At the same time, there are great forces of change ahead. MARY A. don't trouble to go in." The recipient smiled. "My word, what a post! "Quite right. "When she cuts in, she's
worth a regiment of doctors. And
at the garden, too," he added, looking round him. "Down, Jack! Be quiet, you rascals! I say--Anne!" "I'm just bringing the tea, sir." "All right!" As he spoke the door opened to admit his housekeeper with the tray,
to the accompaniment of another orgie of barks. "All the more reason for tea," said Meynell, seizing thirstily on the
teapot. "And you're quite mistaken, Anne. was the scornful reply. "Never you mind, Anne. "So you did. Return
fare, Birmingham, three-and-ten." "Don't ask me, sir," said the woman in the sun-bonnet. asked the Rector
helplessly. "Thought he might," said Anne, briefly. the woman broke out. "Suppose so, Anne. Can't afford a night-nurse, and the wife won't look
after him." said Anne, frowning. "Better not talk about it, Anne. She won't forgive him, and
she won't nurse him--that's flat." "I say, Anne, I must read my letters. And just light me a bit of fire,
there's a good woman. July!--ugh!--it might be February!" he said, and reached out for the letter on the mantelpiece. He turned it over a moment in his hand and opened it. I have
given you all the latitude I could, but my duty is now plain. "Yours always sincerely in Christ,
"F. MARCOBURG." The stillness, however, was soon broken up. A step was heard outside, and
the dogs sprang up in excitement. "Is that you, Barron? Come in, old fellow; come in!" "Forty, if you want them. Sit down." The
fight was bound to come." Don't be miserable about it, dear fellow. He is under orders, as I am. The
parleying time is done. And now comes
war--honourable, necessary war!" I shall fire my shot, of course. said the young man, with
vivacity. "You're wrong, Stephen. and
he smiled and said, 'Yes, when it isn't right for him to go into it, head
over ears.' However, that's nonsense. It doesn't apply to me. I'm no
general. It will be a blow to him," he added,
reluctantly. "We have come to the fighting," he repeated, "and fighting means blows. "No--but it is inevitable." "I know. He laughed as he spoke, spreading his hands to the blaze, and looking
round at his companion. Barron's face in response was a face of
hero-worship, undisguised. It was as though behind the spoken conversation they
carried on another unheard. "Mrs. said Meynell, raising his eyebrows. "Never." Then, in another voice, "What do you hear of the
daughter? I remember her as a little reddish-haired thing at her mother's
side." She liked her." Barron cleared his throat. "I'd better tell you at once, Rector. Barron's face showed the wound. Hester is only seventeen. She ought to have more time--time to look round her. I
should strongly oppose it." Barron was evidently dumb with surprise; but
the vivacity and urgency of Meynell's expression drove him into speech. Hester is, you know, not very happy at home. And so should I. And, as you know, I am co-guardian of
the children with her." Then, as the lover quivered under these barbs, Meynell suddenly recovered
himself. It's not right; it's not just--it
isn't, indeed! My dear Stephen, be advised--for her and yourself. But don't let there be any talk
of an engagement for at least two years to come. "I couldn't see anybody else courting her--without--"
"Without cutting in. But now, look here." "I must send you off, and go to sleep. exclaimed Barron, astonished. "I shouldn't wonder if the Flaxmans were of some use to you in the
village," said Stephen, taking up his hat. "They're rich, and, they say,
very generous." Meynell, in spite of his scholar's
mastery of half-a-dozen languages, had never crossed the Channel. He had
done it. Ah, well! The night was cold and gusty. It
would help her. Probably, at her work. Imagine her!--prisoned in that house, with that family. Alack!--alack! "It's not my business to
hate him--not at all--rather to respect and sympathize with him. Here now was "Miners' Row." No. 8. exclaimed the Rector. "Oh, no, sir, not more than usual. It's the two of them." "She won't go to her sister's?" "She won't stir a foot, sir." The nurse pointed to the living-room on her left. If certain symptoms appeared, the doctor was to be summoned. The nurse took leave. "Good evening, Mrs. Bateson. He spoke gently, but with a quiet authority. She looked steadily at the Rector. "I'm not going," she said. "He's nowt to me. Come up now, I beg of you, and watch with me. He might die at any moment." But she stepped backward. "I know what I'm about," she said, breathing quick. And he struck and cursed me that last morning--he wished me dead, he
said. An' He did. The roof came
down on him. And now he mun die. I've done wi' him--and she's done wi'
him. He's made his bed, and he mun lig on it." Mrs. Bateson. He has asked for you already to-day, he is
sure to ask for you to-night. While he spoke she stood motionless, impassive. She passed her
tongue round her dry lips to moisten them before she spoke, quite calmly:
"Thank you, sir. Thank you. You mean well. But I'm not comin' up." Meynell turned away discouraged, and went upstairs. The nurse had raised him on his pillows,
and the window near him was open. The room was small and bare--a little
strip of carpet on the boards, a few chairs, and a little table with food
and nourishment beside the bed. But to-night he
found it hard. But it was, rather, some earlier letters from the same hand--letters more
familiar, intimate, and discursive--that ultimately held the Rector's
thoughts as he kept his watch. Do, I beg of you, ask yourself this
question. It was as though the
question of the letter were put to him through those parched lips. And as
he looked, Bateson opened his eyes. "Be that you, Rector?" he said, in a clear voice. "I've been sitting up with you, Bateson. "I want her to come up." "Better not ask her. He took the stick and
rapped. He raised himself on his elbow, staring into the
Rector's face. said Mrs. Bateson, under her breath. Half way down she looked up. "Tell him I should do him nowt but harm. But I'm
not comin'." I was to tell you that in spite of all, he
loved you--and he wanted your love." She shook her head. Tell him
I'd have got Lizzie Short to come an' nurse 'im, if I could. It's her
place. And she disappeared. Meynell, distressed and indignant, did not answer. he said, in a faint voice of surprise. "Well, that's a
queer thing. I could most make her do
what I wanted. Well, never mind, Rector, never mind. You're welcome. His lips parted in a smile--a smile of satire. Of course I will
say them." But Mr. Barron, ee says ee'll make tha give
up. Ee's been goin' roun' the village, talkin' to folk. "Certainly I will tell you, if it will help you--if you're strong
enough." Give me some more. Thank tha ... Then the joy in his
life dies out bit by bit, and the world turns to dust and ashes. And suppose
he obeys, like a child stumbling. "No. "It was the hot blood in me--aye, an' in her too. "Mebbe. But I cawn't." "No--not in my sense or yours. A silence. Then the voice rose again from the bed. Mr. Barron, he calls tha an
infidel. "It's not books that settle it, Jim. He paused a moment, frowning under the effort of simplification. "Stop me if I tire you," he said at last. "I don't know if I can make it
plain--but to me, Bateson, there are two worlds that every man is
concerned with. Love is the king of that world, and the law of it--Love, which _is_ God. He draws us to love--and so to God. said Bateson, abruptly--"I'm nowt
to you." "For the love of Christ," said Meynell, steadily, taking his hand--"and
of you, in Christ. Rest a while." "I tell tha, I want my wife!" It was as though the last energy of being had thrown itself into the
cry--indignant, passionate, protesting. Meynell rose. "I will bring her." "Tell her to mind that cottage at Morden End--and the night we came home
there first--as married folk. Meynell gave him food and medicine. Then he went
quickly downstairs, and knocked at the parlour door. But Meynell laid a
peremptory hand on her arm. "I command you--in God's name. A struggle shook her. said Bateson, with a smile. Meynell went out into the dawn. It was as though he said to himself, "I know
that trouble will come back--I know that doubts and fears will pursue me
again; but this hour--this blessing--is from God!"... "Please come in! You must be tired out. I have a friend with me,
and I want to introduce you." "This is my new friend, Mary Elsmere. I
want you to know each other." But she looked
upon herself as homeless for two years, and found the prospect as
pleasant as her husband found it annoying. He has to motor over occasionally. Then of course there'll be Japan--and by that
time there'll be airships to the North Pole, and we can take it on our
way home!" "Ah, well, it's quite time you were a little nipped by the years," said
Manvers dryly. said Mr. Manvers, with mild interrogation. Manvers studied her,
smiling. "I am entirely ignorant of the grounds of this attack." "Oh, what hypocrisy!" I assure you,
Hugh is _thrilled_." "Very sorry--but it leaves me quite cold. "Oh, no!" said the other, gently but firmly incredulous. "Believe me--he
will resign, or apologize--they always do." I remember
how sad it was. How do you know there isn't a world
behind him?" "Well, now, listen! Then, as to the service--neither of us could find our way
about. "Ah! "We had both the Creeds. said Manvers, after a pause. cried Mrs. Flaxman impetuously. And when the Rector finished--there was a kind of breath
through the church--like the rustling of new leaves--and I thought of
the wind blowing where it listed.... And then the Rector preached on the
Creeds--how they grew up and why. she said abruptly, her
light voice dropping. Manvers smiled. "Ah! "Oh! "It was all poetic--and mystical--and yet
practical. It was quite short--so was the first
service. For himself, he was touched in another way: with
pity, or a kindly scorn. He did not believe in patching up the Christian
tradition. Either accept it--or put it aside. And
if he didn't, Mr. Barron would do it for him." "Precisely. cried Mrs. Flaxman, suddenly, rising to her feet and
looking through the open window beside her. _Parlez du diable_, etc. It's so simple." "I stay--but first, a little information. "Acres and acres. He doesn't like Hugh,
and he certainly won't like me. At any rate she was soon picking his brains diligently on
the subject of the neighbourhood and the neighbours, and apparently
enjoying the result, to judge from her smiles and her questions. Mr. Barron indeed had everything that could be expected of him to say on
the subject of the district and its population. Mr. Barron was silent. said Mrs. Flaxman, raising her fine eyes, with a
laugh in them. Mr. Barron echoed the laugh, stiffly. He is there now for the fishing." Mr. Barron still sat silent. cried Mrs. Flaxman, impatiently. Mr. Barron returned, as though with relief, to architecture, talked
agreeably of the glories of a famous Tudor house on the west side,
and an equally famous Queen Anne house on the east side of the Chase. Mr. Barron's expression changed. "I was." "He may be. At last she said evasively:
"There are a good many people in the parish who seem to agree with him. Mr. Barron flushed. Mr. Barron looked attentively at his hostess. It was as though he were
for the first time really occupied with her--endeavouring to place her,
and himself with regard to her. His face stiffened. said a mild, falsetto voice in
the distance. "No need to define them, I think--for a Christian. Barron fidgeted. "Deplorable, I admit--quite deplorable! I would put that kind of thing
down, just as firmly as the other." Manvers smiled. The man here does not agree with you--the people I have been
describing would scout you. But he could find no foothold
in the maze. "Mr. said the butler. Mr. Barron made an involuntary movement of annoyance as the Rector
entered. "How are you, Barron?" he said cordially. He turned to his hostess,
with one of the rapid movements that expressed the constant energy of the
man. "I am an ignoramus--except about music. "Oh, but you must read it! I want to make 'em all read you! "Not an accident, I hope?" said Mrs. Flaxman, as she handed him his cup. "No. Nobody to nurse him as usual. "We have taken the house for a year," said Rose, surprised. But he, Barron, could not forget it. If he submitted and went quietly, well and
good. An ugly struggle was inevitable--a struggle for the
honour of Christ and his Church. He died, of course--what could he do? Ah, well, never
