"CHAPTER I\n\nENTER THE DUCHESS.\n\n\nThe peaceful stillness of an English summer afternoon brooded over the\npark and gardens at Overdene. A hush of moving sunlight and lengthening\nshadows lay upon the lawn, and a promise of refreshing coolness made\nthe shade of the great cedar tree a place to be desired.\n\nThe old stone house, solid, substantial, and unadorned, suggested\nunlimited spaciousness and comfort within; and was redeemed from\npositive ugliness without, by the fine ivy, magnolia trees, and\nwistaria, of many years' growth, climbing its plain face, and now\ncovering it with a mantle of soft green, large white blooms, and a\ncascade of purple blossom.\n\nA terrace ran the full length of the house, bounded at one end by a\nlarge conservatory, at the other by an aviary. Wide stone steps, at\nintervals, led down from the terrace on to the soft springy turf of the\nlawn. Beyond--the wide park; clumps of old trees, haunted by shy brown\ndeer; and, through the trees, fitful gleams of the river, a narrow\nsilver ribbon, winding gracefully in and out between long grass,\nbuttercups, and cow-daisies.\n\nThe sun-dial pointed to four o'clock.\n\nThe birds were having their hour of silence. Not a trill sounded from\namong the softly moving leaves, not a chirp, not a twitter. The\nstillness seemed almost oppressive. The one brilliant spot of colour in\nthe landscape was a large scarlet macaw, asleep on his stand under the\ncedar.\n\nAt last came the sound of an opening door. A quaint old figure stepped\nout on to the terrace, walked its entire length to the right, and\ndisappeared into the rose-garden. The Duchess of Meldrum had gone to\ncut her roses.\n\nShe wore an ancient straw hat, of the early-Victorian shape known as\n\"mushroom,\" tied with black ribbons beneath her portly chin; a loose\nbrown holland coat; a very short tweed skirt, and Engadine \"gouties.\"\nShe had on some very old gauntlet gloves, and carried a wooden basket\nand a huge pair of scissors.\n\nA wag had once remarked that if you met her Grace of Meldrum returning\nfrom gardening or feeding her poultry, and were in a charitable frame\nof mind, you would very likely give her sixpence. But, after you had\nthus drawn her attention to yourself and she looked at you, Sir Walter\nRaleigh's cloak would not be in it! Your one possible course would be\nto collapse into the mud, and let the ducal \"gouties\" trample on you.\nThis the duchess would do with gusto; then accept your apologies with\ngood nature; and keep your sixpence, to show when she told the story.\n\nThe duchess lived alone; that is to say, she had no desire for the\nperpetual companionship of any of her own kith and kin, nor for the\nconstant smiles and flattery of a paid companion. Her pale daughter,\nwhom she had systematically snubbed, had married; her handsome son,\nwhom she had adored and spoiled, had prematurely died, before the\ndeath, a few years since, of Thomas, fifth Duke of Meldrum. He had come\nto a sudden and, as the duchess often remarked, very suitable end; for,\non his sixty-second birthday, clad in all the splendours of his hunting\nscarlet, top hat, and buff corduroy breeches, the mare he was\nmercilessly putting at an impossible fence suddenly refused, and\nThomas, Duke of Meldrum, shot into a field of turnips; pitched upon his\nhead, and spoke no more.\n\nThis sudden cessation of his noisy and fiery life meant a complete\ntransformation in the entourage of the duchess. Hitherto she had had to\ntolerate the boon companions, congenial to himself, with whom he chose\nto fill the house; or to invite those of her own friends to whom she\ncould explain Thomas, and who suffered Thomas gladly, out of friendship\nfor her, and enjoyment of lovely Overdene. But even then the duchess\nhad no pleasure in her parties; for, quaint rough diamond though she\nherself might appear, the bluest of blue blood ran in her veins; and,\nthough her manner had the off-hand abruptness and disregard of other\npeople's feelings not unfrequently found in old ladies of high rank,\nshe was at heart a true gentlewoman, and could always be trusted to say\nand do the right thing in moments of importance: The late duke's\nlanguage had been sulphurous and his manners Georgian; and when he had\nbeen laid in the unwonted quiet of his ancestral vault--\"so unlike him,\npoor dear,\" as the duchess remarked, \"that it is quite a comfort to\nknow he is not really there\"--her Grace looked around her, and began to\nrealise the beauties and possibilities of Overdene.\n\nAt first she contented herself with gardening, making an aviary, and\nsurrounding herself with all sorts of queer birds and beasts; upon whom\nshe lavished the affection which, of late years, had known no human\noutlet.\n\nBut after a while her natural inclination to hospitality, her humorous\nenjoyment of other people's foibles, and a quaint delight in parading\nher own, led to constant succession of house-parties at Overdene, which\nsoon became known as a Liberty Hall of varied delights where you always\nmet the people you most wanted to meet, found every facility for\nenjoying your favourite pastime, were fed and housed in perfect style,\nand spent some of the most ideal days of your summer, or cheery days of\nyour winter, never dull, never bored, free to come and go as you\npleased, and everything seasoned everybody with the delightful \"sauce\npiquante\" of never being quite sure what the duchess would do or say\nnext.\n\nShe mentally arranged her parties under three heads--\"freak parties,\"\n\"mere people parties,\" and \"best parties.\" A \"best party\" was in\nprogress on the lovely June day when the duchess, having enjoyed an\nunusually long siesta, donned what she called her \"garden togs\" and\nsallied forth to cut roses.\n\nAs she tramped along the terrace and passed through the little iron\ngate leading to the rose-garden, Tommy, the scarlet macaw, opened one\neye and watched her; gave a loud kiss as she reached the gate and\ndisappeared from view, then laughed to himself and went to sleep again.\n\nOf all the many pets, Tommy was prime favourite. He represented the\nduchess's one concession to morbid sentiment. After the demise of the\nduke she had found it so depressing to be invariably addressed with\nsuave deference by every male voice she heard. If the butler could have\nsnorted, or the rector have rapped out an uncomplimentary adjective,\nthe duchess would have felt cheered. As it was, a fixed and settled\nmelancholy lay upon her spirit until she saw in a dealer's list an\nadvertisement of a prize macaw, warranted a grand talker, with a\nvocabulary of over five hundred words.\n\nThe duchess went immediately to town, paid a visit to the dealer, heard\na few of the macaw's words and the tone in which he said them, bought\nhim on the spot, and took him down to Overdene. The first evening he\nsat crossly on the perch of his grand new stand, declining to say a\nsingle one of his five hundred words, though the duchess spent her\nevening in the hall, sitting in every possible place; first close to\nhim; then, away in a distant corner; in an arm-chair placed behind a\nscreen; reading, with her back turned, feigning not to notice him;\nfacing him with concentrated attention. Tommy merely clicked his tongue\nat her every time she emerged from a hiding-place; or, if the rather\nworried butler or nervous under-footman passed hurriedly through the\nhall, sent showers of kisses after them, and then went into fits of\nventriloquial laughter. The duchess, in despair, even tried reminding\nhim in a whisper of the remarks he had made in the shop; but Tommy only\nwinked at her and put his claw over his beak. Still, she enjoyed his\nflushed and scarlet appearance, and retired to rest hopeful and in no\nwise regretting her bargain.