dickon spoke crossly : 
 
 " I know quite well that you're listenin' out there." 
 
 She entered with a little laugh. 
 
 Dickon stared at her sombrely. 
 
 " Do I look awful pale ? " 
 
 " No, not at all, my dear." 
 
 He resented her cheerful tone. 
 
 " I'm most likely dyin' anyway." 
 
 " Not you ! You'll be as well as ever you were 
 to-morrow." 
 
 " I think you'd better go now, please ; you're excitin' 
 me," was his chilly response.
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 161 
 
 She sat down beside his bed, and laid her cool hand 
 on his hot brow. 
 
 " Poor little hot head. Don't be cross with me, 
 darling. I'm very fond of you, you know, Dickon." 
 
 " Are you ? What for ? " 
 
 " Well, perhaps because I think you're rather a nice 
 little boy." 
 
 " Ferney doesn't like me." 
 
 " Who is Ferney ? " 
 
 He eyed her in surprise too deep for verbal expression. 
 Not know who Ferney was ! 
 
 " Oh, I remember. The groom. What makes you 
 think he doesn't like you ? " 
 
 But Dickon's confidences had ceased. 
 
 "He doesn't." 
 
 She did not question him further. 
 
 She began to talk gently about his mother. 
 
 " Your father is very ill to-day, and she is so worried, 
 Dickon, and now there's you, too." 
 
 " She doesn't care if I die ever so." 
 
 " Oh, Dickon, that's a wicked, mean sort of thing to 
 say ! " 
 
 " Wouldn't Renaud say it ? " 
 
 " Oh, no." 
 
 He wriggled beneath the bedclothes. 
 
 "I'm thirsty, and my neck hurts." 
 
 She gave him some lemonade. 
 
 " What'd he do if he was ill like me ? " 
 
 " Well, he'd just make up his mind to get well as fast 
 as ever he could, so that he would be ready to help his 
 mother like a man." 
 
 " Wouldn't he die in the night ? " 
 
 " No ; because of his mother, and he wouldn't talk 
 about it, because of worrying her." 
 M
 
 162 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 Dickon lay so still she thought he was falling asleep, 
 and she quietly left the room. But as she moved from 
 the door she thought she heard a sound within the room, 
 and went back. 
 
 Dickon was sitting on the bed pulling his stockings on. 
 
 " Dickon, what are you doing ? " 
 
 " Getting up." 
 
 " But you must not, dear ! Your cold is too bad, 
 you must stay in bed till Dr. Fielding comes." 
 
 He went on pulling up a stocking. 
 
 " Dickon, don't be tiresome. Get back into bed like 
 a good boy." 
 
 He picked up the second stocking. 
 
 " I'm gettin' well as fast as I can so I'll be ready to 
 help mother like a man," he quoted, and Muriel realised 
 that she had achieved more than she had intended. 
 
 " Dickon, you'll make her so sad if she comes in and 
 finds you out of bed," she coaxed. " That will worry her 
 dreadfully. And if you go back now like a good boy, 
 perhaps you'll be quite all right to-morrow " 
 
 He sat limply on the edge of the bed, his burst of 
 energy gone, the stocking dangling in his hand. He felt 
 so heavy and sleepy that he allowed her to coax him 
 back into bed, and he fell asleep almost at once. 
 
 Muriel, leaving the room, met Prudence outside, 
 
 " He is asleep." 
 
 " Have you been sitting with him ? It's kind of 
 you." 
 
 " Have you had tea ? " Muriel, eyeing the exhausted 
 face, suspected lack of food. 
 
 " No, I didn't want any." 
 
 " I wonder if it's too late for me to have a cup before 
 I go ? " 
 
 " Come downstairs, will you ? "
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 163 
 
 She led the way into the drawing-room. " There's 
 a fire still, I think. Dickon fancied playing in here 
 this morning." 
 
 She rang the bell and gave the order for tea. But 
 when it came she barely sipped it with hospitable pre- 
 tence. Muriel felt that she was strung up to a dangerous 
 pitch, that she was exerting, as it were, more than the 
 full strength of her will, to keep herself calm. She 
 tried to break it a little with a remark as to what a long 
 while Dr. Fielding was in coming. To this Prudence 
 merely assented. 
 
 She tried again with the suggestion that Dickon seemed 
 sleeping very peacefully. 
 
 This time Prudence did not answer : she turned on 
 Muriel brooding eyes deep with some painful thought. 
 " He will probably be quite well in the morning," 
 Muriel said, her heart beating faster in a curious fear of 
 the thought in the other's face. 
 
 Prudence spoke then ; she spoke through still lips, 
 hardly opening her mouth ; it was as if her thought 
 uttered itself perforce, and she had nothing to do 
 with it. 
 
 " I hope he won't get well." Muriel spilt a little tea 
 into her saucer ; she set the cup down carefully, then 
 looked into Prudence's face. It had not altered much ; 
 there was a suggestion of surprise in it, as if she were 
 wondering at herself for having spoken, but the brooding 
 pain was still there. 
 
 " Oh, hush ! " Muriel breathed. " You are ill worn 
 out " 
 
 " I mean I am trying to hope it," she corrected truth- 
 fully. 
 
 " No, no ! Don't say it ! It's morbid wicked. 
 He is strong healthy your child. He is not different
 
 164 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 from other boys don't think that ! He is such a fine 
 little fellow " 
 
 Her tongue faltered beneath the other's glance. 
 
 Prudence rose suddenly. 
 
 " Be quiet ! " she said, almost whispering. She put 
 up her hand to her throat and stood looking down wildly 
 into Muriel's frightened face. 
 
 " He has no chance born months of disillusion 
 and bitter learning living beneath a shadow no 
 name ! " 
 
 She moved across the room, and swaying, caught at the 
 back of a high chair, and stood there, turning wild, fierce 
 eyes to Muriel. " If you have a daughter you would 
 not let her marry my son," she said, her quiet voice in 
 tragic contrast with her eyes. 
 
 Muriel, caught unprepared, uttered a cry, and was 
 silent, the colour flaming in her face. 
 
 " I should be the same," Prudence went on. " A 
 nameless nobody ! Ah, God, and you talk glibly of his 
 being like other boys ! Other boys a Willoughby and 
 a Wingfield and no name ! What chance has he ? 
 And I had such high hopes I when he he was 
 coming " 
 
 Muriel had her arms round her ; she cried too. . . . 
 
 " I should like to tell you a little about myself," 
 Prudence said. 
 
 " As much as you can " 
 
 " I lived till I was married I was eighteen then in 
 an old grey house at Sodgewick in Essex. It's a 
 watering-place. It has risen. They had always had the 
 house there, you see. My mother died when I was born 
 and my father was killed hi an accident driving when 
 I was a few months old. I lived with my grandmother. 
 She disliked me because I was a girl. She was old
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 165 
 
 and bitter. My father, her son had disappointed her. 
 She lived only for one thing : to re-establish the import- 
 ance of the Willoughbys. They had sunk had sold 
 their lands, and when her son was born she saved every 
 farthing she worked early and late always with that 
 end in view he should justify his existence, he should 
 do great deeds, and bring back the name into good 
 repute. She was a Willoughby too, you see, she had 
 married a cousin. My father turned out a dreamer 
 unpractical not very strong. I think it nearly killed 
 her, but when he married one of the beautiful Miss 
 Compton-Moores, her ambition was rekindled, stronger 
 than before. She waited. I heard it said that she nearly 
 went out of her mind when I was born, and my mother 
 died. She would not look at me. She left me to nurses 
 till I was a year old. . . . Afterwards she was not 
 cruel to me ; she just left me alone. I had a governess 
 to educate me she was old and prim, and terrified of 
 my grandmother. I found out that she told lies, and I 
 despised her " 
 
 " Relations ? " Muriel said in her pause. 
 
 " We had none. My mother's only sister had gone 
 out to India, her parents were dead. We were the last 
 of the Willoughbys. That was why my grandmother 
 was in despair. I was not allowed to make friends 
 with any one, either as a child or later. You see, 
 Sodgewick had become a poor sort of watering-place, 
 and the people were, well, my grandmother would not 
 allow me to have anything to do with either the 
 residents, who mostly let apartments, or the visitors. 
 She loathed the place, but she would not leave it. 
 Then she died. She died quite suddenly in her 
 sleep. . . ." 
 
 " Yes ? "
 
 166 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 " Her old maid was distraught she ran shrieking 
 out into the street. Evelyn was riding through Sodge- 
 wick he came in to help " 
 
 Muriel did not break this longer pause. She saw it all 
 the terrified, inexperienced girl the man 
 
 " He was very good. We were married the next 
 week." 
 
 That was all. " He was very good. We were married 
 the next week." 
 
 The next week ! 
 
 Muriel drew her closer. 
 
 " Thank you for telling me," she said in a low voice. 
 
 " You have been so kind. You trusted me," Prudence 
 said. 
 
 " Kind ! I think it an honour to have j r our friend- 
 ship ! " burst from Muriel. 
 
 Prudence was roused into acute wonder. 
 
 " Honour ? My friendship ? I don't understand." 
 
 " No, I don't suppose you do ! That's part of you ! 
 Oh, you must do the rest. You will. You're too 
 great to fail " 
 
 " Do what ? " she broke in on Muriel's incoherence. 
 
 " Dickon. Don't you see ? Make him great in 
 spite of it ! Don't you see ? Oh, you can do it ! No 
 one else but you can ! " 
 
 " I have tried ever since I knew to make him like 
 other boys. I have failed. I can see he is different." 
 
 " No, no ! A little older for his age that is all. You 
 will " 
 
 " That's Dr. Fielding," Prudence said, and rose. 
 
 " A cold a little fever quite right to put him to bed 
 highly strung child ? Yes, yes. All right in a day 
 or two. Plenty of nourishing food." ..." I sup- 
 pose it was fussing," Prudence murmured thoughtfully,
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 167 
 
 when he went away. Asked what she had said she 
 answered, " Nothing worth repeating," avoiding Muriel's 
 eyes. She was shy of her now, but the strain had been 
 eased ; she looked tired, and as if she would sleep heavily 
 that night. When Muriel's victoria was brought round 
 to the door she bade her good-bye in a low voice. She 
 
 added : " I'd like to but " 
 
 " You do it more by not doing it," Muriel said gently, 
 and bending forward kissed her. 
 Prudence, going back upstairs, thought curiously : 
 " That's the first time a woman has kissed me, since 
 I was a child."
 
 R 
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 IDGEWAY broke in upon Elizabeth and the 
 boys deep in accounts. 
 
 " I don't suppose you want me, but " 
 
 " No," Elizabeth said with languid bad temper, 
 " but I'd like you to stay in spite of me." 
 
 " Too deep for me. Why ? " 
 
 " I can feel injured then, and pose as a social martyr, 
 whose hospitable instincts inherited without will of hers, 
 prevent her turning a guest out, and going on with her 
 accounts. What have you to tell me ? " 
 
 " That nobody wants me." 
 
 " Why not return to Wyverley then ? Cecily Wood- 
 burn wants you." 
 
 " As a brother, Eliza." 
 
 " You're just like a rude little school-boy, Mark. 
 That's your one form of wit it's school-boy wit." 
 
 " How nice. I adore school-boys, Lizzie." 
 
 " ' Beef yes mutton yes six laces for de boot 
 yes " came murmuringly from Renaud frowning over 
 paper and pencil. " Ah, cette pauvre Maman, I cannot 
 help, mais non c'est inutile." 
 
 " We eat also de bread and de butter," came as a 
 suggestion from Armand. 
 
 And from Andre", startlingly, in an ingratiating whis- 
 per : 
 
 " Dod, I wonder where you are now ? " 
 
 " Ah bah, de bread de cook make, and de butter 
 168
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 169 
 
 Maman does not pay for it is wrote in de book with de 
 milk and de cream ! " 
 
 " Accounts worrying you ? " Ridgeway asked. 
 
 Elizabeth, sighing, nodded despairingly. "It's horri- 
 ble being poor. I don't like it even as an experiment ; 
 and to live with ! I'm practising the most rigid economy. 
 Alphonse says there is no need for it, as his book will 
 soon be finished now, but honestly, do you think many 
 people care about those ancient old naturalists to 
 the extent of buying a thirty-shilling book ? " 
 
 " Yes ; with those delightful little pen and ink 
 sketches of his. I never saw more delicate work. The 
 way he can get the minutest wing of a butterfly it's 
 wonderful, I think. Do the boys keep accounts 
 too ? " 
 
 " We help Maman," Armand explained, sucking his 
 stump of pencil. 
 
 " Ah, cette pauvre petite Maman," cooed Andr6, 
 trotting to Elizabeth, and leaning against her knee. 
 " Is Dod up de chimney, Maman ? " 
 
 " Oh, no, sweet." 
 
 " De chimney's not a booful place," he acquiesced 
 thoughtfully. 
 
 Renaud flung his arms wide with a gesture of weary 
 despair, and appealed to Ridgeway. 
 
 " Mark, I ask you ! What is one to do ? Maman 
 she become pale tired it is not right dat she unhappy 
 and ill ! But I I tink and tink, and no way can I 
 remember dat she spend a ten shilling half sovereign. 
 What is one den to do ? " 
 
 " I can't answer you, offhand, Renaud, it requires 
 thought. Is it half a sovereign that you come short, 
 Elizabeth ? " 
 
 " Yes. Anyway the money flies. I think it's much
 
 170 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 better not to keep accounts, the money doesn't fly half 
 so quickly then." 
 
 " You mean you don't notice its flight." 
 
 " Well, it comes to the same thing." 
 
 " You know," Ridgeway said, " you came down here 
 to recuperate health, not money." 
 
 " Well, I can't possibly be healthy if I have to starve, 
 and that's what it seems coming to." 
 
 Ridgeway looked round the room, which had been 
 entirely refurnished. Elizabeth said : 
 
 " Don't say anything superior, or you'll repent it. 
 I've bought all those things on a sound business basis 
 I'm going to have an auction sale when we go. 
 Won't it be thrilling ? One always pays such 
 enormous prices at sales, so I shall make quite a little 
 fortune." 
 
 Ridgeway's lean face creased into humorous lines, but 
 he forebore to utter his thought. 
 
 " How about Du Pierre's chateau ? Have you let it 
 yet ? He expected that to bring him in a clean 
 thousand a year, didn't he ? " 
 
 Elizabeth closed her eyes wearily. 
 
 " Oh, there are some poor cousins or something staying 
 there at present," she said. " I wonder when tea is 
 coming ? " 
 
 Whereat Ridgeway looked more amused still, for he 
 had heard a story of those poor cousins, one of whom 
 was a very delicate child, and of Elizabeth's impulsive 
 decision that they should be offered the shelter of that 
 beautiful old chateau in the south of France. . . . 
 
 Suddenly Renaud broke into a shrill stream of such 
 exceedingly rapid French that Ridgeway could make 
 very little of it. 
 
 " A man who took his boot off to you," he said
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 171 
 
 mystified to Elizabeth, "and sat amongst the cab- 
 bages ! " 
 
 " My accounts are right ! Oh, Renaud, what a 
 blessing you are ! Oh, yes, and you too, Armand, and 
 you, you sweet." 
 
 " Do they tally to a farthing ? " Ridgeway asked. 
 
 " Oh, yes, that is, I'm apparently a shilling or so short, 
 but that's nothing." 
 
 " I see. And the ten shillings is accounted for by the 
 old gentleman who took his cabbage off to you, and sat 
 amongst the boots ? " 
 
 Shrieks of appreciative glee from the boys. 
 
 " It was old Gibbs Thomas Gibbs do you know 
 him?" 
 
 " Rather. Ripping head. I'm going to have him 
 for a model." 
 
 " I think he's hideous, and he has a great pink thing 
 on his nose " 
 
 " Oh, a carbuncle. I'll paint him the other side, 
 sitting amongst his boots, taking off his cabbage." 
 
 " I took him some tobacco yesterday. I don't think 
 he's at all a nice old man, but que voulez-vous ? His 
 first remark to me was to the effect that I needn't have 
 left my carriage round the corner for fear of hurting 
 his feelings ; for his part he liked ' kerridge folk ' to 
 come visiting him. He seemed rather to despise me 
 because I had walked a hundred yards or so. I consider 
 it positively indecent of a poor old man to uncover my 
 delicate thought for the lower classes, like that." 
 
 " What else did he uncover when he took off his cab- 
 bage ? " Ridgeway asked : he added sotto voce, " I 
 declare I feel a positive wit when I'm with those boys 
 of yours : never at any other time ! " 
 
 Renaud, rocking with laughter, exclaimed :
 
 172 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 " Ah, que vous etes drole ! " 
 
 Elizabeth, smiling, said : 
 
 " He wanted to uncover his foot. He was in his garden 
 amongst the cabbages, and it appears he has a growth on 
 his left foot which he is fondly nourishing in the hope that 
 it will become in time a full-grown sixth toe. When I 
 wanted to know for what purpose he wished for a sixth 
 toe he was deeply offended. But unfortunately he 
 forgave me sufficiently to decide to honour me with a 
 glimpse of the embryonic sixth toe. I could only 
 escape with a hastily given half-sovereign for a new pair 
 of boots, as those he was wearing were not quite what 
 he wanted. ' It don't pinch exactly like, but it sort of 
 keeps it back \ ' he informed me. Ah, comme ces 
 gens- la sont droles ! " 
 
 The boys, sent away to tea in the school-room, Ridge- 
 way, knowing well the reason, asked : 
 
 " Why do you always speak to them in French ? " 
 
 Elizabeth responded : 
 
 " Why do you always speak to them in English ? " 
 
 " Because it's their native tongue." 
 
 She raised her eyebrows. 
 
 " Is it ? More than French ? " 
 
 " Oh, well, because I'm not good at French ! " 
 
 " Well, you see, I am." She smiled upon him sweetly, 
 as he took his cup from her. 
 
 " And it would be such a pity to correct their broken 
 English, by talking unbroken English to them, wouldn't 
 it ? " Ridgeway said unkindly. 
 
 " Didn't you come in to tell me something ? " Elizabeth 
 asked languidly. 
 
 " Yes. I've got to tell some one, or burst ! " 
 
 " Well, I suppose I'm a degree better than bursting. 
 What is it ? "
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 173 
 
 " You know that sketch I did last week sun and mist 
 -down by the stream " 
 
 " Yes ; a lovely thing." 
 
 " Well, I sent it to Coles used to live here I thought 
 he'd like it, and he wants a regular old picture com- 
 mission a six footer ! My luck's turned. I've had 
 a rotten tune lately. I've wired to Dickson chap 
 who owns that studio up the hill in the meadow, you 
 know. If I can have his studio for a bit I'm ah 1 right. 
 I begin to think there will be a bit of corn for my old 
 horse when his shoulder's all right, after all ! I've 
 been concocting polite speeches of regret, for his benefit 
 sort of thing ' I'm afraid I'm very much afraid 
 that that shoulder must be rested a bit longer. I do not 
 think it would be wise or kind to risk using it just at 
 present. Pray make what use you like of my grass and 
 my hay.' But now ! " 
 
 " Your grass is only about half an acre, isn't it ? " 
 
 " But it's paid for up till next Christmas, you see." 
 
 " How you dare lecture me about my thriftlessness, 
 I don't know ! " 
 
 " I lecture you ! Elizabeth ! " 
 
 " Your face does." 
 
 " I spurn it then ! I cast it away ! It's no longer 
 a friend of mine ! " 
 
 " Was it ever ? And you an artist ! " 
 
 He looked at her sadly, and rubbed his hand gently 
 over his face. 
 
 " It's the best I've got," he said. " But I'd like to 
 understand the innuendo that / am thriftless. Are 
 there many struggling artists who manage to keep a 
 horse, and to hunt ? I ask you, as Renaud says." 
 
 " Well, isn't that in itself an extravagance ? " 
 
 He shook his head.
 
 174 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 " No. My horse I refuse to give up. I've gone 
 short of butter on my bread at times, but one good 
 gallop across country is worth all the butter ever 
 churned. No ; he's not an extravagance he's a 
 necessity." 
 
 Elizabeth laughed gently. 
 
 " I don't think you can call him that." 
 
 " It depends on the point of view, doesn't it ? " he 
 rejoined. " Now, I shouldn't call yards of lace on my 
 tea-gown a necessity." 
 
 " Well, I do," Elizabeth replied looking down, and 
 smoothing the lace lovingly. " I adore lace." 
 
 " It looks as if it adores you," he said. " I've never 
 met any one who goes into such wonderful folds as you 
 do." 
 
 " It sounds like a hammock chair. More tea ? You 
 know, I'm most awfully glad about that commission." 
 She added slowly : "Do you tell Mrs. Wingfield that 
 sort of thing ? " 
 
 He looked surprised. 
 
 "I think so; I hardly know I've never thought 
 about it. Why ? " 
 
 " She interests me. I was wondering if you found 
 her sympathetic." 
 
 He frowned in thought. 
 
 " In a way yes. It's a curious way ; it's more a 
 sort of detached interest. She's most awfully interested 
 in things." 
 
 " Give me a cigarette thanks. I should have 
 thought she was too cold too reserved " 
 
 He was silent, thinking. 
 
 " Perhaps, when she has given her friendship, she is 
 different," Elizabeth said, settling herself back amongst 
 her cushions.
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 175 
 
 " No ; she gives her friendship too, with that sort of 
 detachment. She is very simple in a way, yet oh, 
 one can't put it into words. Do you like those cigar- 
 ettes ? They're a new kind I'm trying " 
 
 " They are very nice. Mark," Elizabeth spoke lan- 
 guidly, looking at him from between half-closed lids, 
 " don't fall in love with her." 
 
 " With Mrs. Wingfield ? Fall in love with her ? 
 I wish you hadn't said that, Elizabeth." 
 
 " Why ? " 
 
 He rose and walked once or twice up and down the 
 room. 
 
 " Oh, one sounds such a fool only to me she is 
 married " 
 
 Elizabeth reddened a little. 
 
 " You thought I was thinking of that ? I thought 
 you knew me better than that. I merely meant it as 
 one would mean it of any woman married or single 
 who was well, not convenient, as it were." 
 
 " You don't quite understand. She's more than 
 married I'd as soon think of falling in love with the 
 Sistine Madonna ! " It burst from him in a despairing 
 effort to put into words the absolute impossibility of 
 such a thing happening. 
 
 " You hold her so sacred ? " Elizabeth flicked the 
 ash from her cigarette with absorbed interest. 
 
 " No, not that exactly either ! Oh, let's leave it. 
 I can't explain, if you can't see it. I said the Sistine 
 Madonna because I've seen her look like her. Anyway, 
 I don't like it, Elizabeth, one's got to be priggish, 
 if you like about her ; the situation . . ." 
 
 " Demands it," she finished in his long pause. " Per- 
 haps you're right, Mark, but remember I've known you 
 since the party at Fawley Hall, where you won my heart
 
 176 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 by persisting in calling it Fol de rol do you remember ? 
 I thought it the most exquisite wit." 
 
 " You gave me three kisses under the mistletoe, 
 because I took your dare, and went up to our hostess 
 and asked her if she liked living at Fol de rol. Yes, 
 I remember. Does Alphonse win kisses so easily now- 
 adays ? " 
 
 " Oh, he has to work much harder than that for them. 
 He has walked into Barchester to-day to see about hiring 
 a neat little victoria for me." 
 
 She tried to ignore the quizzical suggestion of his 
 eyebrows, but always true to herself, was presently 
 impelled to say : 
 
 " It's economy ; it was my idea. It's stupid to 
 waste money, isn't it ? " 
 
 " Most reprehensible." 
 
 " Well, one of the horses has run a nail into his foot 
 No, wait a minute, I know you're longing to fly round 
 to the stables So it is impossible to use the landau, 
 n'est-ce pas ? To feed two great horses pay for their 
 hire and the hire of the landau for no purpose at all ! 
 C'est imbecile ! So we are going to hire a one-horse 
 vehicle also. Now, isn't that economy ? Since waste 
 of money is so reprehensible ? " 
 
 Ridgeway, returning later from the Hall, mused. 
 
 " Women how queer they are ! Even the best of 
 
 them. . . . Fall in love Yet Elizabeth can't 
 
 see. . . . It's nauseating in a way. . . . I wish 
 she hadn't said it. . . ." 
 
 He stopped by a gate, as he was fond of doing, and 
 resting his arms on the top bar, looked out at the ploughed 
 field stretching darkly away to where a paler gleam 
 showed the sky. He began to try and think out the
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 177 
 
 sort of girl he could imagine himself falling in love with. 
 He found it a difficult task ; it was a subject to which 
 he had not given much thought ; somehow, there had 
 not been much time. A poem occasionally a beautiful 
 book with a love theme had fired him for the moment 
 with a vague longing to feel this thing they wrote about 
 so exquisitely, and at such times there had seemed 
 to hover near a suggestion of what it must be to love 
 and be loved. But the suggestion had never grown clear, 
 or stayed with him for more than a few minutes ; there 
 were so many other things there wasn't time. . . . 
 
 Now, after strenuous thought, he decided : 
 
 " Brown eyes no, hazel yes and gold hair no, 
 deep warm brown that's almost black, only there is 
 too much warmth in it . . . little and dainty no, 
 perhaps drapery went into better lines on a taller 
 figure. . . . Character ? Warm-hearted very 
 must adore him. Sporting. But not only sporting. 
 Must be clever too. ..." 
 
 In the end he turned away with a little laugh. 
 
 " If it meant selling old Jim Crow I'd remain a 
 bachelor for ever ! " 
 
 His thoughts turning to his horse, his painting, the 
 many interests of his life, he had decided before he 
 reached Elm Hill that he was cut out for a bachelor, 
 that he would, on the whole, prefer not to marry. 
 
 A fugitive picture flashing across his mind as he 
 entered the house made him pause, but, in the end, adhere 
 to his preference. 
 
 The picture was of a small Mark Ridgeway. . . . 
 
 " There're old John's kids to go on with the name," 
 was the thought with which he dismissed the subject 
 from his mind.
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 RIDGEWAY made his way thoughtfully to the 
 stables at Cherry Cross ; last night, going round 
 for his horse, he had found Ferney drunk. 
 Now he wanted to do something, but it was difficult. 
 
 Ferney was in the harness-room listlessly rubbing 
 over a saddle. 
 
 " Mornin', sir." 
 
 Ridgeway leant against the doorpost and talked 
 carelessly about an airship accident. He saw presently 
 that Ferney was casting him furtive glances from his 
 little bloodshot eyes ; he waited for an opening. It 
 came with the words : 
 
 " I don't know as I can stick this place any longer." 
 
 Ridgeway nodded. 
 
 " S'pose I ought to try and get a job as a blooming 
 choffure ! They seem all the go nowadays. S'pose 
 they'll be going out with hounds in 'em pretty soon. 
 That'll be a fine sight ! The 'untsman in a motor car ! " 
 
 Ridgeway let him talk his soreness and bitterness 
 out, then he said : 
 
 " You won't go, will you, Ferney ? " 
 
 Ferney replied with an oath. 
 
 " Beg parding, sir," he added immediately. " It 
 gets on your nerves like. What sort of a job d'you 
 think it is to groom a horse that no one ever rides 
 except me to exercise her ? To clean harness that's 
 never used ! It's like working for a ghost or somethink, 
 and no credit for it. You can't put any 'eart into it
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 179 
 
 after a bit ! One horse in the stables ! And us that 
 never had less than six ! Look now, sir, you think 
 a moment what it used to be " 
 
 He went off into a long excited description of the 
 good old times, and Ridgeway, watching him, knew 
 that it was good for him to get it all out. 
 
 Quite suddenly the groom dropped back into his 
 usual taciturn manner, and seizing a bridle began to 
 polish it energetically. 
 
 " Fine day, sir," he said. 
 
 " Why don't you try for another place ? " Ridgeway 
 asked curiously. 
 
 " Oh, I shall stop here, sir, along o' the little mare 
 and his lordship." 
 
 He added gloomily : 
 
 " Maybe I'll get kicked out some time." 
 
 " You mean last night ? " 
 
 " I know I took a drop too much, sir," he bent over 
 the bridle and mumbled his words. " It may happen 
 again, I s'pose." 
 
 " It mustn't, you know," Ridgeway said. " It isn't 
 only the mare and the harness you're needed for, Ferney, 
 you know." 
 
 The groom shot him a quick glance. 
 
 " There's that long-nosed Davenport, sir." 
 
 "I'd sooner have you here than him," Ridgeway 
 said slowly. 
 
 " That so, sir ? We don't speak him and me." 
 
 " There's Master Dick, too, Ferney, he likes to come 
 round here it wouldn't do " 
 
 " He's been round once or twice lately, sir, but 'e 
 ain't of much account where horses is concerned ; he 
 ain't no chip of the old block, more's the pity. I'd never 
 'ave thought his lordship would have a son who didn't
 
 i8o ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 care about bosses. Lord, if you could have knowed 
 him in his prime days, sir ! Ride ! 'E could ride a 
 kangaroo, so to speak. And I never see a better whip 
 neither. Knowed all over London and Brighton he 
 was, for his pretty driving. Single pair tandem 
 four-in-'and 'twas all the same to 'is lordship. To 
 see 'im in London with a pair of reg'lar hot 'uns 
 winding in and out with never an inch to spare, saluting 
 all the 'bus drivers, sir there wasn't a driver didn't 
 know 'im and now they've got motor 'buses I " 
 
 His voice fell on a note of intense and bitter contempt. 
 
 " His lordship and me liked those 'bus drivers, sir," 
 he said sadly. 
 
 " So did I, Ferney." 
 
 " Master Dick, he'll never know one. P'raps it 
 don't matter if he ain't very keen on bosses, sir, by the 
 time he's growed up they'll be absolute ! " 
 
 Ridgeway, opining he meant obsolete, refuted him, 
 and led the talk back to Dickon, for whom he felt he 
 owed some sort of explanation. It was a task of con- 
 siderable delicacy, and he cast about for a way to make 
 it clear that Dickon loved horses, without having to 
 go into details. 
 
 " Master Dick is more a chip of the old block than 
 you think, Ferney." 
 
 " Yes, sir ? " obviously not believing it. 
 
 " He's a quiet little chap er doesn't kick up much 
 fuss to get his own way your mistress " 
 
 " Don't like him round 'ere, sir ? No, I see that." 
 
 Ridgeway decided that Dickon must fight his own 
 way, since he could not talk over Prudence's ideas with 
 the groom. 
 
 But to Ferney, his sharp little blue eyes on Mark's 
 face, had come, in a sense, enlightenment.
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 181 
 
 " P'raps the mistress thinks bosses ain't good for 
 boy or man, sir," he said quietly. " There's some built 
 that way, I know. I've met 'em. That long-nosed 
 feller Davenport is one of 'em he and me come 
 to words over it, and I kicked him out of this 'ere room." 
 A sudden dry smile twitched the corners of his mouth. 
 " He told 'is lordship." 
 
 Ridgeway laughed. 
 
 " And you were given a week's wages in lieu of notice." 
 
 Ferney gave vent to a sharp little high cackle of 
 laughter. 
 
 " Yes, sir, in course, sir. But what I says is it ain't 
 the hosses do the 'arm, it's the other things, and those 
 as are given to the other things 'ud be worser if they 
 wasn't fond of the hosses, than what they are now. 
 You read the papers, sir when do you find any of these 
 filthy low-down sort o' crimes committed by a good old 
 'ard-riding man, yes, and a racing man, too ! Never, 
 so 'elp me excuse me, sir. And you take one o' these 
 dissipated gentlemen, sir ; what happens when the 
 'unting season comes on ? They live as straight and 
 clean as a hoss itself for half the year they know they 
 can't enjoy a good run 'tother way ! Well, if they ain't 
 hunting men wot then ? Why, they go on drinking 
 and gambling and what not for the whole year, instead 
 of half ! Ain't that God's truth, sir ? " 
 
 " There's a lot of truth in what you say, Ferney." 
 " Yes, ain't there, sir ? But no, they don't take no 
 notice of them sort of things. They pick out those as 
 has much to do with hosses, and sort 'em out, and find 
 one 'ere and there as might be better than wot he is, and 
 then shriek out as hosses are the devil. They ain't. 
 They're good all round hosses are, sir they give them 
 as love 'em as good a time again as they'd 'ave without
 
 i8 2 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 'em, and they help 'tothers who love 'em the bad 'uns 
 who love 'em to live a bit straighter than if they was 
 bad 'uns who didn't care about bosses. That's how I 
 looks at it, sir." 
 
 " A good way, too, Ferney." 
 
 Ferney rubbed his bridle in silence a while. 
 
 " His lordship, now, sir, see how the little mare helps 
 'im ! Time and again there he is feeling half dead like, 
 and 'e gets thinking of the little mare, and getting better 
 and better till 'e feels so well 'e wants to ride 'er. Then 
 conies the order to saddle 'er up of course, I knows 
 wot it means now, though time was when my 'eart 
 used to fairly jump, in the 'ope it might mean 'is lordship 
 was really well enough to ride 'er Now I takes 'er round 
 to the side door, and 'e looks out at 'er, and she ups with 
 
 'er head, as pretty as a picture " he paused and 
 
 scratched his head. " It's 'eart-breaking work, sir," 
 he said, huskily. 
 
 Ridgeway was silent for a while, then he said : 
 
 " If he doesn't ride her, the sight of her shining like 
 silk saddle and bridle kept like that gives him a 
 pleasure to think of, and think of again." 
 
 Ferney merely said : 
 
 " 'Taint nothing to do that," but Ridgeway knew 
 that he was pleased. 
 
 " It's my belief it's only the little mare as keeps him 
 alive, sir ! I believe 'e'd 'ave been dead before this 
 if it wasn't for his 'orror of dying in a bed." 
 
 " Well, will you fetch the mare out now, Ferney ? 
 Here's the sun." 
 
 " Yessir." 
 
 During the following hour while Ridgeway worked 
 at the portrait of the mare he was painting for Wingfield, 
 Ferney was, strictly, the machine-like groom ; he stood
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 183 
 
 at the mare's head, walked her up and down, and it 
 was only at the last when Ridgeway was going that he 
 said, in a business-like way : 
 
 " I don't think it'll 'appen again, sir, thank you, sir." 
 
 Ridgeway answered : 
 
 " I don't think it will, Ferney," and went away 
 musing on the groom's devotion to his master.
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 SHE was standing there very quietly, looking out 
 before her. . . . 
 
 He drew in his breath sharply, stood and gazed 
 at her. . . . 
 
 She was in greyish green soft and indefinite a 
 slim dim figure against a background of purples and 
 greys misty purples and misty greys dotted with 
 clumps of brown and gold haze, which were wonder- 
 fully trees, their fragile boughs and twigs showing 
 darker in the soft mist ; here and there a roof, an 
 elusive drift of vivid blue smoke, and nearer, close 
 behind her, the long slender ash trees with their delicate 
 upstanding trunks and dainty branches painted softly, 
 darkly against the mist. . . . 
 
 Some involuntary exclamation, and she turned, her 
 face looking upon him palely from out the mist. He did 
 not greet her, he gazed on her : she was the spirit of it, 
 the inner meaning. ... He saw it at last, he had 
 found it, had caught that elusive suggestion about her, the 
 suggestion that had hitherto escaped him when he had 
 striven to think it out. He had gone vainly, in his 
 thought, to the sea ; to rose-gardens, sunny meadows 
 this was it. This soft gentle mist of colour, its tender 
 poetry, its wistfulness, and yet its serenity, its sadness 
 coolness its quiet fragrance and truth the misty 
 freshness purity. . . . 
 
 " If I could paint you like that ! " he said abruptly. 
 184
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 185 
 
 She looked at him inquiringly, seriously. " You 
 come so well against all that," he said lamely. 
 
 "Do I ? " she asked simply. She turned her head 
 again, and looked out to the downs. 
 
 " If I could paint," she said, " I think I should try 
 to paint that, and break my heart ! " 
 
 " I'm going to," he said, pondering as he spoke on 
 her last words, realising how she had altered. 
 
 " To paint it ? " she turned to him with the interest 
 she showed so keenly in things now that she had, as it 
 were, let herself go. Having heard her bald story from 
 Muriel, he understood her better than he had done. He 
 could picture the lonely, unnatural life of the child and 
 girl, always thrown back upon herself, utterly ignorant 
 of the world ; her marriage, and her subsequent life 
 spent in a sick room. He understood that her coldness 
 arose partly from a sort of shyness, or what would have 
 been shyness had not the immense shadow of trouble 
 turned it into a cold reserve, an indifference wherein no 
 one seemed quite real or of much consequence. Her life 
 had fostered the aloofness he was conscious of in her, 
 induced a sense of detachment that even yet his friend- 
 ship had not overcome. But she welcomed him gravely 
 as a friend now. She had thought over earnestly what 
 he had said to her, had pondered Muriel's kindness, 
 and had grown afraid of the wall he had said she had 
 built up around her ; afraid that one day it would fall 
 and leave her defenceless unprepared exposed to 
 fail Evelyn and Dickon. That was the great dread of 
 her life. . . . She turned to Muriel's friendship, to 
 Ridgeway's, as to a tonic, gravely deciding it was her 
 duty to take the medicine ; so dulled by her life, so 
 strenuous in her one idea Dickon Evelyn that 
 she gave no thought to the personal ease such friendship
 
 186 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 might bring. Indeed, as far as she herself was concerned, 
 she shrank somewhat from further friendship, and what it 
 entailed, unconsciously hankering shyly after her old, 
 unbroken reserve. But she never consciously considered 
 herself in the matter at all 
 
 " Yes, to paint it," he said, " and break my heart, 
 which nowadays means my temper and digestion." 
 
 She brushed it aside as she always brushed aside all 
 but the main interest. 
 
 " To paint that ! " 
 
 " To try to paint it," he amended. 
 
 " Even to try \ How glorious ! " 
 
 He watched her, wondering at the power of self- 
 repression she must have had, as evidenced now by her 
 delight in the beauty of the mist and the trees. 
 
 " Show me. What would you take in ? " 
 
 " You," he said, 
 
 She looked at him surprised. 
 
 " Oh, do you want a figure in it ? " she said with a 
 disappointment so entirely impersonal as to give him 
 that faint sense of chill he so often experienced when 
 with her. 
 
 " No ; I want you ! " he said impatiently, fighting 
 against the elusiveness of her. 
 
 She considered it gravely. 
 
 " I'll stand for you, only I'm sorry ; I want it without 
 a figure." 
 
 " Will you let me paint you ? Really ? It's most 
 awfully good of you " 
 
 She interrupted : 
 
 " It would be the afternoon about this time ? I can- 
 not get away any other time. Where should I stand ? " 
 
 " Where you were when I came up." 
 
 She moved back.
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 187 
 
 " Here ? " 
 
 " That's it. Turn a little more to the left no, that's 
 too much a little that's it ! Just look out as you 
 were that' sit! Stay like that." 
 
 She had fallen naturally into her former pose. She 
 remained quite still, and he stood studying her ; she 
 did not move as the minutes passed, and slowly his 
 artist's joy was chilled into a man's disappointment ; 
 he felt suddenly cold and dreary. He looked at her 
 with different eyes, and saw her again elusive, indifferent, 
 icy cold. . . . 
 
 " I should make a horrible mess of it," he burst out. 
 " I don't think I'll bother you." 
 
 She did not reply. 
 
 " You disapprove, don't you ? " 
 
 " I think it's a pity." 
 
 He gave a short laugh. 
 
 "I'm going to try for a place as groom. I'm no 
 good as a painter. I do nothing but childish daubs 
 lately." 
 
 " Was that painting of the ploughed field a daub ? " 
 she enquired gravely. 
 
 " Er why do you ask ? " 
 
 " Because I thought it so beautiful." 
 
 He reddened a little. 
 
 " Oh, well that well, perhaps that wasn't quite so 
 bad. I say, I've finished Mirth's portrait and framed it 
 now. Shall I bring it along this evening ? " 
 
 She hesitated. 
 
 " Could you send it ? " 
 
 "Yes. Why ?" 
 
 " Evelyn will be I'm afraid he may be so glad that 
 that he'll be upset, you see " 
 
 " I understand. You heard that I've got Dickson's
 
 i88 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 studio ? Bit of luck. I'm sleeping there too, you 
 know, couldn't inflict myself " 
 
 " Is there a bedroom ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, most palatial. He had it built to live in at 
 times." 
 
 " Is he nice ? " 
 
 " Dickson ? Decent sort. Why ? " 
 
 " I don't know. I always feel interested in artists. 
 If I knew people I think I should like to know artists." 
 
 " Would you ? " 
 
 " Yes. I should like to sit quiet and listen to their 
 talk of pictures, of painting and drawing." 
 
 "It's ripping," he said. "A lot of fellows jawing 
 art criticizing oh, I've had evenings I shall never 
 forget. Of course one comes across the other kind 
 sometimes the kind you can't have any interesting 
 talk with, because if you venture a criticism on one of 
 their friends' work they take it as a personal insult. 
 But they're never much good anyway that sort sort 
 of small all round somehow." 
 
 " The bigger artists they are interested in so many 
 things nearly all beautiful things, aren't they ? " 
 
 He nodded. 
 
 " Come in here just a minute. Have you been up 
 the slope there, on your left ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " It's beautiful covered with wood just a wild, 
 young forest growing up. It's sad too look at the 
 stumps of oaks and beeches ; but the younger generation 
 is luxuriant enough. Here's a path more or less it's 
 pretty well covered with moss and dead fern, isn't it ? 
 Shall we sit here ? " 
 
 They sat down on an old oak that had fallen that 
 winter during a storm, and lay as it fell. Neither spoke
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 189 
 
 for a while ; they sat watching the quivering shafts of 
 sunshine that filtered through the close-woven roof of 
 branches over their heads, and turned the slender young 
 larches, so lightly, freshly green, into a wonderful fairy 
 mist of colour. 
 
 " Please talk painting talk, will you ? " she said. 
 " Do you mind if I don't understand ? " 
 
 " You do understand." 
 
 " Do I ? " She sat a minute looking down at the 
 moss, gray and golden brown and brightest green, and 
 the dead leaves rustling round her feet. 
 
 " Tell me," she said, lifting her eyes and resting them 
 on a glory of dead, wet bracken, glowing vivid, red, gold, 
 wonderful in the sunshine. " When you see something 
 beautiful that you want to paint, do you see it done 
 painted a picture ? " She was very much in earnest, 
 very greatly interested. Ridgeway found himself 
 answering deeply, showing her what he had hitherto 
 kept for himself. 
 
 "Well, it's rather like what the Poet said do you 
 remember ? ' Then comes a creeping as of centipedes 
 running down the spine then a gasp and a great jump 
 of the heart then a sudden flush and a beating in the 
 vessels of the head then a long sigh and the poem is 
 written.' " 
 
 She was listening intently, and when he paused she 
 sat looking at a tiny clump of primroses she had found 
 amongst the coils of some beech roots, thinking upon 
 what he had said, as was her way. 
 
 " Your picture is painted like that in your mind ? " 
 
 He nodded. 
 
 " He goes on, you know, to say that every poem has a 
 soul, and a body, and it is the body of it, or the copy, 
 that men read and publishers pay for. The soul of it is
 
 190 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 born in an instant in the poet's soul. That's pretty well 
 how it is with me, in a way. I see a thing painted 
 Lord, how it is painted ! The wonder of it takes your 
 breath away. But the thing itself when it is actually 
 done the body that men buy, or rather, don't buy 
 what a disappointment ! A dull thing a thing full of 
 technical faults lacking just that glory and wonder 
 a thing that mocks its own soul the soul that was born, 
 in an instant just from love of God's living picture " 
 
 She was silent, pondering. She sat, her delicate 
 characteristic hands loosely folded on her knee, her slim 
 body slightly leaning forward, yet erect, expressive 
 somehow of intentness. 
 
 The sun slipped out further from behind the clouds, 
 and the wood became alive with trembling, quivering 
 shafts of sunshine ; only the long aisle of beeches re- 
 mained dim, twilight, sacred. A lattice work of woven 
 light and shade played over her head and shoulders as 
 she sat there, gravely thinking. Ridgeway looking up 
 saw that if she were to move forward the shade would 
 vanish, leaving only the trembling sunshine ; he was 
 vaguely conscious of trying to make her move forward, 
 conscious of a wish that she should move, and of a curious 
 throb of was it dismay ? when, turning to speak to 
 him, she moved back a little and into deeper shade. The 
 next moment he had forgotten it, startled at the softening 
 of her face : her lips were parted, half smiling, half grave. 
 
 " Well ? " he said gently, with a sudden sharp vision 
 of that young girl to whose help Wingfield had come 
 on a day in Sodgewick. . . . 
 
 " What a glorious place an artist's mind must be," 
 she said, " Stored with all those beautiful pictures 
 the souls " 
 
 " How you understand ! " he said.
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 191 
 
 She fell back into thought then, sitting there ; the 
 sun-flecks left her, and slowly the shafts of sunshine grew 
 fainter, till their gold was almost turned to silver, and 
 the wood sank into a sweet dim quietude. Ridgeway's 
 mind was still occupied with thought of that young girl 
 in Sodgewick the girl who had married Wingfield in a 
 week. ... He tried to get away from it it was a 
 thought he did not like a thought that should have been 
 unthinkable in a wood like this. He watched the soft 
 blue mist come creeping up from the river at the foot 
 of the slope, watched it slowly encircling the young trees, 
 blotting out the aisle of beeches. It was a thing he had 
 striven often to paint that blue and grey mist that 
 made of the wood such a beautiful ghostly thing, but 
 now he gave only half his mind to it. The other half 
 worrying, teasing was with that young girl in Sodge- 
 wick. . . . 
 
 He snapped the thought impulsively. 
 
 " What are you thinking about ? " he said, and wished 
 he could have caught it back, since he never questioned 
 her intimately like that, fearing the hurt, utterance of 
 her thought, or refusal to utter it, might give her. 
 
 But she answered at once. 
 
 " I am trying to picture an artist's mind." 
 
 " It shouldn't be difficult for you." 
 
 " Why ? " 
 
 " Because you are an artist." 
 
 " I ? Oh, no, I " 
 
 He brushed it aside impatiently. 
 
 " You've never held a paint brush ! I know all that. 
 All the same, you're a real, genuine, downright artist, 
 for your good or ill, that's what you are." 
 
 " I never have held a paint brush," she said, a touch of 
 wistfulness in her voice.
 
 192 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 "That's soon remedied." 
 
 He stretched out his arm and dragged his paint box 
 nearer ; he picked out several brushes and held them out 
 to her. 
 
 " Choose." 
 
 She studied them quite seriously, and selecting a large 
 one, said : 
 
 " One holds it so ? And dabs so " 
 
 Laughing he gave her a little lesson. 
 
 " I must go back now," she said then. 
 
 " Will you come and have tea in my studio one 
 afternoon ? Muriel Latimer is coming. I haven't 
 much to show you " 
 
 " Thank you. I should like to come." 
 
 She seemed to hesitate, pondered, then : " I wonder 
 do you think it is a good thing to tell Evelyn all these 
 things ? They interest him, but I'm not sure if they 
 don't sadden him too the contrast " 
 
 " Cheer him all you can, I think, with outside gossip," 
 he said, the while he saw suddenly the telling of his talk 
 about pictures to Wingfield. . . . 
 
 Would she do it ? He thought so, if it could help him 
 over a bad hour. . . 
 
 He became silent, shrank back into himself, and 
 after a while saw that she did not apparently notice it. 
 He went down to the dreary level, where questions as 
 to the use of this, that and the other lurk ; in his case the 
 questions took the form chiefly of asking the use of his 
 painting ? The reason for his ambition to paint a 
 fine picture ? With nagging variations on these themes 
 dulling his outlook he went back to his studio, and 
 packed up the portrait of Mirth. 
 
 Prudence, entering Cherry Cross, was met by Dickon, 
 who was evidently waiting for her, although all he said was:
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 193 
 
 "Hulloa, mother." 
 
 She questioned him, knowing that that was what he 
 wanted. 
 
 " What have you been doing, Dickon ? " 
 
 " I did a drawing and I wrote my copy and I did my 
 sum." 
 
 " What else ? " 
 
 " Oh, I went round to the stables." 
 
 " Yes ? " 
 
 Then at last it came, his face alight. 
 
 " I helped Ferney clean out the loose box ; I carried 
 the dung pan ! " 
 
 The pride ! Prudence stooped suddenly and kissed 
 him. To bend, not to break that must be it. To 
 guide, not to stem this thing so strong in his young blood. 
 She saw it at last, saw it in the added brightness of the 
 little face, the new frankness with which she was taken 
 into his confidence. Well, to keep her place she must 
 do that and surely, so long as she did that, she could 
 bend and guide ? So must she profess pride in his 
 carrying of the stable pan ! 
 
 She went upstairs and found Wingfield morose and 
 dejected. 
 