mind. He bent forward, his hands on his knees, staring at Manvers. The girl sitting at the
tea-table could scarcely take her eyes from it. "Might I
trouble you, Mrs. Flaxman, to ring again? I really ought to go home." The butler appeared. Mr. Barron's servants,
it seemed, were having tea. "Yet
I'm sure she's forty, papa." It was not often that the world troubled itself
much about her. Her father, however, took no notice. I beg your pardon, Mrs. Flaxman." Rose laughed, and glanced at the girl sitting hidden behind the
tea-table. "Oh, I had had quite enough of Mr. Barron. Mr. Meynell, have I ever
introduced you to my niece?" "Oh, but we know each other!" said Meynell, eagerly. I
wish I could have warned you. "You needn't pity us," she said, demurely. But--I am afraid I am a Gallio." said Meynell, nodding. She
clasped her hands, excitedly. "Oh! he asked her, gently. "No, no! "I don't think so. It is all so
terrible to her." he asked,
sadly. But she quickly checked herself, and they moved on in silence. At the same time nothing
could be merrier--more childish even--than her laugh. He was but little
given to confession, but she compelled it. It was as though through his
story she sought to understand her father's--to unveil many things yet
dark to her. "Ah, if your father had but lived!" he said at last, turning upon her
with emotion. But we!--we are no longer alone,
or helpless. Mary was moved and silenced. He turned upon her with surprise. "I was not thinking of Miss Puttenham, I assure you. Mary looked puzzled--interrogative. And
now--
He broke off abruptly. He paused and laughed. "Ah, of course I
don't pretend things are so here--yet. As to the rapidity of the movement in the last few months it has
been nothing short of amazing!" said
Mary. The soft intensity of the voice, the beauty of the look, touched
him strangely. It is burning in your life and mine--as it burnt in the life of Christ. We say the
same--with a difference. Suddenly, as a shaft of light from the descending sun
fled ghostlike across the plain, touching trees and fields and farms in
its path, two noble towers emerged among the shadows--characters, as it
were, that gave a meaning to the scroll of nature. It is for _them_, in a sense--a spiritual sense--we are
fighting. His look came back to her face, and the prophetic
glow died from his own. "No--not to me. I--I have my own thoughts. But one must think--of
others." Her voice trembled. asked his companion presently,
pointing to a gray pile of building about a quarter of a mile away, on
the other side of the stream. Meynell glanced at it. Otherwise it is better viewed at a distance. "Good afternoon, Philip. I did not know you were here. "Oh! thank you--thank you _so_ much. But it's very nice here. I have caught two myself. said the young man. "How d'ye do, Meynell? "A long time," said Meynell briefly. We sha'n't take you much out of your way." "I'm all right, I assure you. Don't bother about me. How do you do, Mary? She looked much older than seventeen,
until she moved or spoke; then the spectator soon realized that in spite
of her height and her precocious beauty she was a child, capable still of
a child's mischief. "Very well!" said Meynell. She lost her smile. he
shouted across it. "I am quite aware of it," said the Rector, as he shook hands with the
embarrassed Mary. Here, Sir Philip--take the fly-book!" She flung it
toward him. "Goodnight." Mary looked at her in astonishment. "Precisely. But, then, I don't admit that I'm
bound." But don't you think it's rather rude to Miss Elsmere to be
discussing private affairs she doesn't understand?" "Oh, no, I'm not," said Hester coolly. I know the look of her. Let me do it for you. And you shouldn't wear
that hat--no, you really shouldn't. She looked with a young malice at Meynell. "I don't agree with you at all about my hat," said Mary with spirit. "I
trimmed it myself, and I'm extremely proud of it." "How foolish you are!--isn't she, Rector? Hester looked at her gravely. "All right!--but your mother won't want to see me. I'm not
her sort. Let me go home by myself." Mary half laughed, half coaxed her into coming with them. He saw a tall woman, very thin, in a black dress. He talked of Oxford, of the great college where he had learnt from,
the same men who had been Elsmere's teachers; of current books, of the
wild flowers and birds of the Chase; he did his best; but never once
was there any living response in her quiet replies, even when she smiled. Yes, I found him there at tea. He was very anxious to pay
his respects to you; so I brought him." Aunt Rose likes him very much, and--and I
wanted him to know you!" "I don't wish to be rude to any friend of Aunt Rose's," she said, rather
stiffly. "No--not that I know of." A pause. She made no reply, but her face, now once more turned toward the
sunlit pond, had visibly saddened. "I think he is," said Mary, simply. She sat dreaming; then her mother called her to the evening meal, and she
went in. "Promise me not to meet this man any more!" "I couldn't. Hester shook her head. she cried, raising her
head defiantly. "I
don't care about him now. He turned back toward the
Rectory, perturbed and self-questioning. But it was not possible, after
all, to set a tragic value on the love affair of a young lady who, within
a week of its breaking off, had already consoled herself with another
swain. He did not believe she ever had cared for him. Still he was troubled, and on his way toward the Rectory he turned aside. But he tried to reassure her. "There really is none--none at all. We sha'n't delay it long. "Good night, my dear friend. Try and
sleep--put the anxiety away. She looked at the lessons and
psalms for the day and placed markers in the proper places. Then she
chose a hymn, and laid six open hymn-books one upon another. Her complexion was sallow, her figure
awkward. She passed generally for a
dull and plain woman, ill-dressed, with a stoop that was almost a
deformity, and a deafness that made her socially useless. Theresa looked up from hers with an exclamation. "Unfortunate--as I may very probably not see him," said her father,
sharply. asked his daughter, timidly. Theresa looked pained. I don't expect
consideration from him, either as to that--or other things. Theresa looked troubled. "He told me something the other night, father, I ought to have told you. Only--"
"Only what? "Oh, no, father! but it seems to annoy you, when--when I talk about
Stephen, so I waited. said her father
violently, staring at her. murmured Theresa,
helplessly. said
her father, turning upon her. Theresa only looked at him silently, with her large mild eyes. She knew
it was of no use to argue. "Every one says he is a good man," said Theresa, timidly. "In outward appearance. I don't say it is always so, of course," he added. Theresa made no reply, and the subject dropped. said Theresa, with her gentle, scared look. "Let him find another cottage all the same," said Barron briefly. Theresa was evidently sad. "His
mother was her maid long ago. Nobody knew why Lady Fox-Wilton kept her so
long. Theresa knew very well that it was
from her brother Maurice, in London. I do want to know if it's all right." Barron opened it, rather unwillingly. His face cleared, however, as he
read it. "Not a bad report. cried Theresa, flushing. Theresa was vaguely certain that he
was besmirched by all sorts of dreadful things--drinking, and betting--if
not worse. His face was discomposed; his hand shook. Other clergy and congregations rally to his support." The next move now lies with the Bishop, and with the
orthodox majority of the diocese. Theresa looked up. Her
face had grown pale. "How _terrible_, father! Let them blaspheme in private as they please, it hurts nobody but
themselves. He paced the room up and down, in an excitement he could hardly control. "The poor, poor Bishop!" said Theresa, softly, the tears in her eyes. exclaimed Barron, looking up. "If
there are dry bones on our side, this will put life into them. He paused in his walk, falling into a profound reverie in which he lost
all sense of his daughter's presence. At last a clock struck. She said gently:
"Father, I think it is time to go." "That is for Maurice. "No--this afternoon. He kissed his daughter absently and departed, settling all his home
business before he left the house in his usual peremptory manner, leaving
behind him indeed in the minds of his butler and head gardener, who had
business with him, a number of small but smarting wraths, which would
ultimately have to be smoothed away by Theresa. She
was crying bitterly, and the Bishop had his arms round her and was
comforting her. And the child went off in another wail, at which moment the Bishop
perceived Meynell. "Ye-s," said the child, slowly--"not very." "Go along then, and say it!" Meynell advanced, and the Bishop came to meet him. And when the glance of the spectator
pursued the Bishop downward, it was to find that his legs, in the
episcopal gaiters, were no less ethereal than his face; while his silky
white hair added the last touch of refinement to a personality of spirit
and fire. This diocese owes you
much. he added impetuously, raising his head. "No, I had no idea we were so strong. said Meynell, watching him--with a
heavy heart. "I am a man of peace. "Believe me--we sha'n't break it up." "Certainly you will! Meynell bore the onslaught quietly. "Not at all!--a monstrous delusion!" "My lord, you are so yoked at the present moment," said Meynell
firmly--the colour had flashed back into his cheeks--"it is the
foundation of our case that half the educated men and women we gather
into our churches to-day are--in our belief--Modernists already. Question
them!--they are with us--not with you. You--the traditional party--you, the bishops and the orthodox
majority--can help them, or hinder them. "I wish to drive no one out," he said, lifting a diaphanous hand. said Meynell in a low voice. He bent forward, and looked intently into the Bishop's face. "We should be here all night. Meynell!--you have no conception of
the forces that this movement of yours, if you persist in it, will
unchain against you! But when you prophesy war, I agree. They are all about you and around
you--and when you go out to fight him, you will discover that you are
half on his side!" said
Meynell, with pale resolution. --we
say--'in Christ's name.' Yes, even the loaves and fishes!--they ought to be
justly divided out like the rest. It, too, grew harder,
more challenging. But he ceased to try and convey it by argument. "I make one last appeal, Meynell, to your obedience--and to the promises
of your ordination." "I was a boy then"--said Meynell slowly--"I am a man now. Clearly, if it were a question of any
ordinary society. Meynell
resumed:
"And that Life makes the Church--moulds it afresh, from age to age. We must stay it out, and do our best. Meynell flushed. "I have done nothing but what was my bounden duty to do." "The church people in it, by an immense majority--and some of the
dissenters. Mr. Barron, as you know, is the chief complainant, and there
are of course some others with him." "Not at present. "That is our plan." "It may," said Meynell reluctantly. "We must," said Meynell, after a pause. "I do--for the reasons I have given." Meynell grasped it, and suddenly stooped and kissed the episcopal ring. Meynell went away, with bowed head. He turned into the Cathedral, and knelt there some time, conscious less
of articulate prayer than of the vague influences of the place; the warm
gray of its shadows, the relief of its mere space and silence, the beauty
of the creeping sunlight--gules, or, and purple--on the spreading
pavements. When he rose and went out, he saw coming toward him a man he knew
well--Fenton, the Vicar of a church on the outskirts of Markborough,
famous for its "high" doctrine and services; a young boyish fellow, curly
haired, in whom the "gayety" that Catholicism, Anglican or Roman,
prescribes to her most devout children was as conspicuous as an ascetic
and labourious life. Canon France looked up, saw who
it was, and Meynell, every nerve strained to its keenest, perceived the
instant change of expression. "Ah! Meynell, is that you? "Yes, we may save the harvest yet!" said Meynell, pausing in his walk. All the same, as he walked on, he forced himself to acknowledge to the
full the radical change in the situation. Meynell recognized some of his parishioners, spoke to a
farmer or two, exchanged greeting with a sub-agent of the miners' union,
and gave some advice to a lad of his choir who had turned against the