\n\nThe next morning it became instantly evident to the house-maid who\nswept the hall, the footman who sorted the letters, and the butler who\nsounded the breakfast gong, that a good night's rest had restored to\nTommy the full use of his vocabulary. And when the duchess came sailing\ndown the stairs, ten minutes after the gong had sounded, and Tommy,\nflapping his wings angrily, shrieked at her: \"Now then, old girl! Come\non!\" she went to breakfast in a more cheerful mood than she had known\nfor months past.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nINTRODUCES THE HONOURABLE JANE\n\n\nThe only one of her relatives who practically made her home with the\nduchess was her niece and former ward, the Honourable Jane Champion;\nand this consisted merely in the fact that the Honourable Jane was the\none person who might invite herself to Overdene or Portland Place,\narrive when she chose, stay as long as she pleased, and leave when it\nsuited her convenience. On the death of her father, when her lonely\ngirlhood in her Norfolk home came to an end, she would gladly have\nfilled the place of a daughter to the duchess. But the duchess did not\nrequire a daughter; and a daughter with pronounced views, plenty of\nback-bone of her own, a fine figure, and a plain face, would have\nseemed to her Grace of Meldrum a peculiarly undesirable acquisition. So\nJane was given to understand that she might come whenever she liked,\nand stay as long as she liked, but on the same footing as other people.\nThis meant liberty to come and go as she pleased; and no responsibility\ntowards her aunt's guests. The duchess preferred managing her own\nparties in her oven way.\n\nJane Champion was now in her thirtieth year. She had once been\ndescribed, by one who saw below the surface, as a perfectly beautiful\nwoman in an absolutely plain shell; and no man had as yet looked\nbeneath the shell, and seen the woman in her perfection. She would have\nmade earth heaven for a blind lover who, not having eyes for the\nplainness of her face or the massiveness of her figure, might have\ndrawn nearer, and apprehended the wonder of her as a woman,\nexperiencing the wealth of tenderness of which she was capable, the\nblessed comfort of the shelter of her love, the perfect comprehension\nof her sympathy, the marvellous joy of winning and wedding her. But as\nyet, no blind man with far-seeing vision had come her way; and it\nalways seemed to be her lot to take a second place, on occasions when\nshe would have filled the first to infinite perfection.\n\nShe had been bridesmaid at weddings where the charming brides,\nnotwithstanding their superficial loveliness, possessed few of the\nqualifications for wifehood with which she was so richly endowed.\n\nShe was godmother to her friends' babies, she, whose motherhood would\nhave been a thing for wonder and worship.\n\nShe had a glorious voice, but her face not matching it, its existence\nwas rarely suspected; and as she accompanied to perfection, she was\nusually in requisition to play for the singing of others.\n\nIn short, all her life long Jane had filled second places, and filled\nthem very contentedly. She had never known what it was to be absolutely\nfirst with any one. Her mother's death had occurred during her infancy,\nso that she had not even the most shadowy remembrance of that maternal\nlove and tenderness which she used sometimes to try to imagine,\nalthough she had never experienced it.\n\nHer mother's maid, a faithful and devoted woman, dismissed soon after\nthe death of her mistress, chancing to be in the neighbourhood some\ntwelve years later, called at the manor, in the hope of finding some in\nthe household who remembered her.\n\nAfter tea, Fraulein and Miss Jebb being out of the way, she was\nspirited up into the schoolroom to see Miss Jane, her heart full of\nmemories of the \"sweet babe\" upon whom she and her dear lady had\nlavished so much love and care.\n\nShe found awaiting her a tall, plain girl with a frank, boyish manner\nand a rather disconcerting way as she afterwards remarked, of \"taking\nstock of a body the while one was a-talking,\" which at first checked\nthe flow of good Sarah's reminiscences, poured forth so freely in the\nhousekeeper's room below, and reduced her to looking tearfully around\nthe room, remarking that she remembered choosing the blessed wall-paper\nwith her dear lady now gone, whose joy had been so great when the dear\nbabe first took notice and reached up for the roses. \"And I can show\nyou, miss, if you care to know it just which bunch of roses it were.\"\n\nBut before Sarah's visit was over, Jane had heard many\nundreamed-of-things; amongst others, that her mother used to kiss her\nlittle hands, \"ah, many a time she, did, miss; called them little\nrose-petals, and covered them with kisses.\"\n\nThe child, utterly unused to any demonstrations of affection, looked at\nher rather ungainly brown hands and laughed, simply because she was\nashamed of the unwonted tightening at her throat and the queer stinging\nof tears beneath her eyelids. Thus Sarah departed under the impression\nthat Miss Jane had grown up into a rather a heartless young lady. But\nFraulein and Jebbie never knew why, from that day onward, the hands, of\nwhich they had so often had cause to complain, were kept scrupulously\nclean; and on her birthday night, unashamed in the quiet darkness, the\nlonely little child kissed her own hands beneath the bedclothes,\nstriving thus to reach the tenderness of her dead mother's lips.\n\nAnd in after years, when she became her own mistress, one of her first\nactions was to advertise for Sarah Matthews and engage her as her own\nmaid, at a salary which enabled the good woman eventually to buy\nherself a comfortable annuity.\n\nJane saw but little of her father, who had found it difficult to\nforgive her, firstly, for being a girl when he desired a son; secondly,\nbeing a girl, for having inherited his plainness rather than her\nmother's beauty. Parents are apt to see no injustice in the fact that\nthey are often annoyed with their offspring for possessing attributes,\nboth of character and appearance, with which they themselves have\nendowed them.\n\nThe hero of Jane's childhood, the chum of her girlhood and the close\nfriend of her maturer years, was Deryck Brand, only son of the rector\nof the parish, and her senior by nearly ten years. But even in their\nfriendship, close though it was, she had never felt herself first to\nhim. As a medical student, at home during vacations, his mother and his\nprofession took precedence in his mind of the lonely child, whose\ndevotion pleased him and whose strong character and original mental\ndevelopment interested him. Later on he married a lovely girl, as\nunlike Jane as one woman could possibly be to another; but still their\nfriendship held and deepened; and now, when he was rapidly advancing to\nthe very front rank of his profession, her appreciation of his work,\nand sympathetic understanding of his aims and efforts, meant more to\nhim than even the signal mark of royal favour, of which he had lately\nbeen the recipient.\n\nJane Champion had no close friends amongst the women of her set. Her\nlonely girlhood had bred in her an absolute frankness towards herself\nand other people which made it difficult for her to understand or\ntolerate the little artificialities of society, or the trivial\nweaknesses of her own sex. Women to whom she had shown special\nkindness--and they were many--maintained an attitude of grateful\nadmiration in her presence, and of cowardly silence in her absence when\nshe chanced to be under discussion.