 " I tried to make that fiddle-faced fool join in the 
 chorus of ' John Peel.' He said he didn't approve of 
 hunting. Infernal cheek ! And I had to have that 
 chair the low one taken away. Prue, it made gri- 
 maces at me, and it's so horribly like poor old Fielding 
 who broke his neck that day, you know, out with the 
 V.W.H. ghastly thing that only death worth dying 
 in the saddle mean to do it myself, but he died with 
 a squeal like a trapped hare. Never had any nerve, you 
 know, Fielding, and he saw it coming. Lord, how he 
 squealed ! I can hear it now. I was close behind 
 o
 
 I 9 4 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 him, and his face just kept the mare from jumping on 
 top of him he was lying there, and his face " 
 
 " Evelyn, there's something nice coming for you 
 to-night. Can you guess what it is ? " 
 
 " I wish you wouldn't interrupt me like that, Pru- 
 dence. And I'm not in my second childhood yet ; 
 there's no occasion to speak to me in baby-language. 
 What was I saying ? Oh, yes, little Bob Carter's 
 breeches never saw anything like 'em in my life 
 there he was Prudence, isn't the leg of that table just 
 like Emery ? Remember him ? Poor chap who went 
 out of his mind. He's in that asylum Surrey, you 
 know forget exactly where thinks he's a jockey 
 don't you know they give him a rocking-horse to 
 ride. God, what a thing to come to ! If ever I came 
 as low as that I'd put a bullet through my brain " 
 
 " Are you ready for your tea, Evelyn ? " 
 
 " No, I'm not ! Never shall be. Woman's slop. 
 A whiskey and soda that's what would do me good. 
 These fools of doctors all have the same parrot cry 
 " No alcohol ! " How's a man who lives in Harley Street, 
 and never puts his leg across a horse to know what's 
 good for a man like me ? When's he coming again ? 
 That damned fool from Harley Street ? " 
 
 " Next Thursday ; Evelyn, I met Mr. Ridgeway this 
 afternoon " 
 
 " Did you ? Wouldn't mind betting you were more 
 agreeable to him than you are to me ! I don't blame 
 you for a moment. Women hate a sickly man it's 
 out of all nature brute strength, that's what they 
 like, and the more brutal you are to them the better 
 they like you ! Perhaps on Thursday that fool from 
 Harley Street will condescend to tell me when I shall be 
 better. I don't ask much, Lord knows ! Strength to
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 195 
 
 ride a horse that isn't much, eh ? Just to get my leg 
 across the little mare again Curious thing, that tobacco 
 jar's just like poor old Fielding, too. Can't you see it ? 
 Funny thing first the chair, and now that jar. Just 
 his expression when he died " 
 
 " Evelyn, would you like Mr. Ridgeway to come and 
 see you to-night ? Would you, Evelyn ? " She placed 
 herself before the jar. " You could have a game of 
 chess, and you want to show him that new crop, you 
 know " 
 
 " Prudence, get out of the light ! There's something 
 behind you oh, yes, the tobacco jar. Take it away, 
 Prue take the beastly thing away. Fielding's face 
 God, the terror of it and a sort of horror he never had 
 any nerve as if he'd already met something he didn't 
 know how to deal with, the other side. That jar's just 
 like him. . . ." He watched her furtively as she 
 took it from the table, and carried it to the door. Sud- 
 denly he rose to his feet in a frenzy of terror. 
 
 " Put it down, Prue ! Put it down ! My God, don't 
 you see what it is you've got in your hands ? It's his 
 head " he made a feeble step or two after her. ' Prue, 
 it's Fielding's head his awful head " 
 
 She was just in time to steady him as he tottered ; 
 she helped him back to his chair, where he sank down 
 feebly, and began to cry. 
 
 " I don't like to see you holding his head, Prue ! 
 It it's not right where's his man ? You shouldn't 
 carry his head. He always spoilt his servants . . . 
 I don't like it at all and there was blood on it it's 
 not right, Prue ! My wife ought not to have to do that 
 sort of thing, only I'm so helpless now. . . . But 
 you ought not to carry poor Fielding's head it's not 
 right. . . ."
 
 196 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 She was kneeling beside him, her face white and dis- 
 traught, agonised as she was always by his pitiful tears. 
 . . . Anything else but that. . . . She turned 
 her face aside, gave him his handkerchief. 
 
 " Evelyn, Mr. Ridgeway has finished the portrait 
 of Mirth " She repeated it helplessly till it 
 caught his wandering attention, as she prayed it 
 would. 
 
 " You shouldn't carry it it's not right. . . . 
 Mirth's portrait ? " 
 
 She drew a long breath of relief, and rose. 
 
 " Yes ; he promised to send it along to-night. I do 
 so want to see it now it's framed, don't you ? I wonder 
 where you would like it hung, Evelyn ? " She cast 
 an anxious glance at him, saw that, with the tears still 
 wet on his cheeks, he was smiling eagerly, and went on 
 lightly : " That wall ? Now, is that a good light ? 
 There's room for it there " 
 
 " This wall, my dear ! Surely this is the best light ? 
 We could have that print down. Would there be room 
 then ? What size is it, did he say ? " 
 
 " Twenty-four by twenty. I will get my measure, 
 and see how much room there would be if we take the 
 print down." 
 
 " Yes, yes ! Be quick. I'm glad I didn't insist on 
 seeing it before it was quite finished. He wanted me 
 to wait, you know, till he had had it in his studio- 
 proper light, wasn't it, eh ? And framed. Well, will 
 there be room, Prue, will there ? " 
 
 " Plenty," she said, looking down at him over her 
 shoulder, as she stood on a chair. 
 
 " Gad, 1 you're a pretty figure of a woman, my dear ! 
 A bit thin, but there's such a grace about you. Now 
 why do you want to jump down in such a hurry ? Sort
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 197 
 
 of thing you always do ! If a man mayn't tell his own 
 wife that she has a pretty figure " 
 
 " Evelyn, do you think you'd like it better on this 
 wall ? " 
 
 " Don't care. Can't make you out. Why did you 
 jump off that chair like that ? " his tone was sulky. 
 
 " I I felt rather sick," she said, and hung her head, 
 hating the untruth. 
 
 " Oh, I see. Why couldn't you say so before ? 
 Remember that time you turned sick before the boy 
 was born, eh, Prue ? D'you remember ? Ha, ha, ha ! 
 What ! There's a fine blush eh, what ? What ? 
 Prue, my dear " 
 
 " Evelyn, wouldn't it be awful if the portrait of Mirth 
 is a bad one ? What would you do ? Would you keep 
 it ? Or would you tell Mr. Ridgeway you didn't like 
 it ? You see, it's a present it was his idea. It's rather 
 difficult, isn't it ? What would you do ? " 
 
 " Oh, I'd hang it in one of the rooms we don't use " 
 
 " Isn't that what you did with that portrait of your 
 mother the one Simmons painted " 
 
 He went off, chuckling, into a long old story, and 
 Prudence sat down quietly, and took up her knitting.
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 I MUST go now," she said. 
 " Just a minute only a minute if you 
 could give me five minutes more ! It's just my 
 effect oh, damn ! " this last to himself, as Prudence, 
 ignoring his entreaty, moved quietly away. 
 
 He looked after her with a whimsical dismay. 
 
 " Don't you even want to see what I've done ? " 
 
 "" I cannot spare the time to look ; I gave it to you," 
 she called back over her shoulder, and in a minute had 
 disappeared down the slope. 
 
 Ridgeway squeezed out more white on to his palette. 
 
 " Lord, what an inexorable person ! " He went on 
 painting, although he grumbled : 
 
 " It was perfect ! What I've been waiting for. It 
 only comes for a minute or two. I believe if a bull had 
 got me dangling on his horns at the time she thought it 
 her duty to go back, she'd remark that she hadn't time 
 to inquire if the position was painful, and would walk 
 off. ... That tone's all wrong somehow . . . 
 that's better . . ."he became absorbed in his work. 
 
 Prudence went on down the hill, looking, every other 
 minute, at the watch on her wrist. If she were late 
 Evelyn was so upset ; he had been so much better 
 lately, she was painfully anxious to avoid the possibility 
 of an outbreak. She broke into a run and arrived 
 breathless at Cherry Cross. With an instinctive touch 
 at her hat Evelyn hated the smallest untidiness she 
 opened the door and went in. The dead silence of the 
 
 198
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 199 
 
 house struck at her with a little chill. The old torment- 
 ing question rose to her mind : " Was it right to con- 
 demn a child to that ? " and the old answer : " What 
 else could she do ? " She pushed it aside Dickon was 
 having a better time lately. Wasn't he at Elm Hill 
 now ? She ran up the stairs, and along the corridor to 
 Wingfield's room. Deciding, as was her habit, on what 
 she should say on entering, she went in, beginning to 
 say it : 
 
 " I believe we are going to have a storm, Evelyn, it's 
 
 cr_" 
 
 The words caught in a little startled breath : Wing- 
 field was not there. A vague terror held her for a 
 moment where she stood, her eyes on the open door 
 that led into the inner room. Then she moved 
 swiftly towards it : of course he was in there, asleep 
 perhaps. . . . 
 
 She felt no surprise when she saw that he was not 
 there. She went to the bell and sent peal after peal 
 ringing through the silent house, then left the room and 
 ran quickly down the stairs, horror growing upon her 
 at the silence. . . . Why did no one answer the 
 bell ? She went into the kitchen, and found it empty ; 
 she called : 
 
 " Davenport ! Lydia ! " ran into the little room 
 given over to Davenport's use ... it was 
 empty. . . . 
 
 She called again, her voice seeming to pound back on 
 her heart in the silence. 
 
 Then out to the stables, a throb of relief at the thought 
 of Ferney. . . . But he was not there ; she searched 
 the harness-room, the loose boxes . . . the mare 
 was not there either. . . . She stood a moment, 
 her hands pressed to her eyes, stilling herself, regaining
 
 200 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 her control over mind and nerves. She had done it 
 often enough before. . . . 
 
 Dickon was at Elm Hill ; she had told Lydia she 
 might go out ; Ferney was exercising Mirth. She got it 
 all clear and straight. There was only Davenport. 
 
 Was he with Evelyn ? Or had he discovered his 
 absence and had gone to look for him ? No matter. 
 She must decide what to do. The Rising Sun . . . 
 must she go there ? 
 
 Suddenly there came to her the thought of Ridgeway, 
 and with it a strengthening rush of warmth round her 
 frightened heart. She had never before had any one 
 to lean on, had always fought alone. . . . 
 
 Now she turned and ran back towards the hill where 
 she had left him painting. Helpfully the thought 
 remained in her mind : " He will know what to do." 
 It was a thought alien to her, but she had no time to 
 waste on the strangeness of its being there ; she accepted 
 it with the simplicity that formed such a large part of 
 her nature. She struggled breathlessly up the hill, 
 tried to call to gain his attention before she should reach 
 the top, but was unable to make sufficient sound. 
 
 Ridgeway stood before his easel absorbed ; again and 
 again his eye seemed to pass over her as she struggled 
 up the hill. She waved her handkerchief, called again 
 from her dry throat, but did not succeed in attracting his 
 attention until she stood at last beside him, panting. 
 
 He turned a swift, unseeing glance upon her. 
 
 " You've not come back to pose ? It's too late effect 
 has gone I'm awfully sorry ," he was painting with 
 the furious energy a man gives when he sees his effect 
 vanishing. . . . 
 
 " Evelyn is not in the house," she said quietly.
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 201 
 
 " What ? " he wheeled round on her, saw her white 
 face. " Just sit down while I pack up, and tell 
 me." 
 
 She obeyed, telling him what little there was to tell 
 in a quiet, perfectly composed way. 
 
 He nodded. 
 
 " I should say he's gone out with his man." 
 
 " I don't think so. It's very unlikely. He says it's 
 like a an idiot going out with his keeper. He never 
 has done it." 
 
 " I see. Then he went for a walk by himself. He 
 won't go far. I'll soon bring him back. What was that 
 fool of a man about to let him slip away, I wonder ? " 
 
 " I can't think. I have been trying to understand 
 it." 
 
 She hurried down the hill beside him. 
 
 " He would soon get tired," she suggested. 
 
 " Go in for a rest at ' The Rising Sun,' he finished. 
 " That's what I was thinking. We'll just look in at your 
 place again, in case he has come back." 
 
 He did not say any more ; did not heap re-assurance 
 upon her, but she was conscious of a great sense of trust 
 in his power to help, of a great sense of comfort. Wing- 
 field had not returned, nor Davenport ; the house was 
 empty as before. Ridgeway, bidding her await him 
 there, was aware of a curious longing for Ferney's return. 
 He spoke on the thought : 
 
 " What time does Ferney usually return from exer- 
 cising the mare ? " 
 
 " He usually exercises her early in the morning, but 
 this morning Evelyn kept hoping he would be able to 
 ride her, and I had to keep sending for her for him to 
 look at . . ." 
 
 Ridgeway saw again that first morning when he,
 
 202 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 warming his hands in the hall, had heard those homely 
 sounds without of bit and bridle and hoofs of soothing 
 voice, " Steady, my little lass " and going to the 
 window had seen the mare had heard her whinny to 
 the voice at the window above. . . . God, it was 
 pitiful ! 
 
 He left Prudence to be there in case Wingfield should 
 return, and set out for the " Rising Sun," his mind heavy 
 with dread of what he should have to bring back 
 to her. . . . But he brought nothing. He came 
 after a while, alone, with no news. He had been away 
 for more than an hour. She came to meet him from the 
 kitchen. 
 
 "Will you come in here and tell me ? I'm making 
 him afraid the milk will boil over." 
 
 She spoke quite quietly, only shortening her sentences 
 the sooner to hear what he had to tell her. 
 
 He had nothing to tell her. 
 
 " Hasn't any one seen him ? No one spoken to him ? 
 Did you question every one ? " 
 
 " Yes : no one has seen him." 
 
 It seemed incredible. 
 
 " He must have cut across country," Ridgeway said. 
 "I've gone along the road a bit the other way it's being 
 mended, you know, and old Bartley would have seen 
 him. Can you give me any clue ? Is there any bit 
 he's fond of ? I wish you would sit down," he added 
 impatiently. 
 
 She did not hear him ; her whole mind was concen- 
 trated on the possibility of being able to give him some 
 clue. . . . 
 
 Suddenly she hurried from the kitchen into the hall, 
 and went swiftly to a window. 
 
 " Out there," she pointed across the beautiful dusky
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 203 
 
 meadows opposite the house. " He sits studying it he 
 has imagined a line that gorse there, to the left, is 
 the cover the large meadows beyond the fox takes to 
 those crosses the stream at the bottom " 
 
 " I'll strike across there," Ridgeway said, and stopped, 
 listening. " Wheels," he said. " They're stopping 
 here," he went to the door and opened it. 
 
 " Elizabeth ! " Prudence heard him ejaculate, and 
 then a voice for a moment she shrank " Hulloa, old 
 chap hadsh shuch a time " 
 
 She went forward, pale and still. Ridgeway was half 
 lifting Wingfield from Elizabeth's brougham, while 
 Elizabeth, pale, smiled re-assuringly and very charmingly 
 upon Prudence. 
 
 " I gave him a lift," she was saying. " May I come 
 in for a moment ? Just let me find my handkerchief it's 
 somewhere amongst the cushions " 
 
 Prudence found herself pushed aside, forbidden by 
 Ridgeway to come near. " He will want me," she said, 
 trying to follow. 
 
 " He wants nothing but sleep," Ridgeway said im- 
 patiently. " Stay where you are. I can manage. 
 Go out to Elizabeth, you owe it to her." 
 
 He could have been brutal if need were, to save her 
 seeing and hearing while he got Wingfield up the stairs, 
 and into his room. And at the back of his mind lurked 
 a thought : 
 
 " Elizabeth . . . She had brought this man 
 home. . . ." 
 
 Prudence went out to the brougham ; her eyes 
 avoided Elizabeth's ; in her face was an expression of 
 intense suffering. . . . 
 
 " Will you come in ? " she asked in a low voice, and it 
 was cold with strenuous repression.
 
 204 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 " Here's my hankey ! " Elizabeth cried. " Yes, if I 
 shan't bother you." 
 
 She followed Prudence into the hall. 
 
 " Now, let's sit down. I want to talk to you. I 
 suppose you've had an awful fright ? How did it 
 happen ? " 
 
 " I don't know. Davenport is out. I suppose 
 Evelyn felt he must go out " 
 
 Elizabeth looked at her in surprise. 
 
 " Don't you know that Mrs. Darlington called ? 
 In the Dormer- Jones' car ? And took him for a drive ? " 
 
 For a moment the shamed avoidance of Elizabeth's 
 eyes was displaced by such a flame of wild anger that 
 Elizabeth, surprised, surmised depths of which she had 
 not dreamt. 
 
 " No ; I didn't know," Prudence said. " I was out." 
 
 " Oh, yes, I met Davenport he told me he was 
 searching, because Mrs. Darlington had re-appeared here 
 after a while, and told him that Mr. Wingfield had 
 taken a dislike to the car and insisted on getting out. 
 She was, naturally, scared. Davenport said he had 
 thought the drive would do his master good." 
 
 Prudence said nothing. 
 
 " I was driving home from Gillingford, and a little 
 later, I met Mr. Wingfield and brought him back." 
 
 Prudence's lips moved. Elizabeth opined thanks, 
 and went on gently : 
 
 " You must have had a horrible fright. I thought 
 the maid would have told you " 
 
 " She is out too, and Ferney." 
 
 " I see. I'm so glad I met him ; it was very lucky." 
 
 Prudence cast her a sudden swift glance. 
 
 " He was, of course, tired to death, and some whiskey 
 he has had simply went straight to his head. It always
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 205 
 
 does, when any one is as weak as that. I think it's 
 awfully hard, because it's just then when any one is 
 weak and tired that it is needed." 
 
 She paused : her cheerful, everyday tone, her charm- 
 ing person, her smile seemed to bring a less tragic atmos- 
 phere into the dim hall. It was nearly dark now, but 
 Prudence made no suggestion of lights. 
 
 " It simply made him dead sleepy," Elizabeth said. 
 
 Prudence repeated the word, her face gleaming white 
 in the dusk, tilted back suddenly with a suggestion of 
 eagerness. 
 
 " Sleepy ? " 
 
 " Yes : I think he was asleep actually asleep in 
 the brougham." 
 
 " Asleep," again she repeated it, as if to assure herself 
 of some fact. 
 
 " I kept very quiet. I thought sleep the best thing 
 for him," Elizabeth said, rising. " I must hurry home 
 now. Mark is with him. I'm glad. You look done up. 
 I'd go to bed early, if I were you. I don't think this 
 will really do Mr. Wingfield any harm. Probably the 
 whiskey was the best thing for him, and it's not cold, you 
 know " 
 
 " Where did you find him ? " 
 
 " Just by the cross roads the pond corner you 
 know ? He hadn't walked far, because he left the car 
 only half a mile further on. I really believe he won't 
 be any worse. . . . Good-bye. Do go to bed very 
 early." 
 
 Prudence's fingers twined with poignant feeling round 
 Elizabeth's hand, outstretched in farewell. 
 
 " I want to I can't thank you " 
 
 " My dear child, what for ? It was nothing. I'm so 
 glad I happened to be driving that way. Good-bye."
 
 206 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 Prudence's fingers relaxed ; she muttered once again: 
 " Asleep ? " and Elizabeth, moving to the door, 
 smiled over her shoulder. 
 
 " Oh, yes, he was asleep quite comfortably in the 
 brougham." 
 
 Alphonse, writing in his study, heard Elizabeth come 
 in, and called to her. 
 
 " Presently," she replied. " No, don't come. I 
 don't want you just yet." 
 
 She went to her room, bathed, changed her clothes, 
 and came down to him. He met her with outstretched 
 arms : 
 
 " How beautiful you are ! But how pale, dear 
 one." 
 
 She slipped into his arms, and clung to him. 
 
 " Put your arm round me tighter, Alphonse I want 
 you to take that other out " She burst into tears. 
 
 Presently she told him : 
 
 " That man Evelyn Wingfield I found him he 
 was dead drunk in the meadow beside the large pond 
 at the cross roads he had his arms round an old cart 
 horse round his neck and was weeping over him, and 
 saying : ' Poor old chappie poor old chappie no use 
 for you either ' It was horribly pathetic. . . I took 
 him back to Cherry Cross don't wait I had to do 
 it " 
 
 " Why didn't you send him in the brougham ? " 
 asked Alphonse, gripping her, in his pain, so tightly that 
 he hurt her. But she made no sign. 
 
 " I tried. He wouldn't go, unless oh, I couldn't leave 
 him there and the disgrace that poor child there 
 was no other way. . . ." 
 
 " Tell me everything."
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 207 
 
 She put her head down on his shoulder, and tried to 
 laugh. 
 
 " Don't sound so fierce, Alphonse ! It wasn't nice. 
 Drunken men aren't nice. But it's all over now." 
 
 " Why did you say ' Your arm ' like that ? " he 
 whispered. " Did he " 
 
 " He tried to hush, he is not responsible, even when 
 he is sober. Alphonse, help me to forget it. I'm making 
 a fuss," she broke down again. " It was horrible I'm 
 frightened of drunken men. . . ." 
 
 He held her close, kissed her, soothed her. 
 
 " You must be very nice to me now," she said, 
 presently, and in response to his passionate rejoinder : 
 "I'm thinking out a new frock and a hat to match it ! " 
 she said, with a shaky little laugh. 
 
 " A dozen, ma belle ! " 
 
 Only once did she refer to it again, and that was 
 later, after dinner : 
 
 " I am glad that I can act fairly well," she said 
 musingly, and added : 
 
 "It's curious to think that there are many good folk 
 who hold that a lie is never justified." 
 
 Again she referred to it indirectly when she said : 
 
 " Alphonse, isn't it queer how some people who would 
 risk their bodies to help another, would not risk the 
 tiniest scrap of their souls ? "
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 MRS. DARLINGTON had found it expedient to 
 go and stay with a cousin for a while. She 
 had shaken the dust of Fernleigh Dene 
 from her feet with a good show of martyred indigna- 
 tion ; so good a show indeed that Mrs. Dormer- 
 Jones, often in tears and volubility these days, 
 had been torn again in two. Was her dear Dolly so 
 bad, after all ? Hadn't she meant it in all kindness ? 
 Was it fair that because the poor man had turned out 
 so unmanageable she should be blamed ? In truth, Mrs. 
 Darlington's story, as told by herself to all who would 
 listen and to some who would not, sounded plausible 
 enough. She had called at Cherry Cross to enquire after 
 the invalid, who had expressed a wish to see her. She 
 had acceded, of course, although she found the poor 
 man very trying, and he had grown very wistful and given 
 vent to a longing for a drive. She had not dared offer 
 to take him, but on consulting with his man learned that 
 of all things the invalid was to be humoured, and more- 
 over that he had been ordered drives, but had hitherto 
 refused to take any. So, although she had important 
 business to transact in Barchester, she had given in. 
 She had thought his man would accompany them, but 
 at the last moment the poor invalid, full of fads and 
 fancies as they always are, flew into a violent rage, and 
 refused to have him. There was nothing for it but to 
 humour him by taking him for just a short turn, and 
 bringing him back as soon as possible. (Here Mrs. 
 
 208
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 209 
 
 Darlington was won't to enlarge on her sensations of 
 nervousness and fear at the prospect.) All had gone 
 well for a little while, then suddenly he had expressed a 
 wish to get out and walk ; he had expressed it very 
 violently and had refused to listen to persuasion, com- 
 mand or reason. (Here there was another description 
 of her sufferings.) At last in despair, as he threatened 
 to jump from the stinking abomination (his own rude 
 words) she had been obliged to tell the chauffeur to stop, 
 and to let him get out. He had refused to tell her in 
 which direction he intended to walk, and the only thing 
 she could do was to tear back to Cherry Cross, pick up 
 Davenport, and drop him at the spot where Mr. Wing- 
 field had left the car. 
 
 So far her story sounded plausible enough ; it was 
 more difficult to give plausibility to her flight from the 
 scene, after the dropping of Davenport. Even Mrs. 
 Dormer- Jones, who in all innocence, had lent her car, 
 found it difficult to understand why Mrs. Darlington 
 had not hung about in order to carry the poor man back 
 to Cherry Cross in the car. Mrs. Darlington, inwardly 
 fuming at the attack of rank cowardice that had over- 
 powered her, and sent her from the scene, explained 
 fluently that she and Davenport had thought it best, 
 as Mr. Wingfield's old detestation of cars had evidently 
 re-awakened with alarming strength, and they feared 
 he would never consent to be taken home in it, and that 
 the mere sight and smell and sound of it might be 
 sufficient to send him fleeing in the opposite direction. 
 
 Plausible. . . . but Mrs. Darlington went to stay 
 with her cousin, and Elizabeth remarked that it was an 
 unjust world, for why should the poor cousin suffer ? 
 Mrs. Dormer- Jones, in a fluster of worry and grief, her 
 old friendship " We were at school together, you know "
 
 210 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 at war with her kind heart, at length called despairingly 
 on Prudence. By some chance she caught her, and in 
 a quarter of an hour emerged redder than she went in. 
 She could never give an adequate reason for the horror 
 with which she looked back on that quarter of an hour. 
 " Oh, no, she wasn't rude ! I don't know oh, she was 
 like ice, and I tried so hard to make her understand that 
 there are exceptional cases, and that sort of thing, 
 you know, but I don't know and I daren't go a 
 minute before the quarter of an hour in case she should 
 consider it a slight, you know ! I don't know, but I 
 don't know I declare at the last I felt as if / was the 
 one who needed excuses made for me, not her ! I 
 don't know " 
 
 Davenport had to Prudence borne out a good deal 
 of what Mrs. Darlington gave as her plausible explana- 
 tion. He was very sorry, but his master had been so 
 set on it, he had thought it better to give in to him, 
 especially as the sun was out, and it had turned so warm. 
 He had not known what else to do, and the lady had 
 seemed so kind and sympathetic. He was sorry he had 
 made a mistake, but he knew that his master had been 
 ordered drives, and it had turned so warm and the sun 
 was out, and he had been so set on it Prudence had 
 dismissed him with a reprimand. 
 
 Ridgeway was for dismissing him altogether. 
 
 " I don't like the fellow. Let me get you some one 
 else." 
 
 But Prudence refused, a brooding light of remin- 
 iscence in her eyes. She wondered passingly, what he 
 would say if she told him of the last man's horrible 
 familiarity ? Of the impertinence of another ? How 
 explain to him the difficulty of getting a man stable 
 enough to withstand Evelyn's alternate contempt
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 211 
 
 and familiarity ? Davenport at least was quiet and 
 respectful ; no abuse, no maudlin hailing of him as 
 a chum, seemed to have the slightest effect upon him, 
 and Evelyn liked him. 
 
 Wingfield had slept heavily through the night follow- 
 ing his drive with Mrs. Darlington, and in the morning 
 seemed to have no recollection of what had happened 
 beyond a confused idea that some lady had wanted to 
 carry him off in one of those stinking abominations. 
 He awoke very feeble and tired and wretched, and 
 Prudence knew she had one of those days before her 
 when it was impossible to cheer him ; when hour after 
 hour passed in wearying devices to interest him and 
 bring content to him. He insisted on getting up, 
 although when at last Davenport left him, dressed, he 
 was so worn out that he looked ghastly. 
 
 Prudence, hoping he would fall asleep in his chair, 
 read Jorrocks to him in a quiet voice. He sat so still 
 that she hoped he was dozing, but presently, stealing 
 a glance at him, she saw that he was not listening ; he 
 was gazing at the portrait of Mirth hanging on the wall. 
 
 She said tentatively : 
 
 " Ferney wanted to see you " 
 
 He snapped at her. 
 
 " He can send a message ! " 
 
 " Oh, it was only that he would like to have a talk 
 with you " 
 
 " Infernal impudence ! " 
 
 She had known it would be no good ; she had tried 
 to induce him to have the groom up often enough 
 before. He added, with bitter peevishness : 
 
 " Find me an interesting study, wouldn't he ? Give 
 him something to laugh at me as he used to know me 
 and this damned wreck ? Little chap used to look
 
 212 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 upon me as a sort of god, don't you know. God ! And 
 now I'm God's fool, eh ? " 
 
 She cried out. 
 
 He laughed. 
 
 " Well, I'm not much better. A man as sick as I 
 am tied to his room fed on slops he's little better 
 than an imbecile." 
 
 She strove, in terror, to turn the conversation. 
 
 He interrupted her impatiently, brushing aside what 
 she was saying. 
 
 " Why the devil is Ferney so quiet to-day ? Believe 
 he's asleep, damn him ! You'd better go and see, Prue ! 
 I won't have him shirking " 
 
 She went out to the stables and told the groom to 
 make more noise. 
 
 Ferney understood ; he knew how dear such stable 
 noise was to Wingfield. 
 
 Prudence returning, found Wingfield huddled in his 
 chair, gazing up again at the portrait of Mirth. 
 
 " What do you want, Prue ? Bursting in like that ! 
 It's extraordinary how I seem never to be alone for a 
 moment " 
 
 " Did I burst in ? I'm sorry, Evelyn. I'd like to 
 read some more Jorrocks to you " 
 
 " Poor little thing, eating her head off in the stable," 
 he muttered, his eyes still on the picture. " Better have 
 her shot and be done with it ! " 
 
 Prudence remonstrated in horror. 
 
 " Happy ? " he repeated peevishly. " How can she 
 be happy ? Shut up all day long " 
 
 " She is out in the paddock, for several hours every 
 day, Evelyn." 
 
 " Don't interrupt ! Shut up all day long eating her 
 head off. Give me her portrait i "
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 213 
 
 She took it down from the wall and gave it to him. 
 Was he going to destroy it ? 
 
 " Now leave me, please." 
 
 She hesitated. 
 
 " Mayn't I just sit here and go on with my work, 
 Evelyn ? " 
 
 " No. I want to be alone. A man does want to be 
 alone sometimes, you know, although apparently it's 
 never allowed to me." 
 
 She left the room quietly, pretending to close the 
 door, but leaving it a little way open so that she could 
 look through. But the next moment she had turned 
 away, her throat swelling with unshed tears, and had 
 hurried down the corridor. She went into her own 
 room, and stood there, her hands locked, and before her 
 eyes always the picture of that head bowed on the por- 
 trait of Mirth. . . . 
 
 Once she went back and listened outside the door, 
 turning with repugnance from the thought of spying 
 on him, for so now she put it to herself. After a while 
 she listened again, and the silence frightened her so that 
 she had to steel herself to look in on him. ... He 
 lay as before, his head bowed on the portrait of the 
 mare, his arms round the frame. . . . 
 
 She went in noiselessly, and bent over him. He 
 had fallen asleep, his cheek on the glass of the picture 
 . . . his cheek was wet the glass blurred. . . . 
 Very gently she raised him and put him back amongst 
 his cushions ; she took her handkerchief and wiped the 
 tears away from his face. Then suddenly in a wave 
 there surged over her an infinite pity, a great maternal 
 tenderness. . . . She saw again the man hand- 
 some, gallant, overbearing, who had come to her help 
 that grey day in Sodgewick. It came upon her in a rush
 
 214 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 her grandmother's sudden death the maid's frantic 
 cry rang in her ears again : " She's gone ! She's gone 
 in the night ! " That had been her first intimation. 
 . . . She had been having her solitary breakfast 
 in the sombre breakfast-room ; it had brown walls, 
 and a red and brown carpet where all the red had worn 
 into a curious greyish yellow colour. She had been 
 " making pretence " there were other people there 
 she often did that. Those other people stood out now 
 clear and sharp in her mind Joan Ingleside, always 
 laughing and gay, with pink cheeks and blue eyes ; 
 her brother Harry, tall and thin and rather sad, 
 but with very kind eyes ; Mrs. Alchester, with a mole 
 on her chin, and little Bobby Alchester, with bare 
 legs. . . . 
 
 She remembered the sort of horrible shock which had 
 scattered them, the running upstairs, the standing 
 trembling outside that door . . . the awful feeling of 
 being absolutely alone in the whole world. She re- 
 membered now with a shudder the sense of the vastness 
 of the world that had come crushing down upon her, her 
 own appalling insignificance, her terrible ghastly in- 
 ability to cope with this thing. . . . She remem- 
 bered a curious thought that had flashed into her mind 
 as she stood there, trembling, sickly fighting the fear 
 that stopped her from going into that room " I don't 
 know where you get funeral carriages." And then he 
 had come up those dark stairs she had turned to 
 see him big, handsome, kind a god, surely the 
 music of his voice mingling with the clink of his spurs. 
 . . . Dazzled, she had felt his hands upon her, heard 
 his voice : "No need for you to go in there, you poor 
 child. . . ." 
 
 No one had ever called her a poor child before no
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 215 
 
 one had ever spoken to her in that voice ; no hands 
 been laid so kindly upon her shoulders. . . . 
 
 After that things grew blurred, only one figure standing 
 out clear and brave her god 
 
 Bustle, noise, doctors a kind woman who shared her 
 meals a long wet parade day after day a long 
 wet parade a card lying in the road with " Apart- 
 ments " printed on it, getting more and more sodden 
 every day men creeping about the house up in that 
 room a peremptory voice bidding her put on hat 
 and coat tramp, tramp along the wet parade, ears 
 drinking in wonderful talk of horses and worlds un- 
 dreamt of men trudging down the stairs carrying 
 something heavy. ... It did not seem strange 
 to have her grandmother passing her in silence she 
 had rarely spoken to her she did not follow her. That 
 voice had bidden her stay behind ; she had no thought 
 of disobeying. . . . Back to the view of the wet 
 parade the apartments card was rotting now 
 there was only '. 'ments ' left Would she never see 
 her grandmother again ? Never have to meet 
 those curious, sullen eyes that seemed always to ask 
 what good you were, since you were only a girl ? It 
 was difficult to realise when one's thoughts would 
 turn and turn again elsewhere. . . . Would he 
 take her home with him ? Would he ? He had been 
 so wonderful so kind so godlike. It had seemed 
 that he had only to smile only to wave his hand 
 and all things were done. She was not alone in the 
 world now. He was there, too. He would never 
 leave her alone again he was too kind, too wonderful. 
 Had he a beautiful wife at home, who would put her 
 arms round her, and bid her welcome ? . . . That 
 was her dream.
 
 216 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 And her heart throbbed with prayer that in some 
 way she might be able to repay to show her gratitude. 
 Her passionate dream. . . . 
 
 When he drew her to him suddenly and kissed her 
 again and again, she struggled wildly brain and heart 
 on fire with a horror not understood, but instinctive 
 and agonizingly strong. 
 
 This man her god his wife what was he doing ? 
 
 When he released her she fell back, white and tremb- 
 ling, into her chair. He thoroughly enjoyed the hour 
 that followed ; it was so delightfully difficult to make 
 this quaintest of ingenues understand what he wanted. 
 He revelled in absolutely new sensations ; he had not 
 dreamed that such a creature could exist ; he took her 
 little, white, trembling soul in his hands, and examined 
 it with the joy of the connoisseur. Some good it did 
 him ; the whiteness of it purified him for the while ; 
 when next he kissed her, he did it gently, saying : 
 " Will you be my little wife, Prudence ? " . . . 
 
 She had had to re-adjust her dream, that was all. 
 To refuse anything to this godlike man did not for a 
 moment occur to her. Rather did she rejoice that here, 
 at once, it seemed she could begin to repay him. In a 
 blind exaltation she returned his kisses, with little 
 cool lips fired only by the joy of giving giving 
 because he wanted her to give. When he mentioned 
 vaguely the disparity of age she listened uncom- 
 prehendingly. It meant nothing to her ; had he told her 
 he was seventy she had not been disturbed. To her 
 at first he had seemed old in a sense, hence her instinctive 
 giving of a beautiful wife to him, but now age and all 
 such things had no significance for her. She was filled 
 only with the fire of deep gratitude, and so, in a blind 
 exaltation, she married him.
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 217 
 
 Why did it all sweep over her now ? Why was she 
 again that foolish, grateful, ignorant child ? Ah, she 
 had wept tears bitter tears for that child during 
 those first months till that night when tears for herself 
 had been dried for ever, and only tears for her baby 
 remained. . . . She thought now that it would 
 have killed her, had it not been for Evelyn's illness 
 the illness following the stroke that he had had 
 that same night. She nursed him through it nursed 
 him, with the walls of the sickroom, the very bedclothes 
 and pillows bespattered with that word he had said to 
 her " illegitimate " . . . 
 
 Oddly she remembered of those days only that, and 
 a terrible faint weariness that flamed into fierce revolt 
 when rest and change were suggested to her by the 
 doctors. They needed her her baby and Evelyn 
 that was all. 
 
 Before his illness before he came to her with the 
 news he had discovered, she had been wondering if she 
 could leave him 
 
 Frightened, she had even written an appeal to him, 
 to let her and the boy live elsewhere . . . 
 
 How queer that seemed now ! 
 
 She stood looking down on him oh, the pity of it ! 
 The contrast of that godlike man who had come clinking 
 into her life and this ! Again a wave of tenderness 
 swept over her ; she saw a little spot of wet still glistening 
 on his cheek ; she bent and wiped it off, then bent 
 lower, and for the first time for years, kissed him gently 
 on his forehead. . . . 
 
 Then she quietly picked up the portrait of Mirth, 
 and hung it again in its place on the wall.
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 PRUDENCE said tentatively to Muriel one day 
 about this time that she felt " uneasy." Asked 
 in what way, she hesitated, and said finally 
 that things were going so well. She said even that 
 much with a halting tongue, and Muriel smiled 
 gently, chiding her for the feeling as being an 
 ungenerous one ; she quoted Elizabeth : "I think 
 those horribly unselfish people who can't enjoy a 
 whole day luxuriating out in the sun, because they've 
 got to visit some one who can't get out, are 
 so ungrateful. They never enjoy anything whole- 
 heartedly and with rapture ; at the back or the front 
 of their minds there lurks always the thought of that 
 other or others who hasn't got, or isn't doing, whatever 
 they've got or are doing. If when Alphonse gave me 
 a present I sighed and said : ' Yes, it's very pretty, but 
 poor so-and-so hasn't such a thing,' he'd be deadly 
 disappointed. So must God be, over and over again. 
 I believe God likes a wicked person like me, who just 
 grabs all the joy she can get out of the things He gives 
 the sunshine and rain and flowers and things with 
 a grateful heart, and no thought of anything but just 
 loving it." 
 
 Muriel laughed when she had finished : "I've gone 
 wrong somewhere ; it has nothing to do \\ith what you 
 said. I never can quote correctly." 
 
 Prudence said thoughtfully : 
 218
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 219 
 
 " If every one were like that, no one would ever 
 enjoy anything thoroughly." 
 
 Muriel assented. 
 
 " But if," Prudence went on, always enjoying every 
 word interchanged in this, to her, rare way, " every one 
 were the other way, would any good be done at all in 
 the world ? " 
 
 " Well, of course, that's rather a difficult point, 
 exactly how much one ought to do for others, how much 
 one ought to give up. Elizabeth has no doubts, lucky 
 person ! She says frankly that she is selfish. She holds 
 that all people are more or less selfish, and that those 
 who get more pleasure, more joy out of working for 
 others, should be the ones to do it, and that they're 
 selfish in their way, as she is in hers ! Of course, Eliza- 
 beth is full of sophistry, but one finds oneself remember- 
 ing the things she has said ; it is partly her way of saying 
 them, I think." 
 
 Prudence said suddenly, on a hot impulse : 
 
 " I think I agree with her ! If I were offered joy 
 I'd take it, irrespective of all the suffering in the world ! ' 
 
 Muriel felt her eyes fill suddenly with tears ; her 
 mind worked rapidly over the years of Prudence's life 
 . . . joy ? She drooped her head, ashamed of her 
 own great joy. . . . Had there never been joy in 
 that life ? She looked up, her eyes questioned the other's, 
 and slowly Prudence answered, the while a smile lighted 
 her face : 
 
 " Yes. . . . once," she breathed, " unalloyed for 
 a little while " 
 
 Muriel knew . . . Dickon . . . not the 
 other I 
 
 She sat silent pondering the capacity in Prudence for 
 happiness ; she saw suddenly the size of it she had a
 
 220 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 huge capacity for it, and hitherto it had been suppressed, 
 had never been fed at all. Could it ever be fed ? Start- 
 lingly, against her will, came the thought of death. . . 
 Afterwards perhaps love. But even so .... 
 Dickon Would her joy ever be complete ? Could it ? 
 Looking into the other's face, rapt with thought of that 
 one time of unalloyed joy, she doubted. . . . 
 
 Mark Ridgeway was right ; she was like the Sistine 
 Madonna ; there was the same look of ineffable tender- 
 ness with a wonderful suggestion of feai almost fear 
 as if this thing that had come to pass was a little too 
 great for her ; the same look of innocent youth. . . . 
 
 What was it that made her sometimes, in spite of her 
 tragic life, so young ? Younger than her twenty-five 
 years ? Were there depths still that had never yet been 
 stirred ? Were they deep depths ? Muriel had grown 
 very fond of her in these days ; she had induced her to 
 come often to the Hall ; had said to her, gently : " Will 
 you just come, and if you're tired, sit still just be quiet. 
 Listen to our nonsense, if you want to, or don't, only 
 never trouble to talk unless you really want to talk. 
 Once, after I'd been ill, a friend made me do that, and I 
 found it so restful." 
 
 Prudence did come ; sometimes she would sit quietly 
 in the dusk and perhaps not speak for an hour or more. 
 Quite simply she took Muriel at her word, and she would 
 sit and listen to the talk that went on, sometimes only 
 between Hugh and Muriel, sometimes with others Eliza- 
 beth Ridgeway Alphonse the boys. At times Pru- 
 dence joined in ; losing gradually her strangeness, they 
 found in her a quaint humour that surprised them. If 
 other visitors came Prudence was allowed to slip quietly 
 away from the hall into a beautiful little room with 
 panelled walls, where were few books, all dearly loved,
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 221 
 
 little furniture, exquisitely old and valued, very few 
 ornaments, which had stood there, in that room, just as 
 they stood now, for more than two centuries. It had a 
 quaint name this little room it was called " the room 
 of Peace," and lovingly, generation after generation, not 
 one day missed, had there been placed in it white 
 flowers. 
 
 Prudence had once been hurt in a visit to the Hall, 
 only once. It had, perhaps, hurt Muriel more than her- 
 self, since in her large trouble these little stings did not 
 seem of much importance. The good lady who, in some 
 rush of talk or laughter, had entered unexpectedly, and 
 cut off Prudence's escape, was well-meaning and kind- 
 hearted enough. That she ignored Prudence, and refused 
 to respond when Latimer blunderingly bade her " ask 
 Mrs. Wingfield "something or other, did not alter the 
 fact that she would sit up all night with the poorest of 
 the villagers, if sick, or that she had given away so much 
 that she had found it impossible to keep even a pony and 
 cart to drive in. This too when she suffered from 
 rheumatism, and walking was often an extremely painful 
 exercise. She put it concisely enough when she said : 
 
 " She should not continue to live with the man. If 
 she had left him directly she became aware that she was 
 not legally his wife, one would, of course, have had 
 nothing but great sympathy and pity for her and the 
 child." 
 
 Confronted with the fact of his illness and need of her, 
 she replied inexorably : " Yes, very sad, of course, but 
 people have to bear worse things than that. He could 
 have borne it ; he could pay for nurses. She is commit- 
 ting a sin against both heaven and society. If each 
 person does not uphold the laws made for the good of 
 the whole universe, we shall come to ruin and chaos,"
 
 222 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 Quite reasonable, without rancour or spite, spoken 
 from good honest worked-out opinion. There were 
 others in Fernleigh Dene who thought the same ; others 
 who, quaking, were sincerely glad that it had never been 
 considered necessary to call at Cherry Cross ; and of 
 course, yet others who believed everything that was bad 
 of Prudence, and revelled with bated breath, in details 
 of the man's wealth, her manoeuvring to keep him from 
 leaving his money to his poor wife. To these her refusal 
 to admit Mrs. Darlington evolved into an elaborate plan 
 of action thought out to prevent the possible inadvertent 
 admittance of the poor wife. After a while it went further 
 she had actually once shut the door in the wife's face ! 
 So it went on, winding sluggishly and foully through mud, 
 energetically stirred by the pen of Mrs. Darlington, 
 who was extremely bored at her cousin's. 
 
 Prudence continued her visits to the Hall. Wingfield 
 had suddenly shown a wish for her to accept these 
 people's invitations ; he seemed much stronger himself, 
 and as always when his general health was better, his 
 mind was clearer ; his appetite improved, and his 
 digestion seemed stronger. Prudence once said thought- 
 fully to Muriel : 
 
 " If Madame du Pierre had not wanted to see me 
 about changing houses, should I ever have known you ? " 
 
 " I don't suppose so," Muriel answered frankly. 
 " One doesn't bother about a house that is constantly 
 being let furnished for a few months to different people, 
 when it is as far away as Cherry Cross. And, of course, 
 I heard that you did not wish for callers. No, it is all 
 Elizabeth's doing. It's a curious thing, but somehow 
 things are so often all Elizabeth's doing." 
 
 Elizabeth came in with : 
 
 " Who is talking about me ? " she added, as she sank
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 223 
 
 into a chair. " All Fernleigh Dene will be presently. 
 Alphonse and I are going to separate." 
 
 " Incompatibility of temper ? " Muriel asked. 
 
 " No ; every one would know that was only another 
 name for Madame du Pierre's wicked temper. One could 
 not be incompatible with Alphonse otherwise. It's 
 food and economy. Do look more horrified ! This is 
 a big thing ! A crisis ! Don't you recognise it as 
 such ? 
 
 "I'm duly horrified. Go on." 
 
 " We're tragically poor, as you know, so I set to to 
 economise. I drew out a mental menu like this. 
 Alphonse does not care for soup, I do not care for fish, so 
 I decided that we would have soup one night and fish 
 the next, and so on alternately. Well, it's a failure. 
 I wish I'd married a pig ; one hears there are many 
 husbands who are pigs. We never have a happy dinner 
 now on the nights we have soup I keep thinking of poor 
 Alphonse without his fish, and on the nights we have 
 fish he keeps thinking of poor me without my soup. 
 Oh, c'est trop bete ! It has got on my nerves, and I'm 
 sure it's ruining his digestion he looks so pale lately. 
 And he made me buy a hat that doesn't suit me." 
 
 " How ? " 
 
 " Bribery and corruption. I knew it didn't suit me, 
 but I was weak enough to succumb beneath the strength 
 of his compliments. I can't wear it. If I wear an unbe- 
 coming hat I'm in such a horrible temper that I grow 
 more and more hideous. There are a few things in life 
 that I really cannot bear one is an unbecoming hat, 
 another is a button off my glove. Great things I 
 can bear when there was a cry of " Fire " once at the 
 Comedie Franchise, I sat quite still, while the people 
 around me yelled and struggled." She paused and added
 
 224 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 with a smiling drawl. " I confess I couldn't have 
 moved if I'd wanted to terror simply numbs me." 
 
 Again she added, quickly : 
 
 " Did I wait there perceptibly ? " 
 
 " Wait ? " Muriel said. " How ? " 
 
 " The young-husband-wait. Don't you know it ? 
 This sort of thing : ' Dearest, it was your bravery ! not 
 terror, Of course, Alphonse is not really in the young 
 husband category now, but some of his ways are, still, 
 and I have to guard against that sort of thing in public. 
 One falls so luxuriously and unconsciously into the habit 
 of waiting for his flattering little contribution. I knew 
 a young wife once her talk was like this " : 
 
 " ' Oh, my dear, the other day I was out shopping ; 
 
 I was dead tired I looked a perfect fright ' Long 
 
 pause. ' Oh well, and I wanted a hat, but of course 
 
 nothing suited me ' Pause. ' Er I tried on a score 
 
 or so, and I simply did not dare to come out without 
 
 buying anything ! I'm such an awful coward ' 
 
 Pause. ' Oh, and and so at last I decided on one 
 frightfully dear for what it was five guineas, and I'm 
 quite sure I shall never wear it. I really ought to be 
 smacked.' Long pause, and when I couldn't bear it any 
 longer, I said : 'I'll kiss you instead, darling,' and she 
 jumped and went scarlet, and stammered : ' Why oh, 
 how awfully odd that's just what I mean, what on 
 earth do you mean ? ' 
 
 Muriel leant back in her chair laughing lazily. 
 
 Elizabeth glanced at Prudence. 
 
 " Do I bore you ? " she said. " Some days I hardly 
 talk at all, and some days my tongue won't keep 
 still." 
 
 " I enjoy it," Prudence said simply. 
 
 " That's sweet of you. I suppose I must get back to
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 225 
 
 those boys of mine. I promised to read to them before 
 bedtime." 
 
 " Do," said Hugh coming in, " they ask you awful 
 questions ? " 
 
 " Oh, s'ils demandent des choses ! " 
 
 " Do you own to a shameful ignorance or tell fibs ? " 
 
 " Neither. Which did you do when they stayed 
 here ? " 
 
 " My dear Elizabeth, there was no necessity for me to 
 do either. But just for curiosity's sake I'd like to know 
 what you do." 
 
 " I refer them to Alphonse, I say : ' I can't be worried, 
 dearest, wait and ask papa.' ' 
 
 " And do they desist ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes." 
 
 " Doesn't Andre keep on with a minor refrain : " I 
 fought grown-ups knew everyfink ? ' 
 
 " So you were honest, and owned up ! They never 
 dream I don't know, you see." 
 
 " They behave much better with you than they did 
 with me. / think they're unnaturally good ' 
 
 " Really ? I wonder if they are. Yesterday Renaud 
 painted landscapes on my bedroom door ; a different 
 landscape in each panel. I don't know if Miss Joker no 
 Hoker Hoakes, will like it, and he will probably 
 adorn all the doors, for I simply hadn't the heart to do 
 anything but pretend to be pleased. They've also given 
 away various articles of my clothing, some that I 
 particularly cherish, to people in the village, under the 
 impression that they are following in my footsteps, 
 charity way. I'm looking forward to seeing Mrs. Marks 
 in church wearing that huge black hat of mine. Another 
 little joke they had they decided to eat only bread for 
 their dinner, and to give away the food they should have 
 G
 
 226 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 eaten. Well, at half-past three in the afternoon they 
 were famished, so they took off their clothes, painted 
 themselves all over with brown boot polish, tied such 
 little things as my rope of pearls and my turquoise chain 
 round their waists, and so raided the larder as kaffirs. 
 They tied the cook, who was asleep, to her chair, 
 danced a war dance round her, waving a cold chicken 
 and jam tarts and such edibles in her very face. Of 
 course she has given me warning : 
 
 " You don't seem much disturbed," Muriel said. 
 " I thought she was a treasure." 
 