pits and come to "hire" himself at Markborough. Put Meynell in. It was not an easy matter, and some
small jealousies and frictions lifted their heads that had been wholly
lost sight of in the white-hot feeling of the inauguration meeting. He was so in
love with the sensational, notoriety side of the business, so eager to
pull wires, and square editors, so frankly exultant in the "big row"
coming on, that Meynell, with the Bishop's face still in his mind, could
presently hardly endure him. Only Treherne was married, and only he and Rollin had private
means. As to other misgivings and anxieties, they were many. Oh, my dear boy--my dear boy! he asked himself anxiously,
vowing that no public campaign must or should distract him from a private
trust much older than it, and no less sacred. But she would go--she must go--and either he or Alice Puttenham would
take her over and install her. Poor, lonely woman! The old problems arose in
connection with it--problems now of ethics, now of expediency. A sharp word to her, a word of warning to her natural
guardians--and surely all was mended. It should have been utterly
impossible for those two to meet! But the fact was she had grown
up so rapidly--yesterday a mischievous child, to-day a woman in her first
bloom--that they had all been taken by surprise. As to the girl herself, Meynell was always conscious of being engaged in
some long struggle to save and protect his ward against her will. But it was not easy to feel it. The remembrance rebuked him, and he fell into fresh plans about the
child. Meynell remembered that
the stopping of it had caused some friction between Ralph and his wife. But she had still a son and grand-children living in Upcote
village. And when they
were safely out in the world the Rector, absorbed in the curing of sick
bodies and the saving of sick souls, could not dream of spending the
money thus set free on a household for himself. He paused a moment among the trees, just before the cottage passed out of
sight. At the same time there was no one who would suffer from
war more than he. Meynell did not yet know
whether the mystic in him would allow the fighter in him to play his
part. Meynell
retreated farther into the wood; but he was still able to see her. Spiritually she was her father's child, and not her mother's. No. Meynell bowed his head, and went slowly away. Canon France watched him, sunk deep in his armchair, the plump fingers of
one hand playing with certain charter rolls of the fourteenth century,
with their seals attached, which lay in a tray beside him. But Meynell, I suppose, is immaculate." Barron shook his head. "Meynell's life is absolutely correct, outwardly," he said slowly. "Ah, well," said the Canon, smiling, "no hope then--that way. I rejoice,
of course, for Meynell's sake. "Apparent goodness," said Barron hotly. The Canon smiled again. After all, he reached Upcote in good time before dinner, and remembering
that he had to inflict a well-deserved lecture on the children who had
been caught injuring trees and stealing wood in his plantations, he
dismissed the carriage and made his way, before going home, to the
cottage, which stood just outside the village, on the way from Maudeley
to the Rectory and the church. He knocked peremptorily. But no one came. He knocked again, chafing at
the delay. It opened, and an old woman stood in the
doorway. "I am Mr. Barron," said her visitor, sharply. It was a shabby blue silk, fashionably cut, and set
off by numerous lockets and bangles. Well, I daresay I am. "Well, I daresay you didn't. Barron, as she spoke, was struck with her accent, and recalled her
mention of "the cars." "Why, you've been in the States," he said. Then suddenly, pressing her hand to her
forehead, she said angrily: "I don't know what you mean. Come in and sit down. John'll be in directly." Barron heard a low cry from her, and looked round. He saw her bent forward and pointing, her wrinkled face expressing a wild
astonishment. "But--but
they told me he was dead. He'll have married her then?" "Why--Miss Alice!" she said gasping. But John's my flesh and blood, all the same. So when Mr. Sabin
died, I said I'd come over and see for myself. She looked at him--with a mad expression flickering between doubt and
desire. But the suggestion had made her angry, and he had let it drop. Sarah frowned. she said angrily, but
indistinctly, as her mouth was full of pins. "You pay for them--and you get them. "Oh, wouldn't you!" said Hester with a laugh and a yawn. said Lulu, springing up, and making for her assailant. "I don't want to at all, but mamma says you
are not to go out alone." Hester flushed. "Because if you'll go to the village, I can get some
binding I want." said Hester, laughing angrily. Sarah had had various love affairs,
which had come to nothing, and was regarded as "disappointed" in the
village. She could chatter, on occasion, so that a room full of
people instinctively listened. "Come here. I want to speak to you." Hester ran across the lawn in wide curves, playing with the dog, and
arrived laughing and breathless beside the newcomer. But she did not
smile often, and she had the expression of one perpetually protesting
against all the agencies--this-worldly or other-worldly--which had the
control of her existence. At the moment, however, her look was not so much fretful as excited. asked Hester, a sharp challenging note in
her gay voice. said Hester, glancing carelessly at the
letter. "I told you it was. They can get you the best
lessons in Paris, they say. They know everybody." "H'm--" said Hester, reflectively. Then she looked at the speaker. "Don't be silly, Hester! Of course I know!" Anyway, I don't quite see how you're going to make me do it, if I don't
want to." If she keeps her room empty, you might have to pay for it!" "Hester, you are really the plague of my life!" "Don't run into
generalities, mamma." "I know that you think I shall be running away some day with Sir Philip
Meryon!" said the girl, laughing, but with a fierce gleam in her eyes. "He told me you were not to be allowed to meet that man. Not I. Let him leave me alone. Why, she's just
miserable about you!" Well, I don't know about Paris, mamma--I'll think about it. Come, Roddy!" It was a strange look to
pass between a mother and daughter. Tibbald has just told me." Tibbald was the butler, and Sarah's special friend and crony. "Why, what harm was it?" cried Sarah, wondering. "He told me, because it
seems Mrs. Sabin used to be a servant of ours long ago. "We once had a maid--for a very short time," she said over her shoulder,
"who married some one of that name. "Well, she came back from America two days ago. But she must just have been off her
head, for she died last night in her sleep, and there were only a few
shillings on her--not enough to bury her. There's to be an inquest this
evening, they say." said Hester coolly, looking after her. Bertie was the elder brother, who was Sarah's special friend in the
family. "We all know that." But the colour of the heath was the marvel. I am going to manage my life for myself--and get out of
this coil. Well, there were reasons for it; she was not
going to repent or change. It was not that she imagined herself in love with
Stephen; but she had chosen to be engaged to him; and that any one should
affect to control her in such a matter, should definitely and decidedly
cross her will, was intolerable to her wild pride. Heaps of girls were. It was as though he did not altogether believe in
his own arguments; as though there were something behind which she could
not get at. "Well, why should there be?" Sarah had said. Her cheeks flamed. Well, so was she!--they were outcasts together. But Philip Meryon had read lots of books, and liked those that she liked. He could read French too, as she could. cried Philip Meryon, plunging to her through
the fern. she said haughtily, as
she faced him, with dilating nostrils. "Take care!--don't be rude to me--I shall take my revenge!" As he spoke, Meryon was fairly dazzled, intoxicated by the beauty of the
vision before him--this angry wood-nymph, half-vanishing like another
Daphne into the deep fern amid which she stood. "You forget," said Hester coolly, "that I have Roddy with me." He did not like Sir Philip. "On the contrary, if I ran, it was evidently because I wished to get
away." He offered it. She stooped to read the title--"Mauprat." He
shrugged his shoulders, "I tried to read it, and couldn't. he asked her. Yes." she said shortly, with a quickened breath. He laughed. "I've got some others, but I
didn't want to recommend them to you. "I don't tell mamma what I read." "As much as I want to," she said, indifferently. she said, raising her eyebrows. "Well, I daresay!" she asked him, frowning. "Because it amused me. "That I don't believe," she said, shaking her head. he asked her, his
tone betraying a certain irritation. she said,
turning upon him a pair of considering eyes. "Take care, Mademoiselle!" he said, gasping a little. "I don't know why
you allow yourself these _franchises_!" she said, with childish and yet passionate emphasis. I choose the friends that suit
me--and the life too. "If it were only Sarah--or mamma," she said doubtfully. When he's not ignorant he's prejudiced--and when he's
not prejudiced he's ignorant." "Well, we do happen to be cousins. "Who was he?--I never heard of him." Well, he was an awfully fine fellow--whatever Meynell may say. Of course he got into scrapes--such men do--and
if Richard ever talked to you about him, of course he'd crab him. "Neville--Sir Neville Flood." Hester looked puzzled. Oh! She was Neville's favourite sister, and as he knew
Richard didn't want the Abbey, he left it to me. He was unhappily married,
mainly through his own fault. And, anyway, I am no relation of either of them." However, nobody can account for
likenesses. said Hester impatiently. "Besides, I am going away
directly--to Paris." He was silent a moment, twisting his lip. He laughed. "Oh! come then--there's time for a few more talks. Only--well, I couldn't talk to you about it--it's not a play
for _jeunes filles_. Her face had kindled, answering to the vivacity--the peremptoriness--in
his. said Hester, also under her breath, and smiling. "Take care!" "Come, Roddy! In a flash the gloom of the wood closed upon her, and she was gone. Well, she was a handsome daredevil little
minx. Parsons, cousins or
no, must be kept in their place. Hester ran home, a new laugh on her lip, and a new red on her cheek. "Well, why shouldn't she? Good night, Uncle
Richard--good night! You go too slow for me." She
set no limit to her own calls, or to her readiness to be called upon. Her father had been an Evangelical scholar
and headmaster; the one slip of learning in a rude and primitive race. Mary understood it all, and submitted. she said impatiently
one evening to Mary, when she had taken leave of Catharine, and her niece
was strolling back with her toward Maudeley. It should be made absolutely illegal to
write the life of a clergyman! "What, the deans? I know. Mary let her run on. It was not that she claimed anything for herself;
but she claimed justice for a man misread. cried Mary, kissing her hand. Poor Bishop!--what a
cruel, cruel position!" If he cannot agree with the Church, let him
leave it. At last she said, with difficulty:
"Aren't you thinking only of the people who may be hurt--or scandalized? Mr. Meynell stands--I suppose--for the people--who are starved,
whose souls wither, or die, for lack of the only food that could nourish
them." "The Church has no other food to give. "But, mother, this is the _National_ Church!" pleaded Mary, after a
moment. They love the old ways, the old buildings, the old traditions. Make room for us--beside you. It was a cry of bitterness,
almost of despair. you know I won't." Mr. Meynell is to speak." Mary looked up in amazement. I will go with you." "I know that," said Catharine quietly. "But I--I should like to
understand him." The Dean was in the Chair. The mouth and chin were rather prominent, and, when at rest, severe. He
was a man in whom conscience was a gadfly, remorseless and tormenting. asked the
Archdeacon, nervously biting his quill. said the Dean, shrugging his shoulders. And now we may have missed our chance." The Dean nodded. I say again, we have missed our chance. Or, at least,
we should have made short work of it." said Canon Dornal. The Dean flushed. The Canon was silent. "No--there seems to have been something like a riot at Darwen's church,"
observed the Archdeacon. cried the Archdeacon. "The same thing--almost," said the Canon, smiling a little sadly. retorted the