\n\nBut of men friends she had many, especially among a set of young\nfellows just through college, of whom she made particular chums; nice\nlads, who wrote to her of their college and mess-room scrapes, as they\nwould never have dreamed of doing to their own mothers. She knew\nperfectly well that they called her \"old Jane\" and \"pretty Jane\" and\n\"dearest Jane\" amongst themselves, but she believed in the harmlessness\nof their fun and the genuineness of their affection, and gave them a\ngenerous amount of her own in return.\n\nJane Champion happened just now to be paying one of her long visits to\nOverdene, and was playing golf with a boy for whom she had long had a\nrod in pickle on this summer afternoon when the duchess went to cut\nblooms in her rose-garden. Only, as Jane found out, you cannot\ndecorously lead up to a scolding if you are very keen on golf, and go\ngolfing with a person who is equally enthusiastic, and who all the way\nto the links explains exactly how he played every hole the last time he\nwent round, and all the way back gloats over, in retrospection, the way\nyou and he have played every hole this time.\n\nSo Jane considered her afternoon, didactically, a failure. But, in the\nsmoking-room that night, young Cathcart explained the game all over\nagain to a few choice spirits, and then remarked: \"Old Jane was superb!\nFancy! Such a drive as that, and doing number seven in three and not\ntalking about it! I've jolly well made up my mind to send no more\nbouquets to Tou-Tou. Hang it, boys! You can't see yourself at champagne\nsuppers with a dancing-woman, when you've walked round the links, on a\nday like this, with the Honourable Jane. She drives like a rifle shot,\nand when she lofts, you'd think the ball was a swallow; and beat me\nthree holes up and never mentioned it. By Jove, a fellow wants to have\na clean bill when he shakes hands with her!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\nTHE SURPRISE PACKET\n\n\nThe sun-dial pointed to half past four o'clock. The hour of silence\nappeared to be over. The birds commenced twittering; and a cuckoo, in\nan adjacent wood, sounded his note at intervals.\n\nThe house awoke to sudden life. There was an opening and shutting of\ndoors. Two footmen, in the mulberry and silver of the Meldrum livery,\nhurried down from the terrace, carrying folding tea-tables, with which\nthey supplemented those of rustic oak standing permanently under the\ncedar. One, promptly returned to the house; while the other remained\nbehind, spreading snowy cloths over each table.\n\n\nThe macaw awoke, stretched his wings and flapped them twice, then\nsidled up and down his perch, concentrating his attention upon the\nfootman.\n\n\"Mind!\" he exclaimed suddenly, in the butler's voice, as a cloth, flung\non too hurriedly, fluttered to the grass.\n\n\"Hold your jaw!\" said the young footman irritably, flicking the bird\nwith the table-cloth, and then glancing furtively at the rose-garden.\n\n\"Tommy wants a gooseberry!\" shrieked the macaw, dodging the table-cloth\nand hanging, head downwards, from his perch.\n\n\"Don't you wish you may get it?\" said the footman viciously.\n\n\"Give it him, somebody,\" remarked Tommy, in the duchess's voice.\n\nThe footman started, and looked over his shoulder; then hurriedly told\nTommy just what he thought of him, and where he wished him; cuffed him\nsoundly, and returned to the house, followed by peals of laughter,\nmingled with exhortations and imprecations from the angry bird, who\ndanced up and down on his perch until his enemy had vanished from view.\n\nA few minutes later the tables were spread with the large variety of\neatables considered necessary at an English afternoon tea; the massive\nsilver urn and teapots gleamed on the buffet-table, behind which the\nold butler presided; muffins, crumpets, cakes, and every kind of\nsandwich supplemented the dainty little rolled slices of white and\nbrown bread-and-butter, while heaped-up bowls of freshly gathered\nstrawberries lent a touch of colour to the artistic effect of white and\nsilver. When all was ready, the butler raised his hand and sounded an\nold Chinese gong hanging in the cedar tree. Before the penetrating boom\nhad died away, voices were heard in the distance from all over the\ngrounds.\n\nUp from the river, down from the tennis courts, out from house and\ngarden, came the duchess's guests, rejoicing in the refreshing prospect\nof tea, hurrying to the welcome shade of the cedar;--charming women in\nwhite, carefully guarding their complexions beneath shady hats and\npicturesque parasols;--delightful girls, who had long ago sacrificed\ncomplexions to comfort, and now walked across the lawn bareheaded,\nswinging their rackets and discussing the last hard-fought set; men in\nflannels, sunburned and handsome, joining in the talk and laughter;\npraising their partners, while remaining unobtrusively silent as to\ntheir own achievements.\n\nThey made a picturesque group as they gathered under the tree,\nsubsiding with immense satisfaction into the low wicker chairs, or on\nto the soft turf, and helping themselves to what they pleased. When all\nwere supplied with tea, coffee, or iced drinks, to their liking,\nconversation flowed again.\n\n\"So the duchess's concert comes off to-night,\" remarked some one. \"I\nwish to goodness they would hang this tree with Chinese lanterns and,\nhave it out here. It is too hot to face a crowded function indoors.\"\n\n\"Oh, that's all right,\" said Garth Dalmain, \"I'm stage-manager, you\nknow; and I can promise you that all the long windows opening on to the\nterrace shall stand wide. So no one need be in the concert-room, who\nprefers to stop outside. There will be a row of lounge chairs placed on\nthe terrace near the windows. You won't see much; but you will hear,\nperfectly.\"\n\n\"Ah, but half the fun is in seeing,\" exclaimed one of the tennis girls.\n\"People who have remained on the terrace will miss all the point of it\nafterwards when the dear duchess shows us how everybody did it. I don't\ncare how hot it is. Book me a seat in the front row!\"\n\n\"Who is the surprise packet to-night?\" asked Lady Ingleby, who had\narrived since luncheon.\n\n\"Velma,\" said Mary Strathern. \"She is coming for the week-end, and\ndelightful it will be to have her. No one but the duchess could have\nworked it, and no place but Overdene would have tempted her. She will\nsing only one song at the concert; but she is sure to break forth later\non, and give us plenty. We will persuade Jane to drift to the piano\naccidentally and play over, just by chance, the opening bars of some of\nVelma's best things, and we shall soon hear the magic voice. She never\ncan resist a perfectly played accompaniment.\"\n\n\"Why call Madame Velma the `surprise packet'?\" asked a girl, to whom\nthe Overdene \"best parties\" were a new experience.\n\n\"That, my dear,\" replied Lady Ingleby, \"is a little joke of the\nduchess's. This concert is arranged for the amusement of her house\nparty, and for the gratification and glorification of local\ncelebrities. The whole neighbourhood is invited. None of you are asked\nto perform, but local celebrities are. In fact they furnish the entire\nprogramme, to their own delight, the satisfaction of their friends and\nrelatives, and our entertainment, particularly afterwards when the\nduchess takes us through every item, with original notes, comments, and\nimpersonations. Oh, Dal! Do you remember when she tucked a sheet of\nwhite writing-paper into her tea-gown for a dog collar, and took off\nthe high-church curate nervously singing a comic song? Then at the very\nend, you see--and really some of it is quite good for amateurs--she\ntrots out Velma, or some equally perfect artiste, to show them how it\nreally can be done; and suddenly the place is full of music, and a\ngreat hush falls on the audience, and the poor complacent amateurs\nrealise that the noise they have been making was, after all, not music;\nand they go dumbly home. But they have forgotten all about it by the\nfollowing year; or a fresh contingent of willing performers steps into\nthe breach. The duchess's little joke always comes off.