 " She is ; she cuts all sorts of funny little bits of fat 
 and stuff off the meat and makes soup out of them in 
 what she calls a stock pot. But she won't go," Elizabeth 
 permitted herself a little fond smile. " She will beg 
 me to let her stay, in a day or two." 
 
 " Why are you so sure ? " 
 
 " They're all the same. I never have any difficulty 
 with them ; they adore the boys too much to leave them." 
 Prudence rose to go when Elizabeth left the room, but 
 Muriel persuaded her to stay. 
 
 " Hugh will read to me. Need you go yet ? " 
 
 Prudence was easily persuaded ; perhaps these hours 
 in the dusk, when Hugh and Muriel talked or were silent, 
 or Hugh would read aloud, were what she prized most. 
 Sitting in her corner of the window-seat she would listen 
 and look and muse, and slowly she was learning some- 
 thing which had never come near her life. 
 
 That afternoon Hugh came back, and picked up a 
 volume of Henley's poems ; he read one or two, then, 
 turning the pages, he read in a low voice : 
 
 " What is to come we know not. But we know 
 That what has been was good was good to show, 
 Better to hide, and best of all to bear.
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 227 
 
 We are the masters of the days that were : 
 We have lived, we have loved, we have suffered 
 . . . even so. 
 
 " Shall we not take the ebb who had the flow ? 
 Life was our friend. Now, if it be our foe 
 Dear, though it spoil and break us ! need we care 
 What is to come ? 
 
 ".Let the great winds their worst and wildest blow, 
 Or the gold weather round us mellow slow : 
 We have fulfilled ourselves, and we can dare 
 And we can conquer, though we may not share 
 In the rich quiet of the after glow 
 What is to come." 
 
 Prudence sat gazing unseeingly out of the window, a 
 new pain at her heart ; and in her brain a striving after 
 something something that seemed to hover just beyond 
 her understanding. . . . 
 
 Those two, sitting silent behind her they knew 
 they understood. . . . 
 
 " Life was our friend. Now, if it be our foe 
 Dear, though it spoil and break us ! need we care 
 What is to come ? 
 
 The words throbbed in her heart, while she groped 
 painfully painfully 
 
 " Let the great winds their worst and wildest blow, 
 Or the gold weather round us mellow slow : 
 We have fulfilled ourselves, and we can dare 
 And we can conquer . . . ." 
 
 Brave words beautiful words and those two 
 they could read them together and know and under- 
 stand. . . . Did the words come to them wonder- 
 fully voicing what they felt ? Did they come without 
 pain and hurt ? She locked her hands together. . . . 
 To her they came how ? She only knew that they had 
 left behind them a pitiful desolation, a loneliness that 
 seemed a physical thing, a turmoil as she strove after
 
 228 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 that elusive meaning that she could not quite get. She 
 rose and went away 
 
 It frightened her when she found that Dickon did not 
 send the pain away. She sat on his bed and held him 
 close and closer, his little slack, warm body pressed hard 
 against hers. She whispered passionately, " Love me, 
 Dickon ! You must love me more ! " 
 
 Dickon said in a sleepy voice : 
 
 " I don't mind you huggin' me a bit." 
 
 " Don't you, darling, my darling ? " she hugged him 
 closer. 
 
 " Renaud's mother does it to him." 
 
 Still she held him, though he fell asleep in her arms ; 
 she dared not let him go, she was frightened of that pain 
 that, stilled a little now, lay waiting. . . . 
 
 " Prudence ! " 
 
 Wingfield came into the room, smiling, delighted with 
 himself. 
 
 " Oh, Evelyn ! " she rose hastily, slipping Dickon back 
 on to his pillows. " The corridor is so dim " 
 
 "I'm not blind yet ; I've that one faculty left unim- 
 paired," he said dryly. " So this is why I am left alone 
 for hours and hours." 
 
 She stood beside the bed, her eyes on his frowning 
 face ; she wanted to remind him that it was only half 
 an hour since she had been with him, but she could not ; 
 she could say nothing ; and the pain was getting worse. 
 . . . Those words . . . echoing. . . . 
 
 " Let the great winds their worst and wildest blow 
 Or the gold weather round us mellow slow : 
 We have fulfilled ourselves, and we can dare 
 And we can conquer . . . ." 
 
 She put up her hand to her throat fighting She 
 and Evelyn . . . The beautiful " We " she and 
 Evelyn. . . .
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 229 
 
 Dimly, torturing her with its half-understood, half- 
 perceived beauty, there was stealing upon her the sense 
 of what she had missed. . . . 
 
 She stood there beside the bed, quite quiet, while 
 Wingfield talked, and the pain of that awakening sense 
 tugged at her heart, and sent the blood from cheek and 
 lip. . . r, 
 
 " Always the same. Once you had the boy I might 
 go to the devil. Some women are made like that, and 
 it's pretty hard on the man. Damn the boy ! A 
 little milksop, prunes-and-prisms changeling. I'd be 
 ashamed for any of my friends to see him. What d'you 
 see in him, eh ? " 
 
 He took a step forward and before she, slow in her pain, 
 could stop him he had seized Dickon's shoulder and was 
 roughly shaking it. 
 
 Dickon opened sleepy eyes, and stared up into the 
 face bending over him ; the sleep left his eyes, but he 
 continued to look up earnestly. 
 
 Wingfield recoiled. 
 
 " How he stares ! Is the child an idiot, Prue ? 
 How old are you, eh ? " 
 
 " Six years, and some weeks and days." 
 
 " Six ! Good God, six I Have I been ill for nearly 
 six years ? " He put a shaking hand up to his head. 
 " He was only a baby wait that evening what was 
 it ? Damn you ! " he roared as Dickon spoke. " I 
 was just getting it ! " He bent, trembling with fury, 
 over the bed, shaking off Prudence's hand with a snarl. 
 Dickon continued to look up at him placidly. 
 
 " I like that," he said in a contented voice. 
 
 " Like what, you little fool ? " 
 
 " That ' Damn you,' " screamed Dickon with extreme 
 enjoyment and power of lung.
 
 230 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 Wingfield's attention was arrested. 
 
 " Eh ? What ? Why ? " he stuttered. " What 
 d'you mean ? " 
 
 "It's what you shouted at Lord Toppingham when he 
 fouled you over the water jump at the Point -to-Point," 
 Dickon replied. 
 
 " Eh ? What ? " Wingfield burst into a roar of 
 laughter. " Who told you that story, you young 
 varmint, eh ? " 
 
 " Ferney," said Dickon. 
 
 " Ha ! Ha ! Ha ! It's quite true I shouted that 
 and a bit more. Toppingham was always a fool sort 
 of chap who'd go to the best tailors, and always look a 
 tramp. Pretty sister he had though, so I let him off 
 fairly easy. Always the way a pair of dark eyes, or blue 
 for that matter Fond of little girls, Dick, eh ? " 
 
 " I don't know any, except Lydia's little sister, and 
 she always has a dirty nose," said Dickon. 
 
 " That is rather a drawback certainly." He stood 
 looking down at him frowningly. 
 
 Prudence said : 
 
 " Evelyn, will you come back to your room 
 now ? " 
 
 " No. Jealous because the boy seems to like to have 
 me here, eh ? Oh, my dear, you'll ruin him ! Better 
 hand him over to me for a bit. I'd soon make a man of 
 him. Scared of horses, aren't you, Dick ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " It's easy to say. Prove it." 
 
 Dickon pushed back the bedclothes, and stuck a leg 
 out of the bed. 
 
 " What shall I do, father ?" 
 
 " Ride the little mare bareback over a jump, my boy. 
 Ha! Ha!"
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 231 
 
 Dickon slipped to the floor : Prudence caught him 
 and held him, struggling. 
 
 " Evelyn, tell him you are joking ! " 
 
 " What, going now ? More grit than I thought. 
 In your pyjamas, eh ? Like father, like son. Ha ! 
 ha ! ha ! I've ridden her myself in the same undress 
 uniform ! Try the hedge in the paddock, Dick, it's not 
 more than five feet ! " 
 
 " Mother ! Let me go ! I I'll hate you for ever 
 if you don't let me go ! " 
 
 Wingfield roared with laughter. 
 
 " Rebellion at the pretty apron string ! Bound to 
 come sooner or later, my dear ! That's it, Dick, you'll 
 win out yet. Struggle a bit harder no, no no kicking 
 mustn't hurt a lady, you know fight like a gentle- 
 man " 
 
 " Evelyn ! Dickon, wait and listen ! You must 
 not go Evelyn, you know he mustn't do it ! He won't 
 listen to me now Evelyn, tell him it was only a joke ! " 
 
 Dickon spared breath enough to ejaculate : 
 
 " I will go I'm not scared " 
 
 Prudence trying to hold him back hit her arm sharply 
 against the edge of a chest of drawers, and uttered a 
 little cry. Wingfield hurried forward, emitting a sudden 
 volley of furious indignation. 
 
 " How dare you disobey your mother, sir ? How 
 dare you struggle with her in this disgraceful manner ? 
 Get back into bed at once ! Do you hear ? Or I'll 
 come behind you with a crop ! You young scoundrel 
 you cowardly young scoundrel fighting your mother 
 hurting her ! I tell you I won't have it ? D'you 
 hear ! You deserve a good hiding ! If I have another 
 word I'll give it you too ! Now come away, Prudence ! 
 Leave him alone. I won't have you staying behind and
 
 232 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 petting him. He ought to be thoroughly ashamed of 
 
 himself " He tottered as he made for the door, 
 
 and Prudence hurried after him, and gave him her arm. 
 She looked back at Dickon, lying wide-eyed and serious 
 in his bed ; she smiled at him, strove to catch his eye, 
 but Dickon's gaze was on his father, unwavering, 
 solemn. For a quarter of an hour Prudence found it 
 impossible to leave Wingfield, then on the pretext of 
 fetching a book he wanted, she ran into Dickon's room ; 
 to her relief she found him awake, and she set herself 
 to the difficult task before her. That new pain had gone, 
 or rather her consciousness of it was in abeyance, as her 
 consciousness of self had been in abeyance for five years, 
 held back, suppressed by the largei need of Evelyn and 
 Dickon. 
 
 " Darling, I want you to try to understand. Your 
 father is ill he didn't mean to be unkind " 
 
 Dickon gave her a happy little smile. " I don't mind," 
 he said. " That's just how he shouted at Tom Griffin 
 when he found him kicking his horse." 
 
 Prudence stared at him a little helplessly. 
 
 " Ferney told me," Dickon added, with an air of 
 careless pride. 
 
 What other stories had Ferney told him ? Her old 
 care her old fear returned. Had she, after all, been 
 wise to give in to Mark Ridgeway ? She caught Dickon 
 to her. 
 
 " What else has Ferney told you ? What else ? " 
 
 " Lots." 
 
 " Tell them to me, Dickon. I want to hear them 
 too." 
 
 " Ferney will tell you, I 'spect, if I ask him to, but 
 you must be very careful not to in'trupt him." 
 
 " I want you to tell me, Dickon."
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 233 
 
 " Ferney will, mother, if I ask him, and if you're very 
 careful not to int'rupt him." 
 
 " Why can't you ? " 
 
 " They're so long, and I forget. Ferney will, if I ask 
 him, and if you're very careful not " 
 
 " Do the stories make you feel proud of your father, 
 Dickon ? " 
 
 " Yes. Ferney thinks an awful lot of him, he calls 
 him his lordship ; I s'pose 'cause he's sort of wonderful 
 like the Lord God Almighty." 
 
 Prudence strove to explain it was a mere courtesy title, 
 but Dickon remained calmly fixed in his own idea. 
 Prudence returned to the subject of Wingfield's challenge. 
 
 " You understand that it was only a joke, Dickon ? 
 You will promise me not to try to get on Mirth's 
 back ? 
 
 " No, I won't, mother." 
 
 " Dickon ! You must. It was just a joke. Promise 
 me, Dickon." 
 
 He was silent. 
 
 " Oh, Dickon ! " Prudence's voice broke. " I'm so 
 tired, and you are so naughty ! " 
 
 With astonishing celerity Dickon sprang from the 
 bed. 
 
 " All right. I know ! " He hurried across to a cup- 
 board. " You wait, mother ! I know." 
 
 He returned, carrying a bottle of eau de cologne, and 
 muttering to himself : 
 
 " Pour a little on your fingers so ! Den rub it very 
 
 gently on de brow yes " He climbed on to the 
 
 bed. 
 
 " Shut your eyes," he commanded, then back went 
 Prudence's head beneath the energetic " rub " adminis- 
 tered on her brow. " Is it going away ? How long do
 
 234 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 I have to do it for, mother ? It's a pity you've got 
 such a very loose head. Is that enough ? " 
 
 Prudence opined meekly that she thought it was quite 
 enough. 
 
 "I've spilt a good deal on the bed. Renaud gave me 
 the med'cine and told me how to use it. Has it made 
 you feel better, mother ? Lydia takes some med'cine 
 out of a green bottle that makes her sick. I'd rather 
 give you that kind " 
 
 " I'm much better, Dickon. I should feel quite well if 
 you would give me your promise not to try and get on 
 Mirth's back." 
 
 "I'm not scared of horses." 
 
 " No, of course you're not. Dickon, if you don't 
 promise I shall not allow you to go round to the 
 stables." 
 
 " Oh well," said Dickon, pulling the bedclothes up 
 under his chin, " of course I wouldn't do anything 
 without asking Ferney. If he says better not, I won't 
 try to get on her back, mother." 
 
 Prudence had to leave it at that, not daring to stay 
 longer with him. As it was she found Wingfield so 
 angry that he refused to speak to her, or notice her. She 
 sat down, opened the book she had brought, and began 
 to read to him. After a little while he said : 
 
 " Would you mind reading to yourself ? It disturbs 
 me." 
 
 He had his copy of Handley Cross on the table before 
 him, and read assiduously. Prudence watched him 
 anxiously ; she knew that reading made his head ache ; 
 she saw him frown as the pain began to dart through 
 his temples. 
 
 " Evelyn," she said gently, " don't be cross with me. 
 I had to go back to Dickon "
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 235 
 
 " You need not trouble to explain. I know where 
 you have been." 
 
 " How do you ? " 
 
 " I sent Davenport to find out." 
 
 She shut her lips tightly ; it was an old trouble 
 this ; he had sent his servants before to spy on her 
 movements. 
 
 " I was afraid Dickon would really try to ride 
 Mirth," she explained patiently. 
 
 He laughed satirically. 
 
 " He ? That little coward ? I don't think you need 
 fear." 
 
 "He is not a coward, Evelyn, he " 
 
 " Spare me ! " He lifted his delicate hand. " I 
 have no doubt he is all that is brave and wonderful. 
 We will consider it said. Now may I go on with my 
 reading ? Or have you anything else of such tremendous 
 interest that you wish to say ? " 
 
 She gave a little nervous laugh. 
 
 " I do want to talk to-night, Evelyn, if you don't 
 mind." 
 
 " Why should I mind ? Pray go and talk to Dick. 
 I want to read, but I have no doubt you will find it 
 quite as interesting to talk to him as to me." 
 
 Silence fell again ; he went on obstinately with his 
 reading, the while the veins began to swell on his 
 forehead, and the hue of his face to deepen. She cast 
 about for some device to woo him from his book, 
 dreading the outbreak that might be the result of his 
 obstinacy. She wondered aloud if the portrait of Mirth 
 might not be placed differently, so that it should be in a 
 better light at night ; she asked his advice on one or 
 two points about a chair she was ordering for him ; 
 she rose and took up his stirrups, making them clink
 
 236 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 against each other as she observed that they did not 
 look as bright as usual ; she tried various other ways, 
 but to each and all he maintained an absolute silence, till 
 at last she said : 
 
 " What a long time it is since we have had a game of 
 cribbage. I should like a game to-night " 
 
 He stretched out his arm without looking at her, 
 and rang his bell loudly. In a moment Davenport 
 stood in the room, waiting. 
 
 Then Wingfield spoke to Prudence. 
 
 " You may go to bed, Prudence. Davenport will 
 stay with me ! " 
 
 For a moment she hesitated, then she left the room. 
 
 She went downstairs and out into the night. There 
 was a young, pale moon overhead, lurking almost hidden 
 behind great gold-edged clouds ; when she lifted her 
 face a drop or two of rain spattered down on to it ; a 
 little breeze ruffled her hair. She stood very still . . . 
 but her thought was not for herself : it was of Evelyn 
 she thought, as she stood there, and Dickon. Had 
 she been wrong to go back to Dickon ? Yet to let 
 him sleep without a further word . . . She dreaded 
 what this obstinate fit of Evelyn's might portend 
 . . . and he had been so much better lately. A burst 
 of uncontrolled laughter from the room above her made 
 her turn and run up the stairs to his room. She turned 
 the handle ; the door was locked. 
 
 " Davenport, are you there ? " 
 
 " Yes, ma'am." 
 
 " Open the door at once ! " 
 
 A pause filled with the murmur of voices ; then 
 Davenport's step approaching, his confidential whisper 
 through the keyhole. 
 
 " My master is quite all right, ma'am, don't you
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 237 
 
 worry, but he refuses me permission to hopen the door. 
 I may add that he has the key in his hown possession." 
 
 Prudence, out in the corridor, stood thinking hard. 
 To plead uselessly before the servant. . . . Yet 
 to leave him without her She must see him. 
 
 " Evelyn, mayn't I come in ? I won't talk. I'll 
 be so quiet you won't know that I am in the room," the 
 voice striving to be playful. . . . 
 
 Another murmur, then Davenport's respectful 
 whisper : 
 
 " My master wishes you to go to bed, ma'am. I will 
 sit up with him." An apologetic cough, then : " I must 
 refuse to speak to you any more, ma'am, he forbids me 
 to do so." 
 
 Prudence made one more effort, which was received in 
 absolute silence, then she turned away and went to her 
 own room. 
 
 After a little while, reminding herself of the pro- 
 bability of a hard day before her on the morrow, she 
 undressed and lay down on the bed. She could not 
 sleep ; she was restless, uneasy, full of foreboding. 
 Once she rose, and slipping on her dressing-gown, went 
 noiselessly along the corridor, and listened outside 
 Evelyn's door. All was silent, then she heard a faint 
 movement, a long contented sigh, a little chuckle, and 
 presently a lazy murmur : " Life's worth living even yet." 
 Silence again. She waited a minute, then went back 
 to her room, and stood inside the door thinking. . . . 
 Her mind worked rapidly, but vaguely, achieving nothing 
 in the way of definite thought ; only worrying, nagging, 
 spinning round. . . . Fear lurked somewhere, a 
 heavy apprehension. . . . What was it ? What 
 had soothed him into that frame of mind ? What power 
 had Davenport to bring him content ? And suddenly
 
 238 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 it started up before her ; her spinning thoughts settled 
 down clear and definite ; the fear that lurked came out 
 sharp and strong whiskey. She sat down on the bed, 
 suddenly too tired to stand. Could Davenport be playing 
 them false like that ? Was that the reason of Evelyn's 
 liking for him ? Ruthlessly memories surged over her 
 Evelyn's wish that she should have more freedom ; 
 his brightness What was it Sir William had said ? 
 " It would probably seem to do him good at first, if he 
 took it in moderation, but after a while it would mean 
 absolute ruin ! He must not touch alcohol in any form." 
 
 Could it be that Davenport had been secretly supplying 
 him with whiskey ? She started to her feet she was 
 foolish, mad . . . What grounds had she for such a 
 suspicion ? . . . 
 
 " Once he was allowed alcohol in small quantities 
 the craving would grow and grow till it became an 
 obsession." 
 
 The physician had said that too. . . . She left 
 her room again and sped along the corridor ; all was 
 quiet ; she listened for a few minutes, saw that the crack 
 of light beneath the door had gone, and returned to her 
 own room. He had evidently gone to bed ; her sus- 
 picion seemed unwarrantable, absurd ; she strove to 
 reason it away, but only succeeded partially, one half 
 of her brain remaining worryingly impervious to all 
 the arguments the other half urged. . . . 
 
 She lay in bed trying to sleep, while her brain waged 
 its goading war to the tune of the rain spattering on the 
 window-panes, and somewhere, suddenly, at the back 
 of her mind there started up those words : 
 
 " Let the great winds their worst and wildest blow, 
 
 Or the gold weather round us mellow slow : 
 , We have fulfilled ourselves. . . ."
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 239 
 
 But now they brought no pain ; they were there, 
 but with no possible reference to herself. . . . 
 Beautiful words for others. . . . 
 
 Davenport would never dare why should she be 
 so ready to think evil of the man ? What had made 
 Evelyn sigh with content ? She must sleep ; to-morrow 
 would probably be a bad day. What did Ferney tell 
 Dickon of his father ? Had she been wrong to let him 
 go round to the stables, against the principle of years ? 
 Had she ? She must sleep. . . . Why had Evelyn 
 seemed more content lately, as if he had some alleviation 
 
 to look forward to Oh, she was wicked mad she 
 
 must sleep. This new admiration of Dickon's for his 
 father how would that affect him ? Evelyn could not 
 be trusted with the boy. . . . Sleep why couldn't 
 she sleep ? She sat up in bed, and pushed her hair 
 back from her hot forehead. As her hand fell back 
 on the coverlet a sentence of Ridgeway's darted into 
 her mind : " What a lot of drawing there is in your 
 hands." How keen he was on drawing ! He was keen 
 on most things ! She lay down again ; she would ask 
 him he would know if Evelyn were having whiskey. 
 And he would find out what sort of things Ferney was 
 telling Dickon. He could always find out things, and 
 he always knew. . . . There was a moon again 
 now he had been waiting for it he wanted to paint 
 that bit down by the stream. ... He would know 
 if Evelyn and if Ferney Dickon. . . . 
 
 She fell asleep.
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 SHE awoke early, feeling almost as tired as when she 
 had fallen asleep, but with a dogged determina- 
 tion that was stronger than her weariness. With 
 an instinctive desire to strengthen it still further 
 she rose, and going to the window opened it wide 
 and leant out. The early morning air was sharp, 
 keen, fragrant after a night's soft-falling rain ; the 
 east was still faintly glowing in a pale golden mist ; 
 the skies were high and light and grey ; a breeze came 
 from the south, blowing back her hair. She stood 
 till the sharpness of the air drove her shivering 
 back to bed, the while she sternly quelled the im- 
 pulse to dress and go to Evelyn's room. She was 
 ashamed of her suspicions of the night before ; they 
 appeared to her now wild, unbalanced, very foolish. 
 With all the strength of her will, almost unconsciously, 
 almost purely instinctively she was fighting the recog- 
 nition of an intolerable sadness and depression. She 
 fought it subconsciously, her conscious thought with 
 Evelyn and the day before her, till a curious resentment 
 arose within her towards the memory of the pain that 
 Henley's poem had brought to her. The feeling was 
 vague, but strong ; she resented, without at all denning 
 it, the encroachment of self into her life. She fought 
 the consideration she was being forced to give to her 
 own feelings, her inner self. Her thought must be for 
 Evelyn, for Dickon. She lay down quietly, and in 
 thought lived the day before her : Evelyn would be 
 
 240
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 241 
 
 exacting, peevish after his anger of last night ; she 
 must think of ways to interest him. 
 
 When she finally rose she had conquered all thought 
 of self again. 
 
 She found Wingfield, as he often was in the morning, 
 peevish, sick of his bed, yet too tired to get up. His 
 eyes were bloodshot, his hands trembling, but she knew 
 that this was very often the result of an attack of furious 
 temper. There was nothing unusual about him : her 
 fears of the night before grew absurd. When Wingfield 
 in a fury of irritability swore at Davenport and ordered 
 him from the room, she felt a twinge of compunction 
 for her groundless suspicions. Nevertheless something 
 prompted her to question the man. 
 
 " Your master went to bed quietly last night ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, ma'am, very peaceful." 
 
 " Did you read to him ? " 
 
 " Not to speak of, ma'am, just a bit out of the paper, 
 and then he settled down very quiet, and kept smiling 
 and laughing at his thoughts. Perhaps you heard him, 
 ma'am ? " 
 
 She restrained a start. 
 
 " He went to bed in good time ? " she said. 
 
 " Not very hearly, ma'am, I thought it better not 
 to worry him." 
 
 She asked no more questions ; there were no more 
 to ask. She went back into Wingfield 's room ; he was 
 asleep ; she began noiselessly to dust the outer room, 
 trying to think of some new means to interest him in 
 the weary day before him. Presently he called her, but 
 when she stood at his bedside he turned aside his head. 
 
 " You stare so," he said peevishly, " you're just like 
 the boy ! He stares, too. Don't you want to go out, 
 Prudence ? "
 
 242 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 " No, I'd rather stay with you, Evelyn." 
 " Why ? D'you think I shall elope with some other 
 woman ? Good God, what a useless hulk I am now ! " 
 She had expected this, and she knew that the day 
 would be full of it. 
 
 " You have been much better lately, Evelyn." 
 " Don't be a fool, Prue, and don't treat me like a 
 fool ! I know I've got one foot in the grave, but, please 
 God, I'll kick to the last with the other ! And I'll go 
 without a whine ! By God, if I thought I'd funk it 
 at the last I'd poison myself this minute ! " 
 
 She wiped the drops of sweat from his forehead. 
 " You would never funk anything, Evelyn," she said, 
 and something tugged at her heart as she saw the 
 wistful look of pleasure that crossed his face. It was so 
 seldom so pitifully seldom that she could give con- 
 viction to her praise of any quality in him. 
 
 " One can never be sure, Prue, never be sure ! There 
 was Pender John Pender, you know, who rode that 
 big bay in the Point-to-Point brute who always 
 refused he took his falls like a man smashed every 
 bit of him some time or the other but at the last he 
 funked he funked badly I was with him pneumonia, 
 
 you know scared to death " he gave a shudder. 
 
 " It's beastly to see a brave man turn coward," he 
 said, almost in a whisper. 
 " You never would, Evelyn. I know it." 
 " Well, yours are not the first pair of pretty lips to 
 tell me I'm a brave man, my dear ! Don't go now 
 jealous again, eh ? I've always said you cold women 
 are the worst, and I'm hanged if I'm not right ! " 
 " I must finish dusting the room, Evelyn." 
 " You oughtn't to be dusting the room ! Where 
 are the servants ? Why don't you get one with rd
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 hair and let her come in to dust the room ? You'd be 
 safe enough then ! Ha ! ha ! Never could stand a 
 red-headed woman. There was that pretty little thing 
 I forget her name Rose no Molly no never 
 mind, she had the whitest skin and the bluest eyes 
 you ever saw, but her hair was red ! No good. 
 I could manage a flirtation when she wore a large 
 hat, but her hair was too much for me. Funny 
 thing, the governor was the same. I remember him 
 warning me when I was a little chap : ' Never trust 
 a red-headed woman, my boy ' he stood me on the 
 table I was half drunk by then and made me drink 
 to all the pretty women in the world, bar the 
 red-headed ones. Just the same funny thing 
 heredity." 
 
 Prudence's hand closed suddenly on the duster. 
 
 " It wasn't heredity it was example," she said 
 breathlessly. 
 
 " Eh ? Not a bit of it. Heredity. I expect you'd 
 find the same thing in Dick. Let's have him up and 
 ask him. No, I don't want him, he stares so. Has the 
 boy ever tasted champagne, Prue ? " 
 
 " No ! " 
 
 He laughed. 
 
 " Perhaps it's better so. Plays the deuce with one's 
 constitution. But drink in moderation best thing 
 in the world." 
 
 He sank into silence. Prudence continued to dust 
 the room. 
 
 " Prudence ! " 
 
 " What is it ? " 
 
 " D'you think I'm going to die to-day ? " 
 
 " Oh, Evelyn, don't talk like that ! You have been 
 so much worse. Why should you ? "
 
 244 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 " Oh, I shouldn't mind, my dear, if it weren't that the 
 thought of dying in my bed turns me sick." 
 
 In his pallid face she saw suddenly a curious resem- 
 blance to Dickon a fleeting expression. In her ears 
 sounded Dickon's voice : " Very likely in the mornin', 
 when I wake up I'll be dead ". . . 
 
 She bent and smoothed the bedclothes gently. 
 
 " You're not going to die, Evelyn. It's ,a long while 
 since you've felt as bad as you do to-day." 
 
 " D'you think I shall die in my bed, Prue, eh ? " 
 
 " No, Evelyn." 
 
 A look of relief crossed his face ; her perfect truthful- 
 ness gave her word a tremendous weight with him. 
 He could never have understood the strength of the 
 power that made it possible for her to lie to him. It had 
 been the last thing of attainment, that power, but in the 
 end attained easily enough, so much had she gone 
 through, so greatly struggled, before then. She thought 
 it right to lie to him, and she did it without flinching. 
 He began to talk of Mirth, to fret for her, finally insisted 
 on rising to see if he might not feel strong enough to ride 
 her ; declared he would go round to the stables . . . 
 tried to go, nearly fainted half-way down the stairs, 
 and had to be helped back to his room. 
 
 So the morning wore slowly on, the strain never 
 relaxed for a minute ; his restlessness unceasing, never 
 satisfied, always asking for some new interest. He 
 turned from food with loathing, grew peevish and 
 finally furious when Prudence tried to tempt his appetite. 
 At last he ordered her from the room to go and have 
 her lunch. She went downstairs slowly and into the 
 dining-room. Dickon sat at the table, knife and fork 
 in his hands, waiting. 
 
 "I'm very hungry, mother," he said reproachfully.
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 245 
 
 She stopped and stood looking at him. 
 
 "Do you like women with red hair, Dickon ? " 
 
 " I like mutton and potatoes," Dickon said severely. 
 She sat down and gave him what he wanted. 
 
 Presently she said it again. 
 
 " Dickon, do you like ladies with red hair ? " 
 
 Dickon nodded. 
 
 " Miss Hill has red hair, she's promised to give me 
 a bit next time she cuts off the ends, to patch my horse's 
 tail with." 
 
 Prudence suddenly laughed. 
 
 " So much for heredity ! " she said, and laughed 
 again, and the laugh ended in what she just caught back 
 from being a sob. And at that she rose suddenly. 
 
 " Dickon, finish your dinner ; there is rice pudding. 
 I am going out." 
 
 " You haven't had any dinner, mother.' 
 
 " I do not want any." 
 
 " Where are you goin' ? " 
 
 " I shall be back soon." 
 
 She left the room ; as she went up the stairs she 
 heard a plodding step behind her. 
 
 " What do you want, Dickon ? " 
 
 He went on plodding up the stairs, lifting a cross little 
 face to her as he answered : 
 
 " I s'pose I'd better fetch that eau-de-Cologne and 
 rub your head ! " 
 
 " I haven't a headache, dear." 
 
 He paused. 
 
 "-Aren't you dreadful tired ? " 
 
 ""No." 
 
 He turned and began to stump down again. 
 
 " Then I'll go and have my rice puddin'." 
 
 At the foot of the stairs he called, a gleam in his eye :
 
 246 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 " S'pose it needs sugar, mother ? " 
 " You may take some." 
 " May I put it on myself? " 
 " Yes." 
 
 Dickon ran back into the dining-room. 
 
 Prudence went into her room and put on her outdoor 
 things ; there was an unusual nervous hurry in her 
 movements ; she was conscious of a new weakness, a 
 curious tiredness that seemed to warn her that her 
 strength was somehow failing. She left the house, and 
 without hesitation, turned to the right, and began to 
 walk swiftly up the road. She was obeying the impulse 
 that had come to her as she had sat at the table with 
 Dickon. She did not reason or question ; she followed 
 blindly where it led, because subconsciously she knew 
 her need was so strong that, denied, her power to help 
 Evelyn would fail. 
 
 She did not pause till she reached Dickson's studio, 
 then she stopped, breathing hard, and knocked. 
 
 Oh, confound it ! Come in." 
 
 She opened the door and went in. 
 
 " You ! " 
 
 She stood just within the door. 
 
 " Sit down. What is it ? Anything wrong ? Why 
 did you come ? " 
 
 " I wanted you," she said simply. 
 
 " Well, here I am," he said gently, " at your service." 
 
 Her eyes went to the large canvas on the easel. 
 
 " No that's all right. I was chucking it anyway. 
 I'm only spoiling what I've done. Tell me why you 
 want me." 
 
 She looked up at him with a curious questioning 
 expression. 
 
 " I don't quite know," she said.
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 247 
 
 " I see. Sort of general utility well, first I'm going 
 to boil some water and give you a cup of tea " 
 
 She put out her hand. 
 
 " Oh, no, I must go back at once." 
 
 " All right. I'm coming too." 
 
 " Yes," she said, with a queer, childlike contentment. 
 
 He pretended to have to do a good deal of clearing 
 up : he wanted to give her time to rest. She watched 
 him as he scraped his palette, stuck his brushes 
 into a jam-jar, stacked some canvases against the 
 wall. 
 
 " Now I'm ready. Sorry to have kept you." 
 
 She rose, and they left the studio. 
 
 " You look pretty well done up," he said abruptly, 
 as they turned the corner by the pond. 
 
 " I feel better now," she said. 
 
 Ridgeway flushed slightly, something seemed to beat 
 loudly in his ears, then passed. 
 
 " I haven't done anything for you yet." 
 
 She did not answer at once ; she was giving a passing 
 surprise to the wonderful lightening of her load ; it was 
 as if he took the weary weight of it from her, and bore 
 it on his own broad shoulders. 
 
 " You are here," she said with a deepening of the 
 childlike contentment. " You are coming back with 
 me." 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 He turned his head and looked down tenderly at her ; 
 she lifted her pale face and smiled at him. 
 
 " I was very foolish," she said ashamed. " I I don't 
 know suddenly I thought of you, and it seemed as if 
 I could not go on alone " 
 
 Again he felt that loud throbbing in his ears ; he 
 shook his head impatiently. " Has Wingfield been
 
 248 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 very bad ? " he said, experiencing a curious effort in 
 bringing out his voice. 
 
 " Yes ; it is one of his miserable days. I cannot 
 cheer him or interest him. I hope you will be able to." 
 
 " A fresh face may do it. I'll do my best." 
 
 She said after a little while : 
 
 " I never thank you." 
 
 " Good Heavens, don't start that ! There's no need." 
 
 They went on a little while in silence, along the road 
 where the puddles were turning a vivid blue, with 
 splashes of glittering sunshine in them, and the breeze 
 seemed to have lost its sharpness, and to come to them 
 sun-warmed. 
 
 A curious exaltation possessed Ridge way ; it affected 
 him physically, so that he felt, with whimsical con- 
 sciousness, as if he must stretch his neck, holding his 
 head high. She had come to him, simply, naturally 
 wanting him, she had come to fetch him. . . . His 
 heart was uplifted. When a cow came clumsily trotting 
 round a corner, his nerves involuntarily attuned them- 
 selves to the pitch of grappling with a lion. He walked 
 looking, waiting, protecting, at once exceedingly young, 
 and older. . . . 
 
 She said, breathless : 
 
 " Will you go on alone ? I have been away so long 
 if you would hurry on and go straight to Evelyn You 
 can go faster without me." 
 
 It was as if she had pushed him a hundred miles 
 away. . . . 
 
 He looked down, incredulously hurt, into her face ; 
 he saw it again pale, cold, gently aloof. . . . 
 
 She had wanted him for Wingfield of course, what 
 else ? What was he in her life for but that ? 
 
 He tried unconsciously for a word that should lift
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 249 
 
 this load of depression that had suddenly fallen upon 
 him, holding him down. . . . 
 
 " I don't like to leave you " 
 
 Her surprise pressed the load down. 
 
 " Why ? " 
 
 It was a natural enough query, but he had no answer 
 to it ; he turned away, raising his cap. 
 
 "I'll hurry on," he said, and strode away with a 
 grateful " thank you " subtly tormenting him. She 
 walked on behind him, watching his tall figure till he 
 reached the corner where three great haystacks scented 
 the air, then she had to suppress an inclination to call to 
 him to wait. . . . She suppressed it angrily, 
 wondering what was happening to her nerves, not sparing 
 herself, but unable to avoid consciousness of the almost 
 unbearable sense of depression that the empty road 
 brought to her. She was able to check the impulse that 
 would have set her hastening running to turn the 
 corner. . . . When she reached it the next stretch 
 of road, which curved, was empty too. . . . The 
 hedges, the wet road, blurred . . . she rubbed her 
 hand almost violently across her eyes. She was dis- 
 mayed, aghast. With a strenuous effort of will a hard 
 trained will she swept her mind clear of Ridgeway, 
 the empty road, all but Evelyn and the necessity of 
 getting back to him. But the effort had to be more 
 strenuous than usual, and it left her oddly tired. 
 
 She found Wingfield and Ridgeway deep in an 
 argument as to the relative merits of two saddlers : 
 she waited a few minutes, while technical words 
 rained about her uncomprehending ears. Then 
 she left the room, and went to seek Dickon. 
 A heavy depression weighed her down ; at the back 
 of her mind she knew though she refused to
 
 250 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 face the knowledge, that tears were being kept back 
 with an aching effort. She knew too that there some- 
 where was Henley's poem throbbing hurting again. 
 She was in such a hyper-sensitive, over-strained state 
 that she felt no sense of relief when she saw Evelyn, 
 pale, tired, but without the peevish, hunted expression 
 she had used every power and nerve in vain to banish ; 
 she felt only a further sense of depression, of failure. 
 Why hadn't she been able to discuss saddles and harness 
 with him ? She should have been able, since saddles 
 and harness formed one of the few interests of his 
 maimed life. Then she recognised with a shock of 
 horror her selfish consideration of herself. Again the 
 vague resentment rose within her ; she fought, or tried 
 to fight, her way back to the old cold, brave standpoint, 
 she strove to banish thought of herself. . . Dickon 
 yes, she must have Dickon. She hurried till her foot- 
 steps quickened into a run in their search. " He's round 
 mucking about with Mr. Ferney, ma'am," Lydia told 
 her. She must have him she would go and talk horses 
 with him ; murmuring to herself " ankle, fetlock 
 lower down, near hoof, pastern " she went round to 
 the stables. 
 
 Dickon was in the harness-room helping Ferney ; 
 he was seated on the lowest tread of a pair of steps 
 polishing a brass buckle on a breeching strap. As Pru- 
 dence approached she heard him say : 
 
 " Oh, yes, you've got to feed a horse well, or he won't 
 do you well stands to reason." 
 
 The tone was exceedingly grown-up, the manner a 
 fair copy of Ferney's. When he saw Prudence he 
 flushed shyly, and became silent, absorbed in his 
 rubbing. 
 
 " Dickon, shall we go and see Mirth ? "
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 251 
 
 " I've just been in there, mother ; I'm very busy." 
 
 Ferney glanced up at her. 
 
 " His lordship is 'e better to-day, m'lady ? " 
 
 " He had a bad morning, Ferney, he seems a little 
 better now." 
 
 Ferney hung a bridle up. 
 
 " Went to bed very late last night, didn't 'e ? " he 
 said abruptly. 
 
 " About eleven, I think." 
 
 Ferney flicked over the harness with a duster. 
 
 " 'E wasn't in bed at one o'clock, m'lady," he said 
 slowly. " Leastways there was a light in 'is room 
 then." 
 
 " Are you sure ? Which room ? " 
 
 " Bedroom." 
 
 " Davenport was with him " 
 
 " Yes, m'lady." 
 
 " I suppose he could not sleep." 
 
 She looked at Dickon, quite aware of the surreptitious 
 glances of anxious fear which he was casting at her : 
 she knew that he was terrified she was going to interfere 
 in his afternoon. She turned away and went back into 
 the house, the load of depression, fought against in vain, 
 weighing her down till every nerve seemed to have a 
 separate physical ache. She went up into Wingfield's 
 room again ; his voice stopped abruptly as she entered, 
 then he asked peevishly : " What do you want, 
 Prudence ? " 
 
 She could frame no want, at such a low ebb was she, 
 could only stand, fighting the load. She heard Ridge- 
 way say : " She ought to lie down, she's tired to death." 
 His voice seemed to come from a distance, mixed some- 
 how with Henley's poem : the echo of his words ran 
 into the echo of those others.
 
 252 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 " Yes, yes, go and lie down, my dear man's talk, 
 you know you wouldn't like it " 
 
 Again the other voice Henley's poem voice 
 
 " Veterinary talk," it said. 
 
 Prudence heard herself murmur " thank you " in a 
 confused sort of way, for she understood the impulse 
 that had led him to give the explanation, but it was 
 difficult to understand anything clearly with that curious 
 medley running in her head, and the pain was worse. 
 . . . And Evelyn didn't want her any more than 
 Dickon had. She went downstairs, got out the shirt 
 she was making for Dickon and tried to work. Once she 
 put the linen up to her face in a sudden uncontrollable 
 impulse, but then she drove the impulse back again, 
 and the storm of tears remained in aching throat and 
 heart. . . . 
 
 Lydia brought in tea, and Dickon came in and had 
 some. He talked more than usual, pleased that she had 
 not dragged him from Ferney ; he hurried through his 
 tea, anxious to get back to a promised lesson in grooming 
 a horse. He went away and then Ridgeway came down. 
 " He's asleep," he said. " May I have some tea ? " 
 
 " It's been in a long while. Will you ring for fresh ? " 
 she said listlessly. 
 
 " Oh, no, thanks, that'll be all right." He took his 
 cup from her and sat down. 
 
 There was a long silence : from the stable yard came 
 the clink of a pail, Dickon's laugh : in the kitchen Lydia 
 clattered some plates ; Davenport's voice rose mourn- 
 fully : 
 
 "What time the evening shadows fall 
 Around the Church on earth, 
 When darker forms of doubts appal " 
 
 " Ferney says Evelyn was not in bed at one o'clock."
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 253 
 
 She spoke suddenly, for no particular reason, except that 
 she felt vaguely worried. 
 
 " No ? " 
 
 " Davenport told me he did not go very early he 
 says hearly. One o'clock is very late for him." 
 
 " That's why he's so done up to-day," Ridgeway 
 said, wondering what it was in her way of speaking that 
 was so different from usual : she spoke evenly, dully, 
 almost as if it were not worth while, but she would go 
 on, as she had begun. 
 
 She did not speak again, and they sat in silence. 
 Ridgeway was conscious of a curious element of con- 
 straint in his silence ; he felt that he ought to speak, 
 but could not bring himself to do it. It worried him ; 
 he had never felt like that before with her ; there 
 had been long silences restful silences. He broke it 
 brusquely : 
 
 " I must lend you my copy of " 
 
 She interrupted him sombrely. 
 
 " I don't want it, thank you." 
 
 He gave a little laugh. 
 
 " But I haven't even told you what it is ! " 
 
 " I don't want it," she repeated, looking at him with a 
 queer expression of slumbering defiance in her eyes. 
 
 He shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " Very well." 
 
 In a minute he added gently : 
 
 " I'm an awful brute." 
 
 She put up her hands to her eyes with a gesture as if 
 she were pushing something away. 
 
 " What is it ? " he asked. 
 
 " That again you and those words it hurts ! 
 hurts ," her voice came to him stifled with grief. 
 
 " What hurts ? "
 
 254 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 She dropped her hands into her lap with a hopeless 
 gesture. 
 
 " I don't know," she said, and she looked to him as a 
 child looks to a grown-up for help. 
 
 " Let me read to you." 
 
 " What ? Dickon's geography ? " She picked it up, 
 and opening it, read : "A peninsula is a piece of land 
 nearly surrounded by water ! " She looked at him with 
 brooding eyes. " That is the best sort of literature for 
 me," she said. 
 
 He blundered then ; he could not see and understand 
 as readily as was usual with him ; his thoughts were 
 blurred, hurried into an unusual vagueness by that 
 loud beating again in his ears. He said : 
 
 " Where's the Browning I lent you ? " and rose to 
 fetch it. 
 
 In a moment she was up and before him, before the 
 table on which the book lay, guarding it with her body. 
 
 " No ! " she said in a low voice, and her breath came 
 rapidly. " I won't have it ever again ! " She paused, 
 then suddenly in a storm of low quick-breathed words 
 it came. " Oh, it's you you ! Why couldn't you leave 
 me alone ? I could bear it then I was right ! 
 And you were wrong. I am afraid. I don't know what 
 it is last night I wanted to die ah, more than that 
 
 I have wanted to die for years, but now " she 
 
 stretched out her hands with desperate appeal. " Give 
 me back my wall ! " she cried. 
 
 He took her hands in his, crushed them in his ; he 
 said nothing, he was inarticulate now when she needed 
 him when she needed his help more than she had ever 
 needed it before. 
 
 " Can't you ? " she breathed wistfully. " Can't I go 
 back ? It was easier so."
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 255 
 
 He led her to her chair, and pushed her gently into it. 
 He had no thought for himself, no thought for the storm 
 of emotion that had swept down upon him : his old 
 decision, his old wish to help her was so strong, that 
 all his mind was given to that, and only to that. 
 
 " You are over-tired ill it's been too much for you. 
 Hush wait a little " 
 
 He did not understand the meaning of the almost 
 unbearable longing he felt to put his arms about her 
 and draw her close. Blinded by the reverence in which 
 he held her, she was still in her peculiar position, almost 
 sacred to him, all thought of the truth of that longing 
 to hold her close was as yet impossible to him. He did 
 not wait to analyse his feeling ; he would, had he had 
 time, have merely defined it as an intense longing to 
 comfort her ; he was still possessed, perhaps obstinately, 
 by his original purpose. Nor had he the most remote 
 conception of what it was she, in her troubled ignorance, 
 was showing him. A woman would have known. 
 
 " Can you tell me a little now ? " he asked pre- 
 sently. 
 
 She had locked her hands together, was striving to 
 keep back the tempestuous storm of words that seemed 
 to beat in throat and head. 
 
 " Last night that poem of Henley's " She quoted a 
 line " ' Let the great winds their worst and wildest 
 blow ' " 
 
 " I know," he said. 
 
 She was mute. 
 
 " Can't you tell me ? " he said gently. 
 
 She lifted pitiful eyes. 
 
 " I don't know it was that the pain came." 
 She added : "I want the wall back again." 
 
 " You won't to-morrow. No, you won't you must-
 
 256 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 n't ! This will pass, and then those things will help you. 
 They'll help you, Prudence." 
 
 " Will they ? " 
 
 She closed her eyes, afraid of tears ; she strove to 
 close her heart ; the storm of words inarticulate words 
 they seemed beat painfully in throat and head. She 
 could not get them out ; the old reserve was too strong 
 in her, some faint instinct warned even her simplicity, 
 and made it impossible to pour them out to Ridgeway. 
 But the stemmed torrent hurt and racked her, the hot 
 tears pressed against her aching eyelids, the weary load 
 of depression was almost unbearable ; the longing to get 
 back to the cold shelter of what he had called her wall 
 became almost insupportable. 
 
 " Help me to get back," she whispered. 
 
 He stood, silent, helpless, his face paling with the 
 stress of his longing to help her ; he stood looking 
 down on the bowed head. 
 
 " I don't know how," he muttered, and he would have 
 built the wall about her again it he had known how to set 
 about it. 
 
 Not knowing how, he obeyed the instinct of help that 
 came to him, and quietly picking up a pocket Keats 
 that lay on the table beside the Browning, he sat down 
 and began to read, " The Eve of St. Agnes." He read 
 very quietly without a glance at her, but he knew that 
 she had leant back, and he hoped that the beautiful 
 words were soothing her ; his desire was to quiet her 
 and soothe her till she should cease to think, and, her 
 tired brain at rest, should perhaps fall asleep. 
 
 " 'So mused awhile, entoil'd in woofed phantasies,' " 
 he read and paused, and glancing up, saw that she slept. 
 
 He put the book down quietly and sat in thought : 
 some inner feeling kept his eyes from her. Only once
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 257 
 
 he looked, and looked away again in haste ; the memory 
 of the pale face, almost like a dead face, in its tired white 
 peace was to remain with him to haunt the hours when 
 his vitality should run low and sad. . . . 
 
 He rose and left the room ; shunning thought and 
 solitude he went upstairs again to Wingfield.
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 A PICNIC in de blue bell wood ! Ah, bien ! " 
 " Bien indeed," Ridgeway ejaculated when 
 they had reached the wood. He said to 
 Prudence : 
 
 " To-morrow I shall come with brushes and paint 
 foolish mortal striving to depict on a yard or two of 
 canvas this ! But to-day I shall forget that I am an 
 artist " 
 
 " No ; remember only the soul-pictures," she said. 
 
 He looked out over the shimmering haze of blue, 
 ablaze where shafts of sunshine shone down through the 
 trees ; softly, wonderfully, coolly mysterious where 
 shadows lay. . . . 
 
 " Soul pictures," he said, and smiled at her. 
 
 " What they must be ! " 
 
 " If I could show them to you on canvas ! " he 
 stretched out a longing arm. " That look silver and 
 gold sun mist and a haze of blue and the trees If I 
 could paint them as they are catch them to keep for 
 ever to give to you. Over in the shade there could 
 any one ever get that tremendous darkness that is 
 really quite light ? The sea of blue what a blue it is ! 
 The life and the fragrance of it how could you express 
 that ? . . . My ringers itch for my brushes." 
 
 " You said you would " 
 
 " I know. I can't." He turned away restlessly. 
 