Archdeacon. Silence a moment. He also knew no German, but it did not seem necessary to say
so. Brathay looked up. Yes, I saw. Oh! "Meynell too," said the Professor. "That of course is their game. "Well, it was Arnold's game!" said the Canon, his look kindling. So must we." Dornal looked at him with a
rather troubled and hostile eye. He shook hands with the Dean and the Archdeacon, and bowed
to the other members of the commission. He handed the book to Meynell, who read it in silence. "The passage means, I think, what it says, Mr. Dean." said Meynell gently. The voice was almost pleading. But Meynell was for the moment only aware of his questioner. But Meynell
could not be induced to soften or recant anything. It should be so-and-so." "A most unsatisfactory interview! All signed, and the meeting broke up. said Dornal to
the Dean. "Hardly before November. If there is any truth in it, there may be an Armageddon
before us." Dornal looked at him with distaste. On coming out of the Cathedral Library, Dornal walked across to the
Cathedral and entered. As far as _feeling_ went, nothing
divided him from Meynell. His longing was
hopeless, but it enriched his life. He did not know that she had seen anybody but himself
and his boys since her arrival. But she had seen some one else. But when it had come to the practical use of the
story, France had been of little assistance. Of course there were risks and difficulties; but
was a man of the type of Richard Meynell to be allowed to play the
hypocrite, as the rapidly emerging leader of a religious movement--a
movement directed against the unity and apostolicity of the English
Church--when there were those looking on who were aware of the grave
suspicions resting on his private life and past history? The room was a little austere. That was Edith's attitude--the attitude of a small, vindictive soul. Suddenly, she turned toward a tall and narrow chest of drawers that stood
at her left hand. It was as good a likeness as the Abbey picture, only more literal, less
"arranged." But to-night she saw it--was indeed arrested by it. The alarms of the week died away, as this emotion gained upon her. But she had never parted with self-control and self-respect. It
is accepting--loving--giving--all one has to give." She took the stillness before her for
sleep. The miniature dropped from
her hands to the floor, opening as it fell. Hester looked at it
astonished--and her hand stooped for it before Miss Puttenham had
perceived her loss. she asked, wondering. She bent eagerly over the miniature,
trying to see it in the dim light. "Give it to me, Hester!" asked Hester, as she unwillingly returned
it. said Hester in a low voice, "though
you wouldn't let me see it properly. I say, Auntie, won't you tell me--?" "That is quite different, Hester." she said, audaciously. "Why, I should have loved you twice as much, Aunt Alice--and you know I
_do_ love you!--if you'd told me more about yourself. "Who was he, dear?" "He is dead, Hester--and you mustn't speak of it to me--or any
one--again." "No,
don't come!--I'm all right--I'll go upstairs and rest. Hester looked after her, panting and wounded. Her
mind floated in darkness. "Yes." Her voice seemed to herself a sigh--the faintest--from a great distance. Ellen came up to knock, and you did not
hear. "Thank you." Silence for a while. The
servant whispered, and she returned at once. "I can't see him. But please--give him some tea. He'll have walked--from
Markborough." Mary prepared to obey. "No--there is the meeting afterward. "No, dear--no. Good night, kind angel. Go down--give him tea. "No. Mother said she wished to go," said Mary, slowly. "Just time. I--I want you to be there. Good night." He would come in again on the morrow, he said, to inquire for her. She stooped forward a little. Oh! He raised himself again with energy. Oh! cried Mary indignantly. I wish she would." "Oh! she doesn't take any account of me," said Mary, laughing. "She has no bump of respect--never had!" suggested Mary timidly. "Sir Ralph and she were always at cross-purposes," he said at last. I don't seem to be able to protect this child confided
to me." "Oh, but you will protect her!" cried Mary, "you will! "I have done nothing but my plainest, simplest duty. But she could not restrain an expression in her gray
eyes which was a balm to the harassed combatant beside her. They said no more of Hester. She was mature. The new--or re-written--Liturgy of the Reform was, it seemed, almost
completed. she asked, with a quickened breath. "Eighteen in July--this week, over a hundred. Yet,
at the end of it all, feeling broke through again. she entreated. Oh! and--and so noble." She drew in her breath, and he understood her. "Strong indeed," he said gravely. "But--"
Then a smile broke in. Mary drew in her breath. "That," he said quietly, "is nothing to us. He held out his hand to her. she asked him,
wondering. "You forget that half of them I have taught from their childhood. "I am coming," she said, looking down. "I am glad," he said simply; "I want you to know these men." "And my mother is coming with me." Her voice was constrained. Meynell felt a natural surprise. He paused an
instant, and then said with gentle emphasis:
"I don' think there will be anything to wound her. At any rate, there
will be nothing new, or strange--to _her_--in what is said to-night." "Oh, no!" His face changed. "No. He smiled. "It doesn't do to think of them, does it? But I may have to take a few days' rest, some time. "I needn't warn you that it rains." Meynell recovered himself. He held out his hand in farewell, but he had
scarcely turned away from her, when she made a startled movement toward
the open window. "Mother," cried Mary, in amazement. she said, struggling to get her breath. Her fine, pale face, framed in her widow's veil, did not so much ask as
command. Mary looked at her
in anxiety, dreading the physical strain for one, of late, so frail. If Mr. Meynell can keep them in check for half an
hour, there may be hope." "Oh, my
God!--they'll have 'im out! "Aye, he's in the pay-house safe enough," shouted another--a man. The procession of the dead approached--all the men baring their
heads, and the women wailing. Mary took up another child, and they both
joined the procession. As they did so, there was a shout from below. "They've beaten 'un back, miss," he said in her ear. On went the procession into the village, leaving the fight behind them. But she would not permit them to
Mary, and they were presently separated. --fifty of them. Stepping out of the ranks, he approached her. "But it was touch and go. Oh! Mary looked on,
handing what was necessary to her mother, and in spite of herself, a ray
of strange sweetness stole through the tragedy of the day. In a very few minutes Meynell rose. "It is too much
for you." She looked at him gently. "They asked me to come back again. He gave way. I want to give a notice
when I come down." Then she gathered
up the sleeping child again in her arms, and sat waiting. "You oughtn't to face this any more, indeed you oughtn't," said Meynell,
with urgency, as he joined them. "Tell her so, Miss Mary. But she has
been doing wonders. He held out his hand, involuntarily, and Catharine placed hers in it. Mary did not yet
know, long as she had pondered it. How beautiful was the lined face!--so pale in the golden dusk, in its
heavy frame of black. In these few crowded hours, when every word and action had been simple,
instructive, inevitable; love to God and man working at their swiftest
and purest; through all the tragedy and the horror some burden seemed to
have dropped from Catharine's soul. She met her daughter's eyes, and
smiled. When Meynell had finished, the crowd silently drifted away, and he
came back to the Elsmeres. "I sent for it," Meynell explained rapidly. said Meynell, as he put
them into the carriage. Saint as she
was, she was accustomed to have her way. "Eh, but you're droppin'!" The squire was
always punctilious, and his condolences might be counted on. But Mary caught and held her. "No, dearest, no!--come home and rest." And for the first time, as she sat in the darkness, holding her mother's
hand, and watching the blackness of the woods file past under the stars,
she confessed her love to her own heart--trembling, yet exultant. He stood there as
the living expression of their conscience, their better mind, conceived
as the mysterious voice of a Divine power in man; and in the name of that
Power, and its direct message to the human soul embodied in the tale we
call Christianity, he bade them repent their bloodthirst, and hope in God
for their dead. She surveyed
it all as a spectacle, half thrilled, half critical. "Where are you, old man?" He kissed the hand. "So am I!" said Rose, erect, with her hands behind her. "We want all sorts." "Ye-es," said Rose doubtfully. "I don't think I want Mr. Barron." "Certainly you do! "There we must agree to differ," said Rose firmly. But they will mix." Rose threw him a cool glance. "So I perceive. And you hope to turn Norham into one." Rose nodded. "Mary certainly--and, I think, Catharine. _And_ Mr. "A few others, I hope, to act as buffers." said Rose. said Flaxman, hastily departing, only, however, to be
followed into his study by Rose, who breathed into his ear--
"And if you see Mary and Mr. Meynell colloguing--play up!" _Why_--neither Mary nor I know. Then of course she and the Rector
took command. "I don't know," said Rose, doubtfully. "No. But for all that unpaid multiplicity
of affairs--magisterial, municipal, social or charitable--which make the
country gentleman's sphere Hugh Flaxman's appetite was insatiable. "Certainly. I have given orders. For an hour if you wish, I am at your
disposal." "Oh, we shall not want so long." His face changed and worked as he did so. "No--to Dawes, the colliery manager. "He is. "And you, I imagine, pointed out to him the utter absurdity of the
charge, advised him to burn the letter and hold his tongue?" Barron was silent a moment. Both paused--regarding each other. She was alone in the house, and she came
to the door. I asked her to explain them, and we talked--alone--for nearly an hour. said Flaxman, holding it up. However--we will return presently to the letter. She herself nursed Miss Puttenham, and no
doctor was admitted. said Flaxman abruptly. Barron cleared his throat. A gentleman arrived, and was admitted to
see her. asked Flaxman, with repulsion. "As you like," said Barron, impassively. He paused, looking quietly at his questioner. She watched him for some minutes." said Flaxman sharply. Flaxman took a turn along the room, and paused. "Certainly I admit it." "Naturally," put in Flaxman dryly. "I am aware of it. You are quite
right. You have
influence with Meynell; and I want to persuade you, if I can, to use it." Of course if the matter became serious, legal action would
be taken very promptly." interrupted Barron roughly. "Precisely." said Flaxman, turning upon
him. The voice was that of a
rancorous obstinacy at last unveiled. But then perhaps I approach the matter in one way, and you in
another. Such things are long prepared. Conscience, my
dear sir, conscience breaks down first. I have watched it many times." "You forget that Meynell was extremely poor, and had his brothers to
educate--"
Flaxman shrugged his shoulders in laughing contempt. exclaimed Barron,
doggedly. After all, with a
little good will, these are matters that are as easily quelled as raised. It is
your influence, and not mine, which is important in this matter. Barron's face, handsome in feature, save for some
thickened lines and the florid tint of the cheeks, had somehow emptied
itself of expression while Flaxman was speaking. If there is one anonymous letter,
there are probably others. I could, if need be, speak to him myself. I
was able to get his boy into a job not long ago." "I have never met him." Certainly. But as soon as he opened the door, Rose ran upon him, drew him in and
closed it. Flaxman took it from Catharine's hand, looked it through, and turned it
over. Flaxman laid it down, and looked at his sister-in-law. she said, with her patient sigh--the sigh of an angel grieving over the
perversity of men. he asked her, eagerly. "I don't know about that," said Catharine slowly--a shining sadness in
her look. cried Flaxman, impulsively, and he raised her hand to
his lips. "It may--it may be true," said Catharine gently. Poor, poor thing!" "Certainly. Flaxman patrolled the room a little, in meditation. If so, we may