\"\n\n\"The Honourable Jane does not approve of it,\" said young Ronald Ingram;\n\"therefore she is generally given marching orders and departs to her\nnext visit before the event. But no one can accompany Madame Velma so\nperfectly, so this time she is commanded to stay. But I doubt if the\n'surprise packet' will come off with quite such a shock as usual, and I\nam certain the fun won't be so good afterwards. The Honourable Jane has\nbeen known to jump on the duchess for that sort of thing. She is safe\nto get the worst of it at the time, but it has a restraining effect\nafterwards.\"\n\n\"I think Miss Champion is quite right,\" said a bright-faced American\ngirl, bravely, holding a gold spoon poised for a moment over the\nstrawberry ice-cream with which Garth Dalmain had supplied her.\n\n\"In my country we should call it real mean to laugh, at people who had\nbeen our guests and performed in our houses.\"\n\n\"In your country, my dear,\" said Myra Ingleby, \"you have no duchesses.\"\n\n\"Well, we supply you with quite a good few,\" replied the American girl\ncalmly, and went on with her ice.\n\nA general laugh followed; and the latest Anglo-American match came up\nfor discussion.\n\n\"Where is the Honourable Jane?\" inquired someone presently.\n\n\"Golfing with Billy,\" said Ronald Ingram. \"Ah, here they come.\"\n\nJane's tall figure was seen, walking along the terrace, accompanied by\nBilly Cathcart, talking eagerly. They put their clubs away in the lower\nhall; then came down the lawn together to the tea-tables.\n\nJane wore a tailor-made coat and skirt of grey tweed, a blue and white\ncambric shirt, starched linen collar and cuffs, a silk tie, and a soft\nfelt hat with a few black quills in it. She walked with the freedom of\nmovement and swing of limb which indicate great strength and a body\nwell under control. Her appearance was extraordinarily unlike that of\nall the pretty and graceful women grouped beneath the cedar tree. And\nyet it was in no sense masculine--or, to use a more appropriate word,\nmannish; for everything strong is masculine; but a woman who apes an\nappearance of strength which she does not possess, is mannish;--rather\nwas it so truly feminine that she could afford to adopt a severe\nsimplicity of attire, which suited admirably the decided plainness of\nher features, and the almost massive proportions of her figure.\n\nShe stepped into the circle beneath the cedar, and took one of the\nhalf-dozen places immediately vacated by the men, with the complete\nabsence of self-consciousness which always characterised her.\n\n\"What did you go round in, Miss Champion?\" inquired one of the men.\n\n\"My ordinary clothes,\" replied Jane; quoting Punch, and evading the\nquestion.\n\nBut Billy burst out: \"She went round in--\"\n\n\"Oh, be quiet, Billy,\" interposed Jane. \"You and I are practically the\nonly golf maniacs present. Most of these dear people are even ignorant\nas to who 'bogie' is, or why we should be so proud of beating him.\nWhere is my aunt? Poor Simmons was toddling all over the place when we\nwent in to put away our clubs, searching for her with a telegram.\"\n\n\"Why didn't you open it?\" asked Myra.\n\n\"Because my aunt never allows her telegrams to be opened. She loves\nshocks; and there is always the possibility of a telegram containing\nstartling news. She says it completely spoils it if some one else knows\nit first, and breaks it to her gently.\"\n\n\"Here comes the duchess,\" said Garth Dalmain, who was sitting where he\ncould see the little gate into the rose-garden.\n\n\"Do not mention the telegram,\" cautioned Jane. \"It would not please her\nthat I should even know of its arrival. It would be a shame to take any\nof the bloom off the unexpected delight of a wire on this hot day, when\nnothing unusual seemed likely to happen.\"\n\nThey turned and looked towards the duchess as she bustled across the\nlawn; this quaint old figure, who had called them together; who owned\nthe lovely place where they were spending such delightful days; and\nwhose odd whimsicalities had been so freely discussed while they drank\nher tea and feasted off her strawberries. The men rose as she\napproached, but not quite so spontaneously as they had done for her\nniece.\n\nThe duchess carried a large wooden basket filled to overflowing with\nexquisite roses. Every bloom was perfect, and each had been cut at\nexactly the right moment.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nJANE VOLUNTEERS\n\n\nThe duchess plumped down her basket in the middle of the strawberry\ntable.\n\n\"There, good people!\" she said, rather breathlessly. \"Help yourselves,\nand let me see you all wearing roses to-night. And the concert-room is\nto be a bower of roses. We will call it 'LA FETE DES ROSES.' ... No,\nthank you, Ronnie. That tea has been made half an hour at least, and\nyou ought to love me too well to press it upon me. Besides, I never\ntake tea. I have a whiskey and soda when I wake from my nap, and that\nsustains me until dinner. Oh yes, my dear Myra, I know I came to your\ninteresting meeting, and signed that excellent pledge 'POUR ENCOURAGER\nLES AUTRES'; but I drove straight to my doctor when I left your house,\nand he gave me a certificate to say I MUST take something when I needed\nit; and I always need it when I wake from my nap.... Really, Dal, it\nis positively wicked for any man, off the stage, to look as picturesque\nas you do, in that pale violet shirt, and dark violet tie, and those\nwhite flannels. If I were your grandmother I should send you in to take\nthem off. If you turn the heads of old dowagers such as I am, what\nchance have all these chickens? ... Hush, Tommy! That was a very\nnaughty word! And you need not be jealous of Dal. I admire you still\nmore. Dal, will you paint my scarlet macaw?\"\n\nThe young artist, whose portraits in that year's Academy had created\nmuch interest in the artistic world, and whose violet shirt had just\nbeen so severely censured, lay back in his lounge-chair, with his arms\nbehind his head and a gleam of amusement in his bright brown eyes.\n\n\"No, dear Duchess,\" he said. \"I beg respectfully to decline the\ncommission, Tommy would require a Landseer to do full justice to his\nattitudes and expression. Besides, it would be demoralising to an\ninnocent and well-brought-up youth, such as you know me to be, to spend\nlong hours in Tommy's society, listening to the remarks that sweet bird\nwould make while I painted him. But I will tell you what I will do. I\nwill paint you, dear Duchess, only not in that hat! Ever since I was\nquite a small boy, a straw hat with black ribbons tied under the chin\nhas made me feel ill. If I yielded to my natural impulses now, I should\nhide my face in Miss Champion's lap, and kick and scream until you took\nit off. I will paint you in the black velvet gown you wore last night,\nwith the Medici collar; and the jolly arrangement of lace and diamonds\non your head. And in your hand you shall hold an antique crystal\nmirror, mounted in silver.\"\n\nThe artist half closed his eyes, and as he described his picture in a\nvoice full of music and mystery, an attentive hush fell upon the gay\ngroup around him. When Garth Dalmain described his pictures, people saw\nthem. When they walked into the Academy or the New Gallery the\nfollowing year, they would say: \"Ah, there it is! just as we saw it\nthat day, before a stroke of it was on the canvas.