 " Mark, pourquoi done why did I not bring my 
 paints den ? I wish now to paint." 
 
 358
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 259 
 
 " Think you could manage it, old chap, eh ? " 
 
 " Oh, but yes, for I have de two blue colours in my 
 paint-box, and one will paint de light bluebells where 
 de sun shine on dem, and de oder will paint de dark 
 bluebells where de trees shade dem. Voila tout ! " 
 
 " You simplify life a good deal, old chap ! " Ridgeway 
 said, and his eyes were envious. 
 
 " Ridgeway," called Latimer, " you needn't think 
 you're going to pose as an artist and survey the landscape 
 while we get lunch ready. You come along." 
 
 " Give me work to do food to eat anything to 
 stodge my brain and fingers," Ridgeway said restlessly. 
 
 " Eat and drink and go to sleep," Elizabeth advised. 
 " Men are made to go to sleep on the grass. I always 
 hate men at picnics they can lie flat butter side down- 
 wards with comfort." 
 
 " To sleep with that round you," he muttered, but 
 not happily quite Elizabeth noticed that Ridgeway was 
 not quite like himself that day. She mused, amongst 
 cushions, leaning against a tree trunk, as comfortable 
 as in her own room, which was Elizabeth's way at pic 
 nics, and all else. 
 
 Alphonse probed, being interested, as he was interested 
 in everything that came his way. 
 
 " So you, an artist, do not enjoy this beautiful wood 
 as we, who are not artists, enjoy it ? Is that so ? " 
 
 Ridgeway looked at him, frowning in the effort to 
 give him his attention ; he had a curious sensation that 
 day as if all these people were unreal all except Pru- 
 dence. He was filled with a primitive impatient wish 
 to snatch her away, and plunge with her deeper into the 
 wood, where they two should be alone and at peace. 
 Civilisation and his chivalrous blindness cast over her 
 wish a veneer of unselfishness, in that he took it for
 
 260 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 granted that the wish emanated from pity for her 
 weariness ; from sympathy with her unspoken desire 
 for the privilege of being able to sit silent and gaze. 
 
 " Oh, it makes you feel pretty rotten as a painter, 
 you know," he answered Alphonse, and did not hear 
 his reply. He heard Prudence uttering commonplaces, 
 and these were startlingly real to him in the unreality 
 of the others' words. He met her dreamy eyes and saw 
 them waken into sweet recognition of him. He turned, 
 suddenly flushed, and watched Andre pounce on some- 
 thing amongst the bluebells, and come with fat closed 
 fist up to his mother. 
 
 " I've dot him, Maman," he beamed. 
 
 " Got what, my sweet ? " 
 
 " Dod," said Andre", opening his hand and gazing 
 sadly into his empty palm. 
 
 "He's gone 'way," he said. " P'raps He wasn't in de 
 buttlefly." 
 
 He trotted off intent on his search. 
 
 Elizabeth appealed to the others. 
 
 " He's so dreadfully unorthodox ! I told him that 
 God was in everything beautiful, and nothing will turn 
 him from his search after Him." 
 
 "It's like the Holy Grail," Muriel said musingly. 
 " He's adorable ! " 
 
 Andre was amongst the bluebells again, crawling on 
 hands and knees, his face eager, his blue eyes wide with 
 the intentness of his search. Dickon paused beside him 
 once. 
 
 " God's up there," he told him, pointing to the skies. 
 
 " He turns down to be near lickle boys when dey's 
 dood," Andre" replied, pausing for a moment in his 
 search. 
 
 " He doesn't," Dickon said.
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 261 
 
 "I'll bite your knee off ! " Andre responded in. a fury, 
 his mouth being level with Dickon's knee. 
 
 " The dye off my stocking will give you blood-poison," 
 said Dickon, who was full of scraps of general informa- 
 tion. 
 
 Andre rolled over amongst the bluebells and began 
 to weep. 
 
 Elizabeth rose and went to him, and took him into 
 her arms. 
 
 " Go away ! " she said to the staring Dickon. 
 
 Prudence said bitterly : 
 
 " He hasn't been brought up on pretty fairy stories," 
 and Ridgeway noted how fiercely she was awake now. 
 " Are you going to paint too, my darling ? " she said 
 to Dickon. 
 
 " Renaud's mother is cross with me," Dickon replied 
 sadly. " I only said God lives up there, and never comes 
 down and lives in woods." 
 
 " Never mind, Dickon." 
 
 " Dick, d'you think you could help me unpack this 
 basket ? " called Ridgeway cheerfully. " Catch hold of 
 these plates, youngster, they're unbreakable." 
 
 "May I help 'wash up' after?" Dickon asked 
 eagerly. 
 
 " Rather ! " 
 
 " The plates with mustard on may I wash those ? " 
 
 " Certainly you may ! I don't think any one will 
 want to deprive you of that bliss." 
 
 " / wish to wash de pudding plates with de pieces of 
 juice and jam on dem," chimed in Armand. 
 
 " Why ? " demanded Dickon. 
 
 " 'Cause dey so easy to wash, one does but lick dem 
 and dey are clean." 
 
 "It's not the right way to wash them," Dickon
 
 262 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 argued, and Prudence drew him closer, her eyes defying 
 them to deem him a prig. 
 
 Muriel turned the argument this time, and Elizabeth 
 returned to her place, leaving a beaming Andre squatting 
 in the bluebells, singing a hymn, to " 'tice God down," 
 he informed them with a seraphic smile. 
 
 Latimer presently, having drawn the cork of a bottle 
 of claret, declared, when he discovered that Renaud and 
 Armand had emptied the wine on to a patch of blue- 
 bells in a scientific endeavour to ascertain the effect on 
 their colour, that it was quite like old times. There were, 
 during the day, several little bits reminiscent thus of old 
 times, but Elizabeth, putting a question : " Frankly, 
 don't you think they and their enjoyment are worth 
 it ? " received an unanimous assent, the while Ridgeway 
 was occupied in wondering what Prudence thought. 
 
 " I think," said Elizabeth, her eyes on the three 
 boys sitting amongst the bluebells, plucking them, 
 mysteriously whispering, " they are valuable as mere 
 aids to digestion." 
 
 " Um," said Latimer. " Some people might find their 
 aid rather drastic, as when they pepper the sugar, you 
 know, and little things like that." 
 
 " I mean the sheer happiness of them. Haven't you 
 ever noticed the different feeling you have inside after 
 a luncheon or dinner where the people have been cheerful 
 and amusing and happy, and after one where there has 
 been gloom and glumness ? " 
 
 " ' Better a dinner of herbs,' " quoth Latimer. 
 
 Ridgeway, making an effort, amended : 
 
 " Better a dinner of peppered sugar where boys 
 
 are, than the best sifted sugar ," he trailed off, giving 
 
 up the effort. 
 
 Muriel said inconsequently :
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 263 
 
 "They're adorable." 
 
 Alphonse said : 
 
 " Do you really think surrounding happiness or gloom 
 is capable of affecting the digestion ? " and looked 
 eagerly around. But every one was too lazy to start the 
 discussion for which he was hoping. 
 
 " Let's all go to sleep," Elizabeth suggested. 
 
 " All right," assented Latimer, settling down to look 
 at Muriel. 
 
 There was a minute or two of peaceful silence, then 
 Elizabeth sat up with a tragic upheaval of cushions. 
 " Those two dear old ladies ! All the way from Dirling- 
 ford ! Muriel, Hugh, you promised you'd come. They 
 adore you " 
 
 Miss Eleanor and Miss Isobel ! Oh, confound- 
 
 " Hugh, they're such ducks ! " interposed Muriel. 
 
 " And they never go anywhere," Elizabeth said. 
 " It's a tremendous honour. Those blessed boys must 
 come too. Who'll break the news to Renaud ? " 
 
 But Renaud took the news of Elizabeth's sudden 
 remembrance with equanimity, Miss Isobel being a 
 painter ; the only condition he made was that Dickon 
 should accompany them. 
 
 " For I wish him to see how she paint de trees, and 
 she promise me to bring her picture of de trees," he 
 said with dignity. 
 
 Ridgeway helped in the departure, helped in the 
 packing up, helped carry baskets to the inn, received 
 Renaud's tremendous secret : " We are going to make 
 de beautiful bluebell scent for Maman ! Hush ! See, 
 we have de bluebells, and at home dere is water." 
 
 " Dickon, you would like to go to Elm Hill for tea ? " 
 This was from Prudence, and then presently they were 
 standing there, outside the inn, alone, while they waved
 
 264 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 hands to answering hands in the receding dog-cart and 
 victoria. 
 
 " We will go back to the bluebells," Ridge way said, 
 and she turned and walked beside him in silence. They 
 were alone now and the sense of unreality was gone ; 
 they were real, throbbingly ah' ve to each other's nearness. 
 Back in the glimmering blue of the wood there was no 
 one else in the world, and the sense of it, felt, not thought 
 out, was a wonderful joy with pain behind it, and 
 instinctive strenuous effort to keep voice and eyes and 
 gesture to a calm friendliness. . . . 
 
 And the beauty of it, and the scent. . . . Prudence 
 with the aching pain climbing into her throat, closing it, 
 pressing on it so that she could not speak, almost 
 stretched out her arms to the wood in her longing to keep 
 it a little to keep this precious hour this glimmer of 
 sweet-scented blue all of it the warm glowing blue and 
 the cool delicate blue the pine-pungent breeze the play 
 of the light and shadow on the wide sweep of bluebells 
 the flecks of gold and silver the wonder and mystery 
 and silence of it all. . . . 
 
 Her breath caught in a little sharp sound that was 
 almost a choked back sob 
 
 " I want it I want it so ! " she whispered. " To 
 keep just a little while I want it ! " 
 
 Ridgeway's hand hovered a moment over hers 
 clenched on a frond of bracken beside her ; he drew it 
 back, slowly, heavily, with physical effort. 
 
 " You can have it for some while yet," he said, and his 
 voice ended on a harsh note in curious contrast to the 
 beginning of his sentence. 
 
 " I think I ought to go back now." 
 
 " You would only annoy him ; he would not expect 
 you for hours yet."
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 265 
 
 " No." 
 
 She gave a little laugh that strove to be light. 
 
 "I've such a queer feeling as if I'm never going 
 back I can't realise going back somehow." 
 
 He strove to account for it, arguing for himself as well 
 as for her. 
 
 " It's this wood it makes the world outside seem 
 impossibly mundane it's hardly like a human wood 
 it's a fairy wood " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 Silence and the breeze coming to them bluebell sweet 
 and warm, wrapping them round in forgetfulness and 
 peace. . . . 
 
 And then coming laden with the sharper scent of the 
 pines, wakening them to effort. . . . 
 
 " Are beautiful things always sad ? " 
 
 " I think so." 
 
 " Muriel Latimer says they're not to her." 
 
 And their eyes met in a fearful knowledge of why 
 beautiful things were not sad to Muriel. . . . 
 
 Ridgeway pushed it from him, pushed the reading of 
 his heart and hers away, obstinately refused to believe. 
 
 And Prudence did not understand, had no thought 
 beyond a great joy and pain, and that effort that was 
 purely instinctive, which drove her now to say : 
 
 "Talk to me." 
 
 " Talk seems rather stupid here." 
 
 " I can't bear it," broke from her in a sudden breath 
 of anguish. 
 
 So he talked, comfortably, cheerily, making her smile 
 and listen, and insensibly they were hoarding the hour, 
 cherishing it, clinging to it, striving to lengthen it, while 
 their hearts beat fast, and now and again there sounded a 
 little breathlessness in Ridgeway's voice, and in her smile
 
 266 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 there was a tremulousness. Their thought 
 
 was of each other, their pain and joy meeting overlap- 
 ping bringing at once the ache of desolation, and the 
 supreme joy the wild deep throbbing joy of unques- 
 tioning love and faith. . . . 
 
 Neither knew ; there was no time for self-analysis 
 that day ; no room for more than love, and the torture of 
 its instinctive denial ; at once taking in widely, grandly, 
 greatly their love with the beauty of the woods, and 
 pushing it from them with that instinctive loyalty to 
 their creed. . . V 
 
 And then they knew. . . . 
 
 It was Henley who told them, as he had told Prud- 
 ence already, but then she had not understood ; Ridge- 
 way read it aloud to her. They had no warning. 
 
 " Latimer's left his Henley behind. What a good 
 thing we came back to the same place." 
 
 " Read something," recklessly, driven by a restless 
 pain, she urged him. 
 
 " I don't know much of his. What would you like ? " 
 
 " I don't know. Something. I will give you a 
 number they are all numbered and you must read it." 
 
 " All right." 
 
 She gave it : "No. thirty-four," and waited, her 
 heart beating as it had been beating all that afternoon 
 so fast 
 
 He read it ; his voice faltered once, but making 
 quick choice he decided he had no alternative but to 
 go on. . . . 
 
 " There was no kiss that day ? 
 No intimate Yea-and-Nay, 
 No sweets in hand, no tender, lingering touch ? 
 None of those desperate, exquisite caresses, 
 So instant O, so brief ! end yet so much, 
 The thought of the swiftest lifts and blesses ?
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 267 
 
 Nor any one of those great royal words, 
 
 Those sovran privacies of speech, 
 
 Frank as the call of April birds, 
 
 That, whispered, live a life of gold 
 
 Among the heart's still sainted memories, 
 
 And irk, and thrill, and ravish, and beseech, 
 
 Even when the dream of dreams in death's a-cold ? 
 
 No, there was none of these, 
 
 Dear one, and yet 
 
 O, eyes on eyes 1 O, voices breaking still, 
 
 For all the watchful will, 
 
 Into a kinder kindness than seemed due 
 
 From you to me, and me to you ! 
 
 And that hot-eyed, close-throated, blind regret 
 
 Of woman and man baulked and debarred the blue I 
 
 No kiss no kiss that day ? 
 
 Nay, rather, though we seemed to wear the rue, 
 
 Sweet friend, how many, and how goodly say ! " 
 
 They knew ; Henley had told them, had told them 
 in his beautiful words, giving it to them plain to see and 
 understand, and all the ache and pain and joy of that day 
 grew clear to them. They did not speak again ; they sat 
 there quietly, till at last Prudence rose. She stumbled a 
 little as she moved forward, and Ridgeway put out his 
 arm, and drew it back without touching her. They went 
 down the bracken-grown path in silence ; he held back 
 gorse and brambles for her, at the edge of the wood they 
 turned and looked back to the glimmer of blue. . . . 
 
 " It has been good," Ridgeway said hoarsely. 
 
 And she went back to Wingfield to find him drunk
 
 CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 ONE moment's longing for Ridgeway ; one shud- 
 dering movement away from the room and 
 towards the hall door to call him back, and 
 then realization that she could not have him there after 
 their hour in the wood. For herself she could bear it 
 she had borne sordid terror for so long but not for him ; 
 she shrank in agony from it for him. . . . That 
 hour must be kept beautiful. . . . She had no time 
 to probe into it ; she had left the wood in a mood of 
 exquisite exaltation that in a curious way held little that 
 was intimately personal in it ; it was just the coming 
 of love. ... And the wonder of it left no room then 
 for thought of right or wrong of ultimate joy or suffer- 
 ing. It was, and that was all ... She came from 
 it to hear Wingfield's voice rolling out a hunting song, 
 interspersed with drunken laughter. She went straight, 
 unhesitating, to his room and opened the door ; the 
 fumes of whiskey that met her were torturing after the 
 bluebells the pines. For a moment she recoiled ; for a 
 moment Wingfield, Davenport bending over him, the 
 box of cigars upset on the floor, the whiskey bottle, were 
 obscured by a dark mist. She groped her way to her 
 own room and sat a minute or two, trembling, struggling 
 after mere sanity, fighting this horror and sickness, 
 praying inarticulately for strength. . . . 
 Then she rose and went back to Wingfield. 
 " We must get him to bed, Davenport." 
 " Yes, ma'am, hit's what I am trying to do " 
 268
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 269 
 
 " Evelyn, you must lie down. You will make yourself 
 so ill. Davenport, take that arm I will take this." 
 
 She had to conquer a feeling of repugnance before she 
 could take his arm, and all the while maddeningly 
 bluebells were before her eyes. . . . and this 
 
 " Leave me alone ! Prudence, you surprise me. You 
 really pain me. I assure you, I am enjoying myself 
 immensely. Now, one, two, three ' Do ye ken John 
 Peel ' Why does no one sing ? Dumb dogs ! Dumb 
 dogs ! " 
 
 " I do not happrove of hunting songs, sir." 
 
 " Evelyn, indeed you must lie down now " 
 
 Oh, to keep this away from that hour but the blue- 
 bells were there and ah, God, there it was ' Nor any 
 one of those great royal words' no, no she pushed 
 it from her frantic, distraught, they must not come in 
 here not here dear God, not here their beautiful 
 hour. 
 
 " Am I drunk ? Good ! Let me be drunker still ! 
 Here's to the old hulk who can still get drunk ! Don't be 
 frightened, Prue, I'm always a gentleman in my cups 
 manners grow positively courtly, don't cher know. 
 You'll fall in love with me all over again." 
 
 " Evelyn, come to bed." Her voice was near breaking, 
 her fight making her weak and faint, but she was keeping 
 it away the bluebells had grown dim she was filling 
 herself with this room, with Evelyn, fiercely guarding 
 memory of that hour from pollution, striving to re- 
 member only that Evelyn needed her. Her fingers 
 closed on his arm strenuously. 
 
 " You must lie down, Evelyn ! You must not have 
 any more whiskey ! " 
 
 " You're pinching me, Prue ! You naughty girl, you're 
 pinching my arm ! Hulloa, earthquake, eh, what ? "
 
 270 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 He lurched against her heavily as Davenport suddenly 
 relinquished his hold of his other arm, and sinking into a 
 chair, began to weep. 
 
 " Such a sad spectacle, ma'am ! A fine gentleman 
 like that. Oh, drink's a terrible curse ! A terrible 
 curse ; good Lord, deliver us ! " 
 
 Prudence caught at the table to steady herself ; she 
 forced her shrinking eyes back to the man's face. Was 
 he drunk too ? Davenport drunk ? 
 
 " Get up, Davenport, at once, and help me ! " she 
 said sternly. 
 
 " Help ? We all need help. We're all mishable 
 sinners. Look at him there a fine gentleman like that 
 What has brought his head so low ? Drink, ma'am, 
 the curse of us hall ! " 
 
 Prudence pressed back against the wall, sheer sick 
 terror for the moment driving all else from her mind ; 
 when Davenport half rose from his chair she nearly 
 screamed aloud. 
 
 " He's drunk, Prue, the scoundrel ! In your presence, 
 too! Scandalous! Get out, you hound ! D 'you hear? 
 Ha, ha, ha, I declare he's snivelling ! Takes him like 
 that, does it ? Look at his long face ! Jove, isn't he 
 funny ? Cheer up, Davvy, old chap, have another 
 glass, and you'll feel better." 
 
 " Never touch it myself, sir, thank you. Drink, sir, 
 is the curse of us hall ! " 
 
 " There's a tear trickling down your long nose, Davvy ! 
 Lord, you're as good as a play ! " 
 
 " Davenport," Prudence said sternly. " Leave the 
 room. Do you hear ? " 
 
 " Certainly, ma'am, where shall I leave hit ? " 
 
 " Go out of this room, Davenport, you are dmnk." 
 
 " Drunk ! Oh, ma'am ! My heart is broken
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 271 
 
 ' Come, ye faithful people, come.' And I ask you, my 
 brethren, what is the curse of us hall ? Why, drink 
 
 " '{Then drink, puppy, drink, and let ev'ry puppy drink 
 That is old enough to lap and to swallow, 
 For he'll grow into a hound, 
 So we'll pass the bottle round ' " 
 
 roared Wingfield, and broke off to inquire wonderingly : 
 " Where is the bottle ? Davvy, you artful dog, what've 
 you done with the bottle, eh ? " 
 
 " Bottle of medicine is hall I ever touch, sir, and long 
 life to the blue ribbon ! For, my brethren, I ask you, 
 what is the curse of us hall ? Why, drink ! Spurn it ! 
 Cast it from thee. Alleluia ! Alleluia ! " 
 
 Prudence crossed the room, relinquishing her efforts 
 to get Wingfield into his bedroom, and rang the bell. 
 When she heard Lydia clattering up the stairs she went 
 to the door and called through it, her voice harsh with 
 strain : 
 
 " Tell Ferney to come here at once ! " 
 
 A thought crossed her mind Ferney might be 
 out. . . . 
 
 Wingfield was at the table lifting a half-full glass of 
 whiskey to his lips. She went to him : 
 
 " Evelyn, put it down " 
 
 " Here's to the blue eyes of my lady go away, 
 Prudence. Aren't your eyes blue, my dear next thing 
 to it grey no cause for jealousy " 
 
 " You mustn't have any more, Evelyn. Give me the 
 glass. It will make you suffer horribly." 
 
 " No, no, my dear. Little girls like you don't know 
 anything about it. Here's to the brown eyes of " 
 
 She stretched out her arm and caught at the glass, it 
 fell to the table, and smashed ; one sharp piece struck
 
 272 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 against her other hand and cut it. Wingfield saw the 
 blood and shrank back aghast. 
 
 " What is it, Prue ? Blood ? Are you dying ? Is it 
 murder ? There was blood like that on George Wil- 
 mott's face that day " 
 
 " You sent for me, m' lady ? " 
 
 As Ferney, entering, finished his sentence he went 
 straight at Davenport singing hymns in his chair, 
 seized him by the collar, dragged him across the floor 
 to the door, and kicked him into the corridor. He gave 
 him another kick as he lay there, then returned to the 
 room, respectfully touching his forehead, and stolidly 
 ignoring Wingfield 's roars of appreciative laughter. 
 
 " Funniest thing I ever saw in my life ! To see that 
 little terrier go for the old fox ! Ha ! ha ! ha ! " 
 
 " I want to get him to bed, Ferney," Prudence said in 
 a low voice. 
 
 " Very good, m' lady." 
 
 "I'm drunk, you know, Ferney, dead drunk " 
 
 " Yes, my lord. Bed's the place for you, my lord." 
 
 " You leave me alone, or I'll kick you out into the 
 corridor as you kicked that rogue just now. I'm going 
 to sit here a bit, and have a cigar and a drink " 
 
 " Best leave him alone, m' lady, he'll be asleep in a 
 minute ; it always takes 'im like that a good laugh and 
 then a sleep. I know 'is lordship," he deftly moved the 
 whiskey bottle without Wingfield 's seeing him. " You 
 leave 'im to me, m' lady, I'll look after him " 
 
 " Seen Lord Toppingham to-day, Ferney ? " came 
 drowsily from Wingfield. 
 
 " Not to-day, my lord, his lordship's down at New- 
 market about that new hoss of 'is." 
 
 " Yes yes of course. Prue, where are you going ? 
 You've only just come in. Stay where you are
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 273 
 
 Good gallop I had this morning, Ferney never knew 
 the little mare go better " 
 
 " That's true, my lord, she's just about as fit as they 
 make 'em now," Ferney's face crinkled into eager lines. 
 "I've been giving 'er a stretch across the downs every 
 day, and walking exercise for a couple of hours " 
 
 " Eh ? What ? " Wingfield roused abruptly. " Oh, 
 of course I'd forgotten what a useless fool I am ! 
 Lord, I thought for a moment I was a man 
 again ! " 
 
 Ferney's face fell ; he scratched his head in consterna- 
 tion. 
 
 " Man not a pap-fed thing Where's the whiskey ? 
 Funny thing Men's wives never like their husbands 
 to drink always was good at his jumps eh, what ? 
 good story that long-faced devil Meet at Molteney 
 Cross to-morrow " 
 
 " Yes, my lord " Ferney, eager to repair his mistake, 
 cut in, but Prudence signed to him to be quiet, and 
 presently Wingfield had murmured himself to sleep. 
 
 " I can manage 'im, m'lady well, if you'll just take 
 that arm," Ferney lifted him gently to the bed. " There, 
 now 'e'll sleep as 'appy as a baby," he said tenderly, 
 laying a rug over him. " I know 'im wonnerful head 
 wonnerful head. 'E'd never have been like this to-day 
 if 'e was 'imself, m' lady, it's this crool illness that does 
 the mischief." He moved reluctantly from the bedside, 
 then paused again. " Funny 'ow you can see hoss in 
 'im, ain't it, m'lady ? Even now once he 'ad it 
 written all over 'im, large as life ! I never see a better 
 horseman than wot he were, and as pretty a whip as 
 you'd meet in a day's march." He had moved back to 
 the bed, and was re-arranging the rug clumsily. " As 
 pretty a whip as you'd wish to see ! " He tucked in a 
 T
 
 274 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 bit of rug : " You'd er been proud of 'im in those days, 
 m'lady," he said wistfully. 
 
 Prudence roused herself to give what help she could 
 to this Ferney, who was revealing himself to her for the 
 first time. 
 
 " I know. I have seen him drive and ride, Ferney." 
 
 " Yes, m'lady, but he wasn't at 'is best then, not at 
 the height of 'is fame. Him and me used to get a crowd 
 round us when we started out in London never see a 
 prettier whip," he moved towards the door. 
 
 " I'll just kick that long-nosed feller into the road, 
 m'lady, and then I'll come back." 
 
 " Put him in his room, will you, Ferney ? " 
 
 Ferney scratched his head. 
 
 "I'd sooner kick 'im into the road if it's all the same 
 to you, m'lady." 
 
 " No ; his room, Ferney, take him to his room." 
 
 " Yes, m'lady." 
 
 He muttered as he left the room : 
 
 " Anyway there's that sharp turn at the corner of the 
 passage." 
 
 Prudence ignored the mutter, although she com- 
 prehended its meaning before she heard the sharp crack of 
 Davenport's head against the wall. . . . 
 
 She shuddered and stood hardly knowing what she 
 was doing. . . . 
 
 " I've put him on his bed, m'lady." 
 
 " Yes, Ferney." 
 
 Ferney retreated, re-appeared again. 
 
 "I'm just there if you want me, m'lady." 
 
 " I know, Ferney." 
 
 Once more he re-appeared. 
 
 " It's this crool illness, m'lady 'e'd never 'ave been 
 like that without that. Such a 'ead I never see ! He'd
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 275 
 
 drink enough champagne to bath in, and a bottle of 
 brandy atop of it, and never turn a hair ! It's Gawd's 
 truth I'm telling you, m'lady its this crool illness. 
 If it wasn't for that you'd never 'ave been able to tell 'e 
 was drunk. True as I stand 'ere. 'E could drink a 
 gallon of champagne and be as drunk as a lord, and 
 you'd never know it, in a manner o' speaking. I never 
 see 'is like. And as pretty a whip as you'd see in a day's 
 march . . ." he went off muttering. 
 
 Prudence looked after him, a curious wistfulness in 
 her face ; for a moment she was pierced with a sad wish 
 that she could share in his pride and belief. . . 
 
 She wanted to go to her room she must think what 
 was it she must think about ? ... 
 
 Ten minutes later, when Dickon came home, she was 
 still standing there, and now all feeling seemed gone, 
 she was conscious only of such tiredness that she shrank 
 appalled at the thought of the stairs to be traversed to 
 get to him. She made what was a tremendous, painful 
 effort, and went slowly from the room and down the 
 stairs. 
 
 " You are back, Dickon," she said in a voice that 
 dragged. 
 
 " Renaud's pony is coming to-morrow, mother." 
 
 She looked at him with a queer dread in her face. 
 
 " Don't ask me to get you a pony, Dickon." 
 
 " Why ? " 
 
 " Oh, my darling " 
 
 " Why ? " 
 
 " Because it's no good. I haven't the money, and I 
 
 can't bear it Dickon " She held him close. " Did 
 
 you enjoy yourself to-day ? " 
 
 " Yes, but I would like a pony." 
 
 She searched his face hungrily.
 
 276 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 " Dickie, forget about the pony. You cannot have 
 one yet . Perhaps some day ' 
 
 " When, mother ? " 
 
 " I don't know some day. Did you have a nice tea, 
 darling ? " 
 
 " Yes. When do you think. I can have a pony, 
 mother ? " 
 
 " I cannot tell you yet, Dickon, don't you love any- 
 thing but horses ? " 
 
 " Some things. When will you be able to tell me 
 when I can have a pony, mother ? " 
 
 She pushed him from her and rose. " If you mention 
 the pony again you shall go straight to bed without 
 any supper ! " she said, in a stifled voice. 
 
 Dickon stood staring at her, catching on the tip of his 
 tongue the big tears that rolled slowly down his cheeks. 
 
 " Are you crying for a pony, Dickon ? " she said 
 harshly. 
 
 11 1 don't know." 
 
 She came to him and knelt beside him, putting her 
 arms around him. 
 
 " Don't cry, my poor little one. There, let me wipe 
 the tears away " 
 
 " They're very salty." 
 
 " We won't think any more about the pony for a 
 long while " 
 
 " How long ? " 
 
 " Tell me what you did at Elm Hill. 
 
 " We played fire in a theatre we couldn't have real 
 fire but we had a hose and played it on all of us I've 
 had all my clothes off and dried, and Renaud gave a 
 tramp his shoes and stockings, and walked home bare- 
 foot ; he says his mother is is char-itable now, and so 
 he must be, and Miss Isobel showed us a picture, and
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 277 
 
 Andr6 looked for God down a bunny hole, 'cause he said 
 it was so beautiful. But God isn't in a bunny hole, is 
 he, mother ? He's right away up in heaven, isn't 
 He?" 
 
 Prudence looked out through the window. 
 
 " Sometimes one would like to think He is nearer 
 than that," she said wistfully. 
 
 " But He lives up in Heaven, mother ; He never comes 
 down 'cept Christ in the Bible." 
 
 A little sob seemed to catch in her throat. 
 
 " Sometimes perhaps He is in a bluebell wood " 
 
 she whispered, and bowed her head on her hands and 
 wept. . . .
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII 
 
 WHEN Ridgeway left Prudence he went back 
 to the wood, but at the gap in the hedge where 
 they had entered he paused and looked in. 
 No, he could not go back there alone. Beyond the 
 pines, standing on their soft golden carpets, he caught 
 the glimmer of blue. It would be desecration to go 
 back there now, that glimmer of blue was for ever 
 sacred. . . . 
 
 He walked on, for awhile not thinking consciously at 
 all, content to feel, to thrill to the wonder of this thing 
 that had come to pass ; it was almost as if he did not 
 want to think, the thing seemed so precious that it must 
 needs be fragile, and he feared a breath might mar it. 
 An acquaintance on a bicycle it was who jarred him 
 roughly from his dream, a jovial acquaintance fond of 
 his joke. 
 
 " Hulloa, Ridgeway, what you dreamin' 'bout ? 
 Picture or a woman, eh ? How's Mrs. Wingfield ? " and 
 went chuckling on his way, a coarse and fatuous fool 
 fond of his joke. 
 
 Ridgeway's fury cleared the mist of his dream away, 
 and he knew that he had to face life and no dream. 
 Instinctively he longed to be on a horse ; it was, he had 
 always thought, the best way to face life. He was only 
 half a mile from the Hall, Flourish was at his service ; 
 he strode there, grimly keeping his brain from definite 
 thought, though he could not still the rapid beating of 
 his heart. Once on the mare he cantered gently off to 
 
 278
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 279 
 
 the downs, and then, settling her into a walk, he thought. 
 He knew that Prudence loved him ; facing that, it was 
 difficult to think clearly, almost impossible : his mind 
 followed his heart and soul and went off into that 
 wonderful glowing dream of wonder. . . . But he 
 had to think for her. He had sworn always to help 
 her. He strove with all the strength of his love for her, 
 to put himself aside, to think what this would mean to 
 her. Had he brought further trouble into her life ? 
 Tragedy, where he had hoped to bring solace ? Trivial 
 words of Elizabeth's sounded in his ears : " Don't fall in 
 love with her." Was that only a few weeks ago ? Well, 
 he had not fallen in love with her. What a stupid, 
 inadequate phrase it was. He lifted his face to the quiet 
 evening skies : "I have soared into love with her," 
 he thought, and loathed the word fallen. ... At 
 that time, when Elizabeth spoke, he would have thought 
 it desecration to approach the thought of love to her. 
 But now, surely it was not that ? 
 
 For a while he worried, hot and disquieted ; he set 
 the mare at a gallop over the moist grass of the downs, 
 and as he drew her up again memory of their hour in the 
 wood came to him ; he seemed to smell the warm sweet 
 scent of the bluebells, the pungent scent of the pines ; 
 he saw her pale, pure face, like the Sistine Madonna's, 
 and there was a wonderful light in it. ... His soul 
 was at peace, he knew it was not desecration. . . . 
 
 But for her 
 
 And as the sun went down in a softly luminous glow 
 of pale gold, he dreamed a beautiful dream. . . .
 
 CHAPTER XXIX 
 
 HE went to her the next morning. He did not 
 hesitate to go, his love called to him, and he 
 went, his heart and soul a-fire with his dream. 
 
 He found her in the midst of sordid, ugly reality, and 
 every nerve and sinew in him he put at her service, 
 responding eagerly to her need. 
 
 " Davenport was drunk, too." The " too " explained 
 to him Wingfield's state, which she shrank from putting 
 into words. " He has been supplying Evelyn with 
 whiskey a little at a time in secret. He won't go." 
 
 " Won't go ? What d'you mean ? " 
 
 " I told him he was to leave at once, but " she 
 drooped her head and spoke in a low voice, " Evelyn 
 doesn't want him to go, and he says Evelyn is his 
 master " 
 
 " Good God ! " burst from Ridge way. 
 
 She stood unmoved, white and cold and tired. 
 
 " Ferney wants to throw him out, but it would mean 
 a horrid brawl. Davenport when he isn't drunk, is very 
 strong " 
 
 " Where is he now ? " 
 
 " With Evelyn. Evelyn is very bad. I have sent 
 for Dr. Fielding and telegraphed to Sir William 
 Johnston." 
 
 "I'll get rid of him for you." 
 
 She stayed him, in the same dull, level voice. 
 
 " I don't think perhaps you had better. It would 
 280
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 281 
 
 upset Evelyn so terribly, and he is very ill this morning. 
 And there would be only Ferney and me then." 
 
 " And me ! " 
 
 " Yes, but you don't know much about sickness, do 
 you ? " 
 
 It was as if she were putting him outside her life ; 
 his heart that had been afire with his dream, was near 
 breaking now with the pain of it. 
 
 " I'm strong," he said hoarsely, " and," pitifully 
 smiling, " willing." 
 
 " You are always kind," she said gravely. Miles 
 and miles away she was receding . . . back to her 
 cold aloofness ; he nearly cried out to her in his anguish. 
 . . . And he knew that it was unconscious, that it 
 was no thought of yesterday that dictated her mood. 
 She had put him from her life, had gone back Evelyn 
 needed her. She was too weary and bruised to have 
 room for more than that instinctive knowledge, and the 
 need of responding to it was all she was capable of just 
 then. 
 
 " I don't think Davenport would dare give him 
 whiskey now," she said. 
 
 " But he was impertinent to you." 
 
 " I don't think he would now." 
 
 " Was he impertinent to you ? " 
 
 " Yes. Do you think he'd dare and I can 
 watch " 
 
 " Good God, let me do that much ! It's not fit for 
 you ! " 
 
 His maddened words slipped off her mind unheeded. 
 
 " If you will help " 
 
 " I must turn that man out, Prudence ! I'll get you 
 another at once. I can do what's necessary till he 
 comes. I won't have that scoundrel in the house 1 ''
 
 282 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 It burst from him in sentences abrupt, through what 
 he was forcing himself to keep back. 
 
 " No. I dare not risk it while Evelyn is so bad. 
 I must go to him now." 
 
 He followed her, suffering terribly, and crushing an 
 impulse to take her into his arms, and force her to 
 listen to his dream. . . . Would it bring back 
 life to her ? Warm her ? Even if it hurt her it 
 must make her wake from that cold aloofness. . . . 
 He crushed the impulse and followed her into 
 Wingfield's room. He clenched his hands to keep 
 them off the sleek, respectable manservant who stood 
 beside the bed. 
 
 " You may go, Davenport," Prudence said, and he 
 withdrew noiselessly. 
 
 Wingfield lay in a torpor, breathing heavily ; his 
 face looked white and flabby ; the flesh bagged beneath 
 his half-closed eyes. 
 
 " He would not miss the man like that," Ridgeway 
 said abruptly. 
 
 " No : but he may rouse at any moment. I cannot 
 make him take any nourishment. He has had nothing 
 since luncheon yesterday ; he would take nothing in the 
 night. He will be terribly feeble." 
 
 " Did you sit up ? " 
 
 " Yes, with Ferney. He has been so good. He 
 quieted him when he was delirious." 
 
 Wingfield stirred and opened his eyes. 
 
 " Got a head, my boy feel pretty bad. You might 
 give me a brandy and soda, will you ? What's that ? 
 A beastly slop. Take it away. Had a hell of a night. 
 What's your idea after a " he raised a feeble hand half- 
 way to his mouth, " you know, eh ? " 
 
 " This beastly slop," Ridgeway said cheerfully.
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 283 
 
 " It's nasty, but it's soon gone, and there's nothing 
 like it." 
 
 " All right. Give it here. I'll take your word for it." 
 
 Prudence slipped an arm beneath his shoulders, and 
 deftly raised his head. 
 
 " You're right, pretty beastly 's a mild way of describ- 
 ing it," he said, as his head sank back on the pillows. 
 " Lord, I do feel done up ! Is that that fool of a doctor's 
 voice, Prue ? I can't stand him this morning I tell 
 you I can't stand him ! " 
 
 A dull blueish flush had risen to his face, he tried to lift 
 himself from the pillows, but fell back exhausted. 
 
 " You must see him, Evelyn, he won't stay long." She 
 left the room hurriedly, giving Ridgeway a glance that 
 asked him to stay with Wingfield. When she returned 
 with Dr. Fielding Wingfield was lying with closed eyes, 
 and a frowning, sullen face. He refused to open his eyes 
 or speak during the doctor's visit ; he lay there heavy 
 and inert, and they could not know how much was due 
 to weakness and how much to sullenness. 
 
 Sir William Johnston came down by the 12.25 train, 
 and at once the atmosphere was changed. He was a 
 rotund little man with mild blue eyes, and rather a high 
 voice, but there was comfort and strength in the very 
 clasp of his lean hand ; re-assurance and help in every 
 jerk of his bald head, with which he was wont to punc- 
 tuate his sentences. In a few minutes Ridgeway had 
 received permission to get rid of Davenport, and had sent 
 Ferney off to the post office on Mirth with a wire for 
 another man. Wingfield had been forced to take a good 
 deal of nourishment, at which he swore, but gulped 
 down, and Prudence had promised to let Ridgeway sit 
 with Evelyn, while she went and lay down. Then the 
 great doctor went downstairs and out to the waiting cab.
 
 284 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 Ridgeway followed him ; he was miserable with a sense 
 of self-reproach, of failure. 
 
 " I can't think how I was such a fool as not to find 
 out that he was having whiskey ! " he said. 
 
 Sir William paused in the path and gave him a keen, 
 kindly glance. 
 
 " I'm not a bit surprised," he said. " Their cunning 
 is unbelievable. You'd have been bound to find it out 
 soon, even if the man hadn't got drunk and let him have 
 too much. But up to a point with care it's quite 
 understandable you shouldn't." He paused. " I've 
 been trying to make Mrs. Wingfield believe that ; it 
 appears she had suspicions once and put them away from 
 her." He paused again. " Poor child ! " he muttered, 
 " poor child." 
 
 Ridgeway grasped the hand he extended in farewell. 
 Sir William looked up at him. 
 
 " I'm glad you are here," he said. " Have you known 
 her long ? " 
 
 " Since February." 
 
 " Is that all ? " he appeared to muse. 
 
 " Time isn't of much account," he said. 
 
 " No." 
 
 " You know what her life has been a little ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " You can't know really. No one can know, except 
 herself, and in a less degree, myself." He moved on a 
 step or two 
 
 " There are women and men before whom I would 
 always go bareheaded," he said, " but that girl 
 good-bye good-bye the man I've sent for is a real 
 good fellow." 
 
 " Wingfield " 
 
 " Oh, he'll be a terror fractious unreasonable
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 285 
 
 and very feeble for a while brain weaker, too, I expect, 
 but he'll pull through. I," he gave him a quick little 
 sad glance, " shall pull him through to live like that ! 
 It's a queer world. Good-bye. Shall I manage the 
 1.40 ? Good ! That horse all right ? Or will his legs 
 give way if he's hurried ? Don't know anything about 
 horses, but hate to hurt the poor creatures. Good-bye." 
 
 He took a few quick steps, then paused. 
 
 " What is it ? What do you want to ask me ? " 
 
 " I ? " Ridgeway stammered, taken aback. 
 
 " You can ask a doctor anything," Sir William helped 
 him in the cheery, commonsense tone that had heartened 
 more drooping and frightened spirits than could well be 
 numbered. 
 
 Ridgeway spoke out his thought baldly. 
 
 " If she left him to a nurse's care would he fret ? 
 Would it harm him ? " 
 
 " No, no. In a week he would be calling the nurse 
 Prudence, and not know she wasn't his his wife. I wish 
 she would do it." He held out his hand again, and looked 
 straight into Ridgeway's eyes. " Yes," he said slowly. 
 " I wish she would do it."
 
 CHAPTER XXX 
 
 FOR a week Wingfield was very ill, too ill for Ridge- 
 way to be of much use, and he saw little of 
 Prudence. But each time that he saw her he 
 saw too the building of that wall going on around 
 her, getting higher and higher, leaving him always 
 outside. And slowly a horrible misgiving came upon 
 him that perhaps he had no right to try to climb 
 it. He suffered then terribly ; he could bear all 
 else but that doubt, for the doubt struck at the 
 very root and foundation of his love for her. If it 
 would be to her hurt for him to try to scale that wall, 
 he must give up the effort. It stared him in the face, 
 ruthless, relentless, plain for him to see. And Wingfield 
 lying there, feeble, irritable, mad, was to him the arrow 
 pointing the way. . . . 
 
 At the end of a week Wingfield was less feeble, and 
 after that he began to grow stronger in body every day, 
 but his mind seemed to remain weaker than it had been 
 before his outbreak. He took a liking to Williams, 
 the new man, and had evidently no recollection of 
 Davenport. 
 
 Muriel insisted on carrying Prudence off for a couple 
 of hours at a time ; Prudence went with her, talking 
 little, listening in the detached way Muriel had known 
 so well at the beginning of their acquaintanceship. It 
 was as if she were deliberately erecting a wall between 
 them behind which she took shelter. Muriel could not 
 know that it was an instinctive responding to Evelyn's 
 
 386
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 287 
 
 need of her, a putting away from her all that could come 
 between that need and herself, all that could remotely 
 sap her strength so that she might fail him. 
 
 So Ridgeway, helping her, giving her his friendship, 
 wrapping her about as far as he was able with the sense 
 of his great strength, saw her day by day recede further 
 from him. That hour in the wood took on a dream-like 
 quality that seemed as if it would go near breaking his 
 heart. He was tormented by questions Had she 
 forgotten ? Had he been mistaken ? Could that 
 light in her face that came to him now only in his 
 dreams have been imagined by him ? He could not 
 believe in the extent of her strength ; he could not 
 understand how the long tragic years had schooled 
 her, so that in a crisis like this, she was able, for awhile, 
 to push from her all but thought of the two for whom 
 she had lived so long. It taxed heart and brain and 
 body so cruelly that she grew, physically, weak, but she 
 never relaxed, she had learnt the danger of relaxing, 
 and she did not know that now unless she let that strenu- 
 ous hold of herself go, she must break down. She, in 
 her ignorance, had no conception of the strength of this 
 new thing that had come into her life. ... It was 
 Dickon who sent the wall crashing to the ground. 
 
 It was curious that it should have been Dickon, 
 since it was not like him to give flowers to his mother, 
 but Dickon was opening out in the healthy new life he 
 was leading, his strongest attributes, grown harsh from 
 the unnatural atmosphere in which they had grown, 
 softening into virtues, and he ran to her, as she sat with 
 Ridgeway, a bunch of bluebells in his hand. 
 
 " I picked them in that wood," he said, and ran off 
 again, leaving them there in her lap. She sat trembling, 
 her head drooping, looking down upon them. . . .
 
 288 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 Their scent stole up to her she shook with the sweetness 
 of it, and their hour . . . 
 
 The wall was crumbling ; it fell and left her defence- 
 less ; she cast him a piteous glance " Bluebells " she 
 murmured wonderingly; it was as if she had never 
 thought there could still be bluebells in the world. 
 . . . He was beside her kneeling The tears rained 
 down anguished pent up tears, the tears that kept 
 back all these weeks, had seemed to form into ice in 
 heart and throat. ... He put his arms round her 
 gently, reverently, and held her so ; no words of comfort 
 would come, he was inarticulate except for a murmur 
 that perhaps her love could read. . . . 
 
 That was all. 
 
 When the storm was over he left her. She asked him 
 to go, and he went.
 
 CHAPTER XXXI 
 
 HIS dream had come back to him ... He 
 strove to be practical, to see it from all sides, 
 to settle details. He strove to push from him, 
 for the time being, the pulsating wonder of her in his 
 arms. . . . But he could not ; the wonder stole 
 through heart and soul and mind, uplifting him, thrill- 
 ing every nerve so that he could only lie there, in the 
 open door of his studio, and cherish his dream. In his 
 dream she was there in his arms for always. . . . 
 
 The night grew cold, but he stayed there, he rolled 
 himself in a blanket and spent the night beneath the high, 
 dark skies, with the murmur of the stream in his ears, 
 and the scent of the wet earth in his nostrils ; he could 
 not take his wonder and his dream away from the night 
 and the stars ; he stayed there and dreamed the night 
 away, open-eyed, and when morning came in an infinite, 
 wonderful peace and glow, he prayed : " God help me 
 to make her happy." 
 
 It was when he went to Cherry Cross and stood in 
 Wingfield's room that the old troubling thought returned, 
 but now it was weaker. He looked into Wingfield's 
 bleared eyes, and faced the accusation of treachery, of 
 cruelty, which the world might make, if his dream should 
 come true. But he knew, in his sane strength and apart 
 from the glamour of his love, that there would be no 
 truth, no real sting, in the accusation. He had tried in 
 these days to put himself aside, and he knew that for 
 her it would be best that his dream should be fulfilled. 
 u 289
 
 290 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 He told himself that the daily sacrifice of her life was 
 a sin. . . . 
 
 When he found himself alone with her she stood before 
 him with drooping head, and she said to him : "I have 
 brought sorrow into your life." 
 
 He cried low, in a voice that vibrated with truth : 
 
 " Sorrow ! God, if I had words ! " 
 
 She lifted her pale face then, and it was transfigured ; 
 she stretched her arms wide and drew them to her, and 
 it was as if she gathered something to her breast. 
 
 " Then I thank God for it," she said, and to herself 
 she murmured : "I understand now." And she stood, 
 her face uplifted, the while in her mind ran the poem : 
 
 " Let the great winds their worst and wildest blow, 
 Or the gold weather round us mellow slow : 
 We have fulfilled ourselves, and we can dare 
 And we can conquer, though we may not share 
 In the rich quiet of the afterglow 
 What is to come." 
 
 A murmur from his lips made plain to him her thought, 
 and again she said : "I understand." 
 
 But he looked at her, anguish in his face. 
 
 " No ; you don't quite understand," he said. 
 
 She was silent, standing, it seemed to him, afar, and 
 he dared not go to her. . . . 
 
 His dream struggled in his throat, at his very lips for 
 utterance . . . 
 
 She put a deep thought into halting words, because 
 he was her love, and she must tell him all 
 
 " You have made my sordid life beautiful," she 
 said. 
 
 His dream 
 
 " I want to make it beautiful always." 
 
 " You have for always," she said. 
 
 She left it at that. And his dream.
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 291 
 
 " Prudence, we can't I can't ah, come down 
 Prudence, come near " 
 
 She put out strenuous hands. 
 
 " You mean must we do that now ? " 
 
 He was at a loss. 
 
 " Do what ? " 
 
 " That : think of a reason for your going away 
 and that " she turned from it in distaste. 
 
 " Going away," he repeated dully, and then sharply, 
 roughly : " Wouldn't you care if I went away ? " 
 
 Across the deep exaltation in her face there flashed a 
 startled half-awakening. 
 
 " Why do you speak to me like that, Mark ? " she 
 said wistfully. 
 
 " I'm a brute. Don't make the mistake of thinking 
 I'm an angel." 
 
 " I know what you are," she said to herself gently. 
 " I must go back to Evelyn now." 
 
 He let her move towards the door ; there she paused : 
 
 " Was it true what you said about my not bringing 
 you sorrow ? " 
 
 " It was true, Prudence, but I can't live up there on 
 a pinnacle of icy exaltation 1 " he cried it out in his 
 anguish. He saw the startled shrinking that leapt 
 to her eyes, saw her pale lips grow whiter. 
 
 " I must go back to Evelyn," the whisper, almost 
 purely instinctive, came to him, as she put her hand on 
 the door handle. 
 
 He sprang to her side. 
 
 " Prudence you can't go like that wait a minute 
 give me a minute " he was breathing hard. 
 
 She drew back, waiting patiently, while he strove 
 to still the thought hammering at his brain, the rapid 
 beating of his heart. ... He was beginning to see,
 
 292 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 to understand. ... He saw that to her, joy was a 
 thing unknown sacrifice a daily duty pain and trouble 
 her portion through life All else would seem impossible. 
 She took instinctively the course that hurt. ... He 
 must be patient his dream ah, his dream must wait ; 
 she was not ready to listen to it yet. . . . 
 