hear of others to-night. "He cannot say what is false," she said stiffly. Flaxman looked at her with an expression as confident as her own. Rose assented. They heard me on the path, I think, and
vanished most effectively. The wood is very thick. Rose exclaimed. He drew a picture of the gradual degeneracy of the handsome lad
who had been the hope and delight of his warm-hearted, excitable mother;
of her deepening disappointment and premature death. She looked almost haughtily at her sister. She had coloured a little, but
she was perfectly composed. Perhaps we are, if we are
responsible for anything--which I sometimes doubt. "I think he is a good man." "I am--I just ache to be at it, all the time. As far as the Rector was concerned--and he had told Mr. Barron
so--the story was ridiculous, the mere blunder of a crazy woman; and, for
the rest, what had they to do in Upcote with ferreting into other
people's private affairs? If the thing went any further, why of
course the Rector must be informed. Otherwise silence was best. The sisters looked at each other. "Well, she's one of the 'aggrieved.'" He's one of them. "In Upcote," corrected Flaxman. said
Flaxman, mischievously to his wife as the door closed. Rose's face grew soft. However, there was no
help for it. It had never belonged to rich
people, but always to people of taste. As far as Norham was concerned Meynell would have greatly preferred to
take the Home Secretary for a Sunday walk on the Chase; but he had begun
to love the Flaxmans, and could not make up his mind to say No to them. But the oil and vinegar were after all
cunningly mixed, and the dinner went well. he said in a tone slightly
acid. Rose asked him, with her most
sympathetic smile. And for that, thank God, they are not strong
enough." "None. Rose felt her colour rising. At the same time she noticed--as she had done before on
other occasions--the curious absence of any ferocity, any smell of
brimstone, in the air! Canon France shrugged his shoulders, smiling. As to the personal emotion involved, that, the Canon knew, was
for the time almost exhausted. He was
evidently a favourite with them, and with all nice women. And Barron could not have confided it to any one in the
diocese, so discreet--so absolutely discreet--as he. "It is now clear that we must ultimately go to Parliament. "Yes. Suddenly, as his eyes perused the strong humanity of the face beside him,
Norham changed his manner. "No harm done," said Meynell, stooping--"one of our host's Greek coins. He was a Cambridge man, and a fine
scholar, and such things delighted him. "But he loves them too. They
are quite priceless, I believe. Such things are soon lost." "The League was started in July--it is now October. "The Dean has come over to us, and the majority of the Canons." --said Meynell smiling. "Ah!--but let us distinguish. _We_ are not anarchists--as those men are. The question for
which we are campaigning is as to the terms of membership in that
society. Norham shrugged his shoulders. Otherwise the
church suffers and souls are lost--wantonly, without reason. He
pointed to the books. The sound of voices came dimly to them from the farther rooms. said Meynell, smiling--"and of course the true
ones. Believe it, we say! Live by it!--make the
venture. Yet after all the League was
a big, practical, organized fact. As he spoke, he was conscious of a certain pride in himself. he repeated. But we might
all have guessed it. But it was on Alice Puttenham that Rose's gaze was fixed. She looked very small and childish--as frail
as thistledown. And behind her, Hester's stormy beauty! Rose gave a little gulp. She could not have looked
so--she could not surely have confronted such a gathering of neighbours
and strangers, if--
No, no! "Beaten!--beaten!--by a hair. "Yes, I do know him. Then he
changed the subject. Rose was grateful to him--and quite intolerably sorry for him. Surely, surely it was inconceivable! said Meynell brusquely, stepping back. "How do you do? "There are." Meynell passed on, his countenance showing a sternness, a contempt
even, that was rare with him. Maurice
Barron stood watching them. They
walked, pensive and depressed. "I sent it in some time ago." He made no reply to his father's interjection. He wanted somehow to
convict and crush Stephen; and he believed that he held the means thereto
in his hand. "Naturally," said Stephen. Stephen looked up. cried Stephen, springing to his feet. "Take care, father! He stood panting and white, in front of his father. "It happens to be true." "Who was she?" "Very well. I promise." "Sit down. It is a long story." With the
marriage of the child, must come--he felt the logic of it--the confession
of the mother. It must
be faced--but not, _not_ till it must! Yes, he understood. "Now then, perhaps,"--Barron wound up--"you will realize why it is I feel
Meynell has acted considerately, and as any true friend of yours was
bound to act. He knew--and you were ignorant. "But in any case--"
He walked up to his father again. he said, sharply. He knocked off the end of his
cigarette, and paused. Stephen repeated. "I know. I am very sorry for you. said Stephen abruptly. "Ah, that is the point!" "I am not sure that I can give it you. And when the circumstantial argument passed
presently into the psychological--even the theological--this became the
more evident. That decides it. And if you do not, I
must." "I am not altogether unwilling to go," said Barron slowly. "But I shall
choose my own time." Theresa was, he believed, in the
garden giving orders. He knocked. No answer. He called again, and tried the door. It was locked. said Stephen, laughing. he asked, as he took unwilling note
of the half-consumed brandy and soda on the table, of the saucer of
cigarette ends beside it, and the general untidiness and stuffiness of
the room. "Not bad," said Maurice, resuming his cigarette. I manage the
office. A lot of cads--but I make 'em sit up." "I got seedy--and took a week off. Besides, I found pater in such a
stew." Maurice nodded. "Probably," said Stephen gravely. "So shall I." "Oh! My fault, of course. Ta, ta." "Is that you, Stephen? "Yes. Meynell did not immediately reply. It was a great blow
to me. Nobody knew
where Hester was. Then suddenly--about an
hour later--one of the boys appeared, having seen this woman at the
station--and no Hester. After that, things began to
come out. The butler told tales. cried Stephen in impatient
misery, slipping from his horse, as he spoke, to walk beside the Rector. "In my belief she is at Sandford Abbey." cried the young man under his breath. In my belief, she has done
it this morning. It is her last chance. We go to Paris to-morrow. However, we shall soon know." Stephen kept up with him, his
lips twitching. I'll wait at the lodge. She might like to ride
home. I taught her." "Well--perhaps," said Meynell dubiously. A man saw them, and came out
to the gate. "Thank you. I prefer to leave it at the house," said Meynell shortly,
motioning to him to open the gate. The man hesitated, then obeyed. It was
a strange, desolate, yet most romantic spot. The sound of the bell echoed through the house behind, but, for a while,
no one came. "Very sorry, sir, but Sir Philip is not at home." "The end of last week, sir," said the man, with a jaunty air. "That, I think, is not so," said Meynell, sternly. Suddenly a sound of voices from a distance became audible through the
grudgingly opened door. At sight of Meynell they
both sprang to their feet. "How do you do, Richard! For a moment Meynell looked from one to the other in silence. Philip threw away his cigar, and braced himself angrily. "And I have come to bring you home." Then turning to Meryon he said--"With you, Philip, I will reckon later
on. "By what authority, I should like to know?" But
he had turned white. But she looked at him fiercely, put him aside, and ran to
Meryon. "Good-bye, Philip, good-bye!--it won't be for long!" she said proudly. Philip hesitated, and yielded. He was riding, and thought you might
like his horse to give you a lift home." "Oh, a _plot_!" Stephen came to meet them, the bridle over his arm. It is a long way home. She looked proudly from one to the other. But she controlled herself, and as Stephen brought the
brown mare alongside, and held out his hand, she put her foot in it, and
he swung her to the saddle. "I don't want both of you," she said, passionately. cried Stephen, reproachfully. Hester sat erect, her slender body adjusting itself with unconscious
grace to the quiet movements of the horse, which Meynell was leading. At last Meynell looked up. said Hester after a moment, in a low,
resolute voice; "I am not going to sacrifice my life to anybody." "Perhaps. That is my affair." "No!--it is not your affair only. No man liveth to himself, and no man
dieth to himself! All my life
I've known it--I've felt it. He turned upon her with that bright penetrating look, with its touch of
accusing sarcasm, which had so often given him the mastery over erring
souls. "It isn't true, Hester! It--it was
some one she had been in love with--I am certain it was--a handsome, dark
man. "There are some things too bitter to tell,"--he said gravely--"some
griefs we have no right to meddle with. But we can heal them--or make
them worse. It was not for
those who, with whatever motives, had contributed to bring her to that
state and temper, to strike any note of harshness. He saw her sitting sullenly on the gently moving horse, a vision of
beauty at bay. I have
suspected it a long time. Now you force me to prove it." "He told me I wasn't to believe what you said about him!" she said in her
most obstinate voice. "Very well. Be
patient, dear Hester--be patient! But don't plunge us all
into despair--and take a little thought for your old guardian, who seems
to have the world on his shoulders, and yet can't sleep at nights, for
worrying about his ward, who won't believe a word he says, and sets all
his wishes at defiance." Their eyes met. He resumed his pleading with her--tenderly--urgently. It was Alice Puttenham. But Meynell, standing behind Hester, put his
finger on his lips, and she controlled herself. Poor, poor little girl. --cried
the _Church Times_, wringing its hands. He did not know how it had happened. He turned to his writing-table. "I could go on for hours telling you these very simple and obvious things
which must be so familiar to you. Meynell bowed his head upon his hands. But, thank God, he will not have his way. Then as
midnight struck, he put down his pen, and gazed into the dying fire. When he rose, the night had grown very cold. "We are
all in tribulation. One was a gold stater of Velia with a
head of Athene."... I was to I tell you so
pertickler. But he won't be long, sir." It was an outline
map of England, apparently sketched by Meynell himself, as the notes and
letterings were in his handwriting. Barron's face
lengthened as he pondered the map. Barron raised himself with a flushed cheek, and a stiffened mouth. A step outside. Barron, as he saw him in the doorway, drew back with an exclamation. "Sorry to have kept you waiting, Mr. Barron. I'll go and wash and
change my coat, if you will allow me." After all, it was at once a charitable
and a high-judicial part that he had come to play. "I am come to-day, Mr. Meynell, on a very unpleasant errand." Does it concern
yourself, or me? Maurice, I hope, is doing well?" Barron winced. "He is doing excellently, thank you--except that his health is not all I
could wish. interrupted Meynell. "I am. "Naturally--from the inquest. repeated Meynell, with a slight accent of astonishment. "She was mistaken--or you are. However, that doesn't matter. "I do. His
attitude, coldly expectant, demanded the story. Barron told it--once more. He did not find his task so easy on this occasion. He
drew his coat forward over his knee, and put it back again nervously. Barron coughed a little. He was angrily conscious of an anxiety and
misgiving he had not expected. "It is all most sad--most lamentable. he asked, his eyes fixed intently on his visitor. I have questioned him; of course
without revealing my object. But she must have done so. repeated Meynell, raising himself sharply. Flaxman." Meynell smiled--but not agreeably. "She is a gossipping woman," said Barron. "Unless, of course, you can vindicate yourself publicly." Meynell
repeated, with emphasis. "Precisely. Meynell flushed hotly. "If he does, it will be for me to consider." A silence. Barron looked round for his stick. As Barron rose, he began to
speak. As it is, you take it up as a weapon. Of course the
thing has been done again and again. Barron took up his hat. interjected Meynell.