\"\n\n\"In your left hand, you shall hold the mirror, but you shall not be\nlooking into it; because you never look into mirrors, dear Duchess,\nexcepting to see whether the scolding you are giving your maid, as she\nstands behind you, is making her cry; and whether that is why she is\nbeing so clumsy in her manipulation of pins and things. If it is, you\npromptly promise her a day off, to go and see her old mother; and pay\nher journey there and back. If it isn't, you scold her some more. Were\nI the maid, I should always cry, large tears warranted to show in the\nglass; only I should not sniff, because sniffing is so intensely\naggravating; and I should be most frightfully careful that my tears did\nnot run down your neck.\"\n\n\"Dal, you ridiculous CHILD!\" said the duchess. \"Leave off talking about\nmy maids, and my neck, and your crocodile tears, and finish describing\nthe portrait. What do I do, with the mirror?\"\n\n\"You do not look into it,\" continued Garth Dalmain, meditatively;\n\"because we KNOW that is a thing you never do. Even when you put on\nthat hat, and tie those ribbons--Miss Champion, I wish you would hold\nmy hand--in a bow under your chin, you don't consult the mirror. But\nyou shall sit with it in your left hand, your elbow resting on an\nEastern table of black ebony inlaid with mother-of-pearl. You will turn\nit from you, so that it reflects something exactly in front of you in\nthe imaginary foreground. You will be looking at this unseen object\nwith an expression of sublime affection. And in the mirror I will paint\na vivid, brilliant, complete reflection, minute, but perfect in every\ndetail, of your scarlet macaw on his perch. We will call it\n'Reflections,' because one must always give a silly up-to-date title to\npictures, and just now one nondescript word is the fashion, unless you\nfeel it needful to attract to yourself the eye of the public, in the\ncatalogue, by calling your picture twenty lines of Tennyson. But when\nthe portrait goes down to posterity as a famous picture, it will figure\nin the catalogue of the National Gallery as 'The Duchess, the Mirror,\nand the Macaw.'\"\n\n\"Bravo!\" said the duchess, delighted. \"You shall paint it, Dal, in time\nfor next year's Academy, and we will all go and see it.\"\n\nAnd he did. And they all went. And when they saw it they said: \"Ah, of\ncourse! There it is; just as we saw it under the cedar at Overdene.\"\n\n\"Here comes Simmons with something on a salver,\" exclaimed the duchess.\n\"How that man waddles! Why can't somebody teach him to step out? Jane!\nYou march across this lawn like a grenadier. Can't you explain to\nSimmons how it's done? ... Well? What is it? Ha! A telegram. Now what\nhorrible thing can have happened? Who would like to guess? I hope it is\nnot merely some idiot who has missed a train.\"\n\nAmid a breathless and highly satisfactory silence, the duchess tore\nopen the orange envelope.\n\nApparently the shock was of a thorough, though not enjoyable, kind; for\nthe duchess, at all times highly coloured, became purple as she read,\nand absolutely inarticulate with indignation. Jane rose quietly, looked\nover her aunt's shoulder, read the long message, and returned to her\nseat.\n\n\"Creature!\" exclaimed the duchess, at last. \"Oh, creature! This comes\nof asking them as friends. And I had a lovely string of pearls for her,\nworth far more than she would have been offered, professionally, for\none song. And to fail at the last minute! Oh, CREATURE!\"\n\n\"Dear aunt,\" said Jane, \"if poor Madame Velma has a sudden attack of\nlaryngitis, she could not possibly sing a note, even had the Queen\ncommanded her. Her telegram is full of regrets.\"\n\n\"Don't argue, Jane!\" exclaimed the duchess, crossly. \"And don't drag in\nthe Queen, who has nothing to do with my concert or Velma's throat. I\ndo abominate irrelevance, and you know it! WHY must she have her\nwhat--do--you--call--it, just when she was coming to sing here? In my\nyoung days people never had these new-fangled complaints. I have no\npatience with all this appendicitis and what not--cutting people open\nat every possible excuse. In my young days we called it a good\nold-fashioned stomach-ache, and gave them Turkey rhubarb!\"\n\nMyra Ingleby hid her face behind her garden hat; and Garth Dalmain\nwhispered to Jane: \"I do abominate irrelevance, and you know it!\" But\nJane shook her head at him, and refused to smile.\n\n\"Tommy wants a gooseberry!\" shouted the macaw, having apparently\nnoticed the mention of rhubarb.\n\n\"Oh, give it him, somebody!\" said the worried duchess.\n\n\"Dear aunt,\" said Jane, \"there are no gooseberries.\"\n\n\"Don't argue, girl!\" cried the duchess, furiously; and Garth,\ndelighted, shook his head at Jane. \"When he says 'gooseberry,' he means\nanything GREEN, as you very well know!\"\n\nHalf a dozen people hastened to Tommy with lettuce, water-cress, and\ncucumber sandwiches; and Garth picked one blade of grass, and handed it\nto Jane; with an air of anxious solicitude; but Jane ignored it.\n\n\"No answer, Simmons,\" said the duchess. \"Why don't you go? ... Oh,\nhow that man waddles! Teach him to walk, somebody! Now the question is,\nWhat is to be done? Here is half the county coming to hear Velma, by my\ninvitation; and Velma in London pretending to have appendicitis--no, I\nmean the other thing. Oh, 'drat the woman!' as that clever bird would\nsay.\"\n\n\"Hold your jaw!\" shouted Tommy. The duchess smiled, and consented to\nsit down.\n\n\"But, dear Duchess,\" suggested Garth in his most soothing voice, \"the\ncounty does not know Madame Velma was to be here. It was a profound\nsecret. You were to trot her out at the end. Lady Ingleby called her\nyour 'surprise packet.'\"\n\nMyra came out from behind her garden hat, and the duchess nodded at her\napprovingly.\n\n\"Quite true,\" she said. \"That was the lovely part of it. Oh, creature!\"\n\n\"But, dear Duchess,\" pursued Garth persuasively, \"if the county did not\nknow, the county will not be disappointed. They are coming to listen to\none another, and to hear themselves, and to enjoy your claret-cup and\nices. All this they will do, and go away delighted, saying how cleverly\nthe dear duchess, discovers and exploits local talent.\"\n\n\"Ah, ha!\" said the duchess, with a gleam in the hawk eye, and a raising\nof the hooked nose-which Mrs. Parker Bangs of Chicago, who had met the\nduchess once or twice, described as \"genuine Plantagenet\"--\"but they\nwill go away wise in their own conceits, and satisfied with their own\nmediocre performances. My idea is to let them do it, and then show them\nhow it should be done.\"\n\n\"But Aunt 'Gina,\" said Jane, gently; \"surely you forget that most of\nthese people have been to town and heard plenty of good music, Madame\nVelma herself most likely, and all the great singers. They know they\ncannot sing like a prima donna; but they do their anxious best, because\nyou ask them. I cannot see that they require an object lesson.\"\n\n\"Jane,\" said the duchess, \"for the third time this afternoon I must\nrequest you not to argue.\"\n\n\"Miss Champion,\" said Garth Dalmain, \"if I were your grandmamma, I\nshould send you to bed.\"\n\n\"What is to be done?\" reiterated the duchess. \"She was to sing THE\nROSARY. I had set my heart on it. The whole decoration of the room is\nplanned to suit that song--festoons of white roses; and a great\nred-cross at the back of the platform, made entirely of crimson\nramblers. Jane!\"\n\n\"Yes, aunt.\"\n\n\"Oh, don't say 'Yes, aunt,' in that senseless way! Can't you make some\nsuggestion?\"\n\n\"Drat the woman!\" exclaimed Tommy, suddenly.\n\n\"Hark to that sweet bird!\" cried the duchess, her good humour fully\nrestored. \"Give him a strawberry, somebody. Now, Jane, what do you\nsuggest?