 He spoke gently : 
 
 " Prudence, I'm not going away. I am coming 
 here as I came before. You will let me come." 
 
 She drew a deep breath. 
 
 " I hadn't thought of that." 
 
 " No. I shall do it." 
 
 She hesitated, then she said simply : 
 
 " You know best." 
 
 "Wait a minute. Will you be glad if I come ? " 
 
 She lifted innocent grateful eyes. 
 
 " Yes, Mark," she said, and added : 
 
 " You mean that that we shall still have our 
 friendship ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 She left the room, then came back ; she came up 
 close to him, and for the first time her pale face was 
 flooded with colour ; she stood twisting her fingers, 
 hesitating. 
 
 " What is it, Prudence ? " he asked tenderly, and she 
 seemed suddenly to him very young. . . . 
 
 " It won't be wicked will it, Mark ? " It came 
 out in a shamed whisper. 
 
 " No ; it won't be wicked, Prudence," he said gently. 
 
 She went away, accepting his word implicitly.
 
 CHAPTER XXXII 
 
 IT went on like that for several weeks. Ridgeway 
 put all his strength into it, but the strain told 
 on him ; he grew thinner, and he was irritable 
 to every one except Prudence. 
 
 Muriel said innocently to Elizabeth that Mark was 
 over-working. 
 
 Elizabeth said : 
 
 " Best thing for him," and eyed Muriel curiously. 
 
 " He never goes anywhere now. He never comes 
 to us, or even to you. He just paints and paints." 
 
 " Let's go down to his studio and see what he has 
 been doing," Elizabeth suggested. 
 
 Muriel hesitated. 
 
 " He mightn't like it." 
 
 " He can say so. My dear child, you needn't be 
 afraid ; Mark will tell us quick enough if he doesn't 
 want us." 
 
 " He's never rude. I hate a rude man." 
 
 " Oh, no, he wouldn't be rude. Well, I'm going." 
 
 " I, too, am coming, Maman." Renaud sprang 
 from behind a window curtain. 
 
 " I think not, Renaud." 
 
 Renaud, who had a cobalt blue nose, and yellow ochre 
 cheeks, replied with such a tremendous dignity that 
 even his peculiar appearance failed to make him ludi- 
 crous. 
 
 " It is necessary dat I come, Maman. We artists 
 must help each oder, n'est-ce pas ? Pour moi. I paint 
 
 293
 
 294 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 my nose ! Why, je tu demande, why ? Because I 
 can paint noting else ! I paint my cheek mais pour- 
 quoi ? Because it is all dat I am able to paint ! " 
 
 "I'm not going to let you be an artist when you grow 
 up, you know, Renaud." 
 
 " Pourquoi ? " 
 
 " I'm afraid of the French blood in you blossoming 
 into low collars and long hair and flappy ties. You 
 shall be a nice, clean, wholesome English sporting 
 noodle, I think." 
 
 " I shall be," quoth Renaud solemnly, " de greatest 
 artist in de whole world. I have made up de picture 
 dat I paint first. Ah, mais il est superbe dat picture." 
 
 " What is it, sweet ? " 
 
 He hesitated, glancing doubtfully at Muriel. 
 
 " I will keep it a great secret, Renaud." 
 
 " Den I will tell. See, I love to paint de trees. I also 
 love to paint Maman. Den my picture is Maman, in 
 her pink shining satin dress de one with de tiny little 
 pearls on it and her pearl necklace, and she is sitting 
 in a great high tree in de winter time when all de boughs 
 are so pretty and dark with her silver shoes on, and 
 dat sparkle ting in her hair ah, mais il est superbe 
 dat picture 1 " 
 
 " And my great fur coat, I hope, Renaud," said 
 Elizabeth unkindly. 
 
 He threw out his hands with a gesture of unutterable 
 despair. 
 
 " Ah, you do not understand ! " 
 
 " Well, run and tell Louise to get that paint off your 
 nose, and you can come with us." 
 
 " Bien ! We artists must help each oder 1 Ah, 
 but yes." 
 
 So it was that Ridgeway, frowning before his painting
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 295 
 
 for Coles, heard voices drawing near, and on an impulse 
 of sharp irritation stepped to the door and turned the 
 key in the lock. He told himself that he did not want 
 to be interrupted in his work, but behind that there 
 was a keen distaste to having the atmosphere he had 
 lately created there disturbed. In a curious way, 
 caught and held in his loneliness and longing, he had 
 impregnated the studio with the thought of Prudence, 
 so that at times he could almost dream she was there. 
 It was all he had that, and the painting he had done 
 of her standing on the hill, in the mist. . . . 
 
 Glancing at the window facing west, the curtains of 
 which had been torn the day before, he slipped behind 
 Dickson's bureau, and crouched low, out of sight from 
 the window. 
 
 He heard the steps grow near, heard the knock on the 
 door, the handle turn, talk, then, high and shrill : 
 
 "Is it a rat, Mark ? Hush, he is hiding behind de 
 bureau. . . ." 
 
 Renaud, on the roof, looking down through the top 
 light. 
 
 Ridgeway, throwing wide his door, bowed ironically. 
 
 " I forgot the tree and a boy's proclivities." 
 
 " You are working, I'm so sorry," Muriel said, con- 
 trite. 
 
 Elizabeth said : 
 
 " What did he look like hiding behind the bureau, 
 Renaud ? " 
 
 " Oh, but ver cross and fierce like dis ! " 
 
 He skipped behind the bureau and crouched, glowering 
 prodigiously. " Was it a rat, Mark ? Were you den 
 waiting for him to come out ? " 
 
 " Come, Renaud," Muriel said. " You are disturbing 
 the painter ; you should sympathise."
 
 296 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 " Were you painting, Mark ? " Elizabeth demanded. 
 
 " Trying to. But don't go, Mrs. Latimer, perhaps 
 you'll give me a fresh impetus. Do come in." 
 
 " I'd rather not, really. I hate doing that sort of 
 thing." 
 
 Ridgeway smiled charmingly. 
 
 " You never could do that sort of thing. Do, please, 
 come in." 
 
 Elizabeth had passed in, and was looking at the 
 painting on the easel. 
 
 " It's a beautiful thing, Mark," she said, and added 
 slowly : " Have you done any more to it since I saw 
 it a few weeks ago ? " 
 
 " Oh, tremendous lot," he replied. " Can't you see ? 
 That filthy hard edge to that cloud that's fairly recent, 
 and this mess down in the corner it's not meant for 
 cauliflowers floating in the stream that's new too." 
 
 He picked up a penknife, and began to scrape the 
 edge of the cloud. 
 
 " Eh bien ! " cried Renaud capering. " Now I see 1 
 I understand ! I also will use my penknife ! " 
 
 For a moment Ridgeway's hand poised, clenched 
 on the knife, before the canvas. 
 
 " It's a temptation sometimes," he said, and dropped 
 his hand. 
 
 " To scrape it all out ? " Muriel asked aghast. 
 
 " No ; to slash it to ribbons ! " he responded fiercely, 
 and tried to soften it with a harsh little laugh. 
 
 " Oh, dear," sighed Elizabeth, " the pictures down 
 here seem to madden you, and I'm responsible. Mark, 
 if I hadn't insisted on your coming down here, you'd 
 never have come." 
 
 " I should have come," he said quietly. 
 
 She was looking at him through her half-closed lids.
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 297 
 
 " It's a chance in a thousand. Why should you ? " 
 
 He answered lightly : 
 
 " Oh, some instinct would have told me what things 
 there were down here to paint." 
 
 Elizabeth wandered round the studio. 
 
 " I don't see that charming thing of the mist and 
 Prudence Wingfield." 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Where is it ? I do want to see it." 
 
 " I'm sorry. I've made a mess of it." 
 
 " What a pity ! " 
 
 " Ah, Monsieur, do I not know ! " cried Renaud, 
 turning from contemplation of the canvas on the easel. 
 ' I also make de mess ! Oh, but de deuce of a mess ! 
 We artists must help each oder, n'est-ce pas ? Pour 
 moi I cannot paint de trees as dey look. Mais pour- 
 quoi ? I do not know ! I do not understand, for 
 behind my eyes dere is de beautiful picture it is 
 
 here " touching his eyes, " and in my paint-box 
 
 I have de colours, den, I ask you, why can I not paint 
 de picture ? " 
 
 In at the open door came two disreputable, half- 
 dressed figures ; one, chubby and weeping, flung itself 
 upon Elizabeth. 
 
 " I do not like de brambles bitin' me, Maman ! Dey 
 catch my arms and my legs, and behold, one catch my 
 tummick, and dey poke little holes into me ooh, I want 
 my shoes and my socks and my knickbocks and my coat 
 ooh ooooh ' ' 
 
 " Armand, what have you been doing ? " 
 
 " It was like dis, Maman, Renaud, he become a 
 
 Pig " 
 
 " It is you who are de pig ! Ah bah, pig ! Pig ! Pig ! " 
 From the scrimmage of words and fists that followed
 
 298 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 they managed to elicit that Renaud had refused to tell 
 where he was going, so that Armand had considered 
 it his duty to follow in secret. He had allowed Andre 
 to come also ; they had followed at a discreet distance, 
 and, being still afire with the glow of charity, had given 
 away most of their attire to the gypsies who were camp- 
 ing down by the old mill. 
 
 " Mark," Elizabeth said, "I'm dreadfully sorry for 
 you, but you'll have to give Andre house-room till I 
 can send the cart for him. He'll go to sleep, he is worn 
 out, poor sweet. Armand, you will come home with us 
 yes, barefoot to punish you." 
 
 " Pour moi," said Armand carelessly, " I like de bare 
 feet, for de grass, it tickle, and de stones dey make one 
 a pilgrim, scourging his filthy body." 
 
 " You're rather startling, dearest." 
 
 " I also wish to be de pilgrim and scourge my filthy 
 body," exclaimed Renaud, preparing to take off shoes 
 and socks. 
 
 " Ah oui," cried Armand, " let us den dig de brambles 
 into all de parts dat hurt de most ! " 
 
 Elizabeth forbade further disrobing and mortifying 
 of the flesh, and, in the midst of an intimate discussion 
 as to which were the tenderest parts of the human body, 
 she swept them off with her. 
 
 " I wish," she said outside to Muriel, " I had never 
 made Mark come down here." 
 
 " Oh, Elizabeth, why ? He has done some beautiful 
 work." 
 
 " Beautiful ? I don't know. One hankers after 
 orthodox happiness for any one one cares for. The 
 great tragic joys are lovely to read about, and to gaze 
 upon, only when they happen to one's acquaintances, 
 not when they happen to one's oldest friends."
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 299 
 
 " But won't his tragic mood pass ? " 
 
 " Only with the unorthodox consummation." 
 
 She gave a little impatient laugh. 
 
 " How trying you people are, who object on principle 
 to gossip ! I believe you teach your very hearts and 
 minds to be blind to your neighbour's affairs. When 
 you carry your charity to that extent it becomes self- 
 absorption ! I'm much nicer I love gossip." 
 
 " But not slander," Muriel said. " And gossip so 
 often degenerates into that." 
 
 " I like slander when it's directed against the proper 
 person, which is, of course, the person I happen to detest. 
 I loathe people who are too just even to let themselves go 
 in a good old burst of outspoken hatred 1 " 
 
 Muriel said slowly : 
 
 " What is it you're hinting at ? " 
 
 " You know surely ? " 
 
 " N-no ; I'm beginning perhaps to wonder " 
 
 " Well, wake up. Can't you see that Mark Ridgeway 
 is in love with Prudence ? " 
 
 Muriel did not answer for a little while, then she 
 said : 
 
 " I hope not oh, I hope not." 
 
 " It's too late for that," said Elizabeth, who was in a 
 very bad temper, for Ridgeway's sake. 
 
 " Are you sure ? How can you be sure ? " 
 
 " Because I happen not to have shut my eyes and 
 ears to my neighbours' affairs." 
 
 " Oh, Elizabeth " 
 
 " That's why I wanted to catch him suddenly in his 
 studio to make sure." 
 
 Muriel flushed. 
 
 " Then you had no right to let me come " 
 
 " Oh, it'll do you good ! I'm never above doing a
 
 300 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 little doubtful work, if there's a chance it may help my 
 friends." 
 
 " How will this help ? " 
 
 " It has decided me to fight on Mark's side, whatever 
 happens." 
 
 " You mean " 
 
 " That I shall try to help him to win her for his wife " 
 
 Muriel gave a little cry. 
 
 " But " 
 
 " Oh, I know all that. She has sacrificed herself 
 enough for that poor man, who isn't sane enough to miss 
 her. He should have a good nurse, and she should 
 marry Mark. I don't like it. And there's the boy. 
 I'd sooner Mark had married an ordinary, good, charm- 
 ing girl with no history and no child, but que voulez 
 vous ? " 
 
 " She will not leave him," Muriel said. 
 
 Elizabeth glanced at her curiously. 
 
 " You may be right, but one can't foretell a definite 
 course of action like that, unless one leaves love out of 
 the question." 
 
 " You don't know that she loves him." 
 
 " No ; it's difficult to tell with that coldness and 
 reserve of hers, but I think she must " 
 
 " Poor child," murmured Muriel sadly. " Oh, poor 
 child, one would think she had suffered enough." 
 
 " Perhaps she has, perhaps this means the end 
 of it." 
 
 But Muriel looked out before her through tears. . . 
 
 Renaud and Armand came clamouring for permission 
 to disrobe. Elizabeth refused sharply. She said to 
 Muriel : 
 
 " If I belonged to a lower order I should scream at 
 them, and hit their heads together ! As it is, I feel I've
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 301 
 
 been a brute just because I spoke crossly to them. 
 It's absurd. And I get no satisfaction out of it. I 
 suppose if you have children you'll never lose your 
 temper, whatever the little wretches do ! " 
 
 " You needn't sound so fierce over a conjecture," 
 Muriel said, smiling. 
 
 " I feel I want to stick pins into you ! " Elizabeth 
 said. 
 
 Muriel flushed. 
 
 " We come to the footpath across the fields in a 
 moment ; we can part there," she said. 
 
 " I don't want to part ! " 
 
 " Perhaps," said Muriel, " I do." 
 
 A little smile trembled at the corners of Elizabeth's 
 mouth. 
 
 " The pins were only because you're so horribly sure 
 she wouldn't leave that poor man, even if she loved 
 Mark." 
 
 " Do you think she would ? " 
 
 " Yes ! Of course ! I'm sure of it. She would 
 put Mark first. She has no right to ruin his life. She 
 probably wouldn't do it for her own sake, although 
 she'd be surprised how that sort of thing hurts and 
 wakes her up ! She may find, if her coldness turns, 
 without will of hers, into flame, that life is more difficult 
 to mould as one wishes, than she's found yet, with all 
 her tragic misery ! " 
 
 She added slowly : 
 
 " It's not easy to keep away when the man's there 
 waiting and wanting you." 
 
 " No ! " 
 
 It broke from Muriel like a little cry of memory, 
 and her face paled ; insensibly her steps quickened 
 she wanted to get back to Hugh.
 
 302 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 Elizabeth said gloomily : 
 
 " I wish I didn't find it necessary to produce so many 
 reasons why she'd do it." 
 
 " They're good reasons," Muriel said. 
 
 " Yes ; too good and too necessary. It's when one 
 gives and needs no reasons that one can feel sure of a 
 thing's coming to pass. All the same, I ant sure it will ! " 
 
 In the studio Ridgeway, left with Andre, stood and 
 regarded him with an unfriendly eye. " Look here, 
 young man," he said, " are you too young to understand 
 that I want you to be quiet ? " 
 
 " S-s-s-hush," whispered Andre, his blue eyes very 
 grave. " See, I betum a lickle mouse, n'est-ce pas, 
 Monsieur ? " 
 
 " That's it. Roll this shawl round you if you're 
 cold." 
 
 Andr6 was sitting on a Persian rug, he continued to 
 sit there, his gaze fixed longingly on a small lay figure 
 lying on the bureau. 
 
 " S-s-hush," he whispered softly at intervals, and 
 then he began to sigh ; he sighed more and more fre- 
 quently, and his sighs grew louder and louder, as Ridge- 
 way continued to paint. 
 
 " What are you puffing away like that for ? " he 
 asked at last irritably. 
 
 " I must not 'peak, n'est-ce pas, Monsieur ? " 
 
 " 'Peak away." 
 
 The gravity of the brown little face was chased away 
 by a beaming smile. 
 
 " Dere is a dolly," he said. 
 
 " Eh ? Oh, that ! Well ? " 
 
 " Monsieur plays wif de dolly ? " 
 
 The trembling anxiety in his voice made Ridgeway
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 303 
 
 turn, and look at him, and he remembered hearing 
 of Andre's secret, shamed love for dolls. 
 
 " Artists always do," he said, and lifting the lay 
 figure from the bureau put it down on the rug beside 
 him. 
 
 " Den I also am de artist," Andre said, and clasping 
 the figure to him, began to croon a lullaby. Presently, 
 his shawl trailing behind him, he crept out of the open 
 door to sit outside so that he might sing the louder, 
 without disturbing Ridgeway. He put his doll to bed 
 in a nest of grass surrounded by tall pink foxgloves, 
 and sang in a sweet little deep flat voice till the word 
 " God " occurring in his song set him thinking on his 
 quest. He knelt up in the grass, and prayed, " Oh, 
 Lord Dod, tell me where's you hidin'. Amen." 
 
 He waited gazing around wide-eyed. One of the fox- 
 gloves waved in the breeze, and dropped a beautiful 
 pink cup at his feet. Andre pounced, his cheeks scarlet 
 with excitement. 
 
 " I've dot Him ! I've dot Him ! " He chuckled, the 
 flower between his hot little hands. " Oooh I can 
 feel Him movin' ! " 
 
 He held it up close to his face, resting his cheek on 
 his closed hands, making a picture that even the funereal 
 and severe Mrs. Hawkleigh, driving into Barchester, 
 was forced to stop and look at. 
 
 " Wait, George," she said to the coachman, and 
 descending approached the chubby little scantily 
 attired figure sitting on its heels amongst the fox- 
 gloves. 
 
 " Why have you so few clothes on, my dear ? You 
 will catch cold. What have you there ? " she said. 
 " What are you holding in your hands ? " 
 
 " Dod ! " said Andre beaming.
 
 304 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 " And who is Dod, my dear ? " 
 
 The blue eyes widened incredulously. 
 
 " Dod," he repeated. 
 
 She put out a black-gloved hand and patted his 
 head. 
 
 " Show me this Dod," she said playfully. 
 
 He hesitated, burrowing his cheek tighter against 
 his hands. 
 
 " I'm so drefful 'fraid He'll 'scape," he said. " He's 
 in dere now, 'cause I can feel Him movin'." 
 
 " Oh, he is alive ? I am quite curious. Tell me 
 who Dod is, my dear." 
 
 " He's Dod Monsieur Lord Dod 'mighty ! " 
 
 " What ? What ? oh, this is scandalous ! Iniqui- 
 tous ! " 
 
 " I prayed to Him to stop hidin' and turn out, and 
 He jumped on to me in a pink f'ower, and now I've dot 
 Him oooh ! I've dot Him oooh ! " he crooned, red- 
 cheeked, aglow with joy. 
 
 " You mean to tell me you are saying that that oh, 
 I cannot utter the profanity ! Poor, ignorant baby ! " 
 She marched to the studio, and rapped sharply on the 
 door. 
 
 " I'm sorry I can't leave my work," came in Ridge- 
 way's voice. 
 
 " I beg your pardon, but I really must see you a 
 moment, Mr. Ridge way ! " She opened the door and 
 went in. 
 
 " That child outside it has quite upset me. He is 
 sitting there with scarcely any clothes on declaring that 
 he has that that he has God in his hands ! " 
 
 " It's a pretty fancy," Ridgeway said. 
 
 " A pretty fancy ! It's horrible profanity ! It is 
 desecrating the name of our Lord "
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 305 
 
 " Would your God mind a child thinking to find Him 
 in all beautiful things ? " 
 
 " Most certainly ! It is sacrilege " 
 
 " Then your God is not mine, or that baby's ! " he 
 said gently. 
 
 She poured out a deluge of doctrinal argument until 
 Ridgeway, exasperated, cut in with : 
 
 " I'm awfully sorry, but I'm hard at work, and any- 
 how I own no responsibility for one of Elizabeth's 
 children ! " 
 
 " We are all responsible for each other. I am respons- 
 ible for you ! You " 
 
 " I'm sorry for you," he said grimly. 
 
 " I do not shirk or shrink. However, that little boy 
 is not, of course, yours. I will talk to his mother." 
 
 " Do," said Ridgeway maliciously. 
 
 She left the studio and went back to the road where 
 her carriage waited. She did not see Andre again. 
 
 When the sound of the wheels had died away into the 
 distance Ridgeway came out to fetch Andr in. 
 
 " Andre ! Where are you ? " 
 
 A clump of bracken on his right stirred, and Andre's 
 tear-stained face peered between it. 
 
 " What's the matter, old chap ? " 
 
 " It wasn't Dod, it was a lickle red spider," he said, 
 forlornly. 
 
 " Well, never mind, come along in now." 
 
 " I wish to stay here." 
 
 " Well, promise you won't run on to the road ? " 
 
 " Mais oui." 
 
 Ridgeway threw a rug over him and returned to 
 his painting. It was a few minutes later all in a 
 moment she was there Andre howling his nose 
 bleeding Prudence hugging him up, soothing him
 
 306 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 Then she was in the studio Prudence, no dream 
 of her with Andre on her knee Ridgeway holding 
 the bowl of water while she sponged the poor little 
 nose and his hand touched hers some of the water 
 was spilled. . . . 
 
 He heard his own voice saying : 
 
 " What happened ? " 
 
 And her's replying that Andre had fallen down the 
 bank, and bumped his nose. 
 
 Then wheels and Louise and Andre was 
 gone. 
 
 They stood within the door, and his heart was thump- 
 ing with the knowledge that she was there in his 
 studio with him no dream Prudence this but alive, 
 tremulous. He shook with the strain of his striving 
 after that cloak of calm friendliness. 
 
 " Were you passing ? Or did you want me ? " he 
 said, and the vibrating of his voice made the common- 
 place words a message of his love. 
 
 She was for the minute mute, flushing into shy guilt 
 at his question, answering at last : 
 
 " I was passing," and at once confessing to him that 
 she had chosen to pass his studio for no reason but that 
 she could not keep away. She trembled as she stood 
 there, afraid, instinctively, to move lest she evoke the 
 storm of love which she felt he was holding back. Once 
 she spoke, she said : 
 
 " I must go," but the words died in a whisper on her 
 lips. 
 
 Then she spoke again, she made a great effort ; her 
 eyes were fixed on an old painting coat that lay on a 
 chair. 
 
 " It needs washing," she said with a little breathless 
 laugh.
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 307 
 
 " Does it ? "he said, and with that his arms were round 
 her holding her close. . . . 
 
 When she tried to get away he freed her, and put her 
 gently into a chair. 
 
 " Prudence " 
 
 But she shook her head, beseeching him to be silent ; 
 she buried her face in her arms on the table. . . . 
 
 He went and stood in the doorway, breathing hard, 
 and in his heart was a joy so great that, come what would, 
 it must needs glorify the rest of his life. . . . 
 
 He went back to her presently and knelt beside her, 
 and bowed his head on her hand, lying in her lap. 
 
 " Prudence," he said huskily, " do you forgive 
 me ? " 
 
 She answered with her beautiful truth. 
 
 " There is nothing to forgive. I know." 
 
 She lifted her head and looked down into his face ; 
 she was white and tremulous, but her eyes were shining, 
 and her lips sweet. . . . 
 
 " May I tell you my dream now ? " he whispered. 
 
 She waited, letting her hand lie in his. 
 
 " All these weeks," it burst from him now almost 
 incoherently, " all these weeks I kept it to myself 
 I wanted to tell you may I tell you now ? You will be 
 my wife that's it that's my dream Prudence," he 
 broke off, " don't look at me like that ! My God what 
 is it ? " 
 
 She was cowering back in her chair afraid afraid of 
 him ! His breath caught in his throat almost choked 
 him : he whispered : 
 
 " Prudence my little one " strove to say more, 
 
 breathed at last : " Don't look at me like that I can't 
 bear it "
 
 3o8 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 " I I don't understand," she murmured in a fright- 
 ened voice. 
 
 He caught at it with a great breath of relieved tension. 
 
 " No no that's it. I'm a brute. I frightened you, 
 my poor little one ! I was a brute to blurt it out like that 
 a brute. Try not to be frightened there I'll be so 
 careful, my sweet. I was a brute. Don't be frightened," 
 he was stroking her hand, soothing her, his face drawn 
 with anxiety. " A great, clumsy brute " 
 
 She drew her hand from his, she looked at him with 
 wide, wondering eyes. 
 
 " You said you asked " 
 
 " Yes, I know. We'll wait a little. You're upset 
 a 
 
 " What did you ask ? " she broke in. 
 
 " I'll tell you presently" 
 
 She bent towards him. 
 
 " Tell me now," she whispered in anguish. " I I'm 
 thinking a terrible thing of you " 
 
 " It was my dream my thought of these long 
 weeks " 
 
 He was afraid to tell her just yet ; she saw his fear, 
 and misunderstood it. 
 
 " You are afraid ! My horrible thought is right " 
 
 " No ; not if it's horrible," he said firmly. 
 
 She drew a little sobbing breath of relief. 
 
 " Forgive me," she murmured, and he saw the t^ars 
 gather in her eyes. 
 
 " My dream," he said steadily, for he realised that he 
 must say it now, " is a very beautiful one. It is to take 
 what God has given us, Prudence you and I " 
 
 " You mean ? Oh, what do you mean ? What 
 
 are you doing ? I I cannot understand " 
 
 " Hush, dear one. I am asking you to be my wife "
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 309 
 
 She sprang to her feet and away from him ; her face 
 flamed from brow to chin ; when he would have drawn 
 near she put out her hand as if to ward off something 
 evil. 
 
 " What are you doing, Prudence ? My God, you look 
 as if I'd insulted you ! " 
 
 " Yes," she gasped, and made her way towards the 
 door. 
 
 " I insult you ! Prudence, I worship you ! You're 
 the purest, bravest " 
 
 She interrupted him, suddenly white and cold. 
 
 " You asked me to to " 
 
 " Yes ; is that an insult ? For a man to ask 
 reverently the woman he loves to be his wife ? " 
 
 " From you to me yes " 
 
 He stopped her progress to the door. 
 
 " Prudence ! " He broke into passionate speech. 
 
 She stood, shrinking from him, and in the midst of his 
 storm of words spoke. 
 
 " I I suppose it is my fault I have been very 
 wicked to to let you " 
 
 He broke in on the trembling words, suddenly quiet 
 and stern. 
 
 " Be quiet, Prudence ! I won't have it desecrated. 
 Do you understand ? Sit down, and try to listen to me." 
 
 " I want to go " she said in a tired voice. 
 
 " Please let me go." 
 
 " Would you put me out of your life now ? " 
 
 " Yes," she said. 
 
 He made no sign. 
 
 " Sit down. I must talk to you," was all he said. 
 
 " I ought to go back " 
 
 " You shall go presently." 
 
 He stood looking down on her, and a curious thought
 
 3 io ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 swept across his brain ; what would she do if he were 
 to take her into his arms again, and fight that coldness 
 into warmth ? 
 
 " You've got to listen to me first," he said quietly. 
 " Don't you know that you've insulted me pretty 
 badly ? " 
 
 "I? You?" 
 
 " You're doing it still." 
 
 She quivered into quietude, and stood by the table 
 with bowed head. 
 
 " My feelings don't matter it's our love that matters 
 you've got to believe that I love you and reverence 
 you, Prudence." 
 
 She was silent. 
 
 " Do you believe it ? " 
 
 " I how can I ? " she breathed pitifully. 
 
 " Why not ? " 
 
 " Evelyn " 
 
 " Well ? " 
 
 She gripped the edge of the table, and stood there, 
 her head down bent. 
 
 " You would not have have done it, if if " 
 
 He waited inexorably for her to finish her halting 
 sentence ; he was fighting for his love his and hers 
 he could be almost cruel for that. . . . 
 
 " You wouldn't have done it if I were legally his wife," 
 she brought it out with a breathless rush of words. 
 
 " You couldn't have married me under those circum- 
 stances," he replied. 
 
 She flung up her head at last, and her eyes seemed to 
 blaze into his. 
 
 " Nor under these ! " she cried in a low voice. " Oh, 
 how much less under these ! What are you made of 
 that you don't understand ? Or are you wicked bad
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 311 
 
 cruel ? Love ! You call this poor, evil thing love ! 
 This thing that strikes at me at my very heart and 
 soul to trail them in the mud Oh, God, how dare you 
 dare you treat me as if I'm I'm " 
 
 " Hush ! " he interposed gently. " Don't say ugly 
 words, Prudence." 
 
 " Only ugly words are possible now," she said, and 
 broke down again, whispering through her tears : " You 
 have made it all ugly hideous and bad " 
 
 " To me it is all beautiful and good." 
 
 " Beautiful ! Good ! And you want me to leave 
 him and marry you. To live with him as long as it 
 suited me, and then " 
 
 " Oh, hush, hush, my love my little love," he 
 groaned, and he went to her and put his arms about her 
 gently, and drew her to him. " There, there," he 
 whispered, as if she were a child. " Rest a little while, 
 my sweet don't think just rest " 
 
 She drooped her head on to his shoulder, and her 
 body grew slack. 
 
 " I can't understand," she whispered. 
 
 " You will presently." 
 
 She whispered again in a small tired voice : 
 
 " But you're not wicked." 
 
 " No, Prudence, I'm not wicked, I think." 
 
 "I'll try to understand," she said. 
 
 " That's right." 
 
 She said presently : 
 
 " I'm very tired, perhaps that is why I can't under- 
 stand." 
 
 " Will you tell me exactly what it is you don't under- 
 stand ? " 
 
 " Why, how you -you don't understand I mean 
 surely if you loved me you would understand "
 
 312 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 " I do understand, Prudence. I know what you mean. 
 You think that I ought to be even more more ah, I 
 can't get the word more careful than if you were 
 legally his wife " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " You think it would be a greater sin for you to marry 
 me, than the sin of coming with me if you were married 
 to him ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Look at me, child." 
 
 He put his hand beneath her chin, and turned her face 
 up her little white face with the pure brow and the 
 eyes of the Sistine Madonna A thought came to him 
 that, as she looked now, so must that Madonna have 
 looked on the day of the Crucifixion. . . . 
 
 " Prudence," he said unsteadily, " can't you trust me ? 
 Can't you believe me ? Look back on our friendship 
 is it all to go ? Does it mean nothing to you ? Child, 
 dare you let it go like that ? Don't you see that unless 
 you believe my every thought of you is pure, you are 
 blaspheming against that friendship against our love ? 
 Would you do that, child ? That hour in the bluebell 
 wood " 
 
 His voice broke, he said no more. She had dropped 
 her head down on his shoulder again, and was crying 
 quietly. 
 
 " I am sorry," she whispered. . . 
 
 He talked to her very gently, telling her all his dream ; 
 he spoke of the uselessness of the sacrifice of her life ; 
 he told her what Sir William had said, and his voice 
 was quiet now with the deadening conviction that 
 his dream was never to come true. He pleaded for 
 their love at last, and she lifted dim eyes that yet 
 shone, and she said :
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 313 
 
 " You forget Dickon." 
 
 He was silent for a minute, righting the curious sensa- 
 tion of having come up short against something impene- 
 trable. . . . 
 
 " I could never leave Evelyn," she said quietly. " But 
 Dickon " 
 
 " He would be my son. He would take my 
 name " 
 
 She drew herself from him and stood erect, facing him, 
 and in her eyes there was an exalted absorption that 
 seemed to exclude him, and struck coldly to his 
 heart. 
 
 " Do you think I could ever tell Dickon my story ? " 
 she said quietly. " What sort of a story would it be ? 
 If I left his father when I wanted to, after living with 
 him all these years, I should be what the world calls me 
 now. Be quiet, Mark. I should feel that I was that. 
 Do you think I owe Dickon nothing ? I could never 
 leave Evelyn, but for Dickon's sake too I could not 
 do it. I could not marry you, because of Dickon. 
 For his sake, I wouldn't do it. I owe him that I, who 
 brought him into the world. I cannot give him a 
 name, but I can give him a mother who tried to 
 do what she thought right. He must hear my 
 story some day. It must not be a story that 
 will drag him further down. He is hampered enough, 
 I have to help him all I can. Would you have 
 me faced with the awful thought that I had 
 failed there too ! That I had to tell him I was 
 
 was- 
 
 " Don't go on ! " he broke in harshly. "There's no 
 need." 
 
 " No, no need. You know it for yourself. And yet 
 you ask me to be your wife 1 "
 
 314 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 " Yes ; I ask you to be my wife," he repeated doggedly. 
 
 She stood a moment eyeing him, then turned from 
 him gravely. 
 
 " I shall never understand you," she said, and so 
 left him.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII 
 
 WINGFIELD'S mind was weaker, although his 
 bodily strength returned gradually after his 
 outbreak. When Ridgeway ceased to come 
 and sit with him he did not seem to notice, or in any 
 way regret his absence. But one day after sitting 
 huddled up in his chair in silence for a long while he 
 said to Prudence : 
 
 " That's a story I've never told you." 
 
 " Tell me now," she said. 
 
 " It's not a particularly pleasant story, my dear, 
 but I'm afraid I shall have to tell you, because I shall 
 have to move to other rooms." 
 
 A little look of dismay flashed across her face. 
 
 " Tell me why, will you ? " she said cheerfully. 
 
 " Well, it isn't healthy, to say the least of it, to live 
 in a room where there's a dead body buried under the 
 floor boards. Hush now, don't be frightened, my dear. 
 He's dead, and can't hurt you, only unfortunately his 
 right hand is still alive. Pity ! Great pity ! Most 
 unfortunate thing. Can't think how it happened. 
 So tiresome, because one can't very well go for it it 
 wouldn't be playing the game, when the rest of the 
 chap's dead and done for. Don't quite know what to 
 do, and that's the truth. Devilish awkward thing ! 
 Easiest thing in the world to get rid of it a knife, don't 
 you know wait till it appears and there you are ! 
 But it's not playing the game, poor chap ! "
 
 316 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 Prudence tried to distract his mind, but presently he 
 reverted to it again, and now he was frightened. 
 
 " Look they're beginning to heave the boards 
 quick, put down something heavy ! There by that 
 chair ! Damn you, haven't you got any eyes ? It's 
 pushing 'em up " his voice rose to a scream of terror. 
 
 " Quick ! Quick ! Something heavy ! Ah h," as 
 Prudence laid some large books on the spot to which he 
 had pointed. " That's better. We've done him this 
 time, my dear. I shan't see that hand come creeping up 
 out of the floor now ! You've never seen it, have you, 
 Prue ? Funny thing, but I always did have the most 
 wonderful eyesight always could see further than 
 any one else. " Fox," Billy said to me, " what over 
 there beyond the stream ? Old dog fox old dog 
 grandmother couldn't see a hippopotamus all that 
 way off." But I hollered like the devil put 'em on to it 
 and we had the best run of the season, and killed in the 
 open. You remember, my dear ? I lost sight of you, 
 I'm afraid, always forget the ladies in the hunting field 
 You wore a brown habit and hat Your hair was so 
 yellow under it that that old fool forget his name 
 declared you'd dyed it. But I gave you a good run, 
 eh ? And I claimed my reward for it jogging home 
 in the dusk, eh ? Lord, Sally, that was a day, wasn't it ? 
 Remember Billy's champagne at dinner after it ? 
 And you stood up on a chair to toast the best pair of 
 eyes in the room all in scarlet you were- and red roses 
 in your gold hair, eh ? Such a tiny little thing you had 
 to get on a chair to be seen ? Eh ? I put you there 
 ha ! ha ! Seems to me," he peered at her uncertainly 
 " you've grown taller lately " 
 
 " I am Prudence, Evelyn." 
 
 " Prunes-and-Prisms chap called you knocked him
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 317 
 
 down for it broke his beastly nose Yes eh, what ? 
 Prue, come closer hush don't you see ? It moved ! " 
 He shrank back in his chair. " Hold my hand, Prue 
 perhaps it won't come if you hold my hand funny 
 thing why it should haunt me liked the poor fellow 
 I'd have saved him if I could, but I'm such a feeble 
 sort of fool nowadays I couldn't move I just sat 
 there, and watched that long-nosed devil stab him to the 
 heart poor fellow he went down without a sound, 
 and the long-nosed devil buried him beneath the floor. 
 Pity ! nice young chap he was I liked Ridgeway 
 always did Don't draw your hand away, Prue ! I'm 
 frightened hold my hand tight. That's better. It 
 won't come up perhaps if you're here. Can't think 
 what it wants " 
 
 " Evelyn," she spoke clearly, though her lips were 
 white, " Mr. Ridgeway is not dead." 
 
 " Ah, no one knows except me. He's as dead as a 
 door nail all except his right hand, poor fellow. Nice 
 hand too long brown hand sort of hand knows how 
 to handle a horse What is it, Prue ? Eh ? Did you 
 see it ? Don't let go ! Stay by me, Prue 1 Did you 
 see it ? Hold my hand tighter ! " 
 
 She held his hand, but her eyes were anguished ; 
 despite her will a cry broke from her : 
 
 " I can't bear it ! " 
 
 " Eh ? All right, my dear, don't you be frightened. 
 Nasty story, isn't it ? We'll talk about something else. 
 The weather, eh ? Ha, ha ! " 
 
 In a few minutes he had dropped into a heavy sleep. 
 She sat by him till she thought she could move without 
 wakening him, then she drew her hand gently from his, 
 and rose. She left the room and went to her own, and 
 as she closed her door the heavy sobs she had been hold-
 
 318 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 ing back, broke from her painfully : " long brown hand 
 nice hand " 
 
 She stretched out her own hands in an agony of 
 longing. One touch of his hand, and she would be able 
 to go on again. . . . Without it her hand 
 clutched the pillow as she fought. . . . 
 
 Three weeks and a day was that all ? She could go 
 on if she might just touch his hand once that was it 
 just once. If she went to Elm Hill to the Hall 
 she might meet him, and they would shake hands. Yes, 
 but there would be others there looking on. She 
 couldn't bear it and yet to feel his hand round hers 
 again it would make her strong lately she was so 
 weak. She wanted him he always helped her if she 
 could just touch his hand. . . . 
 
 She lay there fighting her loneliness empty- 
 handed. . . . 
 
 Lydia knocked on the door, giggling. " Master 
 wants you, ma'am least ways, I think he does," and 
 in a burst it came : " He called me ' Prae,' begging your 
 pardon, ma'am," and more giggles. 
 
 " I will come, Lydia." 
 
 In her mind a man's deep quiet voice : 
 
 " He is not capable of missing you now. You must 
 know that. In a day he would have forgotten you, if 
 he had a good nurse." Would he call the nurse " Prue " ? 
 How queer it seemed. It hurt in a dim remote sort of 
 way, only nothing seemed to matter much somehow 
 lately ; it was probably because her head always ached 
 now. 
 
 " Mother," Dickon met her in the corridor, " have 
 you got another headache ? I've only a little drop of 
 eau de cologne left in the bottle. You do use up an 
 awful lot, don't you ? "
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 319 
 
 " I'm afraid I do, Dickon." 
 
 " You ought to get out into the air more, mother. 
 That's what Madame de Pierre said." 
 
 " Did she ? When, Dickon ? " 
 
 She spoke coldly, striving to repress the rapid beating 
 of her heart at the approach of a chance of hearing 
 Ridgeway's name. Hitherto she had discouraged Dickon, 
 with a painful effort of will, from talk of his visits 
 to Elm Hill and the Hall. She had thought it right to 
 do it, but now she was weak, and she sought means to 
 make him mention the name she had shunned. 
 
 " Yesterday. She said it to Mr. Ridgeway. Re- 
 naud's pony likes apples better than sugar, mother." 
 
 " Yes ? " She was looking down at him through 
 blurred eyes. " Did you shake hands with Mr. Ridge- 
 way ? " 
 
 " I don't know. I forget. May I take the pony some 
 of the apples in the orchard when they're ripe, mother ? " 
 
 " What did Mr. Ridgeway say, Dickon ? " 
 
 " Oh, he said the pony carries his head awfully well. 
 May I take some of the apples in the orchard when 
 they're ripe, mother ? " 
 
 " But what did he say when Madame de Pierre said I 
 ought to go out more ? " 
 
 " He didn't say anything, he didn't notice, he was 
 looking at the pony, you see. May I take some of the 
 apples in 
 
 " Oh, take them aU ! " she said. 
 
 She turned back in a moment, and put her hand on his 
 head. 
 
 " Poor little Dickon," she murmured tenderly. 
 
 " I don't think Renaud would like me to give him too 
 many," he said regretfully. 
 
 " I expect he'll let you give him a good deal," she
 
 320 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 said, and went on to Wingfield's room. The man 
 Williams met her outside the door. 
 
 " He's sent me for some heavy weights to put down 
 on the floor, ma'am, that fancy of his is troubling him 
 a bit." 
 
 " I know, Williams, I can't send it away." 
 
 " Don't you worry, ma'am, it'll pass in time. I 
 suppose the gentleman he thinks is murdered, couldn't 
 be sent for ? That 'ud quiet him better than anything. 
 It's a Mr. Ridgeford, I think the name he mentioned was, 
 but p'raps he's dead long ago. You can't tell with him." 
 He added hastily : " Don't you take on, ma'am, it'll 
 pass. I've known 'em like that lots of times, and it 
 always passes." 
 
 She went on into the room, white-faced, her lips 
 pressed together. 
 
 " Evelyn, can you remember how that song goes 
 you know ' Here's a health unto His Majesty, With a 
 fa la la ' " 
 
 " I wonder you can sing, Prue," he said with solemnity. 
 " That poor fellow surely was a friend of yours ? And 
 now he's dead. Well, well ! And here am I, alive. 
 Muscular chap, too, not an ounce of superfluous flesh 
 about him. Ever notice his arm, Prue ? When he 
 turned up his sleeve that time muscle there no fat 
 did you ever notice it ? " 
 
 " Yes, Evelyn." 
 
 " Poor fellow ! And now he's dead. A pity ! " He 
 gave a sudden cry. " Don't move that magazine, Prue ! 
 Don't pick it up ! I put it there. It's not a pretty 
 sight, and girls always hate blood. We must have a 
 new rug, my dear can't get it out it trickled there 
 in a great pool Ridgeway's blood, you know, poor 
 chap "
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 321 
 
 " Evelyn, Mr. Ridgeway is not dead. Do believe 
 me." 
 
 " How d'you know, eh ? You can never be sure 
 any one's alive unless you're with him. Death comes 
 in a moment. I saw him die, poor young fellow. I 
 daren't tell the police in case they hang me for it. Sort 
 of thing the law does, you know. Funny thing the 
 law there was a man once " 
 
 He rambled off into a long story, while she sat down 
 trembling beneath the strain of hearing Ridgeway 
 talked of like that. And in a few minutes it began 
 again. 
 
 " Prue, come closer, the boards are heaving ! His 
 hand will come up soon. D'you think it wants to be 
 killed ? Tied to a dead body, you know," he shivered, 
 " deuced unpleasant thing ! I suppose you couldn't 
 kill the poor thing ? Good hand too long, brown hand 
 d'you remember ? Nice grip remember that, eh ? 
 Prudence, d'you remember his grip ? Eh ? What ? 
 Do you remember it ? " 
 
 " Yes," her voice sounded faintly. 
 
 " What ? Why do you mumble like that ? Are you 
 frightened ? Don't you get frightened, Milly, you poor 
 little thing I'll look after you. He's a brute that 
 chap, and you're only a bit of a thing, after all you're 
 hardly grown up yet, eh ? Now, feel in my pockets, 
 and see what you will find there. Now you're laughing, 
 you greedy child ! You're all the same, never knew the 
 dimples fail to come over a bit of jewellery ! " 
 
 " Evelyn, some of these need brightening, don't you 
 think ? " She had fetched hastily his collection of 
 jewelled snuff boxes. " How beautiful they are 1 
 Look how these diamonds gleam," she held a box up 
 anxiously, but he turned from it pettishly 
 Y
 
 322 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 " Put 'em away, Prue ! They worry me. I feel 
 rather tired this morning." 
 
 " I'll read to you, Evelyn." 
 
 " No ; I don't want that." 
 
 She suggested every diversion of which she could 
 think, but he turned from them all in weary distaste. 
 Her pity and sense of helplessness was so great that for 
 the first time since that day in the studio her thought 
 turned to Ridgeway longingly, but quite selflessly. 
 Evelyn needed him, she thought, and did not think of 
 herself. 
 
 " I know what would do me good," Wingfield said, 
 peering up at her wistfully ? " What I need is a canter 
 over the downs, my dear." He drew in a long breath. 
 " D'you think if I rest very quietly here for another 
 hour I might manage it? Just a short canter, Prue, 
 eh ? Just to feel her move under me again ! Eh ? " 
 
 " Not just yet, I think, Evelyn," she said piti- 
 fully. 
 
 " That's what you always say ! You and the doctors 
 between you would like to keep me in bed for the rest 
 of my days ! " His eyes sought the open window. " It's 
 such a glorious day, Prue ! Sun and breeze, eh ? She'd 
 get hot good homely smell, that of hot horse " he 
 lifted his head, and his delicate nostrils expanded. 
 " Lord, I feel better already ! Tell Ferney to saddle 
 the little mare, Prue ! Ring for Williams. Where are 
 my boots ? I haven't lost my leg, eh ? Look at the 
 shape of that ! Lord, I can feel the little mare under 
 me, bless her ! " 
 
 And then the weary recognition that he was too weak 
 too tired 
 
 The mare outside, her coat gleaming in the sunshine, 
 lifting her beautiful little head.
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 323 
 
 " To-morrow, Ferney, eh ? Think I shall be able to 
 manage it to-morrow ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, my lord, sure thing to-morrow," and his 
 weather-beaten little face crinkled into lines of bitter 
 disappointment. . . . 
 
 After that the old fear of the hand came back, and 
 preyed on him more cruelly now that he was worn out 
 with excitement and disappointment. 
 
 Dr. Fielding came in later to see him ; he eyed 
 Prudence amazedly. 
 
 " But why not send for Mr. Ridgeway ? " 
 
 It was so simple. She stood by, while he gave his 
 directions. He was distinctly and disapprovingly 
 surprised. 
 
 " He thinks Mr. Ridgeway is murdered. He will not 
 listen to our assurances to the contrary. We must 
 confront him with him, my dear lady. It should have 
 been done before. The sight of him, alive and unhurt, 
 will in ah 1 probability chase this phantom from his 
 mind. We can at least try the experiment." 
 
 So the experiment was tried, and she met Ridgeway 
 again, while Dr. Fielding talked long-windedly about 
 the case, and the possible effect on his patient's mind of 
 Ridgeway's appearance. 
 
 She was waiting in the hall when he came ; she had 
 conquered the instinct to put the meeting off to the 
 last possible moment, and had come down to greet 
 him. 
 
 They moved towards each other, shook hands, and 
 then they went upstairs to Wingfield's room. Prudence 
 was chiefly conscious of a sense of disappointment in 
 that she had not noticed his hand-shake. She had 
 noticed and felt nothing clearly ; there had been a 
 racing of pulses, a beating of heart, a singing in her ears,
 
 324 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 and before her eyes a blurred figure. Then cold weari- 
 ness, as if after a severe physical strain. . . . 
 
 To Ridgeway had come peace of a sort, for now his 
 muscles were taut for battle. The hesitation, the doubt 
 of the past weeks, which had made of them an agony on 
 which he dared not dwell, had gone for ever. The 
 wrestling for certainty was over now ; her face had told 
 him plainly what would be for her good. He could 
 no longer torment his soul with the question of whether 
 winning her for his wife would bring pain or joy to her. 
 He could fight now with every inch of heart and brain : 
 it would be a hard fight, but that did not daunt him. 
 For the moment he was almost exhilarated ; after his 
 long weeks of nagging doubt and pain, to have his 
 end clear before him, was almost joy. Looking down 
 at Wingfield, who greeted him as he had always greeted 
 him, and showed no surprise on seeing him, he felt no 
 compunction in the thought of taking Prudence from 
 him. Instead his healthy mind recoiled from the thought 
 of her tied to this sick room, of her delicate youth pas- 
 sing in this atmosphere. He understood clearly enough 
 how little she really meant to Wingfield now ; he knew 
 that she would be forgotten, or remembered only as 
 Milly and Sally and the rest of them were remembered. 
 The thought darkened his face for the moment, but look- 
 ing down on the weary, huddled figure his eyes softened. 
 He sat down and prepared to do his best to cheer Wing- 
 field, who was in a very depressed state and possessed 
 by that lurking fear of his the fear of dying in his 
 bed. 
 
 Ridgeway talked cheerfully of Whyte-Melville, of 
 his death in the saddle ; his father had known him well, 
 and Ridgeway had several little stories to tell Wing- 
 field. Prudence left the room directly he had settled
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 325 
 
 down to talk. She went to her own room, and in the 
 hour she spent there succeeded in erecting, to a certain 
 extent, the old cold refuge, so that when Ridgeway 
 came down and found her in the hall, she spoke to him 
 calmly. 
 
 " Is Evelyn asleep ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 " I am glad." 
 
 There was a pause. 
 