" If he
were satisfied, we no doubt should be the same." "Not in the least. We are all at sea." "I am heartily sorry for her"--he said coldly. "Naturally it is the women
who suffer in these things. I am not at liberty to treat it as such. The honour
concerned--is the honour of the Church. "We have talked enough, I think. I bid you good day." To them he
would speak--so far as he could; yes, to them he would speak! His mouth was shut. He was free to confide in whom he would. If the Movement rejected him--it must reject him. "Not so will I fight for thee, my God!--not so!" Then, it was a question probably of days
or hours. An idea occurred to him. "You are very
welcome." "He told me he had shown one of these
precious documents to you." Flaxman took it, glanced it over in silence and returned it. Barron
knows what I think of him, and of the business." "Oh! for him it is a weapon--like any other. "To Mrs. "She brought it to us on Friday, before the party. said Meynell in a tone that wavered in spite of
himself. Meynell assented. Then he rose. "I was on my way there." "I will go with you. "There _is_ anxiety," said Meynell briefly. "Packing, I hope. She goes to-morrow." asked Flaxman reluctantly. "I have done it already--and must now do it again. "Yes. said Flaxman,
heartily. Meynell gave him a slight, grateful look. In these feelings and instincts she was, of course, her mother's
daughter. "On the contrary. she sighed. "It _has_ done you good?--yes, it has!" Mary looked at her closely. "You needn't grumble. "Yes--very much." "Yes. Mary propped her chin on her hand, and looked into the fire. Mary was no longer a
child. She was a woman, of nearly six and twenty, strong in character,
and accustomed of late to go with her mother into many of the dark places
of London life. It was not that her Mary seemed to her in the smallest degree
besmirched by the experience she had passed through; that any bloom had
been shaken from the flower. Far from it. If not, Mary must
know--would know--sooner or later. Besides, I know nothing--directly." As to the other and profounder difficulty involved, Catharine wavered
perpetually between two different poles of feeling. She shrank, in a kind of
terror, from inflicting it on Mary--Mary, unconscious and unknowing. ... A step outside. "Meynell is to join me here in an hour or so," he said, as he followed
her into the little sitting-room. He lowered his voice. "Oh, I am glad--I am _glad_ he knows!" "We were
wrong to delay." "He told me nothing--and I asked nothing. Her
face had stiffened. Go round to
the back. Please,
dear Hugh!" she said in her ear--"Get your
things on, and go with Uncle Hugh. I want to be alone." Then she went
back to the hall, just as a bell rang faintly. "Come and sit by the fire," she said tenderly. But I am in trouble--such
great trouble--and I don't know what to do. Her voice sank to a whisper. "I--I want to tell you. You may be angry--because I've been Mary's
friend--when I'd no right. I--I have a
secret--or--I had. she said, gently. "I--I was never married. Oh! I
don't know how I can face it. And it would ruin Mr. Meynell, so people thought. Of course there were
many people who were angry--who didn't believe a word--but this woman who
told me was astonished that so many _did_ believe.... So then I thought
all night--what I should do. And this morning I went to Edith, my sister,
and told her. We were to go abroad, and the thing would die away. I said
he must bring an action, and I would give evidence--it must all come out. Of course he would deny it--and of course his
word would be taken. She and I could live abroad. He's a strong
man--and a wise man. He wanted to see me." Alice shrank and trembled. --her voice was scarcely to be
heard. Oh! but you
don't know about Neville--no one does now. I saw him here first--but only once or
twice. Then we met in Scotland. I was staying at a house near his
shooting. And we fell in love. But his wife was so cruel
to him--he was very, very unhappy. He was
miserable--and so was I. It wasn't their fault!--I _was_ in the way. And then Neville came. He was so handsome, and so clever--so winning and dear--he could do
everything. I was staying with some old cousins in Rossshire, who used to
ask me now and then. No one found out. He taught me everything I ever knew, almost. He gave me
books--and read to me. He was sorry for me--and at last--he loved me! I
had to go home. He talked of going to Sandford, and implored me still to
meet him. And he agreed. Her voice failed her. she said at last, with a piteous look. We were so wretched. Then I
went home. All his party
looked up to him so--and consulted him. It was a fearful blow to him. We went abroad, she
and I--with Judith. And then for the last and only time, they let
Neville come to see me--"
Her voice sank. She could only go on in a whisper. It was called an
accident--but it wasn't. And when Mrs. I couldn't leave her to
them--I _couldn't!_... Oh! "You see, I was so
young--not much over twenty--and nobody suspected anything. I couldn't have lived at all--but for him. Oh! do help me, do advise me! Dear Mrs. "Oh, I know--my poor Hester! My life has set hers all wrong. She asked it piteously. "It might have been. But the other way was chosen; and now to undo
it--publicly--affects not you only, but Hester. It mayn't be possible--it
mayn't be right." "I must!--I must!" "This may be Mr. Meynell." She rose to admit him. Alice stood expectant. he said at last, in a voice bitterly
subdued. "But don't be too unhappy. "Stay and help us, if you will." She took her accustomed seat by the fire; Alice, or
the ghost of Alice, sat opposite to her, in Mary's chair, surrounded by
Mary's embroidery things; and Meynell was between them. He bent forward, looking into Alice's face, without visible emotion;
rather with the air of peremptory common sense which had so often helped
her through the difficulties of her life. She sat drooping, her head on her hand, making no sign. "Let us remember these facts," he resumed. Hester is in
danger--in danger from herself. She is at war with her family--with the
world. Alice lifted her head. "I could go away with her," she said, imploringly. "I could watch over
her day and night. Indeed--indeed, it is time." "Yes--for a short time. He has no dealings with the people here, nor they with him. And he is really off
to-night. Alice did not reply. And you,
Richard--_you_?" "Leave that to me--I assure you you may leave it to me." I
beg you, be advised by me." He bent forward again. "If they suffer--they must suffer. Of course I
shall--in my own way." said Meynell, as he pressed the hand. "Indeed you may." Meynell paused: then spoke with hesitation. He turned again to
Alice. "Go to him--go to him at once!" Another silence. Alice rose silently. She looked up. she said passionately--"to see you hated. Yet directly the least touch of it comes to us, we
rebel--we cry out against God." "No--but we are his followers--if the Life that was in him is in us too. "Mary--of course." He turned--pale with amazement. "I--I hardly understand you, Mrs. Elsmere." "Surely we need not inform her," he said, at last, in a low voice. He raised his eyes to her
gravely. He started. "Mrs. "If you wish it." Meynell drew a deep breath. he said, almost inaudibly. I have
not brought it. He paused a moment, looking down upon his companion. "Yes, I think you are," he said stoutly. Then, suddenly, the
tears shone. "Oh, Mr. Meynell!--trial brings us nearer to our Saviour. He took her hand again, and held it in both his own. And again the tenderness of his manner was a son's tenderness. She shook her head, but she could not speak. "It is Mary," she said quietly. And without giving him time to reply, she left the room. She was a vision of youth and soft life; and her
composure, her slight, shy smile, would alone have made her beautiful. Besides, I shall know and ask
nothing. You may be sure of that. He kissed them both, dropped
them, and walked away from her. It may all die away--or it
may be a hard fight. That is my great comfort." He too smiled. "Oh, yes!" she said, involuntarily clasping her hands. "Friends may
write." "'How the water comes down at Lodore,'" she said gayly. she said, with a shy courage. He shook his head. "No. Meynell inquired when they were
first missed. "That very evening," said Mary. One was a coin of Velia, with a head
of Athene--"
"I remember it perfectly," said Meynell. They both laughed. she said, and raising her mother's hand she
kissed it passionately. But she could not bring herself to speak of it. It visualizes easily, and dream and fact are
one. she said, aloud--very low. And without voice, it seemed to her that some one replied. "And we forbade him, because he followed not us ... The psychology of it was plain. Mary heard it in silence, growing very pale. "No, dear, it's all done--except our books. Come up with me while I pack
them." And they vanished upstairs, hand in hand. Do sit down and
talk." "You ought to be in bed," said Catharine, retaining her hand. "I shouldn't sleep. said Hester, pressing back the hair from her cheeks. "But all the
same it's true. "They are never at rest about you. My dear--they only
wish your good." "I don't know--perhaps--about girls like you," said Catharine, smiling,
and shyly touching the hand on her knee. "But I live half my life--with
girls." No, I
don't think I'm like them. If I were they, I shouldn't care about
feathers or the sham pearls. Hester sat up defiantly, looking at her companion. "No, I don't know any of that kind," said Catharine quietly. "I'm
old-fashioned, you see--they wouldn't want to know me." "Well, I never did it. She said no, and then
she told an older woman who was supposed to look after her. I would always come--always!" "She's not well--and very tired." said Hester, almost between her teeth. she cried again, with
stormy breath. Why, she has watched over you all your
life. "Oh, I'll look after her," said Hester shortly; "why, of course I will. The lamp had burnt dim, and the little room was cold. A letter
lay there, and her fingers caressed it. "I don't know whether I love him
or not--perhaps I do, and perhaps I don't. But the weeks passed on. Let us, however, go back a little. "Come into the library for ten minutes. I very much want to speak to
you." Dornal looked at him sadly. "They are all over Markborough--and there is actually a copy of one of
the anonymous letters--with dashes for the names--in the _Post_ to-day?" I don't like Barron, and I
don't like his letters!" Dornal, clearly, was no less unhappy. "So I hear also." Here we have a woman who comes home dying, and sees one person
only--Henry Barron--to whom she tells her story." They are a mystery to him. Dornal agreed, but could put forward no suggestion of his own. He sighed. Dornal looked up. he said gratefully. He put his hand into
his pocket. "By all means, my dear Dornal!" cried the Bishop with a brightening
countenance. "We are both his friends, in spite of all that has happened
and may happen. By all means, show me the letter." Dornal handed it over. If that is not enough, I cannot help it. "Thank you always for the goodness and gentleness of your letter. I begin to see a glimmer. Technically of course--not at all. It was not only that he scorned the slander,
but, hour by hour, he seemed to walk in the same cloud with Meynell. "And you, my lord--will send for Meynell?" We must
watch--we must watch. We discussed war a good deal. "Tommy's birthday to-morrow," he said to himself. Must write to him. But the gleam was only momentary. It was an evening long remembered by those who shared in it. It was an ancient room, near the church, and built like it, of red
sandstone. The room was hushed in silence. Next, he proceeded to put the adoption of the new Liturgy to the vote. Meynell paused. "We may get another Rector," he said as he sat down. Meynell rose again from his seat. "Our business is over. Mr. Barron, I
believe, wishes to speak." The room was, at this point, densely crowded and every face turned toward
the tall and portly form rising from the back. Argument,
I know, would be useless. He flung
out his hand toward Meynell. I call upon
you, sir!" I have given, I will give, you every opportunity. You have no moral right to any authority among us; you
never had any such right; and in Christian eyes your infidel teaching has
led to its natural results. At any rate, I trust that now, at last, even
these your friends and dupes will see the absolute necessity, before
many weeks are over, of either _forcing_ you to resign your living, or
_forcing_ you to take the only means open to honest men of protecting
their character!" He resumed his seat. But Meynell had also risen. "Please, Mr. Flaxman--my friends--!" He was very white, but when he spoke it was with complete