\"\n\nJane Champion was seated with her broad back half turned to her aunt,\none knee crossed over the other, her large, capable hands clasped round\nit. She loosed her hands, turned slowly round, and looked into the keen\neyes peering at her from under the mushroom hat. As she read the\nhalf-resentful, half-appealing demand in them, a slow smile dawned in\nher own. She waited a moment to make sure of the duchess's meaning,\nthen said quietly: \"I will sing THE ROSARY for you, in Velma's place,\nto-night, if you really wish it, aunt.\"\n\nHad the gathering under the tree been a party of \"mere people,\" it\nwould have gasped. Had it been a \"freak party,\" it would have been\nloud-voiced in its expressions of surprise. Being a \"best party,\" it\ngave no outward sign; but a sense of blank astonishment, purely mental,\nwas in the air. The duchess herself was the only person present who had\nheard Jane Champion sing.\n\n\"Have you the song?\" asked her Grace of Meldrum, rising, and picking up\nher telegram and empty basket.\n\n\"I have,\" said Jane. \"I spent a few hours with Madame Blanche when I\nwas in town last month; and she, who so rarely admires these modern\nsongs, was immensely taken with it. She sang it, and allowed me to\naccompany her. We spent nearly an hour over it. I obtained a copy\nafterwards.\"\n\n\"Good,\" said the duchess. \"Then I count on you. Now I must send a\nsympathetic telegram to that poor dear Velma, who will be fretting at\nhaving to fail us. So 'au revoir,' good people. Remember, we dine\npunctually at eight o'clock. Music is supposed to begin at nine.\nRonnie, be a kind boy, and carry Tommy into the hall for me. He will\nscreech so fearfully if he sees me walk away without him. He is so very\nloving, dear bird!\"\n\nSilence under the cedar.\n\nMost people were watching young Ronald, holding the stand as much at\narm's length as possible; while Tommy, keeping his balance wonderfully,\nsidled up close to him, evidently making confidential remarks into\nRonnie's terrified ear. The duchess walked on before, quite satisfied\nwith the new turn events had taken.\n\nOne or two people were watching Jane.\n\n\"It is very brave of you,\" said Myra Ingleby, at length. \"I would offer\nto play your accompaniment, dear; but I can only manage Au clair de la\nlune, and Three Blind Mice, with one finger.\"\n\n\"And I would offer to play your accompaniment, dear,\" said Garth\nDalmain, \"if you were going to sing Lassen's Allerseelen, for I play\nthat quite beautifully with ten fingers! It is an education only to\nhear the way I bring out the tolling of the cemetery chapel bell right\nthrough the song. The poor thing with the bunch of purple heather can\nnever get away from it. Even in the grand crescendo, appassionata,\nfortissimo, when they discover that 'in death's dark valley this is\nHoly Day,' I give then no holiday from that bell. I don't know what it\ndid 'once in May.' It tolls all the time, with maddening persistence,\nin my accompaniment. But I have seen The Rosary, and I dare not face\nthose chords. To begin with, you start in every known flat; and before\nyou have gone far you have gathered unto yourself handfuls of known and\nunknown sharps, to which you cling, not daring to let them go, lest\nthey should be wanted again the next moment. Alas, no! When it is a\nquestion of accompanying The Rosary, I must say, as the old farmer at\nthe tenants' dinner the other day said to the duchess when she pressed\nupon him a third helping of pudding: 'Madam, I CANNOT!'\"\n\n\"Don't be silly, Dal,\" said Jane. \"You could accompany The Rosary\nperfectly, if I wanted it done. But, as it happens, I prefer\naccompanying myself.\"\n\n\"Ah,\" said Lady Ingleby, sympathetically, \"I quite understand that. It\nwould be such a relief all the time to know that if things seemed going\nwrong, you could stop the other part, and give yourself the note.\"\n\nThe only two real musicians present glanced at each other, and a gleam\nof amusement passed between them.\n\n\"It certainly would be useful, if necessary,\" said Jane.\n\n\"_I_ would 'stop the other part' and 'give you the note,'\" said Garth,\ndemurely.\n\n\"I am sure you would,\" said Jane. \"You are always so very kind. But I\nprefer to keep the matter in my own hands.\"\n\n\"You realise the difficulty of making the voice carry in a place of\nthat size unless you can stand and face the audience?\" Garth Dalmain\nspoke anxiously. Jane was a special friend of his, and he had a man's\ndislike of the idea of his chum failing in anything, publicly.\n\nThe same quiet smile dawned in Jane's eyes and passed to her lips as\nwhen she had realised that her aunt meant her to volunteer in Velma's\nplace. She glanced around. Most of the party had wandered off in twos\nand threes, some to the house, others back to the river. She and Dal\nand Myra were practically alone. Her calm eyes were full of quiet\namusement as she steadfastly met the anxious look in Garth's, and\nanswered his question.\n\n\"Yes, I know. But the acoustic properties of the room are very perfect,\nand I have learned to throw my voice. Perhaps you may not know--in\nfact, how should you know?--but I have had the immense privilege of\nstudying with Madame Marchesi in Paris, and of keeping up to the mark\nsince by an occasional delightful hour with her no less gifted daughter\nin London. So I ought to know all there is to know about the management\nof a voice, if I have at all adequately availed myself of such golden\nopportunities.\"\n\nThese quiet words were Greek to Myra, conveying no more to her mind\nthan if Jane had said: \"I have been learning Tonic sol-fa.\" In fact,\nnot quite so much, seeing that Lady Ingleby had herself once tried to\nmaster the Tonic sol-fa system in order to instruct her men and maids\nin part-singing. It was at a time when she owned a distinctly musical\nhousehold. The second footman possessed a fine barytone. The butler\ncould \"do a little bass,\" which is to say that, while the other parts\nsoared to higher regions, he could stay on the bottom note if carefully\nplaced there, and told to remain. The head housemaid sang what she\ncalled \"seconds\"; in other words, she followed along, slightly behind\nthe trebles as regarded time, and a major third below them as regarded\npitch. The housekeeper, a large, dark person with a fringe on her upper\nlip, unshaven and unashamed, produced a really remarkable effect by\nsinging the air an octave below the trebles. Unfortunately Lady Ingleby\nwas apt to confuse her with the butler. Myra herself was the first to\nadmit that she had not \"much ear\"; but it was decidedly trying, at a\nmoment when she dared not remove her eyes from the accompaniment of\nGood King Wenceslas, to have called out: \"Stay where you are, Jenkins!\"\nand then find it was Mrs. Jarvis who had been travelling upwards. But\nwhen a new footman, engaged by Lord Ingleby with no reference to his\nmusical gifts, chanced to possess a fine throaty tenor, Myra felt she\nreally had material with which great things might be accomplished, and\ndecided herself to learn the Tonic sol-fa system. She easily mastered\nmi, re, do, and so, fa, fa, mi, because these represented the opening\nlines of Three Blind Mice, always a musical landmark to Myra. But when\nit came to the fugue-like intricacies in the theme of \"They all ran\nafter the farmer's wife,\" Lady Ingleby was lost without the words to\ncling to, and gave up the Tonic sol-fa system in despair.\n\nSo the name of the greatest teacher of singing of this age did not\nconvey much to Myra's mind. But Garth Dalmain sat up.\n\n\"I say! No wonder you take it coolly. Why, Velma herself was a pupil of\nthe great madame.\"\n\n\"That is how it happens that I know her rather well,\" said Jane. \"I am\nhere to-day because I was to have played her accompaniment.\"\n\n\"I see,\" said Garth. \"And now you have to do both. 