 " Did you ride over ? " 
 
 " You saw me ride up," he said, and looked straight 
 at her. 
 
 " Oh yes I," she faltered, and he noticed with 
 tenderness how her tongue refused to finish the sentence 
 it had begun ; she could not bring herself to say she had 
 forgotten. 
 
 " Will you have some tea ? " she said faintly. 
 
 " I should like some," he smiled at the dismay in her 
 face. " But you want me to go." 
 
 " Oh no " 
 
 " Prudence, there has to be frankness between you 
 and me," he said gently, " I want to come here as I 
 used. May I ? " 
 
 She was silent. 
 
 " May I, Prudence ? " 
 
 She lifted her eyes to his. 
 
 " You know " she whispered. " I I know so 
 
 little " 
 
 " You trust me to decide if it would be wrong ? 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " After " 
 
 " Oh, yes ! " 
 
 " Thank you." 
 
 She said tremulously :
 
 326 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 " I I know I mean I am afraid I may have said 
 -that day- 
 
 " No, dear, don't worry over that." 
 
 She broke out with a little cry : 
 
 " There that it must not be " 
 
 " I'm sorry. It shan't be again. Forgive me this 
 time, Prudence. Only I want you to understand that 
 I haven't changed." 
 
 " You mean " 
 
 " That I love you ; that I want you for my wife. 
 That I think you are being cruel to yourself, as well 
 as to me, in refusing. Wait. But if I may come here, 
 I will come as a friend for the present. If you 
 change " 
 
 " Ah, don't ! I can never change. Don't think of 
 that." 
 
 " Well, I'm coming as I used. You don't feel I've 
 done anything to forfeit your friendship ? " 
 
 " No : I only know that we see that in absolutely 
 a different way " 
 
 " Very well ! That's settled." 
 
 She looked up at him gravely, earnestly. 
 
 " What is it ? " he asked. 
 
 " You, I want to find out for you. Oh, don't you 
 see ? My life is lived settled but you no, no," her 
 voice deepened in passionate denial of him, " you must 
 not come here ! You must go away. At once. You 
 must go out of my life I am greedy greedy for you 
 I want happiness for you with all my heart and soul 
 I want it " 
 
 " I shall never find it away from you, Prudence." 
 
 " Don't say it ! " she moaned, and hid her face in 
 her hands. 
 
 " I should never have found it if I hadn't met you.
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 327 
 
 I have had such happiness that " he stopped abruptly, 
 clenching teeth and hands, then went on quietly : 
 
 " I refuse to go out of your life." 
 
 " If I ask you if I beg you ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Mark," she pleaded to him now wildly. " I ask 
 you to go ! My life is a hard one you are making it 
 harder now, won't you go ? " 
 
 " No, Prudence." 
 
 She looked at him hopelessly. 
 
 He turned suddenly and left her ; a few minutes later 
 she heard his horse's hoofs leaving the stable yard. She 
 went to the window, incredulous of its being Ridgeway : 
 there was so much more to say why had he gone ? She 
 did not know that he had begun his long fight, and had 
 feared to lose by the breaking down of the friendly calm 
 he had succeeded, with difficulty, in building up.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV 
 
 AT first it brought a wonderful peace to Prudence : 
 the mere sight of him was strength-giving, the 
 touch of his hand in greeting and farewell enough 
 to help her to face her life. Her gentleness and sweetness 
 with Wingfield brought to Ridgeway, looking on, an 
 almost unbearable pain. He spoke of it roughly to her 
 one day, hurt beyond the power to keep silence. 
 
 " I believe, after all, you're only half human," he 
 said. 
 
 " How ? " she asked, startled. 
 
 He looked across to Wingfield, who had fallen asleep 
 in his chair. 
 
 " Anyone human would have to grow more impatient, 
 a bit irritable sometimes. But trouble with you 
 makes you more saint-like than ever, if possible." 
 
 Her eyes followed his, and rested with an infinite 
 pity on the heavy, grey face that in sleep looked so old 
 and ill. 
 
 " You mean with him ? " she said in a low voice. 
 " Oh, Mark, it's because I realise now what life can be 
 and what he has missed. I pity him so that that " 
 tears choked her voice, and she was silent. 
 
 Presently she said : 
 
 " He has never had a chance ; his mother was a 
 frivolous, selfish woman who left him to his nurses, and 
 his father you have heard his stories of his boyhood. 
 Mark," she lifted deep eyes to his, " that is what I have 
 
 328
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 329 
 
 to do to give Dickon all the chances I can. For that 
 I would give up my life ! " 
 
 " And leave me to struggle on as best I could," the 
 words broke from him involuntarily. He saw her give 
 a little shiver, but she made no other sign. But it was 
 the beginning of the gradual withdrawal of her peace. 
 It began then with a passionate longing to make him 
 happy, a rebellion that became fierce and cruel against 
 the fate that had sent to him pain to bear. For herself 
 it was different, so she put herself aside in those early 
 days of her trouble ; she merely told herself that she was 
 used to pain. But for him to be able to do nothing ! 
 To bring misery into his life, and to do nothing to help 
 him ! One half of her brain began to think of what 
 she might make his life if she became his wife, while 
 the other fought the dream and denied its existence. 
 She met him two or three times in a week, and their 
 talk was of commonplaces ; she shunned the old 
 interesting talks, feared to read poetry any more. 
 
 He asked her one day why she would not let Dickon 
 have a pony. She told him simply that she could not 
 afford to buy one, or to keep it. To his look of surprise 
 she explained : 
 
 " Evelyn has no money beyond the rent of his place 
 in Kent : it is let to an American family. He has lost 
 all his money racing and he was very generous and 
 extravagant ' ' 
 
 " And when he dies ? " 
 
 " There will be nothing. Fawley Bridge will go to 
 a cousin of his." 
 
 " And Dickon " 
 
 " There will be nothing for Dickon." 
 
 She added slowly : 
 
 " A year ago his uncle Sir John Wingfield wrote to
 
 330 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 me. It was a nice letter. He asked me to forgive the 
 question, but he wanted to know if Dickon were a 
 legitimate son. If so, he was going to make him his 
 heir." 
 
 " What did you do ? " 
 
 " I wrote and told him he was illegitimate." 
 
 " Good God ! You poor child ! Why couldn't the 
 old fool find out without insulting you ! " 
 
 " I suppose there was some muddle about Evelyn's 
 first wife." 
 
 " Where is she ? Do you mind " 
 
 " No. In Paris, I think." 
 
 " Prudence, would it hurt you " 
 
 " You want to know how I knew ? It was one night 
 Evelyn had been away he had gone suddenly on 
 business, he said. You see, he had heard something 
 about his wife's being alive, but he said nothing till 
 he had made sure. He came back unexpectedly he 
 looked dreadfully flushed and upset he was still 
 weak from his illness after his fall and he just 
 blurted it out and fell on to a lounge. It was a stroke 
 brought on by the shock of finding she wasn't dead." 
 
 Ridgeway wondered if he were insulting the sick man 
 by the terrible suspicion that had crept into his mind. 
 
 " How had he come to be so sure she was dead ? " he 
 said. 
 
 " I don't know," she answered in a low voice. " I 
 have never tried to find out." 
 
 Ridgeway rose and began to walk restlessly up and 
 down the room. 
 
 " You will waken him," she whispered, with a glance 
 at Wingfield, asleep, as he so often was now, in his 
 chair. 
 
 " Do you never think of any one but him ? " he cried
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 331 
 
 out, maddened, and he left the room and the house 
 abruptly. 
 
 And then in the lonely despair that he had gone 
 without shaking hands, began the long torture in 
 which she was forced to recognise herself and her own 
 bitter pain. It was a torture she did not understand, 
 the torture of longing for his touch, with the memory of 
 that minute when he had held her in his arms, always 
 to be pushed away. . . . She did not understand 
 the aching sense of desolation that held her in its cruel 
 grip ; she told herself she had more than she had had 
 for years ; she dwelt passionately on his friendship ; 
 and her loneliness was so poignant that, holding Dickon 
 close to her, she could not rid herself of the burden of it. 
 She clung to Dickon, giving way to her passionate love 
 of him, risking his spoiling in her strenuous need of him. 
 At times when her nights became more than she could 
 bear she crept to his bedside, and by the light of a 
 shaded candle sat and watched his sleeping face. Once 
 he woke and showed a new side of his develop- 
 ing character that brought joy to her. He woke 
 suddenly, and displayed no fear, his thought leapt 
 to her. 
 
 " What's the matter, mother ? Is it thieves ? " 
 
 " No, dear, no " 
 
 " What frightened you, mother ? Don't you be 
 frightened. I'm here, and I've got that hunting crop 
 
 Ferney gave me " he was groping beneath his pillow. 
 
 " That'd cut a man's liver out," he said proudly, fond- 
 ling it. 
 
 She told him in her mind that he must not use such 
 expressions, but aloud she said : 
 
 " Would you fight for me, Dickon ? " 
 
 He nodded.
 
 332 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 " I've been practisin' crackin' a whip. I wish I could 
 do it like Ferney." 
 
 She said hungrily : 
 
 " You want to do everything like Ferney ! " 
 
 " I don't want to drink beer, and smoke like him," 
 he added: "not yet." 
 
 Interested, she asked why. 
 
 " Ferney says it's only silly little boys who want to 
 look grown-up who do that, and he says the real fine 
 boys wouldn't do it for anything. That's what Ferney 
 says, and damn too and bloomin', so I'm not to notice 
 when he says them sometimes." 
 
 She began to perceive the possibilities in his com- 
 panionship with the groom. 
 
 " He's a good man," she said thoughtfully. 
 
 A little shy look came into Dickon's face. 
 
 " I think I'll go to sleep now if you're not frightened, 
 mother." 
 
 Her arms tightened about him. 
 
 " I'm never frightened when I'm with you, my dar- 
 ling," she whispered. 
 
 " Aren't you ? But you didn't know I'd been prac- 
 tisin' with my crop, did you ? " 
 
 " No, I didn't know that, Dickon. There, go to 
 sleep, my dear one." 
 
 She sat on there, afraid to return to her room. Twice 
 she rose and went to the door, and came back. She 
 flung herself at last on her knees beside the bed, and 
 spread out her arms over his body. 
 
 " My baby," she whispered, " fight for me yes 
 and I will fight for you " 
 
 She lifted her head and gazed into his sleeping face, 
 and into her there crept anew the awe of motherhood, 
 the realisation of her responsibility. It came upon her
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 333 
 
 as fresh as on the day of his birth ; the sense of what 
 she owed this small soul she had brought into the world ; 
 the deep determination to love and shield and help 
 it. Only with it now there was the added responsibility 
 that his namelessness gave her, the responsibility she 
 had accepted on that night five years ago when Wing- 
 field had come to her and told her that she was not his 
 wife and that their child was illegitimate. She had 
 accepted the burden then, had accepted her own inter- 
 pretation of her duty, and had never shrunk. Was she 
 to shrink now ? The candlelight shone on the tears 
 that wet her cheeks ; they were quiet tears, and when 
 she rose and gently kissed him, her face was calm. She 
 went back to her room and slept
 
 CHAPTER XXXV 
 
 ELIZABETH said to Muriel that perhaps after all it 
 wasn't so very serious, and was annoyed when she 
 did not receive support of her suggestion. She 
 added crossly that of course it wasn't very easy to tell, 
 especially with a man. " I wish," she said, " I lived in a 
 book. It would all be so easy then. I should read his love 
 for the heroine in his eyes, hear it in his voice, see it in his 
 smile, whenever her blessed name was mentioned. As 
 it is I can speak of Prudence till I'm red in the face, 
 and Mark doesn't turn a hair ! He shows a disinclina- 
 tion to discuss her, but that might indicate a mere 
 sentimental respectful sort of affection for her. How 
 can I tell whether it would be better to do nothing, 
 and let it fizzle out, or win their hatred by my inter- 
 ference ? " 
 
 " If it would fizzle out without your help, there's 
 nothing much to worry about," Muriel observed. 
 
 Elizabeth said pathetically : 
 
 " Don't be unkind to me. I'm so worried I don't 
 know what I'm saying. Heavens, how I wish I'd never 
 been seized with a desire to rusticate ! If I hadn't, I 
 suppose Mark would be painting away with his dogs and 
 his horse, and never a care in the world ! " 
 
 " Those ' ifs ' are always unanswerable : they're 
 one of Hugh's pet abominations." 
 
 " I like them. I always rub them in, just as one 
 sniffs at a bottle of smelling-salts till they excruciate 
 
 334
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 335 
 
 one's nose and eyes. I've got a whole stock of mental 
 smelling-salts." 
 
 She added suddenly : 
 
 " Am I growing plain ? " 
 
 Muriel's face of surprised amusement satisfied her ; 
 she went on : 
 
 " When I have that sort of qualm I always spring 
 the question suddenly like that. Faces answer more 
 truly than tongues sometimes. I once asked a man 
 a Frenchman you know, they don't admire me very 
 much he had been sitting staring at me, and I knew I 
 looked hideous. I had been crying because the boys 
 were convalescent from measles, and worried so, and I 
 said : " Am I growing ugly ? " His face of horror at 
 having his thought put into words was lovely, and the 
 stream of compliments that followed was distinctly 
 piquant. I should think that poor man Wingfield 
 had charming manners before he broke down." 
 
 " I've never seen him." 
 
 " No." 
 
 Elizabeth shivered a little. 
 
 " Has it ever struck you to wonder why Prudence 
 always dresses so soberly almost like a nurse ? " 
 
 " No. I suppose she likes that sort of thing." 
 
 " Oh, do you ? " 
 
 She added after a pause : 
 
 " I should think he hates it." She looked thought- 
 fully out over the tall pink hollyhocks she loved so well 
 that she insisted on having her chair placed in the narrow 
 little path in front of them. " It's incredible to me how 
 she has gone through these years." 
 
 Muriel, from her chair a good many yards off behind 
 the opposite bed on the lawn, replied : 
 
 " I know. It's incredible to me too."
 
 336 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 The advent of three doubled up figures on the lawn, 
 all peering between their legs, diverted Elizabeth's 
 attention. 
 
 " Dearests, what are you doing ? You will have 
 apoplexy." 
 
 " Hush, Maman, we are scaring de wolves away ! " 
 
 " Peter Pan ! " she said, and smiled. "I'd choose 
 that play if I might be given the option of having written 
 any play on earth ! " 
 
 " Shakespeare ? " 
 
 " What has Shakespeare done to equal it ? Or Pinero 
 either ? " She added : "I wonder what Prudence 
 Wingfield would think of it ? " 
 
 She stretched her arms wide. 
 
 " Why can't I think of some way to help them ? " 
 
 " Isn't it because it's well too big a thing for out- 
 side help ? " 
 
 " Isn't getting to Heaven a big thing ? Yet every 
 parson and every religious person in the world is anxious 
 to help you on the way ! " 
 
 " Yes," Muriel said. She added : 
 
 " Is that argument a good one for your cause ? " 
 
 " I don't care. It's so big that I'm willing to risk 
 anything. My little dabs and snaps can't hurt much in 
 a pain like that. It's her coldness and reserve that makes 
 it so difficult ; she's so unapproachable she chills even 
 my impertinence." 
 
 " You want to try to persuade her to marry Mark 
 Ridge way ? " 
 
 " Of course I do." 
 
 Muriel bent and pulled up a plantain from the lawn. 
 
 " You are sure he wants it ? " 
 
 "Oh, yes." 
 
 " And she ? How do you know she cares ? "
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 337 
 
 " I don't know, but I feel ! " 
 
 " I don't believe she'll ever leave her husband." 
 
 " He isn't her husband. It's her duty to leave him. 
 He's ill, but he needs only good nurses now, while Mark 
 needs a wife. She should put Mark first ; it's horrible 
 to keep him waiting for the poor man to die " 
 
 " Oh, Elizabeth ! " 
 
 " Well, it's the truth. And he will live for years. 
 They always do except in books. That clever little 
 man Sir William will keep him alive, when he'd be 
 doing every one a service by gently letting him die. 
 The age is all wrong. Don't look so squeamish, Muriel, 
 it's old-fashioned." 
 
 There was silence between them then, while on the 
 distant lawn " Peter Pan " was being acted with an 
 energy that resulted in many bruises and tumbles. 
 
 " I wonder how many children that play has fired 
 with the determination to fly ? " Elizabeth said dreamily. 
 " Oh, dear, I am terribly worried ! " 
 
 Renaud flying past fell into the hollyhocks, and asked : 
 
 " What is it den dat worries you, Maman ? " 
 
 " Your spoiling my pink hollyhocks, perhaps." 
 
 " No ; for see, I have hurt dem ver little. But I 
 must know what it is dat worry you, Maman, for how 
 else can I make all well ? " 
 
 " Fly away, cheri, I don't want to talk." 
 
 In a series of leaps and bounds he flew away. 
 
 " After all, they arranged your marriage," Elizabeth 
 said. 
 
 " Yes," Muriel said dreamily. 
 
 " But this no ! The other was distinctly booky, 
 but this would be absurd. If they managed to have 
 their banns called, Prudence would not marry him." 
 
 " Don't ! " Muriel said sharply.
 
 338 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 " But " she sat up. " They're very irresistible. 
 
 Which do you think the most likely to soften her ? " 
 
 " None of them." 
 
 " Why not ? Andre now isn't he adorable ? " 
 
 " Exceedingly. Aren't you rather insulting to her ? 
 Treating her as if she were an obstinate, sulky 
 child " 
 
 " Andre ! " Elizabeth broke in calmly. " Come here." 
 
 Muriel went on, a note of passion in her voice. 
 
 " We've no right to talk about it to discuss it. It's 
 too big and terrible. It should be sacred, and for them 
 only. No one else can help no one even dare to decide 
 what is best " 
 
 " In other words it's the correct and delicate thing 
 to sit aloof with brimming eyes while they ruin their 
 whole lives ? Well, I prefer to be indelicate and dry my 
 eyes, and rush in where more refined folk fear to tread." 
 She added more earnestly ; " Don't you see that I've 
 got to try ? If I hadn't been seized with the idiotic fad 
 of going into retreat oh, I've got to try anyway ! " 
 
 Muriel was silent. 
 
 " Andre ! " Elizabeth called again. " Come here." 
 
 Andre continued to tumble and rise, and beyond 
 sending her a beaming smile, took no notice. 
 
 " Andre ! Do you hear ? Come here at once ! " 
 
 Andre flopped to the ground and rose again. Eliza- 
 beth called upon Renaud and Armand to bring him to her. 
 They ran, laughing, to him, and gesticulated around his 
 body, pretending to catch his legs and his arms, but not 
 really touching him. 
 
 " What little devils children can be," Elizabeth said ; 
 she added more loudly : 
 
 " Wretches, you are making my head ache ! Andre, 
 come here 1 "
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 339 
 
 " But how den is he to come, Maman ? " cried Renaud, 
 pausing at the word headache. " See, he is but a cherub, 
 and has a cherub legs ? Has he arms ? How den walk 
 to you ? How den run to you ? " 
 
 " For can a head run and walk ? " annotated Armand. 
 
 " Why not fly ? " Elizabeth said. 
 
 There was a pause of surprise they had not thought 
 of that. Then in a burst of laughter they all came 
 hopping, and flung themselves upon Elizabeth and 
 Muriel. 
 
 Half an hour later Elizabeth arrived at Cherry Cross 
 with Andre. Prudence came to her in the hall, a hint of 
 surprise in her face, for visits to Cherry Cross had been 
 tacitly dropped lately. 
 
 " You won't come to me, so I've come to you," 
 Elizabeth said with a charming smile. " Andre wanted 
 to come too." 
 
 " Mais non, Maman, I did not ! I wish to play de 
 cherub in de garden " 
 
 " Well, I wanted to bring you," Elizabeth said, in no 
 wise disturbed. " May I stay a little ? " 
 
 " Of course," Prudence said. 
 
 " Mr. Wingfield is he any better ? " 
 
 " Just about the same, thank you." 
 
 A laugh sounded from above, a pleasant laugh it was, 
 and yet there was a note of irresponsibility in it that 
 somehow chilled Elizabeth. She glanced furtively at 
 Prudence, who sat unmoved. During the next half hour 
 they heard the laugh again and again, till Elizabeth, her 
 nerves strained, heard herself speak of it, quite against 
 her will. 
 
 " He is in good spirits." 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 Elizabeth, nervous, baffled, looked at the pale, cold
 
 340 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 face, and felt a futile anger rise within her. She did a 
 thing unworthy of her ; in the midst of raging thought 
 for Mark, she spoke : 
 
 " Mark Ridge way is looking ill," and then, ashamed, 
 she turned her eyes from the face still bravely upheld, 
 still with its steady regard, but whiter now, and in the 
 eyes a look as if she had been wounded. . . . 
 
 " Prudence, mayn't I help some way ? " 
 
 " No, thank you." 
 
 That was all. Almost absurd. . . . But final. 
 
 Unnoticed, Andre had slipped away, and up the stairs 
 in search of Dickon. He came to a door that stood ajar, 
 and he looked in. An old man sat in a chair, but Andre 
 was not noticing him particularly ; there were more 
 interesting things in the room than the old man, all sorts 
 of things 
 
 " How-do-you-do ? " said Andre, extending a polite 
 hand. 
 
 " Hulloa, where did you drop from, old chap ? I say, 
 did you come up through the floor ? Funny thing, all 
 sorts of people come up through the floor nowadays." 
 
 Andre beamed delightedly. 
 
 " Mais oui, Monsieur, I turn t'rough de floor. I spring 
 up like a what is it ? A jacky-box, n'est-ce-pas ? " 
 
 " Well, don't you tell 'em, that's all. They won't 
 believe you. Awful fools, most people. You stay with 
 me a bit, eh ? Eh, what ? Most of 'em just jump up, 
 and down again. Ha, ha, ha ! Funny thing, isn't it ? 
 Ha, ha, ha 1 You'd hardly believe it, would you ? True 
 though, a fact, I assure you saw it myself green and 
 then red and then a sort of queer blue, and the rain 
 simply poured down in buckets full. Harry's face was
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 341 
 
 a thing to dream of 'twas, 'pon my soul 'twas What's 
 that, eh ? Eh, what ? What ? " 
 
 " It is a ver strange alimal, Monsieur. I wish to know 
 what it is." Andre had picked up a carved wooden snuff- 
 box, and was examining the lid. 
 
 " That ? Oh, that's a griffin, little one. See here, 
 here's something that would suit you better. What d'you 
 say to that, eh ? That's a crop a hunting crop see the 
 old fox's head, eh ? Here's another carved that 
 
 myself when I was a youngster " 
 
 " Dere's a old fox on dat box also ! "- cried Andre 
 shrilly. " See, and anoder one ! Ooh, de wicked old 
 fox ! Look, Monsieur, dat is not a fox what is it 
 den ? " 
 
 " That's a badger " 
 
 " Oh, but yes, now I know, Monsieur, may I den sit on 
 your knee, and look at all de tings on de table ? " 
 
 " Come along then. Up you get. There, how's that ? " 
 
 " Oh, Monsieur, see, dere is yet anoder old fox see, 
 
 on dat long box ! Ooh, de wicked old fox ! If he was 
 
 alive, would he come creepin' down in de night, and steal 
 
 a lickle chicky bird ? " 
 
 " Rather ! Ever heard a fox bark ? " 
 " Mais non, Monsieur." 
 
 " I've heard 'em many a time. There was an old fox 
 an old grey fox he was used to come stealing up 
 through the floor, along the lane at the side of the cottage 
 night after night he'd come you'd hear him bark as 
 
 you lay in bed " 
 
 " Did you ever get out of bed and see him, Monsieur ? " 
 
 " Wait a bit, my little man. There was one night 
 
 a moonlight night it was, and I couldn't sleep. Often 
 
 couldn't sleep in those days pair of blue eyes or brown 
 
 eyes enough to keep me awake smiling, tearful one
 
 342 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 way or another see 'em on the walls now sometimes 
 in a row like pictures and blest if I can remember 
 who the eyes belong to ! Ha, ha, ha ! Curious thing, 
 isn't it ? Ha, ha, ha ! But a fact, I assure you. Ha I 
 ha, ha ! " 
 
 " Did de old fox turn along de lane on dat night, 
 Monsieur ? " 
 
 " Eh ? Eh, what ? What ? Oh yes yes, he came 
 along right enough as pretty a mover as ever you saw ! 
 Lifted his feet like I don't know what, and the muscle 
 rippling along his flank Lord, it was a sight for the 
 gods ! And Ferney knew how to manage him, the little 
 devil, he always had a way with 'em " 
 
 " What did he do, Monsieur ? Did he kill him ? 
 
 " Kill him ? Rather not. I'd have killed him if he 
 had ! No, he rode him for all he was worth I can see 
 him now he was only a boy then saving him now 
 humouring him nursing him God, what days those 
 were ! " He broke off with a weary sigh, and sat, his 
 head drooping, silent. 
 
 But Andre's eyes were glowing, his cheeks pink with 
 excitement. 
 
 " Was it den a pet fox, Monsieur ? Ooh, 7 would like 
 to ride a pet fox. Monsieur, where is de fox now ? " 
 
 " Eh ? I don't know, I'm sure," Wingfield said 
 wearily. 
 
 Andre put his arms round his neck coaxingly. 
 
 " Try to tink, Monsieur, oh, do try to tink ! For I 
 wish to also ride a pet fox." 
 
 " Fox ? I never see or smell such a thing nowadays, 
 old man there aren't any more foxes for me never will 
 be. I'm done for " 
 
 " Are you cryin', Monsieur ? Poor, poor Monsieur ! 
 I tink dat grown-ups never cry. I cry sometimes when
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 343 
 
 I must not go out in de rain. Is it because you want to 
 go out in de rain, Monsieur, dat you cry ? " 
 
 " Yes, my boy, that's it." Wingfield rested his cheek 
 on Andre's cropped head, and one or two tears trickled 
 down into his hair. " I want to go out in the rain and the 
 sunshine and the breeze. I want to smell horse, and fox, 
 and good brown earth. I want to ride till I'm stiff. I 
 want to hang about get drenched to the skin chilled 
 to the bone on a bad day. What's the odds ? You take 
 the bad with the good else, where's the sport ? I want 
 to feel the wind whistling past my ears God, I want to 
 be a man for a few minutes, instead of a feeble dotard ! " 
 
 " Poor, poor Monsieur," crooned Andre, in his soft little 
 deep voice. " But I will find de pet fox for you, Mon- 
 sieur, I will look and look " 
 
 " Nice little chap eh, what ? Sleepy, eh ? " 
 
 Andre's head was rolling helplessly to Wingfield's 
 shoulder. 
 
 " I will find de pet fox poor poor " 
 
 Prudence coming up a few minutes later found Wing- 
 field sitting staring out before him, and in his arms, held 
 very carefully, Andr6, fast asleep. " H-hush ! " he 
 whispered. " Poor little beggar's dead tired I took 
 him a bit too far this morning, but he sat his pony like 
 a little Briton . Don't wake him ! " 
 
 Prudence went back to Elizabeth waiting in the hall. 
 
 " Andre isn't with Dickon he's asleep on Evelyn's 
 knee " 
 
 " I can wait," Elizabeth said gently.
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI 
 
 THAT youngest boy of ours," Wingfield said, 
 " is worth a dozen of the other." 
 A look of pain crossed Prudence's face. 
 
 " Funny thing, the way you've hidden him away, 
 Prudence low down sort of thing to do " 
 
 " Evelyn, he is little Andre du Pierre Madame du 
 Pierre's youngest boy." 
 
 " You've told me that a dozen times already. Who 
 else should he be ? D'you think I'm deaf, or what, eh ? 
 I remember her tried to get up a flirtation with me, ha, 
 ha, ha ! But I'm too old a hand to be caught that way. 
 Women all used to want to flirt with me must confess 
 I was usually quite willing to oblige 'em. Funny thing, 
 isn't it ? Ha, ha, ha ! But a fact, I assure you. Ha, ha, 
 ha ! All as jealous as cats over me. Don't know why. 
 You're jealous oh, yes, you are, my cold princess ! 
 D'you think I don't know why you've kept that youngest 
 boy of ours out of my way ? Oh, I know well enough 
 I'm not a fool, although I'm more than half dead. 
 You're jealous of him, because he's like me, and you 
 knew I'd take to him. Ha, ha, ha ! I can still use my 
 sick brains, can't I ? But it was a low down sort of 
 thing to do, Prudence. I haven't too much to amuse me 
 nowadays, and he's a jolly little chap with his talk of 
 foxes, and not afraid of me as the other is. It's a queer 
 thing, but I've seen it before, it's a sort of purple, then 
 blue and then a curious shade of green funny thing, 
 
 344
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 345 
 
 isn't it ? Ha, ha, ha ! But a fact, I assure you. Where's 
 the boy now ? " 
 
 " He's gone out, Evelyn." 
 
 " Lucky little devil ! Lord, what an existence I lead. 
 Nothing to do, and no one to amuse or interest me " 
 
 " Let me read to you, will you ? " 
 
 " Buzz, buzz, buzz that's how you read just like 
 a bluebottle on a window pane. Makes my head go 
 round, and I see the inside of it. That chap what's 
 his name ? Ridgeway he desn't come near me lately 
 offended him somehow, I suppose, or he finds it 
 pretty dull. Why don't you wear pretty frocks, eh ? 
 Always the same. Silly thing to do you're wearing 
 my affection pretty thin, you know I've warned you 
 often enough 'tisn't my fault I've told you how I'm 
 affected by laces and frills and that sort of thing it'd 
 warm my heart to you to see you dressed decently in 
 circles and squares and dots that's it first, circles, 
 then squares, then dots millions of dots the dots 
 dance about in the circles and squares they keep on 
 and on black dots curious thing, isn't it ? Ha, ha, 
 ha ! But a fact, I assure you, ha, ha, ha ! Why don't 
 you read to me ? You neglect me shamefully, Milly ! 
 I'd never have thought it of you, with your melting 
 blue eyes, and that little rosebud mouth. Read Jor- 
 rocks Lectors to me that part about that run on page 
 eighty-four the bit about Bill Johnson." 
 
 Prudence fetched the book and sat down ; she turned 
 to page eighty-four, and glanced down it. 
 
 " Do you mean here ' Now we are away ! The cover's 
 wacated, and there's not another within four miles 
 
 " No, no ! It's page ninety-nine I want." 
 
 " This ? ' Well, now,' continued Mr. Jorrocks, 
 returning, rubbing his lips
 
 346 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 " No, no, no ! Confound it, is that a run ? Don't 
 you know what a run is yet ? Page seventy-three." 
 
 She turned to page seventy-three. 
 
 " I don't see anything about a run 
 
 " My mistake. Page eighty-nine." 
 
 She turned the leaves, and began to read again. 
 
 " Wrong ! That's not what I want. Let me see 
 page 107. That's it. I remember now. That's where 
 Bill Johnson comes in." 
 
 She turned to 107 ; it was wrong again ; for an hour 
 she went on turning and reading bits aloud to him. Her 
 hand shook as she turned the leaves ; the room was hot, 
 the sun streamed in at the windows, little pulses 
 throbbed in her head ; a curious sensation of faintness 
 was creeping over her ; the strain of keeping herself in 
 control was almost too much for her strength, and then 
 he burst out laughing. He lay back in his chair and 
 roared. 
 
 " Ha, ha, ha, ha ! Never saw anything so funny in 
 my life ! It's a wild goose chase, my dear ! Ha, ha, 
 ha ! Oh, Lord, I shall die with laughing. To see you 
 there, turning and reading and searching for a thing 
 that's not in the book at all ! It was my little joke 
 ha, ha, ha 1 Bill Johnson was a figment of my own 
 brain. Lord, you're too funny for anything ! " 
 
 She put the book down quietly and rose. 
 
 " Where are you going ? Eh, what ? What ? Ha, 
 ha, ha, ha ! To see you sitting there patiently turning 
 the pages ! " 
 
 Prudence went out of the room ; in the corridor she 
 met Ridgeway. She put out her hands, and he took 
 them into his ; they were ice cold. Her white lips 
 moved. 
 
 " I am afraid/' they muttered.
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 347 
 
 " Afraid of what, Prudence ? " 
 
 " Myself. My temper/' her eyes dilated ; she shivered. 
 '' I I think I must be going mad," she whispered. 
 
 " You are worn out. Tell me what is wrong, Prud- 
 ence." 
 
 She glanced back fearfully at the door of Wingfield's 
 room. 
 
 " I nearly lost my temper with him." 
 
 " Is that all ? Good God, child, the marvel is that 
 you haven't done it years ago ! " 
 
 " No, no ! It's horrible hideous to lose my temper 
 with him ! It's never happened before. He has taken 
 to to playing jokes lately, and I nearly lost my 
 temper just now ! I think I must be going mad." 
 
 " I should think it's a sign of sanity," Ridgeway said 
 roughly. 
 
 She looked at him with incredulous, hurt eyes. 
 
 " To be angry with him ? When he doesn't know 
 doesn't understand " 
 
 " You're quick enough to be angry with me, Prud- 
 ence ! " It broke out, childish, fiercely jealous ; it was 
 beyond his power to keep it back, though he was ashamed 
 even as he spoke. 
 
 " With you ? Angry ? " She lifted a startled face to 
 him. 
 
 " Yes that day when I asked you to be my wife," 
 he said grimly, and waited, fiercely glad that he had at 
 least broken through the difficult surface friendliness of 
 these last weeks. 
 
 " Oh that " she said, in a low voice, and drew back 
 from him, and away along the corridor. 
 
 He sent a little bitter laugh after her ; and in her 
 room it beat at her ears, tormenting her, hurting her. 
 She wrote:
 
 348 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 " Mark, will you go away ? I beg you to go. I believe 
 in your heart you have a mad hope still. It is mad. 
 I can never change. It's all wrong. Mark, won't you 
 be kind and go ? " 
 
 She slipped with it down the stairs, to lay it in his 
 hat in the hall, and found him there. She stopped with 
 a little cry, then turned to go up again, but he was 
 across the hall, and had caught her, holding her by her 
 arms. 
 
 " What's that in your hand ? " 
 
 " Let me go I want to go back to Evelyn " 
 
 " What have you in your hand, Prudence ? " 
 
 " Nothing only a a note " 
 
 " For me ? Was it for me ? " 
 
 " I'm going to burn it. Let me go, Mark. I must 
 go back " 
 
 " Was the note for me ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 He opened her hand, and took the crumpled envelope 
 from her. 
 
 " Will you stay here if I let go, Prudence ? " 
 
 " Yes," she said faintly. 
 
 He took his hand from her arm, and moved away a 
 step or two. She watched him as he smoothed the 
 envelope, tore it open, and took out the sheet of paper 
 within it. He unfolded it ; and suddenly Prudence 
 turned and ran up the stairs. Ridgeway swung round, 
 and took a step towards the staircase, then he stood 
 still, and slowly turned to the letter in his hand. He 
 read it through, and went to the open door with it, 
 and stood there looking out ; it was an instinct with him 
 always to go to the open air for thought. Every now 
 and then he looked down again at the letter he held in a 
 characteristically strong grip. Gradually, as he thought
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 349 
 
 the frown on his forehead gave place to a more serene 
 expression ; at the last an expression that was almost 
 a gentle smile touched his lips. This was when he reached 
 the conclusion jerkily : " She has never in her life 
 before broken her word. . . . She promised not to 
 go away. . . . She's afraid. . . . Wouldn't 
 she trust herself ? " . . . He lifted his head, in- 
 voluntarily looking up at the skies, as his soul was 
 uplifted with hope and resolution. 
 
 When Dickon came into the hall he greeted him 
 cheerfully, looking upon him thoughtfully. 
 
 " Like to go to school, Dick ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Now ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Why not ? " 
 
 " I want a year to train in." 
 
 " Train ? How ? " 
 
 " Muscles, and to use my fists." 
 
 He nodded, well pleased. 
 
 " You're too young for school yet, anyway ; one's 
 apt to forget quite how young you are." 
 
 " That's because I'm a bit old-fashioned," Dickon said 
 gravely. " It's livin' with only one person, and she's 
 a lady, you see." 
 
 " Oh, indeed. And who told you that ? " 
 
 " Ferney." 
 
 Ridgeway smiled. 
 
 " Made up your mind what you want to be when you're 
 grown up ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Mind telling me ? " 
 
 " An M.F.H."
 
 350 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 " Rather expensive, isn't it ? " 
 
 " I'll be whip first, and earn some money, you see." 
 
 " I see : you've planned it all." 
 
 " Me and Ferney has." 
 
 It was a curious thing that Dickon never showed his 
 usual reserve with Ridgeway : in a quiet, unemotional 
 way they were good friends. 
 
 Ridgeway now, with the new hope trembling at his 
 heart, stretched out his hand, and stroked Dickon's 
 head. Dickon jerked it away. Ridgeway said with 
 an uncomfortable laugh : 
 
 " Don't like it, eh ? " 
 
 " I don't mind, if you want to do it," Dickon said, and 
 Ridgeway laughed again. 
 
 " Oh, that's all right. Now, will you give your 
 mother a message for me, Dick ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Tell her my answer is ' No.' Just that, ' No.' " 
 
 Dickon turned to the stairs, and Ridgeway went away. 
 
 He came again the next morning, but did not see 
 Prudence. He found Wingfield peevish, and with a 
 grievance. " I was in the middle of a most interesting 
 description of a run, and Prudence suddenly rose and 
 left the room. They're all the same at bottom take no 
 real interest in anything worth being interested in. 
 Curious thing, but a fact, I assure you. And no sense 
 of humour, don't you know. No woman has a sense of 
 humour. Now this morning I played a joke on Prud- 
 ence very good joke I began to groan and moan 
 I said I'd got a pain in my chest. I asked her to rub it. 
 She got the stuff and rubbed and rubbed, and every 
 time she stopped I said the pain came back, and she 
 went on again. Lord, it was the funniest thing you ever 
 saw in your life there she was, rubbing my chest with
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 351 
 
 that filthy stuff, and first her face got red with the 
 exertion, you know and then it got pale, and she was so 
 grave ha, ha, ha, funniest thing you ever saw in your 
 life, my boy ! " 
 
 Ridgeway walked across the room before he spoke 
 then he said quietly : " You mustn't do that sort of 
 thing, you know ; it's not playing the game." 
 
 " Eh, what ? What ? She didn't laugh a bit, when 
 I told her the joke. She just put the stuff away, and 
 buttoned up my shirt. No sense of humour, you know, 
 none of 'em ! " 
 
 " If you do that sort of thing, you'll wear her out 
 make her ill. Do you understand ? " 
 
 " Of course I understand. D'you think I'm a blessed 
 imbecile ? Make her ill ? Not a bit of it. She doesn't 
 mind, so long as she's near me. And it's a queer thing, 
 but the outer rim is blue a bright blue and a red ball 
 in the middle and green dots. Fact, I assure you." 
 
 Ridgeway looked down at him hopelessly : he realised 
 the uselessness of trying to reach the poor intelligence, 
 and make him understand what he was doing with this 
 new sense of humour that he had developed lately. But 
 standing there, in the room, hot, as Wingfield liked it, 
 his eyes passed from the sick heavy face to the brilliant 
 blue skies outside, and his heart and will gained fresh 
 strength and assurance that he was not acting un- 
 worthily to this madman in using all his powers to take 
 Prudence from him. He knew that many sentimental 
 folk, knowing that he came there as Wingfield's friend 
 to sit with him and cheer him, on hearing of his purpose, 
 would exclaim with horror at his treachery and cruelty. 
 He knew clearly enough the stock phrases they would 
 use, but he did not care ; he held that he was justified ; 
 he knew that, had he no love for Prudence, he would
 
 352 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 still strive to induce her to live her life away now from 
 the man to whom she had sacrificed so many years. 
 
 A silence had fallen upon the room ; Wingfield was 
 sitting, as he so often sat, looking up at the portrait of 
 Mirth, and a curious feeling and thought came into 
 Ridgeway's mind. Looking at the breadth of Wing- 
 field's brow, into the pathetic, bleared eyes, he said half 
 aloud : 
 
 " If you could know with the best part of you you 
 would wish me to take her away."
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII 
 
 PRUDENCE sought Muriel one day. She came to 
 her, white, breathless, on the verge of a break- 
 down. 
 
 Muriel took her up to her room. " Tell me, dear. 
 Let yourself go." 
 
 Prudence began to walk swiftly up and down the room. 
 
 " I don't know how it is," she said at last, in a low, 
 quick voice. " I got frightened I felt as if something 
 were giving way I daren't be alone," she turned 
 brilliant, feverish eyes on Muriel. " I saw your face 
 suddenly," she said. 
 
 Muriel went to her, and put her arms about her. 
 
 " Oh, my dear, my dear," she sobbed. 
 
 But Prudence drew herself away, and went on walking 
 up and down the room. 
 
 " I think I'm not very well," she said. " I think 
 I could have borne it better another time. It's very 
 hot, isn't it ? " 
 
 " Yes, very hot," Muriel said gently, and going to her 
 drew out her hatpins, and removed her hat. She did not 
 know how to help Prudence to break through the 
 reserve that even now was choking back the words that 
 ached at her throat. Her own tears blurred her eyes 
 and worried her, but she did not know how to make 
 Prudence cry. 
 
 Suddenly words broke from the pale lips, broke 
 passionately. 
 
 " Don't they ever think forward at all ? Is that it ? 
 2 A 353
 
 354 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 The wicked, cruel fools one hears of reads of ! Is it 
 true ? Can it be true ? They choose it ! Choose to 
 have their children nameless ! Oh, I I feel as if my 
 brain is going " 
 
 Muriel stood silent in the pause, afraid to move or 
 speak, lest she check the flow of words. 
 
 " They talk grandly of not needing chains ! They 
 object to marriage as a degrading tie. Fools ! They 
 don't consult the children who will have no names 
 who will grow up to hear their parents spoken of lightly. 
 Who will have to bear the burden of their namelessness 
 
 all their lives after their parents are dead and 
 
 forgotten the man and woman who soared above the 
 need of chains, and dragged their children down ! Are 
 there such people in the world ? " 
 
 " Yes. But you magnify the awfulness of it, 
 Prudence " 
 
 " Do I ? Do you remember once when I asked you if 
 you would give your daughter to Dickon ? . . . I 
 have been thinking of those people ever since she came 
 Wouldn't they care if a woman came, and offered 
 to take their children off their hands ? Wouldn't 
 
 they mind the awful insult ? The hideous hurt " 
 
 suddenly she wrung her hands, while her face was 
 distorted with pain. " But they wouldn't feel that 
 the doubt that's what tortures and burns and hurts 
 the doubt " 
 
 " What doubt, Prudence ? Can't you tell me ? " 
 
 " The doubt," her voice sank to a whisper, " whether 
 it would not be the best for him. To give him up to 
 her " 
 
 " Never ! " Muriel's voice rang out now clear and 
 firm. " You are wrong to doubt, Prudence ! You 
 only doubt because you are ill and worn out. His
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 355 
 
 place the only place for him is with you always 
 always " 
 
 Prudence's shoulders drooped, her whole body slack- 
 ened. 
 
 " But she would give him her name. She is a cousin 
 of Evelyn's very rich she would adopt him He is 
 very young he would soon forget " 
 
 Muriel answered at once the wistful questioning note 
 in the last sentences. 
 
 " Dickon is not the sort to forget. He would never 
 forget. He would pine for you. His love for you is 
 singularly deep for a child. His reserve hides it, but 
 I have found it out. It would be a sin to let her have 
 him." 
 
 She saw tears blurring the feverish brightness of 
 Prudence's eyes. 
 
 " But she has a beautiful home he would have 
 horses She would tell him, after a while, that his 
 parents were dead. No one would know his story." 
 
 " He needs you, and only you." 
 
 It came then the breakdown Muriel sat beside 
 her, touching her now and again, not soothing her with 
 words, quite silent. 
 
 A murmur or two from Prudence, caught back before 
 finished that was all. She said no more. 
 
 Even now she was inarticulate : she could bare heart 
 and soul to no one but Ridgeway. 
 
 When she went back to Cherry Cross she found him 
 there : they came face to face in the hall : it was the 
 first time they had met since that day she had broken 
 her word to him. She lifted grave eyes to his eyes 
 set in purple shadows, blurred with weeping. 
 
 " Mark," she said quietly. " I want to ask you again 
 to go away."
 
 356 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 His face paled ; he was conscious again of that terrible 
 feeling of being pushed away ; he felt that she was 
 erecting the wall once more. Her face was white and 
 composed, her dim eyes steady as they looked into 
 his. 
 
 " Come in here," he said, and turned to the drawing- 
 room, holding the door for her. 
 
 She went in, and turned and faced him. " Will you 
 go ? " she said. 
 
 " No." 
 
 She was silent awhile ; then she spoke in a low voice : 
 
 " Mark, I know I can never change. You will not 
 accept that. It is the truth. I cannot make you see. 
 Can't you believe I know ? I am not a young, in- 
 experienced girl. I know what it means. I know what 
 it all means either way. I know what I shall have to 
 face to bear, and you Mark, if you won't go for your 
 own sake, won't you go for mine ? " Her voice broke, 
 she stretched out imploring hands to him. " For mine, 
 Mark ! We cannot go on like this it is wrong wrong 
 for you. It is taking your life dragging it into the 
 shadow of mine. I cannot bear it not that. . . ." 
 
 He was silent, his hands gripping hers, his haggard 
 eyes on her face. 
 
 " Don't you understand what it is to bring sorrow 
 only bitter pain to the one you love best in all the 
 world ? " 
 
 She said it simply, beautifully. ... He dropped 
 her hands, and hid his face. . . . 
 
 " Let me think," he whispered hoarsely. 
 
 She waited, resting her hand on the table, leaning 
 heavily. . . She was very tired. 
 
 He said presently : 
 
 " It is joy to serve you you forget that."
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 357 
 
 Her face was flooded for a moment with a wonderful 
 light. 
 
 " Give me the joy of sacrifice," she breathed, " and 
 let me send you out of my life." 
 
 He caught hungrily at the word sacrifice. 
 
 " It would mean that to you I count for some- 
 thing I help you " 
 
 " I don't know," she said. 
 
 ' Prudence, let me stay ! You think it's wrong for 
 me because I've been such a brute to you lately an 
 irritable brute Child, you've got to believe me now. 
 It is my great joy to be near you, even though I may 
 not touch you. To be there, in case of need. My 
 greatest honour to know that you would let me serve 
 you. Send me away what am I ? My body in one 
 place mind, heart, soul here tormented with the 
 
 thought of the distance between us " Suddenly his 
 
 voice broke, he cried roughly : " I can't go, Prudence ! " 
 and stood silent. 
 
 When she spoke again it was about another thing. 
 
 " Mark," she said in a low voice, " I am afraid of 
 myself with Evelyn. All these years I have had 
 patience with him, and now oh, I am ashamed ! 
 Ashamed ! This morning I nearly slammed a book 
 down on to the table oh, it was a joke he had been 
 playing on me ! But he doesn't know, and I what 
 have I sunk to ? To find it difficult not to lose patience 
 Is this what our love has done ? Isn't it a beautiful 
 thing, after all ? Or does it drag one down " 
 
 " Don't say that, Prudence. You mustn't say that. 
 Oh, my child, it's simple enough," he smiled sadly. 
 " You're alive now for good or ill you're alive. Love is 
 human warm every pulse and nerve is alive awak- 
 ened that's how love can drag down or uplift more
 
 358 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 than any passion on earth. You were dead before 
 you had deliberately killed yourself numbed yourself 
 to enable you to bear your life. You can never do that 
 again. You've got to live every moment now face 
 it all alive terribly alive." He added wearily : " Is 
 that all I am to give you ? " 
 
 " But at first after it all seemed easier. I felt 
 lifted up above everything but that one thing " 
 
 " I suppose that was the first exaltation, Prudence 
 it couldn't last it's not like that " 
 
 The terrible sadness of his voice hurt her so that for a 
 minute she could not speak. Then she lifted her head, 
 and looked into his eyes bravely, steadfastly. 
 
 " Still, for myself, I thank God for it," she said. 
 
 " Thank Him for me, too, Prudence." 
 
 They stood a minute, looking into each other's souls. 
 
 " The pain the longing your sorrow I accept them 
 all," she whispered. 
 
 " I too," he said. 
 
 Then she turned and left him.
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII 
 
 PRUDENCE, I must really insist on having that 
 youngest boy of ours brought to me. I must 
 really insist." 
 
 " He is out just now, Evelyn." 
 
 " He is always out when I want him. Curious thing. 
 Is he walking ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Tiresome ! I want to take him for a ride this 
 evening. Too hot for the little chap till then. I hope 
 he won't over-tire himself with all this walking. Stupid 
 exercise walking what is it ? One foot in front of 
 the other, over and over again I Absurd, on the face 
 of it. How confoundedly hot it is ! I'm as dry as my 
 great-grandfather. Whiskey and soda ! Lord, what 
 I'd give for a good drink ! Don't offer me any of your 
 damned lemonades and things ! When a man asks for a 
 drink it makes him see red to be offered any of that 
 filthy sort of stuff. Many men would throw something 
 at your head for it, but I could never hurt a woman. 
 Prudence, don't you think I might have just a taste of 
 whiskey ? Just enough to moisten my throat, eh ? It's 
 full of dust beastly dust that car sent in at the window 
 a few minutes ago " 
 
 Pitiful attempts on her part followed, attempts to 
 make him forget his thirst : this was one of the hardest 
 things she had to face now. 
 
 " Prue, you're different lately somehow." 
 359
 
 360 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 She turned startled eyes to him to meet an unex- 
 pectedly sane look. 
 