composure. But I will say no more than that--to you, or any one
else. And if you are to make legal action on my part a test of whether
you will continue to follow me religiously--to accept me as your leader,
or no--then my friends, we must part! He paused, looking intently into the lines of blanched faces before him. But he put them aside, gently and cheerfully. "It is your
right." But we've seen this man comforting and uplifting our old
people in their last hours--we've seen him teaching our children--and
giving just a kind funny word now an' again to keep a boy or a girl
straight--aye, an' he did it too--they knew he had his eye on 'em! She, too, poor soul--but
how differently!--was protecting herself as best she could from an odious
knowledge. Perhaps, some day. "He
has worked hard, and risked much for us. I may say that inquiries have
been thrown out, and we find he is willing." Meynell
understood. He stooped to pick them up--perceived
first the anonymous letter that Barron had handed to him, the letter
addressed to Dawes; and then, beneath it, a long envelope deep in
dust--labelled "M.B.--Keep for three years." Suddenly an idea struck him. Inside was a document headed, "A
Confession." He desired to know--understanding that the Canon was an old friend of
Henry Barron--where the Meynell affair exactly was. "He says you are," laughed the Professor. "Meynell says the
story is untrue." "Ah! cried the Professor, his young-old face
flushing. "Not necessarily. Anyway, let
Meynell take the usual steps. If he takes them successfully, we shall all
rejoice. No!--impossible. But what suggests itself, of
course, is that there is some truth in the story, but that Meynell is not
the hero. "I see." "If so, most
unlucky for him! But then let him resign his living, and go quietly into
obscurity. He owes it to his own side. "Oh, give him a little time!" "Ye--es," said France, with hesitation. "Not at all. It is a black business." He was angry with Vetch, and
disgusted with himself. "A most unpleasant--a most painful scene. "My lord, my one object from the beginning has been to force Meynell into
the open. For his own sake--for the parish's--the situation must be
brought to an end, in some way. "You forget. The trial is only a few weeks off. "No doubt. And even when he
is deprived, Meynell does not mean to leave the village. "Why, the great majority of the people adore him!" cried the Bishop. "We are all very sorry for them,
my lord. "Oh, poor thing! "The closer the better, my lord." Barron looked troubled. "I am entirely at a loss," he said, emphatically. So
do I. However, that is not now the point. I have questioned him. He showed extraordinary
levity, and was--to myself personally--what I can only call insolent. I still suspect him. But if he is
in it, it is only as a tool of some one else." "Naturally, I have turned my mind in that direction also. But John Broad
is a very simple fellow--has no enmity against Meynell, quite the
contrary. Barron flushed a little. "I have of course spoken of the matter in my own family," he said
proudly. But it was
clear that they galled. I answer for them both." "He is in business--the manager of an office," said Barron stiffly. "Certainly." "No doubt by some accomplice," said the Bishop. He paused and sighed. "Mr. Barron, I trust you will allow me--as your Bishop--one little
reminder. As Christians, we must be slow to believe evil." Barron flushed again. At the same time, of course, I recognize
that you have a right to your opinions, as I have to mine. Keep an open mind--not only for all that tells against Meynell, but all
that tells for him! "My lord, I have said my say." "I leave it now in the hands of God." I may say that I urged him to do so." Meynell lifted his head and looked
at him full. It was a strange look, intent and piercing, charged with the
personality of the man behind it. Barron passed on, quivering. At the same time the sudden slight misgiving he had been conscious of in
the Bishop's presence ran through him again. said Rose, with a disappointed look. "Oh! said Rose, after a pause. "I think--to-morrow morning." Morice." Flaxman laughed, but rather absently. Rose stole up to him, and put her lips to his ear. Flaxman looked up. "But of course we must all know some time," said Rose discontentedly. lingered
in his memory. Alice wishes it--and what can I do,
either for her or for the child? Nothing. And for me, I see but one way
out--which will be the best for her too in the end, poor darling. I am going out
to-night--and I shall not come back. Stand by her, Richard. But it is society which is wrong and imposes it
on us. Anyway, the choice is made, and now you must support and protect
her--and the child--for my sake. For I know you love me, dear boy--little
as I deserve it. It is part of your general gift of loving, which has
always seemed to me so strange. However--whatever I was made for, you
were made to help the unhappy. She will want your help. Alice, I
hope, will marry. And when the child marries, you may--nay, I think you
must--tell the husband. But for all the
rest of the world, the truth is now wiped out. Well!--good-bye. But it is too late. Her good, plain face showed a disturbed mind. Her father's growing excitability and irritation, and the bad accounts of
Maurice, troubled her sorely. Then suddenly
he raised them. "Mr. Barron, what I have come to say will be a shock to you. But he held
himself well in hand. "I congratulate you," he said coldly. For the author of these
letters, Mr. Barron--is--your son Maurice." Aston was in fact
just about to be run in by the police, when a clue came to my hands. I
followed it up. But it was not long after the death of
your wife. I was very sorry for you all--and Maurice pleaded hard. Suddenly, the likeness in the handwritings struck
me; and I made a very careful comparison." "But I am only at the beginning of my case," said Meynell with the same
composure. If necessary, East will give
evidence." A silence. When Meynell paused, he said thickly--
"A plausible tale no doubt--and a very convenient one for you. said
Meynell, looking up. Barron's face worked, while Meynell watched him implacably. "Not at all. "A gratuitous statement, sir!--which you cannot prove." "From you"--repeated Meynell. He made none. Meynell
still watched him, with the same glitter in the eye. Barron was for an instant inclined to
refuse it, as he had refused the others. But Meynell insisted. "Believe me, you had better read it. Barron took the letter, carried it to the window, and stood reading it. Suddenly, Barron put his hand over his face, and a groan he could not
repress broke from him. He turned his back and stood bending over the
letter. At the same instant a shiver ran through Meynell, like the return to life
of some arrested energy, some paralyzed power. He rose slowly, and went over to the window. "There must be a public statement," said Meynell gravely. Barron took it, and went to his writing-table. said Meynell, following him, and laying his hand on the
open page. "I don't want you to sign that by _force majeure_. You and I, Barron, have known each other some years. We were once friends. "I accept it," he said, almost inaudibly. Meynell drew a long breath. But it was Meynell who
turned pale. he said in a low voice. Meynell did not reply. The situation is with you." He laughed, from a full throat. But then, what was the fact behind it? Suddenly, as he sat brooding and smoking, a vision of Hester flashed upon
him as she had stood laughing and pouting, beneath the full length
picture of Neville Flood, which hung in the big hall of the Abbey. The truth jumped to the eyes, now that one was put in the way
of seeing it. From point to point he tracked it, the poor secret, till he had run it
down. At any rate he was
violently conscious of that hawk-like instinct of pursuit which he was
accustomed to call love. At the same time he was by no means sure of her. The prey might escape, and the hawk go empty home. Let him decide what to risk--and risk it. For his own affairs, they were desperate. she said, as they met. Oh! Philip laughed. "There are always Americans." "Why not, again? Oh, my hair!" --"who would have a
fit if she knew." Richard, indeed! She was Neville all through,
the Neville of the picture, except for the colour of the hair, and the
soft femininity. "Certainly you shall not pay for me!--not a _sou,_" said Hester flushing. Take it please, at once." "Now then, what shall we do? Oh! Suddenly, in a narrow path girt by some tall
hollies and withered oaks, she let it fall. she said, with bitterness. He refrained. she
said suddenly, looking searchingly into his face. she said, doubtfully. Of course I have done a great deal. This is one of the documents in the case. she asked coldly, as she gave it back to
him. "Certainly he has, by now." As far as the French law is concerned, I have arranged it all. "No, no!--I can't be such a wretch--I can't! he said, fiercely. "Yes, yes, I do!--or at least I--I like you. So I had to behave like a little cad, or give in. But marrying's different." Some last scruple
of conscience, perhaps--some fluttering fear, possessed her. "Hester, you drive me to it! I don't want to--but I can't help it. I want to save you from it. And so on, and so on. It is abominable to talk to me like this. Suddenly, she dropped upon a fallen log beside the path, hiding her
face in her hands, struggling again with the sheer faintness of the
shock. "Why, of course, that was so natural! Well, I was a fool to talk like that. He laughed, in some embarrassment. Hester, my
pretty, pretty darling--look at me! But she held him at arm's length. She trembled, and
the iron entered into her soul. "Let's go back to the station," she said, resolutely. "It's time." As drafted by Flaxman, it was certainly comprehensive enough. Richard Meynell, at various dates, and in various ways,
during the six months preceding the date of this apology." Richard Meynell may determine." Come
and see me." Only in the extreme camp of the extreme
Right there was, of course, silence and chagrin. And if you will not, who will, or can?" So much for the news he gave. As to the news he hungered for, Meynell had
but crumbs to give him. The old shelter, the old peace, are gone. Oh! Richard, my heart is broken for her. A little love from her, and the
whole world would change for me. But the satiric mood, when it appeared, soon
vanished. But she betrayed a joy that was almost too proud to know
itself as joy; since what doubt could there ever have been but that right
and nobleness would prevail? He turned upon her, amazed. "She has not sent for me." Rose laughed out. "Did you expect her to be as modern as that?" He murmured--
"I have been waiting for a word." He gasped. It was a strange meeting. Meynell smiled faintly. "I knew you wished to help me--but--"
Then his voice dropped, and the Bishop would not have pressed him for the
world. cried the
Bishop. He did not need to knock. she asked wistfully, as Mary left
them alone in the little sitting-room. said Meynell, hardly knowing what he said, and still
retaining her hand. She was glad to be alone, passionately as she loved her Mary. As the Bishop had perceived, it was written on his aspect. But meanwhile it had to be done. If so, it
was soon dispelled. Suddenly, he raised a hand
and caught hers. She found herself trembling, and looking down into his
upturned face. The question was just whispered, and she whispered her reply. At the murmur in his ear, Meynell, this time, put up both hands, and drew
her down to him. he said, almost with a groan. "I am the judge of that," she said softly. I forgot Anne," he said, laughing. asked Mary, but so dizzily
happy that she knew but vaguely what she said. "I have a little," said Mary, shyly. "Not much, I hope!" "Enough for gowns!--and--and a little more." said Meynell with energy. "Promise me, darling, to put all your money into a drawer--or a
money-box. If love is not the key to life, then
there is no key, and no man need preach any more. 'I couldn't help it,
sir!' In all these visions, Love was divine--but
awful! It is the
negation of all fate, all predestination. All the same!" "It is January, Richard, and the sun is sinking." "In your world perhaps, dear, not in mine." how could I--how could I help it?" He chose his words. She quickly threw herself upon his
misgiving, and tried to argue it away, both in herself and him. She looked her remonstrance. Such moments of recoil are natural to
such men--half saints, half organizers. "Oh, mother! she said, with a rush of tears. "How can it?--such creatures, such puppets as we are! "Poor wretch, Oedipus! "Dear Mrs. It had transformed