'Land's sake!' as\nMrs. Parker Bangs says when you explain who's who at a Marlborough\nHouse garden party. But you prefer playing other people's\naccompaniments, to singing yourself, don't you?\"\n\nJane's slow smile dawned again.\n\n\"I prefer singing,\" she said, \"but accompanying is more useful.\"\n\n\"Of course it is,\" said Garth. \"Heaps of people can sing a little, but\nvery few can accompany properly.\"\n\n\"Jane,\" said Myra, her grey eyes looking out lazily from under their\nlong black lashes, \"if you have had singing lessons, and know some\nsongs, why hasn't the duchess turned you on to sing to us before this?\"\n\n\"For a sad reason,\" Jane replied. \"You know her only son died eight\nyears ago? He was such a handsome, talented fellow. He and I inherited\nour love of music from our grandfather. My cousin got into a musical\nset at college, studied with enthusiasm, and wanted to take it up\nprofessionally. He had promised, one Christmas vacation, to sing at a\ncharity concert in town, and went out, when only just recovering from\ninfluenza, to fulfil this engagement. He had a relapse, double\npneumonia set in, and he died in five days from heart failure. My poor\naunt was frantic with grief; and since then any mention of my love of\nmusic makes her very bitter. I, too, wanted to take it up\nprofessionally, but she put her foot down heavily. I scarcely ever\nventure to sing or play here.\"\n\n\"Why not elsewhere?\" asked Garth Dalmain. \"We have stayed about at the\nsame houses, and I had not the faintest idea you sang.\"\n\n\"I do not know,\" said Jane slowly. \"But--music means so much to me. It\nis a sort of holy of holies in the tabernacle of one's inner being. And\nit is not easy to lift the veil.\"\n\n\"The veil will be lifted to-night,\" said Myra Ingleby.\n\n\"Yes,\" agreed Jane, smiling a little ruefully, \"I suppose it will.\"\n\n\"And we shall pass in,\" said Garth Dalmain.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\nCONFIDENCES\n\n\nThe shadows silently lengthened on the lawn.\n\nThe home-coming rooks circled and cawed around the tall elm trees.\n\nThe sun-dial pointed to six o'clock.\n\nMyra Ingleby rose and stood with the slanting rays of the sun full in\nher eyes, her arms stretched over her head. The artist noted every\ngraceful line of her willowy figure.\n\n\"Ah, bah!\" she yawned. \"It is so perfect out here, and I must go in to\nmy maid. Jane, be advised in time. Do not ever begin facial massage.\nYou become a slave to it, and it takes up hours of your day. Look at\nme.\"\n\nThey were both looking already. Myra was worth looking at.\n\n\"For ordinary dressing purposes, I need not have gone in until seven;\nand now I must lose this last, perfect hour.\"\n\n\"What happens?\" asked Jane. \"I know nothing of the process.\"\n\n\"I can't go into details,\" replied Lady Ingleby, \"but you know how\nsweet I have looked all day? Well, if I did not go to my maid now, I\nshould look less sweet by the end of dinner, and at the close of the\nevening I should appear ten years older.\"\n\n\"You would always look sweet,\" said Jane, with frank sincerity; \"and\nwhy mind looking the age you are?\"\n\n\"My dear, 'a man is as old as he feels; a woman is as old as she\nlooks,'\" quoted Myra.\n\n\"I FEEL just seven,\" said Garth.\n\n\"And you LOOK seventeen,\" laughed Myra.\n\n\"And I AM twenty-seven,\" retorted Garth; \"so the duchess should not\ncall me 'a ridiculous child.' And, dear lady, if curtailing this\nmysterious process is going to make you one whit less lovely to-night,\nI do beseech you to hasten to your maid, or you will spoil my whole\nevening. I shall burst into tears at dinner, and the duchess hates\nscenes, as you very well know!\"\n\nLady Ingleby flapped him with her garden hat as she passed.\n\n\"Be quiet, you ridiculous child!\" she said. \"You had no business to\nlisten to what I was saying to Jane. You shall paint me this autumn.\nAnd after that I will give up facial massage, and go abroad, and come\nback quite old.\"\n\nShe flung this last threat over her shoulder as she trailed away across\nthe lawn.\n\n\"How lovely she is!\" commented Garth, gazing after her. \"How much of\nthat was true, do you suppose, Miss Champion?\"\n\n\"I have not the slightest idea,\" replied Jane. \"I am completely\nignorant on the subject of facial massage.\"\n\n\"Not much, I should think,\" continued Garth, \"or she would not have\ntold us.\"\n\n\n\n\"Ah, you are wrong there,\" replied Jane, quickly. \"Myra is\nextraordinarily honest, and always inclined to be frank about herself\nand her foibles. She had a curious upbringing. She is one of a large\nfamily, and was always considered the black sheep, not so much by her\nbrothers and sisters, as by her mother. Nothing she was, or said, or\ndid, was ever right. When Lord Ingleby met her, and I suppose saw her\nincipient possibilities, she was a tall, gawky girl, with lovely eyes,\na sweet, sensitive mouth, and a what-on-earth-am-I-going-to-do-next\nexpression on her face. He was twenty years her senior, but fell most\ndeterminedly in love with her and, though her mother pressed upon him\nall her other daughters in turn, he would have Myra or nobody. When he\nproposed to her it was impossible at first to make her understand what\nhe meant. His meaning dawned on her at length, and he was not kept\nwaiting long for her answer. I have often heard him tease her about it.\nShe looked at him with an adorable smile, her eyes brimming over with\ntears, and said: 'Why, of course. I'll marry you GRATEFULLY, and I\nthink it is perfectly sweet of you to like me. But what a blow for\nmamma!' They were married with as little delay as possible, and he took\nher off to Paris, Italy, and Egypt, had six months abroad, and brought\nher back--this! I was staying with them once, and her mother was also\nthere. We were sitting in the morning room,--no men, just half a dozen\nwomen,--and her mother began finding fault about something, and said:\n'Has not Lord Ingleby often told you of it?' Myra looked up in her\nsweet, lazy way and answered: 'Dear mamma, I know it must seem strange\nto you, but, do you know, my husband thinks everything I do perfect.'\n'Your husband is a fool!' snapped her mother. 'From YOUR point of view,\ndear mamma,' said Myra, sweetly.\"\n\n\"Old curmudgeon!\" remarked Garth. \"Why are people of that sort allowed\nto be called 'mothers'? We, who have had tender, perfect mothers, would\nlike to make it law that the other kind should always be called\n'she-parents,' or 'female progenitors,' or any other descriptive title,\nbut not profane the sacred name of mother!\"\n\nJane was silent. She knew the beautiful story of Garth's boyhood with\nhis widowed mother. She knew his passionate adoration of her sainted\nmemory. She liked him best when she got a glimpse beneath the surface,\nand did not wish to check his mood by reminding him that she herself\nhad never even lisped that name.\n\nGarth rose from his chair and stretched his slim figure in the slanting\nsun-rays, much as Myra had done. Jane looked at him. As is often the\ncase with plain people, great physical beauty appealed to her strongly.\nShe only allowed to that appeal its right proportion in her estimation\nof her friends. Garth Dalmain by no means came first among her\nparticular chums. He was older than most of them, and yet in some ways\nyounger than any, and his remarkable youthfulness of manner and\nexuberance of spirits sometimes made him appear foolish to Jane, whose\nsense of humour was of a more sedate kind. But of the absolute\nperfection of his outward appearance, there was no question; and Jane\nlooked at him now, much as his own mother might have looked, with\nhonest admiration in her kind eyes.