 " Am I bad-tempered, Evelyn ? " she asked faintly. 
 
 " No. But you're different you're not quite so icy 
 somehow, don't you know. You look almost cross with 
 me at times, my lady, not quite and then you look 
 kinder somehow oh, I prefer it myself ! But you're 
 different somehow." 
 
 So even he had noticed it ? Even he could feel it. 
 She had not thought him capable of that. She looked 
 down at him he was so pitiably shrunk lately and that 
 glorious figure who had come clinking to her help seven 
 years ago flashed into her mind. She gave a little 
 pitying cry, and went and knelt beside his chair. 
 
 " Have I failed you all these years, Evelyn ? " she whis- 
 pered remorsefully, bowing her head on the arm of his 
 chair. 
 
 " Don't cry, my dear ! You're a good little girl 
 don't cry, Milly I always hated to see a woman cry." 
 He lifted a feeble hand and patted her hair. She knelt 
 there quite still letting him touch her hair as 
 Milly's hair feeling painfully that somehow perhaps she 
 was expiating failure. . . . 
 
 " Beautiful hair you've got, Milly it's growing darker 
 though. All the same to me rather prefer 'em dark, 
 really. Where's my buttonhole, eh, you minx ? 
 Forgotten it, have you ? Run and get me one at once. 
 Run along, and a beauty, mind you, or I'll exact toll." 
 
 She rose and moved to the door. 
 
 " Read to me, Prue, I'm sick of doing nothing. 
 I think if I sit quiet for a bit I might manage a gentle 
 canter later on, eh ? I must go round to the stables 
 presently. You might give me a few lumps of sugar now 
 will you ? "
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 361 
 
 She fetched three lumps and laid them on the table. 
 
 " I mustn't forget 'em that little mare'll shove me 
 over if I go to her with empty pockets I'm not so 
 strong on my pins as I was, you know. She's very 
 quiet this morning I don't seem to hear her, or Ferney 
 either." 
 
 " The wind's gone round to the west," Prudence said 
 gently. 
 
 " I can generally hear 'em, all the same," he said 
 wistfully. 
 
 " I must go and order lunch/' she said, going to 
 the door. " I won't be a minute, Evelyn." 
 
 She left him sitting there, his hand up behind his 
 left ear, listening. She went down to Ferney. 
 
 " Ferney, will you make more noise ? Clink a pail, 
 and that sort of thing : your master can't hear you 
 this morning." 
 
 " All right, m'lady. Is his lordship any better ? " 
 
 " About the same, Ferney." 
 
 " It's the I4th, m'lady, this day ten years ago we 
 set out with that team o' greys London to Brighton 
 there was a crowd a mile long to cheer us, and 'is lordship 
 I never see 'im look better nor 'andle the reins prettier 
 the off leader was a bit of a devil 'ot as 'ell, beggin' 
 your pardon, m'lady and to see 'im a-handlin' of 'er ! 
 Pretty a sight as ever you saw in your life I s'pose 
 'is lordship won't be coming round to the stables to-day, 
 m'lady ? " he added wistfully. 
 
 "I'm afraid not, Ferney, he is very weak." 
 
 " Very well, m'lady, I'll make a bit of a noise." 
 
 He touched his forehead, and picked up a pail. 
 
 When Prudence re-entered Wingfield's room he greeted 
 her with a childishly pleased : 
 
 " Confound that fellow, d'you hear the fearful din
 
 362 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 he's making out there ? I shall have to speak to him. 
 I can't have that sort of row going on. Hulloa, hear 
 that, Prue ? Ha, ha, ha, the little mare's restless this 
 morning. She'll give me a good ride later on I like 
 'em fresh. I think I'll try to get a nap now I want to 
 feel as fit as I can for my ride. Lord, how I'm looking 
 forward to that ride, Prue ! Feel like a boy off to his 
 first meet ! Damn that Ferney, that's the third time 
 he's dropped that pail ! The chap must be drunk ! 
 Have to speak to him " he fell into an uneasy sleep. 
 
 Prudence rang for Williams to sit with him, and 
 went to her own room. She sat wearily in a chair for a 
 minute, then frowning, rose and went downstairs. A 
 glove of Ridgeway's lay on a table in the hall, she stood 
 before it, staring at it ; it was an old glove, worn to the 
 shape of his hand his left hand a driving glove 
 there were the places where the reins had rubbed. . . 
 
 She turned away, not touching it, fighting the longing 
 to touch it. Tears smarted in her eyes ; she dashed 
 them away angrily, whipped herself with cruel words 
 " maudlin weak ridiculous " ; and a great aching 
 loneliness dragged at her heart. . . . 
 
 " Dickon ! " she called. 
 
 " Master Dick's not come back, ma'am," Lydia 
 called from the kitchen. She had forgotten he had gone 
 to Elm Hill. Well, she must do some work, idleness 
 was notoriously bad for morbidity. So she thought, 
 shutting her lips tightly. 
 
 She worked on a pair of pyjamas she was making for 
 Dickon ; her fingers worked rapidly, but her mind went 
 quicker racing on and on terribly busy on the tiring 
 task of crowding out certain thoughts by keeping it full 
 of other thoughts. ... It was very tiring. . . 
 
 Williams came to fetch her.
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 363 
 
 " I'm sorry, ma'am, but he keeps asking for you, and 
 he's getting so irritable," he said, with a pitying glance 
 at her face. 
 
 " Very well, Williams." 
 
 She rose, putting aside her work. The man coughed 
 behind a deprecating hand. 
 
 " I think, if you'll excuse me, ma'am, it'd take a lot 
 of the work off of you, if you had a nurse a female 
 nurse, I mean, ma'am." 
 
 She glanced at him quickly. 
 
 " Don't you think he'd call for me then, Williams ? " 
 
 " Maybe he would, and maybe he wouldn't, ma'am, 
 but with him as he is, one female's very much the same 
 as another, if you'll excuse me, and he wouldn't put on a 
 nurse as much as he does on you, ma'am, I don't expect. 
 They never do." 
 
 " I like to do it myself, Williams," she said gently 
 and went upstairs to Wingfield. 
 
 He was very peevish and exacting all that day ; 
 he swore at her when she could not do what he wanted, 
 played his horrible jokes on her till she felt as if her brain 
 were giving way ; she never knew, from minute to 
 minute, if he were serious or indulging in his peculiar 
 sense of humour. He fell into a form of reminiscence 
 from which she had always shrunk, and insisted on 
 replies to his questions, with that curious shrewdness he 
 sometimes displayed, forcing her thus to listen to his 
 stories. Towards evening he began to joke about 
 Ridgeway, wonder if he were very deep, chuckling, 
 vowing he never trusted those quiet fellows, suggesting 
 that once he were roused, he'd be the very devil. 
 
 " Dangerous fellow devilish dangerous. I declare 
 if it wasn't that you're such a dowdy nowadays, Prue, I 
 wouldn't have him here so much ! I declare I'd be
 
 364 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 jealous ! He's a well-made young fellow ugly but 
 women don't mind that. But no one would notice you 
 nowadays never saw a girl go off as you have. Ton 
 my soul, I begin to wonder where my taste was, when 
 I fell in love with you. Rather hard on a chap, isn't 
 it ? I think you'd better get me a pretty nurse, eh ? 
 Eh, what ? Only not red hair can't stand red hair. 
 Blue circles red dots and a green mist. Curious 
 thing, isn't it ? Ha, ha, ha ! But a fact, I assure 
 you ! " 
 
 By the evening she was worn out ; she went down- 
 stairs when she heard Ridgeway arrive. 
 
 "He is very difficult to-day," she said, and burst 
 into tears. 
 
 He led her into the drawing-room, and drew her to 
 him tenderly. 
 
 " Cry then, little one," he whispered. She buried her 
 face in his shoulder, her hands clinging to him ; but in a 
 minute she had drawn away, and turned from him. He 
 began to speak, but she turned her white tear-stained 
 face to him, and her eyes were dark with a frightened 
 beseeching. 
 
 " Mark," she whispered hoarsely. " I am so tired 
 I feel so weak help me don't oh, I cannot bear it 1 " 
 
 Her voice broke into a heartbroken cry, and she hid 
 her face in her hands. He stood a minute, his hands 
 clenched, fighting the love that clamoured that now was 
 his time. . . . Beads of sweat stood on his fore- 
 head. . . . She looked so helpless she was afraid 
 of him. . . . Was he to show himself a brute ? 
 
 " Help me, Mark " 
 
 He turned and left the room. He went out into the 
 evening dusk, and walked up and down, the scent of 
 mignonette sickening him. . . .
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 365 
 
 Then he came back and went up to Wingfield. 
 
 When he left, an hour later, he went into the drawing- 
 room to fetch the rain-coat he had dropped there when 
 he led Prudence in. 
 
 The room glimmered with a light that was partly 
 the dusk of a day not yet quite dead, and partly the 
 shimmer of the harvest moon. Near the window 
 Prudence lay asleep in a chair, her arms on a table, 
 her head prone. He drew near softly. . . . Her 
 arms held his coat close, and her wet cheek was pressed 
 into the folds. . . . 
 
 He answered the white appeal of her face. 
 
 He went away without awakening her.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX 
 
 WINGFIELD continued to ask for Andr6, and 
 Ridgeway told Elizabeth. Elizabeth said : 
 
 " Andre, would you like to go and see Mr. 
 Wingfield again ? " 
 
 " But yes, Maman, for I wish to ride de pet fox, and I 
 cannot find him but no and I tink perhaps de sick 
 Monsieur will tell me where de poor pet fox used to go to 
 bed, and den I will find him. May I den go now, 
 Maman ? " 
 
 Elizabeth picked him up in her arms and held him 
 close. 
 
 " May I den go now ? " 
 
 " You're very precious, mon cheri. I don't know 
 that I can spare you. And it isn't he I want to soften, 
 poor man " 
 
 " May I den go now ? " 
 
 " But he's very sick, and you're a love, so I suppose it 
 will have to be." 
 
 " May I den go now ? " 
 
 " You like this Monsieur, Andr6 ? " 
 
 " Oh, but yes, Maman, for he has de lickle toy boxes 
 wif de foxes on dem, and he rides a pet fox, and he is 
 sad because he mustn't go out in de rain may I den go 
 now ? " 
 
 " Yes, sweet." 
 
 He slipped to the floor, and trotted off to Louise. 
 
 Wingfield was pleased to see him, and Andre was vastly 
 366
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 367 
 
 amused because he called him Dick ; he rather liked the 
 name of Dick, for was it not " ver' Engleese ? " 
 
 " You've improved, Dick ; you don't stare so much 
 as you used to do. We'll go for a little ride together 
 later on, shall we ? " 
 
 " Oooh, and look for de pet fox ? " 
 
 " Ha, ha, ha, ha ! Good ! You're a chip of the old 
 block 1 Want to hunt already, do you ? You're my 
 son after all, in spite of your mother's coddling. Prud- 
 ence, you may leave us together." 
 
 " In a minute, Evelyn ; I want just to finish dusting 
 these books." 
 
 " Monsieur, I wish to know where de pet fox goed to 
 bed. Did he sleep in de wood ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, in an earth, don't you know. Never smelt 
 fox yet ? Lord, I must see about that. I'll take you 
 down to the far copse this evening, old man, and you'll get 
 a good whiff of him, I'll lay a wager. Green dots, or 
 blue circles, what does it matter, eh ? Curious thing, 
 but a fact, I assure you " 
 
 " Monsieur, I wish to sit on your lap, and play wif 
 de toy boxes," he clambered up as he spoke. 
 
 Prudence, looking on, felt a bitter pang of jealousy 
 on Dickon's behalf ; for the moment she almost hated 
 Andre's beaming face and broken chatter. She found 
 it so difficult to bear calmly that she left the room, and 
 sent Williams in her stead. She went to Dickon herself, 
 and followed him even when he went to keep an 
 important appointment with Ferney in the harness- 
 room. 
 
 Williams went quietly upstairs and into Wingfield's 
 bedroom ; not interrupting the talk going on in the other 
 room he unostentatiously opened the door between the 
 two rooms, and sat down with his morning's paper.
 
 368 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 " Oooh, it's a dolly, n'est-ce pas ? *' chuckled Andre, 
 clutching at a bronze Indian idol. 
 
 " Ha, ha, ha ! Very good very good indeed 1 
 You're a wit, young man, eh ? Used to be a bit of a 
 wit myself once, but nowadays what are you doing, 
 eh?" 
 
 " Hush ! Fse puttin' her to sleep she's a lickle 
 heathen dolly. You sing her to sleep while I rock her, 
 Monsieur." 
 
 " Eh, what ? Sing ? " 
 
 " But yes, Monsieur, at once ! For if I sing I cannot 
 say hush, you see. Commencz, Monsieur ! " 
 
 " Eh, what ? What shall I sing, eh ? Sing used to 
 sing a lot once " 
 
 " Sing now, Monsieur ! " 
 
 " Here goes then 
 
 ' D'ye ken John Peel with his coat so gay, 
 D'ye ken John Peel at the break of the day, 
 D'ye ken John Peel when he's far, far away, 
 With his hounds and his horn in the morning ? " 
 
 " Is dat a lullelby, Monsieur ? " came in a doubtful 
 tone from the midst of energetic " hush's." 
 
 Unheeding, the voice, pathetic with a weak and husky 
 echo of a bye-gone sweetness and strength, went on to the 
 chorus : 
 
 " ' For the sound of his born brought me from my bed, 
 And the cry of his hounds, which he oft-times led ; 
 Peel's view hal-loo ' " 
 
 " Monsieur ! Taisez-vous ! Je vous demande ! See 
 you have wake my dolly you make a noise, but oh, a 
 jolly awful bad noise ! Monsieur, what is it ? Monsieur ! " 
 
 There was a slight sound from the inner room. 
 
 Wingfield's head had fallen forward, his face was 
 buried in Andrews shoulder ; a mutter came from him 
 heart-broken, weary. . . .
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 369 
 
 " God to feel a horse between my legs " 
 
 " Monsieur, what is it ? Monsieur it hurt it fa- 
 hurt, " Andre wriggled his shoulder petulantly. 
 
 Wingfield lifted a heavy head, his blurred eyes looking 
 blankly into the child's tremulous face. 
 
 " Give me that," he whispered hoarsely. " Just once 
 a horse any horse " 
 
 " See, Monsieur, do not cry ! " Andrd's tearfulness 
 vanished, he was digging into his knickerbocker pocket 
 with both hands, twisting and struggling with excite- 
 ment. " I have de horses I have de two horses, and 
 Monsieur shall have one see ! " 
 
 Triumphantly they were brought forth, two small 
 real skin horses, one cream and one bay. 
 
 " See, Monsieur, do dey not shine ? Dey has to be 
 groomed, n'est-ce pas ? De one is John and de oder 
 is Mary. See now, I will groom Mary, Monsieur ! " 
 
 He stood the bay on the table, and with his handker- 
 chief began to rub the sleek coat. 
 
 Wingfield watched with dull, dreary eyes : suddenly 
 he sat up. 
 
 " Come, come, that's not the way ! Haven't you 
 ever heard a groom at his work ? I can't let a son of 
 mine do it in that dolly way ! Hand the little mare 
 here. Now watch ! Listen ! Wait a bit. Run over 
 to that table Can you open that little drawer ? That's 
 right. Now, isn't there a small brush there, like a little 
 tooth brush without a handle, eh ? That's it. Bring 
 it along ! Now we're all right. Now you watch and 
 listen." 
 
 Andre watched and listened with intent interest; 
 
 " Why do you make dat funny spitty noise, Mon- 
 sieur ? " 
 
 " They always do it." 
 2 B
 
 370 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 " Why do dey, Monsieur ? " 
 
 " To keep the dust out of their mouths. Now 
 watch ! " 
 
 In the other room Williams went back quietly to his 
 chair, and picked up his newspaper. 
 
 " Monsieur, may I den try now ? " 
 
 " Wait a bit. I must finish this little lass now I've 
 started. Steady there s-s-s-s-s-s-s quiet now, none 
 of your nonsense this morning s-s-s-s there's a little 
 lass then s-s-s-s-s-s steady, steady, not so free with 
 that hind leg yes, I know the flies are woijrying you 
 s-s-s s-s-s-s ' ' 
 
 Andre's hand came down on the horse's head, Andrd 
 shrilled, heart and soul in this lovely game : 
 
 " I've killed a fly, Monsieur, a great big stingin' 
 fly!" 
 
 " That's right ! Beastly things they worry the 
 horses to death at this time of year. Steady with that 
 leg now " 
 
 " O-o-o-h, it is going to kick, Monsieur !" 
 
 " Stead-y that's a good girl don't touch her ears, 
 my boy, she's always a bit fidgetty about her ears 
 won't have 'em touched by any one but me " 
 
 " Monsieur, I wish to do it now. See, I can make 
 de spitty noise sh-sh-sh-sh-sh " 
 
 Wait till I've just done her feet out- 
 
 But the toy horse had stiff legs with no joints : Wing- 
 field took the hind leg in his fingers, then pushed the 
 horse avray pettishly ; it fell to the floor, breaking one 
 of its hind hoofs. 
 
 Andre blinked down at it through tears, but observed 
 philosophically : 
 
 " Dat is de one I gave you, Monsieur, n'est-ce 
 pas ? "
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 371 
 
 " You ought to be at your lessons ! " cried Wingfield 
 irritably, and there was a slight movement in the inner 
 room again. 
 
 " Monsieur, are you c'oss wif me ? " shrilled Andr< 
 incredulously. 
 
 Wingfield's face softened. 
 
 " No no, I'm not angry with you, little man, but 
 I've got a lot of blue circles to make, and I want to rest 
 a bit, to see if I can get up a miserable little bit of strength 
 for a ride red squares green dots," he said wearily. 
 
 Williams knocked at the door and came in. 
 
 " Master Andre is wanted, sir." 
 
 " Blue circles and then a red square a queer sort 
 of red like blood curious thing, but a fact, I assure 
 you, Williams ! " 
 
 " I dare say, sir, the world's full of curious things 
 nowadays." 
 
 " That's it. It is ! You're a sensible man, Williams 
 I'll write you a cheque for a thousand pounds to-night, 
 when I've had my canter." 
 
 " Is it Maman who want me ? " interposed Andr6. 
 " I have not yet groomed John wif de spitty noise. 
 Monsieur," thumping Wingfield's knee, " may I not 
 first groom John, n'est-ce pas ? Just as you groomed 
 Mary, Monsieur ! " 
 
 Wingfield cast an uneasy glance at Williams. 
 
 " Ha, ha, ha ! One has to play with the little ones 
 at times, Williams, you know." 
 
 " Yes, sir, they like it, and expect it." 
 
 " That's it ! You're a sensible man, Williams. I'll 
 write you a cheque for five thousand pounds to-night 
 after I've had a good gallop." 
 
 " Thank you, sir. Come along, sir." Williams led 
 Andre from the room, and returning, found Wingfield
 
 372 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 huddled in his chair staring at the little toy horse lying 
 on the floor. 
 
 " Horses in circles round and round they go can't 
 get near enough to touch one just my luck. Came a 
 purler, poor beggar he screamed, you know beastly 
 thing to do horse never moved just lay there. . . ." 
 
 Williams picked up the horse and laid it on the table. 
 Wingfield suddenly straightened himself, and stared 
 at the man haughtily. 
 
 " Throw that damned toy away at once 1 " 
 
 Williams took it, and threw it into the coal skuttle. 
 
 Prudence came into the room. 
 
 "I've got the most infernal headache, Prue," Wing- 
 field said. 
 
 She looked uncertainly at him, and at Williams, 
 tried to laugh : 
 
 " Really, Evelyn ? You mustn't play any more 
 jokes on me, you know." 
 
 He flew into a violent rage ; they could not stem it ; 
 she stood trembling beneath his abuse till it wore itself 
 out, and he slept. 
 
 " Do you think his head really aches, Williams ? " 
 she asked, wearily. 
 
 " No, ma'am." 
 
 She sat down by the table. 
 
 " There's no need for you to stay here, ma'am, now ; 
 he'll sleep for a good bit." 
 
 " He likes me to be here when he wakes, Williams." 
 
 " Well, you might just as well sit in the next room 
 where there's more air, ma'am," said Williams obstin- 
 ately. 
 
 "Very well." 
 
 She rose and went into the inner room, and sat, chiding 
 her selfishness. Why not have applied the remedies
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 373 
 
 he wanted at once ? They could not harm, and he 
 wanted to have his joke. Why not ? Why make a 
 tragedy of it ? This awful scene all her fault was 
 rubbing his temples such a stupendous task ? Her 
 back ache ? she wanted to hurt herself. . . . 
 
 She heard a movement in the other room, and turned. 
 Wingfield had risen, he was creeping stealthily across 
 to the fireplace ; she stood quiet, anxious not to worry 
 him by disclosing her presence unless it became neces- 
 sary : it was sufficiently obvious that he thought he 
 was alone. 
 
 He reached the hearth, and slowly stooped. Prudence 
 took a step forward, but paused again. Wingfield 
 stood up, took his handkerchief from his sleeve, and 
 wrapping it round his hand, once more stooped over the 
 coal box. This time he put his hand in, and groped 
 amongst the coal ; then he straightened himself, and 
 Prudence saw that he held a little toy horse. He 
 glanced furtively round, then dropped it stealthily into 
 his coat pocket, and returned to his chair. The exertion 
 had tired him, and he sat breathing heavily, then he 
 took the toy from his pocket, and sat staring at it in 
 his hand. . . . 
 
 Prudence hid her eyes. . . ,
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 WIXGFIELD greeted Ridgeway cheerfully when 
 he came to see him that same evening. 
 
 " Jolly little chap that boy of mine," he 
 said. " Turning out much better than I expected." 
 
 Ridgeway was surprised, and glancing at Prudence 
 was troubled because he could not read her expression. 
 It was the first time he had seen her since he had found 
 her sleeping with her head buried in his coat. That was 
 four days ago, and hitherto she had managed to elude 
 him. But he had told himself that he could wait now ; 
 he felt an infinite tenderness for her, so great a love 
 that as he saw her coming to him, he almost feared to 
 move towards her, feared to blunder ever so little, and 
 hurt her. . . . 
 
 But to-night, looking again into her face, his love 
 surged within him, and he forgot all fear, and forgot 
 that he had thought he could wait. . . . 
 
 Perhaps she read something of it in his face ; she made 
 the unusual excuse of not feeling well, and asked Wing- 
 field if he would mind her going to bed. He assured her 
 in his most gallant manner that he would not have her 
 stay with him a moment longer, and she withdrew. 
 Wingfield returned to the subject of Andre. 
 
 " Turning out much better than one could have 
 expected. Coddled, you know, and all that. Great 
 pity. Rides well too for his age, only the green circles 
 worried him a bit. Used to be jealous of him. Ha, 
 
 374
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 375 
 
 ha, ha ! Funny thing, but a fact, I assure you. Eh ? 
 What ? What ? What ? " 
 
 Ridgeway roused himself with an effort. 
 
 " Quite so," he said. 
 
 " Eh, what ? What d'you know about it ? Lord, 
 but I was jealous ! Vera Gascoigne know her, old 
 man ? No ? Deuced fine woman in those days 
 head over heels in love with me pretty a pair of 
 shoulders as I ever saw remember her one night 
 red circles and green squares with blue dots there they 
 are," he put his hand up to his eyes in a troubled way. 
 
 " I've seen her act," Ridgeway said, recalling the 
 name. " She dances too, doesn't she ? " 
 
 " Rather ! Little feet as supple as silk, and she 
 used to tease me because I was in love with my own 
 wife, you know. Deuced silly sort of thing, but there 
 it was, don't you know ! " 
 
 Ridgeway moved forward and sat down. 
 
 " Your wife ? " he said. 
 
 " Rather ! A little bit of a baby that's all she was. 
 Lord, you'd never believe a girl could be such a baby ! 
 And there was I at my age, jealous of the boy ! Fact, 
 I assure you ! Came in returned unexpectedly wel- 
 come home ? By God, no ! Dismay ! Lord, I saw 
 red ! Playing with that infernal baby as usual hugged 
 him up and turned on me shrank away from me ! I 
 believe I'd have done murder that night if it hadn't 
 been for Vera Gascoigne. A wit that woman had ! 
 
 Lord, didn't her eyes snap " Resurrect that dead 
 
 wife of yours, Evie, that'd bring her to heel 1 " Ha, 
 ha, ha ! That was her advice. Devilish fine woman. 
 Remember her ankles ? Prettiest ankles in the world. 
 Pink roses were her favourite flower, and red circles 
 with green dots "
 
 376 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 Ridgeway let him wander on about circles and 
 squares ; he wondered what was the matter with 
 himself, something in his head was racing and 
 whirling he knew that there was a particular reason 
 for his wanting to think clearly, only it eluded 
 him. . . . 
 
 What was it ? He groped after it painfully, feeling 
 oddly sick. ... it was something that Wingfield 
 had said. . . . What had he said ? . . . ' He 
 came back unexpectedly he looked dreadfully flushed 
 and upset and he just blurted it out and fell on to a 
 lounge.' . . . No that was Prudence's voice 
 it echoed and thundered in his ears till it drowned what 
 Wingfield had said. What was it he had said ? ' Green 
 circles and red squares ' no, that wasn't it. He went 
 on groping " He came back unexpectedly he just 
 blurted it out. . . ." That was Prudence's voice. 
 . . . Wingfield had said something about a baby 
 was that it ? ... Playing with a baby. . . . 
 " He came back unexpectedly he just blurted it out " 
 blurted what out ? That his first wife was still alive 
 that was it. He had told Prudence he had found out 
 that his first wife was still alive. And now Ridgeway 
 sat erect that woman Vera Gascoigne had made a 
 stupid joke : she had said : " Resurrect that dead wife 
 of yours, Evie, that'd bring her to heel ! " He faced the 
 words, his brain clear again : he pushed the vague horror 
 that had gripped him, away. He thought it out. If 
 Wingfield was speaking of actual facts of things that 
 had really occurred there was here a ghastly coinci- 
 dence that was all. The dead wife had resurrected 
 herself. . . . 
 
 " I believe I'd have done murder that night if it hadn't 
 been for Vera Gascoigne "... What night ?
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 377 
 
 . . . " He came back unexpectedly " and again : 
 " Came in returned unexpectedly murder that night 
 if it hadn't been for Vera Gascoigne " 
 
 Vera Gascoigne oh, God, damn that woman 
 
 He spoke : 
 
 " What did Vera Gascoigne mean when she said 
 that ? " 
 
 " Eh ? Eh, what ? Vera Gascoigne fine woman 
 dark eyes yellow hair " 
 
 " What did she mean when she said : ' Resurrect 
 that dead wife of yours ' ? " 
 
 " Blue squares ha, ha, ha ! Curious thing, but a 
 fact, I assure you ! Eh ? What ? What ? " 
 
 " What did Vera Gascoigne mean when she said that 
 to you ? " 
 
 " My dear fellow, you're never asking me what a 
 woman means ! I've had a pretty wide experience, 
 but all I can tell you is that she usually means the 
 direct opposite of what she says ! There was a chestnut 
 I rode a good bit one winter, had a mouth like a stirrup 
 leather " 
 
 " You've got to listen, and answer me," Ridgeway 
 interrupted, and his voice now was so stern that it held 
 Wingfield's wandering attention. " What did Vera 
 Gascoigne mean when she said, ' Resurrect that dead 
 wife of yours ' ? " 
 
 " Oh, that ! Why, don't you see jolly good idea. 
 It worked splendidly ! There she was dismayed 
 at my return wanting only that confounded baby 
 yes, that was it no room for me. But I'm glad she's 
 forgotten all about it. Hate-quarrelling with a woman. 
 Shouldn't like to hurt her. Don't you remind her of 
 it, my dear boy. It would never do" 
 
 " Remind who of what ? "
 
 378 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 " That little chap sat on my knee and chattered 
 away " 
 
 " Have you been married twice ? " 
 
 " Lord, yes ! First one was a great, strapping 
 wench red cheeks farmer's daughter, don't you know, 
 and all that sort of thing older than I was Don't like 
 'em like that now prefer different kind. What's your 
 particular fancy, my boy ? Eh ? Oh, you're a deep 
 dog. I found out a lot about you when you were buried 
 under the floor over there kept on sticking out your 
 leg you know good riding leg " 
 
 Ridgeway had risen and gone over to the window ; 
 he felt as if he were being stifled ; a question burned 
 on his lips : " When did your first wife die ? " But 
 he knew it was an absurd question, because of course 
 she had never died. That was the trouble. She was 
 in Paris. . . . 
 
 He was conscious chiefly of fighting an almost over- 
 powering desire to kill the horrible, grinning, mad 
 creature sitting in the large chair, wagging its head at 
 him. . . . 
 
 He threw up the window and leant out : Wingfield 
 objected peevishly, but Ridgeway ignored him. 
 
 " I shall die one foot has turned into ice I'm frost- 
 bitten I tell you, my feet are frost-bitten already, and 
 if it reaches the heart you die. Lord, circles and 
 squares ! Red and green ! Heaps of 'em. Curious 
 thing, but a fact, I assure you ! " 
 
 Mad! 
 
 The word seemed to breathe out its re-assurance to 
 him from the trees ; the breeze cooled his forehead. 
 He regained control of his mind, and it worked rapidly 
 over all that Wingfield had said. Of course he was 
 mad ; he put the panic away from him ; he said to
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 379 
 
 himself over and over again : " Life is full of strange 
 coincidences," and still thinking the platitude turned to 
 Wingfield and said : 
 
 " When did your first wife die ? " 
 
 " Eh ? Oh ; it's cruel cruel to remind me of 
 that." He began to whimper, " Pale face all the red 
 had left her cheeks poor girl poor girl a good 
 girl, but selfish. . . . She wouldn't let me go 
 and her hand grew cold ugh, it was as cold as ice at 
 the last poor girl poor girl," he began to cry, mutter- 
 ing pitifully, " poor girl poor girl made me promise 
 to see her buried good girl, but selfish beastly to see 
 'em throwing down the earth on her poor girl poor 
 girl " 
 
 There had been a moment when Ridgeway had taken 
 a step towards him, with murder in his face, and his 
 hands clenched. . . . That moment had been a 
 lurid one crowded with the thought of Prudence's 
 long agony. . . . Then the thing in the chair (so 
 Ridgeway thought of him) had begun to cry 
 
 Ridgeway had gone out into the night then. . . . 
 
 In the morning he entered his studio, and shaved. 
 He was going to Cherry Cross, he might see Prudence 
 he made himself look as normal as possible. He did not 
 realise that no bathing and shaving could make him look 
 as usual just then. 
 
 Prudence cried out when she saw him. He said 
 curtly : 
 
 " Bad night. Can I see Wingfield alone ? " 
 
 She asked no questions, but called Williams from 
 Wingfield's room, and left Ridgeway there. 
 
 Wingfield was sitting back in his chair, very quiet. 
 
 " Hush," he said, " walk softly. I don't mind telling
 
 380 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 you but in the night I had no legs. Fact, I assure you. 
 They've come back now, but " 
 
 " I want to ask you about your first wife," Ridgeway 
 said. " Did you see her die ? Are you sure she is 
 dead ? " 
 
 " Dead ? Not a bit of it ! Who thought of saying 
 such a thing ? Great Scott, man, you should be more 
 careful what you say ! It's an exceedingly painful 
 subject " 
 
 Ridgeway's legs grew suddenly queerly soft ; he sat 
 down, and stared at Wingfield, who was wandering on in 
 an indignant voice about its being an exceedingly painful 
 subject. . . . Suddenly Ridgeway's anger rose, 
 strong, uncontrollable it burst in a storm of words ; 
 it stopped as suddenly as it had begun, stopped in a 
 cold horror, as he saw Wingfield's head fall helplessly 
 over his left shoulder, and his face grow a terrible 
 leaden colour. He thought he had killed him. He 
 went to him and bent over him ; Wingfield opened 
 bleared, scared eyes, and cowered down in his 
 chair. 
 
 " Don't kill me," he moaned. " Please don't hurt 
 me!" 
 
 " I won't hurt you," Ridgeway said gently. " I 
 didn't mean to frighten you." 
 
 He was conscious of such a heavy sense of self-despisal 
 as he had never in his life known before. 
 
 " I was afraid you were going to hit me. You 
 seemed so cross with me." 
 
 " No, I'm not cross with you." 
 
 He rang the bell, twice, for Williams. 
 
 " Nearly fainted," he said curtly. 
 
 Williams administered some drops from a bottle. 
 The colour had returned to Wingfield's face ; when
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 381 
 
 Ridgeway would have gone he besought him pathetically 
 to stay. 
 
 " If you go away I shall think you are still cross with 
 me," he said, speaking like a child. 
 
 Ridgeway sat down again. Wingfield meandered on : 
 
 " You look very cross, and you said my legs were 
 dead. It was a very unkind thing to say. It's an 
 exceedingly painful subject. They went away in the 
 night, but they didn't die. They've come back now, 
 but I have to be extremely careful, because they are as 
 yet only fixed on very lightly " 
 
 Ridgeway interrupted him, but his voice was so husky 
 that Wingfield did not hear him ; he went wandering 
 on about its being an exceedingly painful subject. 
 
 Ridgeway felt battered, bruised : a thought crossed 
 his mind that so must men have felt when they had been 
 put to the torture : he tried to interrupt in a louder 
 voice, and at last succeeded : 
 
 " I was speaking of your wife, not of your legs." 
 
 Somewhere at the back of his mind he thought it 
 sounded rather absurd. . . . 
 
 " Always had a good pair of legs good riding legs, 
 don't you know " 
 
 " Is your first wife dead ? " 
 
 That was it ; he experienced a sense of relief that he 
 had got it out at last what he wanted to say. 
 
 " Green squares and blue circles hundreds of 'em 
 millions of 'em and red dots, my dear fellow. Ha, ha, 
 ha ! Curious thing, but a fact, I assure you." 
 
 Ridgeway had pulled himself together ; he realised 
 that what he had to do now was to try to gain Wingfield's 
 wandering attention. 
 
 He tried over and over again with mention of his wife, 
 then he tried with the actress's name.
 
 382 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 " Vera Gascoigne you remember Vera Gascoigne ? " 
 
 Wingfield looked at him blankly. 
 
 " Never heard the lady's name in my life, my dear 
 boy ! Fact, I assure you. I never forget a lady's name, 
 'pon honour I don't wouldn't be so ungallant." 
 
 " She danced little feet as supple as silk," Ridge way 
 said grimly. 
 
 " Oh yes Maudie Manders of course I remember 
 her jolly good little dancer too never had much to do 
 with her her hair was too near red for my taste " 
 
 " Pretty shoulders and ankles," said Ridge way. 
 
 " Ha, ha, ha ! By Jove, yes ! But a bit thin re- 
 member you could see her shoulder blades " 
 
 " A wit " said Ridge way. 
 
 " No, no, dull quite dull. A wit ? Oh, you mean 
 what's her name now " 
 
 " Vera Gascoigne." 
 
 " No, no, no ! Damn it, where's my memory ? Eliza- 
 beth Murray, that's the name Elizabeth Murray " 
 
 " Brown eyes yellow hair," Ridgeway said. 
 
 " Green circles, old man, that's it round my legs 
 twined round and round Hush, keep quiet legs will 
 go away again if we make a noise." 
 
 " Vera Gascoigne she said : ' Resurrect your first 
 wife, that'd bring her to heel ! ' 
 
 Wingfield was stretching out a shaking hand, and 
 touching his legs, first one and then the other. 
 
 " Hush ! We must be very quiet. The green circles 
 are closing round them " 
 
 " Vera Gascoigne. You were jealous of your boy 
 your boy the baby.' 
 
 " Boy ? Yes. Hush, must keep my legs to take 
 him for a ride. Promised him, don't you know." 
 
 " You came home unexpectedly don't you remember
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 383 
 
 Vera Gascoigne had told you to ' Resurrect your first 
 wife.' " 
 
 " Hush ! I wish you would go away ! I must really 
 refuse to speak to you. My legs require quiet." 
 
 " Is your first wife dead ? " 
 
 " First wife ! What curious things you say, my dear 
 fellow ! I never had a first wife I have a wife one 
 wife, you understand. I wish you would go away." 
 
 And to all Ridgeway's further questions he refused 
 response till at last he fell asleep, muttering still about 
 his legs.
 
 CHAPTER XLI 
 
 RIDGEWAY left him and walked to the station. 
 Folk passing him made remarks on the heat ; he 
 assented without being conscious of feeling hot ; 
 it was a long three miles, mostly slightly uphill. At the 
 station he found that he would have to wait for the 4.10 
 London train ; he counted the hours three, all but five 
 minutes. He got into a train that was going to 
 Tunbridge ; the station-master told him that he would 
 catch no earlier London train there, merely the same 
 one ; he thanked him and got in. He knew that he 
 could not wait for three hours on that platform. In 
 the train he tried to make plans ; he had no definite 
 idea how to set about finding an obscure actress ; 
 he was only sure that he must start the search in 
 London. He had got to find out if all this was 
 a mad fabrication of Wingfield's brain, and the surest 
 way seemed to him to ask Vera Gascoigne if she 
 had ever said " Resurrect your dead wife " to him. If 
 she had then the whole story was true, and Prudence 
 was Wingfield's wife, and Dickon was legitimate. His 
 dream would be gone. ... He turned his mind 
 fiercely from that, he dared not let it dwell on the inner 
 meaning of all this now. Last night the long night 
 he had passed, on the sweet wet ground he had faced 
 all that, even to the bitter agony of the wonder whether 
 Prudence would be glad for Dickon's sake. ... He 
 had seen Vera Gascoigne once it was in Liverpool 
 he had seen her dance ; he remembered the name, no 
 
 384
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 385 
 
 more. It seemed curious and unreal that he should be 
 looking for her now. He searched his memory for further 
 detail about her ; it was four years ago ; he had been 
 excessively bored yes surely it was Vera Gascoigne's 
 hair that came down when she was dancing ? And the 
 lady he was with remarked laughingly that, in spite of the 
 fair Vera's confusion at such a mishap, it had happened 
 before ! It was beautiful hair a shower of gold 
 " dark eyes yellow hair " yes, it was Vera Gascoigne's 
 hair that came down. He felt pleased that he had 
 remembered this, and went on searching his memory. 
 He had been painting the portrait of the lady's son 
 jolly little chap on a pony he remembered that. It 
 was his first commission, and he had been tremendously 
 pleased about it, and eager to do his best. The play was 
 an idiotic musical comedy lot of women too fat or too 
 thin some awful bounders of men horrible voices 
 yes and one funny man who kept on coming on and 
 saying : " A halfpenny bun isn't a penny bun," and each 
 time every one roared, including his hostess, and he 
 wished he could laugh like that. It kept on to the noise 
 of the train over and over again " A halfpenny bun 
 isn't a penny bun " " A halfpenny bun isn't a penny 
 bun." 
 
 He bought a newspaper, and the first thing that 
 caught his eye was an advertisement of Wilson's currant 
 buns and cakes. It went on and on " A halfpenny bun 
 isn't a penny bun " ; "A halfpenny bun isn't a penny 
 bun " ; till he forgot it for a little while in a sudden 
 memory of the way he had painted the little chap's coat. 
 He muttered, frowning ; "It was painty very. I 
 
 ought to have done it so " he painted in the air 
 
 with his thumb. Then the train shouted : " A halfpenny 
 bun isn't a penny bun," and it seemed to him that that 
 2 c
 
 386 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 was the biggest tragedy life could hold for him that 
 the train should go on shouting that thing in his ears. 
 
 He fought it all the way to Tunbridge ; when he got 
 out there he felt dizzy with the worry of it. He was 
 anxious to get away from trains, which might go on 
 saying that same thing. He went out of the station, 
 and pausing to look about him, stood in front of a hoard- 
 ing ; he was not surprised when he saw the name " Vera 
 Gascoigne " on it. It was all so unreal, that this touch 
 of unreality seemed quite natural. He went up close 
 and read the announcement ; she was advertised to 
 appear in Tunbridge on July 2ist, and nightly for a 
 week. It was now August 25th. The advertisement 
 was an old one ; she would not be in Tunbridge now. 
 He made his way to the theatre where she had acted last 
 month. Oh, yes, certainly, the company was touring 
 the south coast, they had gone on to Herne Bay yes 
 now well, the clerk couldn't be sure, but he thought 
 they would be in Bournemouth this week. Oh yes, he 
 could find out for certain pleased the clerk looked 
 knowing, and his manner was very confidential there 
 were some very pretty girls in the company all sorts. 
 He went to the telephone, swaggering, and found out 
 that the company had arrived in Bournemouth two 
 days ago. 
 
 Ridgeway reached Bournemouth at eight o'clock the 
 next morning ; the box office would not be open till ten. 
 He walked about the streets ; it was very hot, and he 
 wondered why he could not smell the pines. He followed 
 a watering-cart, because the water looked cool. He 
 walked down old Christchurch road, and stared in at the 
 shop windows, watching some of them being dressed. 
 He studied some pictures offered for sale, and when he 
 had walked on went back to the window frowning, because
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 387 
 
 it had suddenly struck him that he couldn't remember 
 anything about them. He walked away again muttering. 
 " Sea scape like blue and white china Hunting scene 
 sort of Noah's Ark thing horse galloping with all his 
 legs off the ground at once Portrait of a girl dirty 
 face." 
 
 Then they slipped his brain again, and an electric car 
 grinding up the hill shouted at him : " A halfpenny bun 
 isn't a penny bun." 
 
 He stopped and stared after it ; another car came 
 tearing down the hill towards him ; a man on a bicycle 
 had a sideslip and the car just missed him ; it was 
 screaming : "A halfpenny bun isn't a penny bun." 
 Ridgeway helped the man to pick up his bicycle : 
 " Fiendish things," he said. The man was very muddy ; 
 he shrugged his shoulders and rode on. Ridgeway said 
 again : " Fiendish things." There were several of them 
 down there in the square. Ridgeway stood looking at 
 them ; one started up the hill, and suddenly it screamed 
 at him : " Resurrect your dead wife ! " Ridgeway 
 took off his hat and passed his hand across his tired 
 eyes. 
 
 " I'm a fool I've let the food go," he said. 
 
 " The Cadena " caught his eye over the way, glittering 
 in gold letters ; there were cakes in the window. He 
 went in and asked for coffee. No one was there yet. 
 " If you'd like to go upstairs, sir, its cooler there," 
 a waitress told him. He went upstairs, and sat at a 
 little green tiled table in an open window. He looked 
 out across the square to the gardens, and longed for a 
 rustle amongst the still trees. A curious fancy came 
 to him that they too were keeping something at bay ; 
 they too dared not let themselves go. ... That 
 was why they were so tense and still.
 
 3 88 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 " I'm afraid there's no breeze, sir," the waitress said. 
 " Would you like anything with the coffee ? " 
 
 " Eggs," he said. " A couple of eggs, please." 
 
 When she brought the eggs she said it felt like thunder. 
 She had a sensible face, he wished she would stay 
 and talk ; it would make it easier to keep thought 
 at bay. He said the shops looked quite decent ; she 
 gave him a short history of the progress of Bourne- 
 mouth, and halfway through he felt irritatedly that he 
 could not bear her presence. He gulped down his coffee 
 and rose, and fled from her. At five minutes to ten he was 
 waiting outside the theatre. At ten o'clock the attendant 
 in the box office, yawning, a hat pin in one hand, thrust 
 an almost empty plan of the theatre at him, and reeled 
 off the prices of seats. " We usually raise them for 
 anything as good as this," she said, " but we haven't 
 this time." When she found that seats were not required 
 she " was sure she couldn't say " to everything he asked, 
 and shut down the slide of the window. A programme 
 girl standing by removing her hat observed : " Miss 
 Gascoigne's lodging at No. 23, Rose View Terrace 
 sir." 
 
 Ridgeway went to Rose View Terrace ; it was rather 
 like working out a puzzle to find it, but he found it at 
 last, and rang the bell at No. 23. He had to ring twice 
 before it was answered, and then the door was opened 
 by a hot and untidy servant girl, whose eyes didn't 
 match ; Ridgeway noticed that they didn't match with 
 a feeling of irritation. 
 
 Miss Gascoigne was in ; would he step this way ? He 
 found himself in a little stuffy room crowded with 
 stamped red velvet, and sticky brown backs and legs 
 and arms of chairs and sofas. He wondered why people 
 would choose carpets with such immense patterns for
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 389 
 
 small rooms. The servant girl returned bearing an album. 
 Miss Gascoigne would not be a minute, and perhaps the 
 gentleman would like to look at the album ? Ridgeway 
 opened the book, and was met with rows and rows of 
 teeth glittering up at him : he recognised it was a book 
 of actress's photographs, and turned the pages in search 
 of Vera Gascoigne. It was not difficult to find her ; 
 she posed on almost every page, in various stages of dress 
 and undress. He could not remember her face ; to him 
 she was just a musical comedy actress ; they were ridi- 
 culously alike, he thought. She had large eyes and a lot 
 of hair, and in some of the photographs she was decidedly 
 plump. The door opened, and she came in with a whiff 
 of perfume and a jingle of chains. 
 
 " I'm so sorry to keep you waiting oh, will you sit 
 down ? " 
 
 He wondered what caused the change of tone between 
 the two sentences. She told him when she said : 
 
 " I thought you were from the " Daily Bits " office." 
 
 " No," he said. " I merely want to trouble you to 
 try and remember a conversation of six years ago." 
 
 " Good gracious ! What a ghastly thing to want ! 
 And for heaven's sake, don't look so solemn or I shall 
 have a fit here on the carpet ! " He looked at her with 
 a passing wonder as to the attraction she had had for 
 Wingfield. It was quite a nice face, in a commonplace 
 sort of way ; the large brown eyes were rather prominent 
 the lips badly cut, but the nose was small and straight, 
 although too thick ; the teeth of course were large and 
 dazzling. He wondered if all actresses had false teeth, 
 or if the profession was particularly good for teeth. 
 
 Miss Gascoigne was surreptitiously dabbing at her 
 nose ; she was shrewd enough to guess that this sort of 
 man would hate a lot of powder. She was disappointed
 
 390 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 he wasn't from " Daily Bits," but he was a gentleman, 
 and she smiled on him amiably enough. 
 
 " I'm not going to help hang some one, or anything 
 of that sort with my evidence, am I ? " she said. 
 
 " No. Do you remember a man named Wingfield ? " 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 " Try," he said hoarsely. 
 
 He moved restlessly, trying to stop the sudden rapid 
 beating of his heart. 
 
 She bent forward, and gazed up at the ceiling, but she 
 was so occupied in hoping he was looking at the contour 
 of her chin that she forgot to try to remember the name 
 of Wingfield. 
 
 He broke the silence at last, unable to bear it any 
 longer. 
 
 " Evelyn Wingfield," he said. " He had supper with 
 you " 
 
 " What did we have for supper ? " she asked, dropping 
 her chin, and suddenly looking natural and keenly 
 interested. 
 
 " I don't know except champagne." 
 
 She smacked her lips openly. 
 
 " And oysters, I expect. Lord, how I love oysters ! 
 And perhaps lobster mayonnaise, eh ? And pate de 
 fois gras, and strawberries and cream, and ices ! I 
 daren't do that sort of thing nowadays. My figure, you 
 know," she added in an explanatory tone, and glancing 
 coyly at him saw that he was not really aware of her at 
 all. She yawned, and studied her plump hands. 
 
 " Are you sure you never knew a man named Wingfield 
 Evelyn Wingfield ? " he said. 
 
 " I don't remember him," she was interested in pushing 
 down the flesh round one of her finger nails. " There was 
 a girl named Wingley Eleanor no what was her name
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 391 
 
 now ? Helen that's it Helen Wingley awfully rum 
 sort of girl used to go into trances and that sort of 
 thing, and have chats with spirits. Indigestion, I expect 
 it was really. All that sort of thing is indigestion." 
 
 Ridgeway rose and went to the window ; he thought 
 he could not stand that picking at her quicks any longer. 
 " Will you try to remember him ? " he said. 
 
 " What for ? " she started on the nails of her other 
 hand. 
 
 " It is very important to me." 
 
 " All right," she said good-naturedly. " What was 
 he like ? " 
 
 " Good-looking man sportsman " 
 
 " Married or single ? " 
 
 " Married recently." 
 
 " Admirer of mine ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 She looked at him curiously, wondering apathetically 
 why he hadn't said " of course " ; instead of just " yes." 
 " Six years ago let me see was that the year no 
 wait a bit wasn't that the year I was dancing in no 
 longer ago than that Can you smell onions ? That 
 means steak and onions for dinner it's a good smell, 
 isn't it ? Why yes of course, I've got him now 1 
 I remember him teasing me about onions ! What a 
 funny thing now. Evelyn Wingfield Evie, I used to 
 call him oh, yes, I remember him he wasn't a young 
 man, but awfully handsome a fine man Lord, yes, I 
 was awfully gone on him at one time. It was a sort of 
 fashion to be gone on Evie Wingfield, and then he got 
 married and grew deadly uninteresting. Used to give 
 heavenly suppers you don't seem to come across his 
 sort nowadays. Is he all right ? Got any more kids ? 
 Or has he murdered that baby he was so jealous of ? "
 
 392 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 Ridgeway stood in the window staring at her kindly, 
 amused face ; it seemed odd that she should look like 
 that ; he felt as if he were in a nightmare. 
 
 " You advised him you told him to resurrect his 
 dead wife," he said in a dull voice. 
 