education, law, science and history. Choose!--choose this day.' The setting of the melody varies with the
generations, but the melody remains. "The Parousia for which the Lord had looked, delayed. It delays still. "But its spirit is immortal. Norham walked
with his eyes on the ground, smiling to himself. he said, rubbing his hands, as he looked up--"and
how it would go!" "Yes. Norham shrugged his shoulders. said Flaxman hotly. "As Home Secretary, you may get in!" The trial came on. "I am not going to appeal, sir, for that judgment in the
promoters' favour which I confidently claim, on any bigoted or
obscurantist lines. --are necessary to
the Church. "_The Creeds, sir, are vital_! The evidence was plain. Dornal hesitated. "My answer, of course, is Sir Wilfrid's. We have the Creeds." "Perhaps," said Dornal despondently. Dornal made no reply. But she believes she is with Meryon. I go to Paris
to-night--Oh, my own, pray that I may find her!--R. she said, pointing to the house partially
visible at the end of the lane. "Aye, for sure." She was quite a young girl he guessed,
and a handsome one. "Good day to yer, miss," said the man as he mounted the box. She made no
reply. Hester, however, did not go very far up the lane. But you said--you'd help me--if I wanted it. For a moment it drew, it touched, it gave
courage. She rose hastily. They don't want to see me--they've done with me. She took her bag, and opening the gate, she placed it inside. When she reached the main road again, she looked uncertainly to right and
left. And she was not hungry. But she had had, of course, to decide where she should go, with
whom she should take refuge. Not with Uncle Richard, whom she had deceived and defied. Not with "Aunt
Alice." She did not want to think
about her. But Mrs. Elsmere knew all about bad men, and girls who got into trouble. But the face, the eyes--the shining, loving eyes,
the motherly arms--yes, those, Hester confessed to herself, she had
thirsted for. No, no! Suddenly, a thought, a wild, attacking thought, leapt out upon her, and
held her there motionless, in the winding, wintry lane. What a country, what a sky! Suddenly, at a bend in the path,
she came on a shepherd and his flock. At sight of Hester, the old man started and stared. She too stopped to look at him, and at his dog. It's too cauld for 'em. It juist taks t' strength out on 'em, doos
the wind." he said cautiously. "Aye, yance or twice i' t' winter. "Did you ever know people lost on these hills?" asked the girl, looking
into the blackness ahead of them. "Aye, missy--I've known two men lost on t' fells sin I wor a lad." "Were they shepherds, like you?" "Noa, missy--they wor tramps. But when it's varra bad, we doan't let 'em go on--noa,
it's not safe. He wor an owd mon, and blind o' yan eye. He'd lost the toother,
dippin' sheep." "Why, sum o' the dippin' stuff got into yan eye, and blinded him. It was
my son, gooin afther th' lambs i' the snaw, as found him. He worn't deed then, but he died next mornin'. He called to his dog,
and went to shut the gate. "Doan't yo go too far on t' fells, missy. It's coomin' on to snaw, an
it'll snaw aw neet. said Hester, absently. "Thank you. Good afternoon," said Hester, moving on. Who was she? She was a strange sort of body
to be walking by herself up the head of Long Whindale. But it was a bit queer anyhow. She was a little frightened, but not much. After all, she had only to
rest and retrace her steps. But she began to feel ill and faint, and so bitterly, bitterly
cold. Who was she?--why was she there? It was not
at all absolutely sure that she, Hester, was his wife. all those chances were over for her. Suddenly she realized how cold she was, how soaked. She put
out her own, groping helplessly--and rose to her feet. She could not see the path below her at all, and only
some twenty yards of its course above her. The Roman
road, no doubt, of which the shepherd had spoken. But blinded with snow and mist, she lost it almost at once. Richard Meynell, Hotel Richelieu, Paris. "Yes," said Mary, without raising her eyes. "I am so sorry!--for you both." "No. They trust him. But this time, it seems, he _did_ write to
the Bishop--just a few words." "Yes, I know. I am glad." she exclaimed, in wonder. "Please come in and wait. It was noa good bicycling. I got 'em
to gie me a horse. I've just put him in your stable, miss." Keep her. "It is now seven," said Catharine, looking at her watch. "But
where--where is she?" Nobody had called; nobody, so far as she knew, had passed by, except the
ordinary neighbours. Oh, to bring her comfort!--to point her to the only help and
hope in the arms of an all-pitying God. Mary
flew to the door. cried Mary. "Oh, come in, please." "Sit down, please!" "That's noan o' mine, miss. She took the bag from Mary, and shook the snow from it. It was a small
dressing-bag of green leather and on it appeared the initials--"H. F.-W."
They looked at each other speechless. For
there was horror in both their minds. Mary ran into the hall. said Meynell, peremptorily, not
recognizing who it was holding the light. "But she would come." Then, in a lower voice--"Is Hester here?" He stooped suddenly
to look at Alice, and perceived that she was quite unconscious. He and
Mary, between them, raised her and carried her into the sitting-room. he asked of the shepherd. But we've had a heavy job on
t' fells awready, an I should be noa good to you." "We've heard of her." "It's a real
clue this time. She's not far away. But don't ask any more now. Too exhausted to speak or think, she was passive in their hands. Dreary and long, the night passed away. It was four o'clock. Suddenly--out of the dark bosom of the valley, lights emerged. it was they--it was Richard returning. As he saw the open door, he hurried forward. She has had a bad fall--but she is
alive. She hasn't spoken--not a word. Meynell returned to the room, and knelt by her. His ghostly face, disfigured by
exhaustion, showed him absorbed in pity. At last it came. At last she said, "I couldn't face you all. I'm dying." We will do all we can. We
have sent for the doctor. He has a motor. He will be here very soon." "I don't want to live. I want to stop the pain. "Yes, dear Hester." "I hate Philip--now." "It's best not to talk of him, dear. You want all your strength." "No--I must. "Yes--but now we have you again--our dear, dear Hester." And I--can't say--I'm sorry. His face quivered. But he could not trust himself to speak. "Did I fall--a long way? "You had a bad fall, my poor child. Be brave!--the doctor will help you." He longed to speak to her of her mother, to tell her the truth. But the doctor must decide. The next few hours would show. Then, in a perfectly hard, clear voice, she added imperiously--"I want to
see my mother." "She's not my mother, and I'm glad. It was no
time for questioning. "She is here, Hester, I will go and tell her." "Hester asks for you--for her mother--her real mother. She knows." Alice stood paralyzed a moment, gazing at Catharine. "I am coming--I am coming--at
once," she said impetuously. "I am quite strong. Don't help me, please. And--let me go in alone. I won't do her harm. At first sight of her,
Alice knew that she was doomed. But Alice's were
dry. "Philip told me." The girl stopped abruptly. But she did not say it. "I needn't have gone--but I would go. Now I know--too much. This life isn't
worth while--not for me." You might be right. Tell me
the truth, please. Am I--his wife?" Meynell bent over her steadily, and took her hand in both his own. "Certainly, you are his wife. Have no anxiety at all about that. My
inquiries all broke down. She was dying partly of self-contempt, self-judgment. Morphia had been given her liberally, and the relief was great. The voice was
only a whisper now. "I loved him dearly--and you--and your mother--for his sake." He stooped to kiss her cheek. At that the difficult tears blinded him, and he could not reply. I--I forget him. And again she
clung to her mother's hand, feebly turning her face to be kissed. Once she opened her eyes when Mary was beside her, and smiled brightly. "I've been such a trouble, Mary--I've spoilt Uncle Richard's life. But
now you'll have him all the time--and he'll have you. You dear!--Kiss me. So the hours wore on. "Richard!--Richard!--Come with me." Meynell assented. He stood to the right of the Coroner, leaning heavily
on the chair before him. Meynell intervened. His conscience was often troubled. Vaguely, his mind was pronouncing
itself all the while--"It is time now the truth were known. It was Alice Puttenham. said the Coroner. he said, in a low voice, as he took her hand. "I wish to give evidence," she said aloud. Alice took her seat, and the oath. Meynell sitting opposite to her
covered his face with his hands. He foresaw what she was about to do, and
his heart went out to her. "You are inquiring, sir--into the death--of my daughter." Her father was Mr. Neville Flood, and
I--am her mother. Mr. Flood, of Sandford Abbey, died nearly twenty years
ago. She passed always as theirs, and when Sir Ralph died, he
appointed--Mr. Meynell--and my sister her guardians. Mr. Meynell
has always watched over her--and me. Mr. Flood was much attached to him. He wrote to Mr. Meynell, asking him to help us--just before his death." We did all we could--but we were not
able to protect her. Then he--this man--told her--or perhaps he had done it
before, I don't know--who she was. Flood's nephew. She tried to escape from him. She shrank from seeing us. At the last, she tried to get home--to me. When she
was dying--she told me she knew--I was her mother. The room was silent, save for a rather general clearing of throats. Meynell signalled to the doctor. They both rose and went to her. She rose, and Meynell led her from the room. "My dear, dear friend!" Trembling, her eyes met the deep emotion in his. you have her now--all,
all your own." He desired to lay it down, not for his own sake, but for the
sake of the cause. "I am not the man, and this is not my job. The quotation is
hackneyed, but it must serve. "Dearest!--you understand?" he said, entreatingly. She took courage. "Not knowingly." "Did you ever fail to love her, and try to help her?" He drew a long breath. He raised his head. She struck boldly for
the public, the impersonal note. All she could obtain at first was delay, and that Catharine
should be informed. "They are the right ones!--and I am not ashamed of them. he said. You have no right to do it, my dear Richard!--no right
whatever. Meynell
rose from his seat, paced the room and came back to her. "Oh! "The fault was not in the thing preached," he said, with a groan; "or so
it seems to me--but in the preacher. At this Catharine was almost angry. His eyes, full of trouble, propitiated her. He took her hand and kissed
it. "Bear with me, dear mother! I don't see my way, but Mary--is to me--my
life. At any rate, I won't do in a hurry what you disapprove." The
weather was soft again, and breathing spring. He left the old bridge on his left, and climbed the pass. He submitted. It was Mary, who had been planting
snowdrops. He helped her, and then they descended to the main road
together. It was dusk, and there was no one in sight. In the shelter of a group of
trees, he drew her to him. She trembled a little, her delicate cheek close against his. He smiled. She winced visibly, and the tears came into her eyes. "Dearest!--" he protested. But for you--I should
have gone under." The next few days he spent among his own people, and with the Flaxmans. The week passed, and the Dunchester meeting was at hand. In the choir a practice was
going on. This only--that God has spoken in our consciences,
and we have not been able to resist Him. Why? HISTORY has come into being. Why? It is to the idea as the vessel of
the Grail. The service was over. Out streamed the great congregation. He left the Bishop at the gates of the Palace, and went back quickly for
Mary. said Meynell, wondering. "I was." Dornal hesitated a moment, and then his blue eyes melted and
clouded. "And there was one man there--not a Modernist--who grieved, like a
Modernist, over the future!" "Ah, the future!" said Meynell, throwing his head back. "Certainly. Fenton surpassed himself." "He has a great gift," said Meynell, heartily. "He is doing well--for the moment." It was a sudden,
monkeyish impulse. "And anyway--bygones are bygones. "Quite well, I thank you. Oh! do
take care of yourself, my precious one. To-morrow, I fly back to you with
all my news. It is by
a Quaker. "And now comes the real tug of war. Very touching and
very exciting. Please keep well. Good-bye." She tried to
move, to call, and could not. Swift, incredibly swift,
the vision of an opening glory--a heavenly throng!...