 " Did I ? Oh, yes, of course, he had been married 
 before. I'd forgotten that. She died before I met 
 him. He told me about her death once when he was 
 drunk, poor chap. He was an awfully sensitive sort of 
 man, and she wouldn't let him leave her when she was 
 dying. I remember. That was years before my time, 
 and then when he was quite middle-aged he married a 
 child a most amusing little ingenue, I believe and got 
 maudlin over her. What did you want to know if I 
 remembered him for ? Has he died and left me a 
 million ? " 
 
 " He is ill. He spoke of you " 
 
 " Oh, he's forgotten all about me long before this," 
 she said hastily, afraid he wanted to drag her off to a 
 sick bed. " You're making a mistake, honest Ingin. 
 I'd come if I thought I'd be any good if he called for 
 me it was delirium they always go back like that, you 
 know " 
 
 " You said, ' Resurrect your dead wife, that'd bring 
 her to heel.' ' 
 
 " Did I ? Very likely. Oh, yes, I remember. He 
 was drunk, and got fearfully depressed, he'd been 
 ill an accident in the hunting field and he confided 
 in me that his wife didn't care a hang for him, but was 
 wrapped up in the kid. I remember. I teased him 
 to death ! I asked him why he didn't frighten her by 
 bringing his first wife to life. Oh, yes I loved a joke 
 so did he. So he's remembered that old joke all these 
 years ? Poor old Evie ! I believe that was the last
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 393 
 
 time I saw him. It cheered him up then he'd really 
 seemed awfully bad kept complaining of his head, 
 and his face was as red as fire. So he's ill now ? But 
 he's forgotten all about me ages ago. Dinner'll be ready 
 soon. She let me have the rooms cheaper on condition 
 I had dinner rather early, when her husband does. Will 
 you have some with me ? She's not half a bad cook." 
 
 When he stood outside on the pavement he was chiefly 
 conscious of an acute sense of irritation, because the 
 smell of onions still pursued him. He hailed a cab that 
 was jogging past. 
 
 " Where to, sir ? " the man asked. 
 
 " Away from those onions," Ridgeway said seriously. 
 
 The man sniffed the air, and laughed. " Rather 
 'ot weather for onions, sir," he said sympathetically. 
 " I'll take you down to the front." 
 
 Ridgeway stared out at a moving, noisy mass of 
 colour. " What a lot of arms," he thought as girl after 
 girl went by, bare-armed. " What large arms. How 
 ugly." He decided he had better eat ; he knew that 
 he had got to face it now, and he hoped food might get 
 rid of the pain in his head. But not eggs, he shuddered 
 at the thought of eggs. Nor onions. 
 
 When he had eaten and drunk he went down to the 
 shore. In the continual noise he heard again and again 
 the word " storm." Overhead the sky was darkening 
 to a wonderful violet, the sea looked almost black along 
 the horizon. Amongst people and tents and vendors 
 of drinks and ices and bananas, a movement began, 
 shouts to children to come and have their shoes on, 
 cries for coats. The rain came down, it fell straight and 
 heavy and cold. Ridgeway threw off his hat and lifted 
 his hot head to it. A strenuous thought came to him, 
 filled him :
 
 394 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 " She must never know." 
 
 Slack sinews, tense nerves leapt to meet it ; he 
 thrilled with exultation. Up the sands running, 
 screaming dots of colour fled, leaving the wide yellow 
 shore, the great sea, to him. He turned and laughed 
 aloud at the hurrying, scurrying dots. What fools 
 they were ! His the sea, the rain, the shore ! He 
 walked by the edge of the wonderful grey waves, he 
 looked down into the inner green light of them, and his 
 heart and soul exulted. His the burden of the deceit ! 
 Gladly ! gladly ! . . . She must never know. God, 
 what a glorious thing to bear for her ! Out here in the 
 rain and the spray, how absurd the conventional scruples! 
 The torturing fear of thought had gone for ever. Exult- 
 ing, he beat down objections one by one what 
 were they, these objections of an over-civilized con- 
 science ? There in the roar of the storm and the sea 
 marshal them out one by one put him aside 
 take her happiness only yes Dickon ... he faced 
 it squarely Dickon's legitimacy. He must see clear. 
 . . . There was a clap of thunder overhead, and a 
 girl's hysterical scream. He lifted his head to the 
 angry skies and laughed. What fools ! The screams 
 receded into the distance. His the sands, the sea, the 
 storm. He was wet to the skin, full of the glory of fight 
 the primeval fight for a woman. . . . 
 
 Well, Dickon's legitimacy there it was. Joy to her 
 yes but would that joy be enough now ? He flung 
 his arms wide and drew to him the sweetness of her 
 sleeping with her cheek buried in his coat. . . . 
 She should sleep so again his love . . . her head in 
 his shoulder. . . . 
 
 Dare he push her away now ? His brave little love 
 who had fought so hard push her away to be a mad-
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 395 
 
 man's nurse till death should set her free ? Dare he 
 do it ? Could even the moralists tell him that was his 
 duty ? She was coming to him at last, with her beauti- 
 ful love, and his the joy of caring for her for ever. Wasn't 
 his love strong enough to kill that old grief of Dickon's 
 illegitimacy ? He would take his name. Ah, God, 
 she would forget. ... He would make her forget 
 he could ! 
 
 His heart cried it to the storm he could make her 
 happy ! 
 
 He walked miles, buffeted by the wind, lashed by 
 the rain. Now and then his exaltation admitted bits 
 of common-sense, such as, " If Wingfield dies, another 
 marriage some legal reason it could be managed." 
 
 And again, sternly : "No sophistry. You are 
 deceiving her, tricking her." " I take the burden," 
 was his answer to that ; a glad cry, a fierce cry. And 
 again : " Reason, not feeling, must decide." 
 
 And at the last a cry to the great seas, truth wringing 
 out truth, after hours of battle : 
 
 " I can never give her up 1 "
 
 CHAPTER XLII 
 
 LOOKING upon Wingfield, he thought: "It is 
 just as wrong for her to continue to live with 
 you as it was before. You tricked her in your 
 drunken jealousy. You have no claim to her. I 
 claim her." 
 
 " Glad to see you, my boy," so Wingfield was speak- 
 ing. " Get sick of women, don't you know. Had 
 Lord Topham here Billy Topham last night. Looked 
 as fit as a hunter, except that he's lost his head, you 
 know. Not much loss, really always was an ugly 
 brute came a cropper over a water jump, you know, 
 broke his neck wonderful thing surgery nowadays 
 they cut off his head, and he's as fit as a hunter ! Fact, 
 I assure you ! And he's got over his jealousy we 
 fought once, you know, over that what was her name 
 now ? " 
 
 Ridgeway thought again : 
 
 " You have forfeited all claim to her. You gave 
 long years of pain to her with a loathsome lie." 
 
 And a thought nagged : 
 
 " A man's wife " 
 
 He flung it from him, scoffing at old-world traditions. 
 But he left Wingfield. 
 
 Prudence he saw down in the hall. 
 
 " Prudence," he said yearningly, " Prudence," and 
 something caught at his throat ; he looked at her with 
 tired eyes that were deep with love. 
 
 She breathed out an involuntary cry : 
 396
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 397 
 
 " Don't go away again ! " 
 
 And fled, ashamed, to call back : "I didn't mean it 
 oh, don't listen." 
 
 That night, lying in the doorway of his studio, he 
 dreamed. 
 
 He dreamt that it was dawn, and coming to him 
 across the meadow, he saw the Sistine Madonna, with 
 Christ in her arms. And as she drew near he saw 
 that it was not the Madonna, but Prudence, and the 
 pale light glimmered upon her face, and he saw that it 
 was alight with such a wonderful joy that he held his 
 breath, and was unable to move to meet her. He saw 
 that the wistful anxiety was trembling into a radiant 
 smile, and his heart leapt to meet her. But something 
 held him back, his feet were heavy and stubborn. He 
 looked again, and he saw that it was not Christ she held 
 in her arms, but a young child his child his and 
 hers and he dared not go to meet her. . . . A great 
 horror seized him ; he struggled and fought but he felt 
 himself shrinking back as she drew nearer. He saw the 
 exquisite radiance in her face beginning to shadow. . . 
 Words leapt madly to his lips cruel words that should 
 shatter her joy and bring horror and despair upon her 
 but they came to his lips fighting for utterance, leaping 
 to meet the truth of her eyes. . . . 
 
 And he woke. Trembling and sweating, he woke, 
 and crawling out on to the wet grass, he buried his face 
 in the earth.
 
 CHAPTER XLIII 
 
 HE went to Prudence the next morning and told 
 her ; he was very gentle, very quiet ; he made 
 no sign when her incredulous joy was strik- 
 ing, with every tremulous word, at his heart. He 
 received the final revelation of her unalterable pur- 
 pose without a murmur. He faced the realization 
 that her joy was untainted by any secondary thought, 
 and knew that he had been wrong when he had 
 thought she was coming to him. She would never 
 have come. He seemed to have known it for years : 
 his struggle with the temptation to withhold the 
 truth from her seemed dim, an outrageous thing, 
 a ghastly thing with no meaning, no motive or object. 
 He felt very old, and possessed of an endless patience 
 to answer her questionings. He turned away his head 
 when she hid her quivering face in her hands ; he 
 caught the awed murmur : " Richard Wingfield ; Dickon 
 Wingfield," and again, " Richard Baldingham Wing- 
 field," and a little shaking laugh, a laugh halted midway 
 by the fear that found such joy too wonderful to be 
 true, and the question for the third time : 
 " You are sure there can be no mistake ? " 
 " No," he said, " there is no mistake." 
 " I think now I might be able to bear it, but 
 later I don't think I could bear it afterwards ! " 
 
 It was an unusual cry from her ; he reassured her 
 gently. 
 
 " I want him here now ! " she cried. 
 398
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 399 
 
 " I will fetch him for you," he said. 
 
 But she would not have him disappointed of his day 
 at Elm Hill. 
 
 " I owe it all to you," she whispered, and suddenly the 
 tears came. " If I could repay you ! " she whispered. 
 
 Even that left him calm and quiet ; it was as if this 
 final revelation of her had taken, by its torturing of 
 him, all power to feel any lesser pain. 
 
 She said presently : 
 
 " Mark, I am afraid ! " 
 
 " What of, Prudence ? " 
 
 She looked at him, shivering. 
 
 " I feel I cannot go near him ! " she whispered, and 
 suddenly her face was white with passion. " I have 
 borne everything else, but this must I bear this, too, 
 without a sign ? These long years a vulgar joke with 
 a vulgar woman and my agony ! And the shadow 
 on Dickon It's that that I cannot forgive him 1 A 
 drunken jest an insult to his first wife and to me. 
 Can I go to him now, Mark, and show nothing ? " 
 
 " Leave him get him a good nurse," he heard himself 
 saying it, with an odd feeling of surprise ; the words 
 rang cold, with a hot and passionate echo behind them. 
 
 She gave him a quick look ; she shivered and dismissed 
 the subject of her wild outburst with a quiet : "I can 
 bear it. He was ill even then." 
 
 And then again : 
 
 " You are quite sure there could be no mistake ? 
 It is true that he is Richard Wingfield not a nameless 
 little boy Richard Wingfield, Sir John Wingfield's 
 heir ! That too ! " Her voice rang and thrilled, the 
 colour leapt to her cheeks. " He could marry Muriel 
 Latimer's daughter," she said softly, and hugged it to 
 her.
 
 400 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 " I am sure," Ridge way said steadily, " I am sure 
 you are his legal wife, and Dick his legal son." 
 
 Tears leapt suddenly to her eyes she quavered : 
 " You are glad, too, Mark ? " and wept uncontrollably, 
 and weeping, hurried from the room. 
 
 It was the last enlightening word in the revelation 
 of her soul to him ; she had no idea that he could have 
 any reason for not rejoicing with her.
 
 CHAPTER XLIV 
 
 UP in her room she lay and wept ; wept, she said, 
 for joy. And she said that the longing and pain 
 were for Dickon that she might hold him close 
 her little Richard Wingfield. The name rang like 
 music in her ears Richard Wingfield, Dickon Wingfield 
 her baby her little son all these years Dickon 
 Wingfield. ... A name of music surely once, 
 long ago, it had been a glorious name ; it should 
 be glorious again ! . . . Could Mark be angry with 
 her ? She stretched out longing arms ; in this joy 
 she wanted him And she wept again, while the song 
 of the name Dickon Wingfield, Dickon Wingfield 
 was the song grew mechanical, although she did 
 not know it. She clung to it, her pale lips murmuring 
 it ; over and over again she sang it : " Dickon Wing- 
 field, Dickon Wingfield," and behind it vibrated a 
 thought : "He was cold," and again another thought : 
 " He has ceased to care." 
 
 And at last with that a burning agony and shame : 
 " If he has, I am glad, glad 1 " 
 
 And the song ceased. . . . 
 
 To Dickon, asleep that night, she cried in her anguish : 
 
 " Once it would have filled my life. I could have 
 
 borne anything, knowing that. You would have been 
 
 enough, my little Dickon Wingfield. I am wicked 
 
 bad I cannot bear it 1" 
 
 3D 401
 
 402 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 Wildly she woke him, she kissed him, she promised 
 him a pony, a cart, all things all that he asked for ; 
 she laughed with him, shared his excitement, kissed 
 him again and again Dickon Wingfield," she cried, 
 laughing. " Dickon Wingfield, you shall have the 
 things you want at last ! " 
 
 He felt the tears running down her cheeks as she 
 kissed him ; he tried to be heroic : 
 
 " It doesn't matter about the pony if you don't 
 want yes, it does ! " 
 
 Oh, the precious ! Her precious Dickon Wingfield, 
 of course, it mattered, and she did want, oh, yes, 
 Dickon Wingfield, she wanted it very much. 
 
 " Why do you keep callin' me Dickon Wingfield, 
 mother ? " 
 
 " Because it's your name, my sweet, your own name, 
 Dickon Wingfield." 
 
 " But you never did keep callin' it me." 
 
 " No ; I never did, except many years ago when 
 you were a tiny baby, my darling, my Dickon Wing- 
 field." 
 
 He protested. 
 
 " I don't like it, mother." 
 
 She laughed again and again. 
 
 " I can't help it, Dickon, I'm so happy do you hear ? 
 so happy happy happy." 
 
 She was so unlike herself, he grew frightened. 
 
 Then suddenly her laughter ceased, she lifted her 
 head and looked into his worried face. 
 
 " My dear one, go to sleep," she said gently. " Dream 
 happy dreams of the pony, darling." 
 
 He lay down with a sigh of relief, and fell 
 asleep. 
 
 She knelt there beside the bed for a long while, till
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 403 
 
 the moonlight came in at the window and lay across 
 him. 
 
 Then she bent and gently kissed his forehead. 
 
 " Thank God, my little Dickon," she whispered 
 solemnly.
 
 CHAPTER XLV 
 
 RIDGEWAY went away. He said simply to 
 Prudence : 
 
 " I must go now." 
 
 She said quietly : 
 
 " Yes, Mark." 
 
 She added : 
 
 " I am glad you are going away," and looked at 
 him with dim, agonised eyes, as if she were facing a 
 dreaded death. 
 
 He caught his breath, and a tremor passed through 
 him ; he tried to go without more words, but a few 
 broke from him. 
 
 " Pray that I may die soon, Prudence ! " 
 
 Hoarse, shaking words, regretted as they were uttered, 
 and from her a wild, weak cry : 
 
 " Why do you go then ? " regretted more bitterly 
 than his. 
 
 The truth then from him, rough, bare truth : 
 
 " If I came here I should come hoping to win you 
 from him. I couldn't help it. I should try." 
 
 " But before " 
 
 " You weren't his wife. I hoped to win you for 
 mine ! " 
 
 She stood, receiving the light breaking upon her mind ; 
 she understood at last. 
 
 He went on ; he told her that there had been a time 
 when he thought to keep the truth from her. He told 
 
 404
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 405 
 
 it cruelly for himself, striking at himself. A great 
 tenderness shone in her face ; she whispered brokenly : 
 
 " You have hoped like that all this time ? " 
 
 She broke into bitter, terrible self-reproach ; she 
 should have made him see, made him understand ; 
 she took it all upon herself ; her grief was terrible. 
 
 " To help you to help you " she sobbed it out 
 
 wildly. " I cannot live with your sorrow on my 
 heart. Mark, what can I do ? " 
 
 He stared a minute into her quivering face, where 
 her soul lay bared in its agony ; he saw the martyr's 
 madness of renunciation shining in her eyes. . . . 
 
 He left her standing there. . . .
 
 CHAPTER XLVI 
 
 HE got it back at last ; the acquiescent dullness 
 and quiet, and he went to Elm Hill to tell 
 Elizabeth. People were there that seemed 
 queer to him somehow but he handed tea to them, 
 and cake, and he talked to Eleanor Browne on 
 Woman's Suffrage : he talked very sensibly and kindly. 
 He did not find it difficult ; he would as soon do 
 that as anything else. He sympathised with Mrs. 
 Dormer- Jones over the difficulty of procuring a 
 suitable governess for Lilian, who was so high-spirited 
 she refused to be dictated to. He said that he had 
 quite understood, when she rambled agitatedly into the 
 old, worrying subject of Mrs. Darlington's queer conduct 
 at Cherry Cross ; oh, yes, he had quite understood she 
 had meant no harm, and, of course, a friend is a friend, 
 and doubtless it was a very good thing Mrs. Darlington 
 was joining her husband in India, he quite agreed with 
 her. He assured Nancy Trevor he had not been over- 
 working, and met the look in her kind young eyes 
 without flinching. 
 
 Then somehow they had all gone, and he said to 
 Elizabeth : 
 
 " I came to tell you I am going away. It was all a 
 mistake Prudence is his wife. I want to ask you to 
 write to me, and tell me how she is." 
 
 He was very patient when she wanted more than that ; 
 very concerned when she broke down into tears; he 
 
 406
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 407 
 
 was filled with a detached sort of wonder at his past 
 self when she cried out : "I wish you had never told 
 her, and married her just the same ! " 
 
 He lent her his handkerchief when he saw the inade- 
 quate bit of lace with which she was trying to wipe 
 away her tears. 
 
 " I wanted to ask you, too," he said, " if you'd ask 
 Latimer to go and see him sometimes. I don't want 
 to go up to the Hall now do you mind ? " 
 
 He went to the door, paused and added hesitatingly : 
 
 " I know you'll do all you can for her." 
 
 " She has her child with a name ! " Elizabeth cried 
 bitterly. 
 
 " You will, won't you ? " he said. 
 
 " I suppose I shall have to ! " And then she was 
 calling : " Mark ! But Mark oh, Mark that can't 
 be all "
 
 CHAPTER XLVII 
 
 HE stayed away for four months. He went back 
 then a few days after Christmas, because it 
 was beyond his strength to go on facing life 
 without seeing her. He went back to his studio, which 
 he still rented from Dickson. He hoped to see her 
 without her seeing him. 
 
 And in a forced sort of way he hoped the sight of the 
 studio might perhaps re-awaken the ambition to paint. 
 He had been painting, and painting hard, but he threw 
 away all that he painted, and he knew no joy in his 
 work. He went on, because he would not give in, 
 but it was no solace, no help ; it did not even soothe 
 the restlessness that had got hold of him. He was 
 disappointed, because he thought it showed that he 
 would never really do much, and, once, he had hoped 
 to do a great deal. His disappointment was a detached 
 sort of thing, lacking sharpness, with no poignancy. 
 
 Now it chanced that on the evening when he reached 
 his studio, Dr. Fielding was driving along the road in his 
 car at a snail's pace when he remembered the studio 
 in the meadow, and remembered having heard that 
 artists sometimes clean their brushes in paraffin. His 
 chauffeur was ill, his acetylene lamps had gone wrong, 
 and the doctor, faced with a long drive home in the 
 dark, had borrowed two hurricane lamps from a farm. 
 They were inadequate, but he thought that at least 
 he could not be run in for driving after dark without 
 
 408
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 409 
 
 lights. But he had not thought to make sure that the 
 lamps were filled with oil, and just before he reached the 
 road near Ridgeway's studio, one lamp gave out, and 
 the other started flickering in an ominous manner. Thus 
 it was that Ridgeway was discovered by the doctor, 
 who, on trying to force an entrance through the window, 
 was brought face to face with a man standing within. 
 
 Dr. Fielding was delighted. 
 
 " My dear fellow, this is a most fortunate occurrence ! 
 Are you making any stay ? I sincerely hope so. You 
 have been missed. And, let me tell you, you may be 
 the means of preventing a bad breakdown ! Our brave 
 lady Mrs. Wingfield oh, shocking ! One feels for 
 her ! He is really almost more than her strength can 
 bear. But never a word of complaint ! Oh, no, never 
 a word. He has taken a violent antipathy to that 
 excellent man, Williams ! He takes antipathies now. 
 He took one to Mr. Latimer, who was really most kind 
 won't have him near him now says he doesn't like 
 his nose. Childish, of course, but most regrettable " 
 
 " Is she iU ? " 
 
 It came harshly through the dusk, breaking out in 
 agony at last. 
 
 " Who ? Oh, Mrs. Wingfield. Well, not ill exactly 
 but the continual strain and anxiety it is there 
 night and day " 
 
 " What do you want me for ? " 
 
 Dr. Fielding peered up at him, turning the flickering 
 light of his lantern on to his face. 
 
 " Are you very busy ? Painting hard ? Only come 
 to fetch something ? Ah, I'm sorry very sorry. 
 Our patient is tormented by a most painful hallucination 
 connected with you a most trying thing for his wife 
 to bear "
 
 410 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 " Same as last time ? " 
 
 " Well, not exactly the same. No, one might safely 
 say not at all the same. In the first instance, if I 
 remember rightly, he thought you " 
 
 " What does he think now ? " 
 
 " Er oh well, in this instance he has an idea you 
 are hiding from justice, and he is aiding you. You see ? 
 He calls upon his wife at all hours to come and help him 
 hide you. As he very frequently imagines his legs have 
 gone, he cannot rise to hide you himself. You are by 
 turns a cushion, a book, a box, you have even been the 
 
 poker. Very sad. Most trying for his wife Dear 
 
 me, my lamp's gone out ! " 
 
 Most trying for his wife 
 
 Ridgeway turned away with almost a sob in his throat, 
 as the gruesome tragedy of her days spread out before 
 
 him. Trying for his wife And he had pitied himself ! 
 
 Himself with his freedom, his liberty to bear his pain 
 as he could to keep it sacred for himself. . . . 
 He, a great strong man and that child delicate a 
 woman. He bowed his face on his hands a moment 
 in the dark, then returned to the babbling doctor. 
 
 "Is he settled for the night ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, yes ! We cannot have him disturbed 
 now " 
 
 " I'll come to him to-morrow morning, then." 
 
 " Certainly 1 Splendid ! A most fortunate occur- 
 rence " 
 
 " You'll tell Mrs. Wingfield to-night that I am com- 
 ing." 
 
 " Oh, no need for that, my dear fellow, no need at 
 all 1 And I am not going that way " 
 
 " It will take very little time ; you seem to have 
 plenty to spare."
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 411 
 
 " Oh, as for that I never have time to spare. Busy 
 from morning till night. You artists have no idea of 
 the value of time " 
 
 " You'll just tell her to-night," Ridge way said. 
 
 " I assure you there is no need. There would be 
 no shock. Why should there be ? And even so, we 
 can arrange it that I see her first to-morrow " 
 
 " She may sleep better if her mind is at rest about 
 this obsession of his." 
 
 " Oh, well hardly and in any case she may have 
 retired for the night. I might just rouse her from " 
 
 " I'll risk that." 
 
 Dr. Fielding, his lamps overflowing with rapidly 
 and furiously poured in oil by Ridgeway, went off 
 grumbling in his car to Cherry Cross.
 
 CHAPTER XLVIII 
 
 " T"\RUE, quick hush he's over there, cowering 
 
 behind that chair can't you see him ? They're 
 
 coming in a minute. I can hear their bridles 
 
 clinking. Hide him ! Quick ! There, behind that 
 
 door ! They'll never find him there " 
 
 She tried once more, because she knew that he was 
 coming soon now 
 
 " That is only the coal scuttle, Evelyn. Mr. Ridge- 
 way is coming to see you soon." 
 
 " Fool ! Are you mad ? God, if only I could find 
 
 my legs ! I liked the poor chap " he began to 
 
 whimper. " Now they'll get him they'll bring it in 
 murder, although that brute deserved his death 
 I liked him I I l-liked him " 
 
 She picked up the coal scuttle hastily, and hid it 
 behind the door. 
 
 " Evelyn oh, Evelyn there " 
 
 His face broke into smiles. 
 
 " They'll never find him there, Prue. Can't desert 
 the poor chap, because the law's after him, you know, 
 and I sympathise, don't you know sort of mess I 
 might have got into myself in the old days pair of 
 pretty eyes a kiss or two he's that sort of chap, 
 you know told you so all along. I can always tell 
 blue eyes to-day brown eyes to-morrow that's the 
 sort he is go and tell him he's safe enough there, Prue." 
 
 " I have told him, Evelyn," she said faintly. 
 412
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 413 
 
 " I didn't hear you. You mumble so. Tell him 
 again. Go on. I want to be sure he knows he's safe." 
 
 She dragged trembling limbs over to the door. 
 
 ' I can't hear ! Eh, what ? What ? Lord, how 
 you mumble ! Speak out ! Let me hear you say it. 
 I insist on hearing you say it. Damn it all, am I master 
 in my own house, or not ? " 
 
 She looked back at him over her shoulder ; his face 
 was convulsed, his fingers plucked furiously at the arms 
 of his chair. " You are quite safe, Mr. Ridgeway," 
 she said at the door. 
 
 " Louder ! Damnation ! Louder ! Louder I" he 
 screamed. " Tell him to stay there, and we'll bring him 
 food and he'll be quite safe ! Go on ! Go on ! Go 
 on!" 
 
 " You must stay there, and we'll bring you food, and 
 you'll be quite safe " 
 
 " Mr. Ridgeway ! D'you hear ? Mr. Ridgeway ! 
 How will he know whom you're speaking to, eh ? Oh, 
 damn it, what it is to be surrounded by fools ! Curse 
 this helplessness ! Oh, God, must I let a friend be 
 
 caught in a trap like that ? A rat in a trap " he 
 
 began to scream again and swear, plucking at the chair. 
 
 She clung to the door. 
 
 " You must stay there, and we'll bring you food, and 
 you'll be quite safe, Mr. Ridgeway." 
 
 Lydia knocked on the other door. 
 
 " Mr. Ridgeway, ma'am." 
 
 " Ask him to come up," Prudence said mechanically. 
 
 She went out into the corridor to greet him, her 
 fingers clung to his hand, wild words broke from her 
 white lips. 
 
 " Don't go away again " 
 
 He saw fear hi her eyes fear of Wingfield.
 
 414 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 " Never, Prudence," he said steadily. 
 
 " I'm so frightened," she moaned, " so frightened 
 . . ," she slackened, and he put his arm round her, 
 and led her to a chair standing within the open door 
 of her bedroom. She clung still to his hand, muttering : 
 
 " Don't go don't go " 
 
 " Prudence ! Prudence ! Damn it all, am I to be 
 left to die alone ? I will not have it ! " 
 
 She started up. 
 
 " I must go to him " 
 
 " I'll go. You stay here." 
 
 He pushed her back into her chair. 
 
 I had forgotten you were here, Mark," she said, 
 and a little smile lit her eyes. " We will both go." 
 
 " No. You stay here. You're not fit " 
 
 " Prue ! Damn that Williams ! Send him away ! 
 One of his eyes squints ! Prudence ! " 
 
 " I want to come too. I want to be able to see you," 
 she said simply. 
 
 Wingfield's bad temper vanished on Ridgeway's 
 entrance. 
 
 " Hulloa, done 'em in the eye, my boy ? " he cried. 
 " Ha, ha, ha ! I thought we'd fix it up somehow ! 
 Lord, I love dodging the law ! Was she worth it, that's 
 all ? A woman blue eyes brown eyes what's the 
 odds, after all? A horse, now, is a different thing." 
 His bleared eyes peered up into Ridgeway's face wist- 
 fully. " Been hunting much this winter ? What sort 
 of a day is it ? I'm shut up in this hell of a room 
 
 not a window open, from morning till night 1 don't 
 
 even know if it's a hunting day, or if there's a devil of 
 a frost not allowed a breath of air " 
 
 Ridgeway, feeling almost suffocated in the hot room, 
 flung up a window and leant out.
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 415 
 
 " Mist," he said, " ground soft good morning for 
 scent." 
 
 Wingfield nodded. 
 
 " You wait a bit, my boy. Know what I'm doing ? " 
 His voice sank to a mysterious whisper. " I hope to 
 be out with the hounds before this season's out, after 
 all. Ha, ha 1 Fact. It's my legs that are the trouble, 
 you know soft as putty couldn't grip not a grip 
 in 'em. Little mare'd have me off as soon as look 
 at me ! Not that she'd do it for vice, bless her ! Never 
 played me false yet. Never would ! Temper of an 
 angel, too. But you can't ride without legs, you know, 
 can't do it. Dick Christian himself couldn't have done 
 it, eh ? " 
 
 Ridgeway assented, his eyes on Prudence, who was 
 sitting in the chair he had pulled to the window 
 for her. She sat, her head drooping ; every now and 
 then she lifted it to look up at him, a long look as if to 
 reassure herself that he was really there. 
 
 She had grown thinner, he thought, there were lines 
 in her face that were new between her beautiful brows 
 as if they were often drawn together in pain. She 
 was less like the Sistine Madonna in a way yet like 
 her It came to him that now she was like the Madonna 
 would have been a few years later. . . . 
 
 " I don't know if you have noticed it," Wingfield said, 
 motioning with his delicate hand towards the rug across 
 his knees. " But I have put away my legs, for the 
 present. You understand. Hush, not a word ! I'm 
 not allowed to ride, to go out, to do anything I want to 
 do. My poor wife is afflicted by a painful jealousy of 
 me. It was always the same with all of 'em. Curious 
 thing, but a fact, I assure you. So I keep quiet about 
 my legs. I'm giving 'em a thorough rest. I hope the
 
 416 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 grip will come back, eh ? Soft as putty. Nothing like 
 a thorough rest " 
 
 He was wondering, curiously and with a pain at his 
 heart, how the Madonna had looked when Christ turned 
 to her and said^ " Woman, what have I to do with 
 thee ? " 
 
 She had looked as Prudence looked now, sitting there, 
 drooping, weary, wounded. . . . 
 
 " Wish they'd turn us out to grass when we're ill 
 much better way than this infernal coddling and doctor- 
 ing " 
 
 And that other day when he had left her, to go away 
 for four months, had the Sistine Madonna, when Christ 
 hung on the crucifix, looked as she had then ? God, to 
 bring the look of his dream to her face. . . . 
 
 " Prudence ! " it was wrung from his heart, low, 
 breathless, yearning, . . . 
 
 Her eyes met his, looked for a moment into his soul 
 looking into soul then drooped with wet lids. . . . 
 
 When he went away she said " Good-bye " in the 
 room, but Ridgeway asked her to come downstairs with 
 him. She came, shrinkingly. He knew that she was 
 so tired, so physically worn out, that she shrank from 
 the thought of emotion, of the need of calling upon her 
 will, her self-control. His love for her at this moment 
 was absolutely selfless ; he thought of her, and of her 
 only. 
 
 " I just wanted to tell you that I am going to stay in 
 the studio for a bit, and paint some winter bits about 
 here," he said gently. 
 
 Even at that her lips trembled. 
 
 " For just a little while," she said in a low voice, 
 '.' perhaps If I needn't think of your going just yet, 
 I I feel I could rest then, Mark. I can't sleep
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 417 
 
 " I'm going to be there just as I used to be always 
 there if you want me, Prudence. I'm coming up here 
 a lot. I shall be in and out. Now just tell me about 
 Dickon, and I'll go. How does he get on with his great- 
 uncle, Sir John ? " 
 
 She dared not give way to the longing she felt ; she 
 said : 
 
 " But I you mustn't " 
 
 He interrupted in a final tone : 
 
 " Prudence, I've decided. I know what I want. I'm 
 going to be your friend. It's no good arguing about it. 
 It's taken out of your hands. Now tell me about 
 Dick." 
 
 " He gets on splendidly with his great-uncle. He's 
 such a nice old man. He has been here twice, and 
 Dickon spent a week with him. Muriel Latimer has been 
 so good. She has helped, Mark, and Elizabeth 
 Andre comes sometimes, and Evelyn plays games with 
 him " 
 
 He talked on these safe topics for a little while, then 
 went away. 
 
 Prudence went up to her room, inexpressibly soothed ; 
 a peaceful weariness had taken the place of that wild, 
 unrest ing tiredness. She lay down on the bed, and 
 fell in to a dreamless sleep. 
 
 2 E
 
 CHAPTER XLIX 
 
 PRUE, I can't hear the little mare this morning. 
 Is she out ? " 
 " I'll go and see, Evelyn." 
 
 She went down to the stables, and asked Ferney to 
 make more noise. 
 
 " Is his lordship any better, m'lady ? " 
 
 She looked at the eager inquiry in his face, and 
 answered gently : 
 
 " About the same, Ferney." 
 
 The groom turned away with a gulped down ejacula- 
 tion, and seizing a pail rattled it till the place rang and 
 echoed with its noise. 
 
 " I beg pardon, m'lady, but there I feel as if I shall 
 burst some'ow this weather. Lord, the scent 'ud be 
 as thick as peas in summer to-day 1 And 'im up there 
 and the mare eating 'er 'ead off that wistful and the 
 season nearly over I4th of March to-day " 
 
 " He is very restless," she said. " I must go back 
 to him." 
 
 " Of course, he is, m'lady, it's only nat'ral " 
 
 and then bursting out, as she went into the house, 
 bursting with suppressed miserable fury. " Oh, Gawd, 
 damn and blast ! Damn and blast ! " 
 
 Wingfield did not hear her come back into his room. 
 He was sitting bent over the table, his face intent, his 
 trembling hands busy. There was such an air of secrecy 
 about him that she paused, till she saw that he was 
 
 418
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 419 
 
 jumping a little toy horse over hedges made of books. 
 . . . She had seen it before ; she turned, and with 
 eyes blurred, left the room. 
 
 When she re-entered it noisily a few minutes later 
 to tell him that Dr. Fielding had come, he was sitting 
 back in his chair, one hand buried in his pocket, his 
 face defiant. 
 
 " What a long time you've been, Prue ! I've just 
 been sitting here doing nothing. Do you hear ? What 
 are you staring at ? Don't you believe me ? Damn 
 it, do you doubt my word ? " 
 
 " No, no, Evelyn, of course not ! " 
 
 " Just sitting here as I am now. I have. What else 
 should I be doing ? I won't have that fool of a doctor 
 pawing me about ! Lord, how I hate the sight of his 
 ugly little pug's face. One of these days I shall smack 
 it. Wouldn't it go squelch too ? Ha, ha, ha ! How 
 d'you do, Puggy ? " 
 
 " Genial this morning. It's the lovely weather, eh ? 
 Gladdens your heart, doesn't it ? " 
 
 " Oh, you damned fool," Wingfield said in a terribly 
 sane voice. " You damndest damned fool ! I wonder 
 some one of your patients hasn't murdered you before 
 this." 
 
 Dr. Fielding tactfully ignored this ; he prided himself 
 on his tact, as most tactless people do. 
 
 " You were laughing when I came in. Some joke, 
 eh ? There's nothing like a good joke." 
 
 " I was remarking that one of these days I shall 
 smack your pug's face, and hear it go squelch. I 
 think," he lifted his hand with sudden astonishing 
 strength as the doctor bent over him to feel his pulse, 
 " I may as well do it now." 
 
 The doctor staggered back, putting up his hand to the
 
 420 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 red mark on his cheek ; Prudence cried out ; Wingfield 
 smiling and trembling, observed in a satisfied tone : 
 
 " Yes, it did go squelch." 
 
 The doctor gasped out : 
 
 " If he gets violent he'll have to be 
 
 " Be quiet ! " Prudence's voice was at his ear, her 
 hand on his arm. 
 
 He quieted down, ashamed. 
 
 Wingfield had suddenly shrunk back in his chair. 
 
 " Have to be what ? " he asked in a trembling voice. 
 " What did he mean, Prue ? You won't let them take 
 me away, and shut me up, will you, Prue ? " 
 
 " No, Evelyn, no ! " she cried, a passion of pity 
 shaking her voice. She nodded furiously to the doctor 
 to go. 
 
 " Well, I must be off," he said tactfully. " Who 
 spoke of shutting you up, my dear sir ? Absurd ! 
 Ridiculous ! You mustn't get these fancies into your 
 head " 
 
 " I don't get fancies into my head, do I, Prue ? Tell 
 them I don't get fancies into my head, my dear, or 
 they'll be saying I'm mad next. I'm not mad, am I, 
 Prue ? " 
 
 " No, of course you are not, Evelyn." 
 
 The doctor dared disobey her eye no longer : he left 
 the room. 
 
 " Has he gone, Prue ? " Wingfield asked weakly. 
 "I'm very tired, my dear." 
 
 " Yes, he has gone. Try to sleep a little, 
 Evelyn." 
 
 " I daren't, Prue, I'm so afraid they will come and 
 take me away and shut me up. I couldn't bear being 
 shut up, Prue." 
 
 " I will sit here close by you, Evelyn."
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 421 
 
 " Will you hold my hand ? I don't feel so frightened 
 if you hold my hand, my dear." 
 
 She took his hand between hers, and held it 
 closely. 
 
 " Now try to sleep, Evelyn, I won't go away," she 
 said gently. 
 
 She moved one hand from his to adjust a cushion foi 
 his head, but he cried out at once : 
 
 " Don't go away, Prue ! I'm frightened. Hold 
 my hand, Prue ! " 
 
 He slept, and whimpered of his fear in his sleep ; he 
 woke with the tears running down his cheeks. 
 
 " Prue, what did he mean ? Am I mad, Prue ? 
 Will they come and take me away, and shut me up ? 
 Away from the little mare, Prue ? Shan't I ever be 
 able to ride her again ? Never see her ? Prue, don't 
 let them take me away from the little mare ! I shall 
 die if they take me away from Mirth ! Prue, hold 
 my hand ! Lock the door. What did he mean, 
 Prue ? " 
 
 She tried to soothe him, to reassure him. 
 
 " Perhaps the little mare's gone already ! " A new 
 fear, inextricably mixed with the other, tortured his 
 poor brain. " Prue, go and see if she's in the stable. 
 Tell Ferney to watch over her. I won't have her shut 
 up. She'd go mad if they shut her up. I'd sooner 
 shoot her myself ! Go and see, Prue ! No, don't 
 leave me Yes, go the little mare " 
 
 " I'll ring and send Williams, Evelyn. But she's 
 all right really, she is quite safe. Ferney is with her ; 
 he is devoted to her " 
 
 " No, no, no ! Go yourself. I don't trust that 
 Williams. Go yourself, Prue ! Or I'll go " 
 
 She hurried from the room, sending Williams to watch
 
 422 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 him, and when she returned she managed to reassure 
 him. 
 
 " Hold my hand, my dear," he said, feebly, and fell 
 asleep again. 
 
 When he woke he seemed to have forgotten his fear ; 
 he sat staring out of the window. 
 
 " Let's have it up, Prue, I want to smell the wet 
 earth," he said, forgetting his horror of cool air. " Lord, 
 what a hunting day ! Light frost in the night, wasn't 
 there ? And sun dispersed it earth wet, eh ? Won't 
 there be a bustle at the meet to-day horses mad to be 
 off holding 'em in a bit of kicking and sweating 
 hounds'll look a picture in the sun can't you see 
 them ? Won't their voices ring out Lord, what 
 music it is ! That, and the thud of the horses' 
 hoofs as they gallop on a hot scent Prue, if I'm 
 very careful, do you think I shall be able just to 
 ride to one meet before the season's over ? " he asked 
 wistfully. 
 
 " I " her voice choked. 
 
 " Just one only to the meet, Prue," he pleaded, 
 like a child. 
 
 " I I hope so " 
 
 " But do you think so, Prue ? If I'm very careful. 
 I'll take all the doctor's filthy stuff, my dear, and I 
 won't get excited. Just one meet not too far off, 
 eh, Prue ? The little mare'll go gently she'll know 
 right enough just one, eh, Prue ? Do you think I'll 
 be able to manage just one ? " 
 
 White, and infinitely tender, she turned and lied to 
 him. 
 
 " Yes, Evelyn, if you are very careful." 
 
 He gave a little shaky laugh, believing her, as he 
 always did.
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 423 
 
 " Oh, I'll be careful, my dear. Don't you fear. Shall 
 I take my medicine now ? " 
 
 " Not just yet, Evelyn, it's not time." 
 
 " AU right." 
 
 Presently : 
 
 " Do you think it will be soon ? You see, the season's 
 getting on " 
 
 " Right at the end, Evelyn, it must be right at the 
 end." 
 
 " Very well, my dear. Of course. Don't you think 
 I might have a little of that food stuff now ? " 
 
 " 1 wish you would," she said. 
 
 '*' Certainly, my dear, certainly." 
 
 He drank the food up, and presently fell asleep again 
 
 In the afternoon his old fear returned : 
 
 " Prue, they're going to separate us me and the little 
 mare they're going to shut me up 1 He said so, Prue ! 
 I heard him. What did he mean, Prue ? He said they 
 were going to take Mirth away and shut her up " 
 
 " No, no, Evelyn. Would you like to see her ? " 
 
 " Yes, my dear, yes. Tell Ferney to bring her round. 
 Saddle her up I'll be ready in a few minutes." 
 
 " You are tired, Evelyn, just look at her to- 
 day " 
 
 He flew into one of his violent rages, and insisted on 
 her ringing for Williams. 
 
 " Ring for that fool with the swollen face ! Ring at 
 once ! D'you hear ? I will be obeyed ! I'm going 
 for a gentle canter, before they separate us 1 " 
 
 She rang, and Williams, his face swollen from tooth- 
 ache, appeared. It was all just as usual; in a few 
 minutes Wingfield was worn out. 
 
 Ferney brought the mare round, and Wingfield went 
 feebly to the window and looked out.
 
 424 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 " There you are, my beauty ! " 
 
 The mare lifted her head and called ; Ferney looked 
 up eagerly. 
 
 " Too tired to-day, Ferney to-morrow perhaps." 
 
 " Yes, my lord." 
 
 " Anything wrong with that off hind leg ? She's 
 resting it a bit " 
 
 " No, my lord. Stand up ! " The mare stood out, 
 her coat gleaming in the sunshine, her little head up, 
 her nostrils wide, sniffing the air. 
 
 " She smells fox," Wingfield said. " Take her away, 
 Ferney, poor little devil take her away ! It'd be kinder 
 to^shoot her. I'll never sell her." 
 
 He went back wearily to his chair. 
 
 " No strength even to go down and give her a bit of 
 sugar now," he said bitterly. " Lord, what legs she's 
 got ! I've never seen a pair of forelegs to beat hers ! 
 To feel them moving under me again. God, I'd give all 
 I possess just to sit in the saddle again ! Shan't I ever 
 do it, Prue ? Prue, I'm weaker every day I can't go 
 down to the stables now weaker and weaker till I 
 can't get out of my damnable bed. Good God, what 
 an end ! " 
 
 " Evelyn, surely these are rusty ? " 
 
 " What ? Eh, what ? What ? " 
 
 " These stirrups. Look." 
 
 She brought them to him, dulled by herself. 
 
 " What's the odds ? " he said bitterly. " Shan't 
 ever need 'em again. Pretty little irons too plenty 
 of room for your foot," he began to rub them. " When 
 did I last wear these ? " 
 
 He wandered into a long story, and fell asleep in the 
 middle. 
 
 Prudence slipped from the room, sent Williams up
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 425 
 
 to him, and went down to the stables. She wanted 
 to send Ferney for Ridgeway ; she felt desperately that 
 she must have him there, when Evelyn should wake. 
 She feared this new terror that had come upon him, 
 she feared her power to cope with it. She turned to 
 Ridgeway he would be able to help Evelyn. 
 
 Ferney was out ; she stood a minute hesitating, then 
 ran upstairs, put on her hat and coat, and hurried out 
 into the keen air. She knew that Wingfield always 
 slept heavily now in the afternoon, once he fell asleep ; 
 she would not be missed. She could think of no other 
 way ; Williams was such a terribly bad walker, and 
 Lydia was not to be trusted not to dawdle on the way. 
 She was glad Dickon was at the Hall ; she felt that she 
 could not have faced his questions. As she walked, 
 her strained nerves steadied, the sharp little breeze blew 
 into her face, bringing a hint of more frost with it. 
 The sun shone ; she saw an early foal in a meadow, it 
 eyed he* haughtily, then kicked up its legs at her, and 
 gambolled back to its mother. She remembered a 
 plan of Evelyn's to breed horses her eyes filled with 
 tears ; for a moment she wished this glorious, life-giving 
 day could be dull, freezing hard ; she realised afresh 
 what it must mean to him to be shut up there in his 
 sick room. 
 
 Ridgeway was cleaning his brushes ; till she was actu- 
 ally in the studio she had not dwelt enough on her 
 own feelings to know what it would mean to them 
 to be there together again. . . . 
 
 She stood silent, then said very quietly : 
 
 " Evelyn is so bad 1 wanted you " 
 
 He went on nibbing his brushes on an old piece of 
 yellow soap, but his hand shook. 
 " I'll come at once," he said.
 
 426 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 He turned from his brushes, and looked at her ; 
 she said trembling 
 
 " Evelyn is so bad 3 
 
 " I'll come at once," he said. 
 
 They went out into the meadow. 
 
 " There was thin ice on that puddle this morning," 
 he said. 
 
 " It's very blue now," she answered. 
 
 They went on in silence, along the road, where the 
 afternoon shadows were darkening. She told him of 
 Wingfield's day. He abused the doctor. Then they 
 said no more. 
 
 " I hope he will have forgotten when he wakes," she 
 said as they entered the hall. 
 
 Lydia came out of the kitchen. 
 
 " That poor feller, Mr. Williams, he come down to 
 me for pepper for his tooth, and he's wore out never 
 a wink of sleep night after night, and never a word of 
 complaint, and I turn round to look for the pepper, and 
 off he's to sleep in a moment ! I hadn't the heart to 
 wake him, ma'am, but master's all right. I went up 
 just now and listened outside his door, and never a 
 sound " 
 
 Prudence hurried up the stairs, followed by Ridge way. 
 
 " I hope he's still asleep you stay here in case you 
 wake him." 
 
 He waited in the corridor. She came back to him, 
 and spoke, white-lipped : 
 
 " He isn't there." 
 
 " Some game he's playing," Ridgeway said cheerfully. 
 " Have you looked in that cupboard ? " 
 
 " No ; he's so weak lately he hardly eats " 
 
 Ridgeway went into the room and searched. 
 
 She watched him, then spoke her thought :
 
 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 427 
 
 " He has tried to go to Mirth." 
 
 ; ' Could he manage it ? " 
 
 " I don't know. He has queer bursts of strength " 
 
 She was down the stairs. 
 
 " Ferney is out," she added. 
 
 " Let me go alone " 
 
 " No ! " 
 
 They went out into the yard ; her eye fell on the pail 
 brought round there so that Wingfield might be able 
 to hear it rattle. . . . 
 
 She shivered ; the mare called from the loose box. 
 For a moment she halted, then went on. She saw 
 Ferney coming back, along the lane. 
 
 They went into the loose box ; the late sun was 
 streaming in at the window and dazzled their eyes 
 for a moment, it gleamed on the straw, and across the 
 mare's shining quarters ; she remembered Evelyn's 
 admiration of them one afternoon last year. . . . 
 
 He was there, on the mare's back he had fallen 
 forward on her neck. The mare stood quite still, her 
 head up, listening, her beautiful eyes wide with fear ; 
 she was trembling. . . . 
 
 Ridge way thought : " Never played me false yet ! 
 Never would ! . . ." No she never would it was 
 true. . . . 
 
 He lifted him down gently. 
 
 " He has had his wish," he said huskily. 
 
 Prudence's foot touched something in the straw by 
 the overturned chair; she stooped and picked it up 
 it was a little toy horse. . . . 
 
 With a quick movement she hid it in the bosom of 
 her gown. . . . 
 
 " ishe " she said. 
 
 " Yes," Ridgeway said, and again :
 
 428 ELIZABETH IN RETREAT 
 
 " He has had his wish." 
 
 She hid her face in the mare's neck. . . *,!,: 
 
 The stillness was intense ; Ridgeway bent to lift 
 the body from where he had rested it in the straw. 
 
 " Leave him just a moment " she whispered. 
 
 In her mind echoed words of his : 
 
 " To sleep in a loose box I ask no better bed ! " 
 
 He should sleep there just a little while. 
 
 She knelt beside him, and her tears fell on to his 
 beautiful hand ; she took it in hers ; held it close. 
 
 " You are not frightened now," she whispered. 
 
 In his face was a great peace a nobility. . . . 
 
 A sound broke the stillness it was Ferney sobbing 
 in the next loose box. . . . 
 
 She lifted her quivering face to Ridgeway. 
 
 " He he " she said, and her eyes besought him. 
 
 He knelt beside her in the straw, the mare stood 
 behind them, quite quiet. A ray of sunshine shone 
 across Wingfield's face. 
 
 Ridgeway said gently : 
 
 " We must try to make Dickon as brave a man as his 
 father." 
 
 She gave a little cry . . . the tears rained down ; 
 she bent and kissed the peaceful brow. 
 
 " As brave a man as his father," she whispered. 
 
 Ridgeway had answered her appeal.
 
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