\n\nGarth, notwithstanding the pale violet shirt and dark violet tie, was\nquite unconscious of his own appearance; and, dazzled by the golden\nsunlight, was also unconscious of Jane's look.\n\n\"Oh, I say, Miss Champion!\" he cried, boyishly. \"Isn't it nice that\nthey have all gone in? I have been wanting a good jaw with you. Really,\nwhen we all get together we do drivel sometimes, to keep the ball\nrolling. It is like patting up air-balls; and very often they burst,\nand one realises that an empty, shrivelled little skin is all that is\nleft after most conversations. Did you ever buy air-balls at Brighton?\nDo you remember the wild excitement of seeing the man coming along the\nparade, with a huge bunch of them--blue, green, red, white, and yellow,\nall shining in the sun? And one used to wonder how he ever contrived to\npick them all up--I don't know how!--and what would happen if he put\nthem all down. I always knew exactly which one I wanted, and it was\ngenerally on a very inside string and took a long time to disentangle.\nAnd how maddening it was if the grown-ups grew tired of waiting, and\nwalked on with the penny. Only I would rather have had none, than not\nhave the one on which I had fixed my heart. Wouldn't you?\"\n\n\"I never bought air-balls at Brighton,\" replied Jane, without\nenthusiasm. Garth was feeling seven again, and Jane was feeling bored.\n\nFor once he seemed conscious of this. He took his coat from the back of\nthe chair where he had hung it, and put it on.\n\n\"Come along, Miss Champion,\" he said; \"I am so tired of doing nothing.\nLet us go down to the river and find a boat or two. Dinner is not until\neight o'clock, and I am certain you can dress, even for the ROLE of\nVelma, in half an hour. I have known you do it in ten minutes, at a\npinch. There is ample time for me to row you within sight of the\nminster, and we can talk as we go. Ah, fancy! the grey old minster with\nthis sunset behind it, and a field of cowslips in the foreground!\"\n\nBut Jane did not rise.\n\n\"My dear Dal,\" she said, \"you would not feel much enthusiasm for the\nminster or the sunset, after you had pulled my twelve stone odd up the\nriver. You would drop exhausted among the cowslips. Surely you might\nknow by now that I am not the sort of person to be told off to sit in\nthe stern of a tiny skiff and steer. If I am in a boat, I like to row;\nand if I row, I prefer rowing stroke. But I do not want to row now,\nbecause I have been playing golf the whole afternoon. And you know\nperfectly well it would be no pleasure to you to have to gaze at me all\nthe way up and all the way down the river; knowing all the time, that I\nwas mentally criticising your stroke and marking the careless way you\nfeathered.\"\n\n\n\nGarth sat down, lay back in his chair, with his arms behind his sleek\ndark head, and looked at her with his soft shining eyes, just as he had\nlooked at the duchess.\n\n\"How cross you are, old chap,\" he said, gently. \"What is the matter?\"\n\nJane laughed and held out her hand. \"Oh, you dear boy! I think you have\nthe sweetest temper in the world. I won't be cross any more. The truth\nis, I hate the duchess's concerts, and I don't like being the duchess's\n'surprise-packet.'\"\n\n\"I see,\" said Garth, sympathetically. \"But, that being so, why did you\noffer?\"\n\n\"Ah, I had to,\" said Jane. \"Poor old dear! She so rarely asks me\nanything, and her eyes besought. Don't you know how one longs to have\nsomething to do for some one who belongs to one? I would black her\nboots if she wished it. But it is so hard to stay here, week after\nweek, and be kept at arm's length. This one thing she asked of me, and\nher proud old eyes pleaded. Could I refuse?\"\n\nGarth was all sympathy. \"No, dear,\" he said thoughtfully; \"of course\nyou couldn't. And don't bother over that silly joke about the 'surprise\npacket.' You see, you won't be that. I have no doubt you sing vastly\nbetter than most of them, but they will not realise it. It takes a\nVelma to make such people as these sit up. They will think THE ROSARY a\npretty song, and give you a mild clap, and there the thing will end. So\ndon't worry.\"\n\nJane sat and considered this. Then: \"Dal,\" she said, \"I do hate singing\nbefore that sort of audience. It is like giving them your soul to look\nat, and you don't want them to see it. It seems indecent. To my mind,\nmusic is the most REVEALING thing in the world. I shiver when I think\nof that song, and yet I daren't do less than my best. When the moment\ncomes, I shall live in the song, and forget the audience. Let me tell\nyou a lesson I once had from Madame Blanche. I was singing Bemberg's\nCHANT HINDOU, the passionate prayer of an Indian woman to Brahma. I\nbegan: 'BRAHMA! DIEU DES CROYANTS,' and sang it as I might have sung\n'DO, RE, MI.' Brahma was nothing to me. 'Stop!' cried Madame Blanche in\nher most imperious manner. 'Ah, vous Anglais! What are you doing?\nBRAHMA, c'est un Dieu! He may not be YOUR God. He may not be MY God.\nBut he is somebody's God. He is the God of the song. Ecoutez!' And she\nlifted her head and sang: 'Brahma! Dieu des croyants! Maitre des cites\nsaintes!' with her beautiful brow illumined, and a passion of religious\nfervour which thrilled one's soul. It was a lesson I never forgot. I\ncan honestly say I have never sung a song tamely, since.\"\n\n\"Fine!\" said Garth Dalmain. \"I like enthusiasm in every branch of art.\nI never care to paint a portrait, unless I adore the woman I am\npainting.\"\n\nJane smiled. The conversation was turning exactly the way she had hoped\neventually to lead it.\n\n\"Dal, dear,\" she said, \"you adore so many in turn, that we old friends,\nwho have your real interest at heart, fear you will never adore to any\ndefinite purpose.\"\n\nGarth laughed. \"Oh bother!\" he said. \"Are you like all the rest? Do you\nalso think adoration and admiration must necessarily mean marriage. I\nshould have expected you to take a saner and more masculine view.\"\n\n\"My dear boy,\" said Jane, \"your friends have decided that you need a\nwife. You are alone in the world. You have a lovely home. You are in a\nfair way to be spoiled by all the silly women who run after you. Of\ncourse we are perfectly aware that your wife must have every\nincomparable beauty under the sun united in her own exquisite person.\nBut each new divinity you see and paint apparently fulfils, for the\ntime being, this wondrous ideal; and, perhaps, if you wedded one,\ninstead of painting her, she might continue permanently to fulfil it.\"\n\nGarth considered this in silence, his level brows knitted. At last he\nsaid: \"Beauty is so much a thing of the surface. I see it, and admire\nit. I desire it, and paint it. When I have painted it, I have made it\nmy own, and somehow I find I have done with it. All the time I am\npainting a woman, I am seeking for her soul. I want to express it on my\ncanvas; and do you know, Miss Champion, I find that a lovely woman does\nnot always have a lovely soul.\"\n\nJane was silent. The last things she wished to discuss were other\nwomen's souls.\n\n\"There is just one who seems to me perfect,\" continued Garth. \"I am to\npaint her this autumn. I believe I shall find her soul as exquisite as\nher body.\"\n\n\"And she is--?\" inquired Jane.\n\n\"Lady Brand.\"\n\n\"Flower!\" exclaimed Jane. \"Are YOU so taken with Flower?\"\n\n\"Ah, she is lovely,\" said Garth, with reverent enthusiasm. \"It\npositively is not right for any one to be so absolutely flawlessly\nlovely. It makes me ache. Do you know that feeling, Miss Champion, of\nperfect loveliness making you ache?\"\n\n\"No, I don't,\" said Jane, shortly. \"And I do not think other people's\nwives ought to have that effect upon you.\"\n\n\"My dear old chap,\" exclaimed Garth, astonished; \"it has nothing to do\nwith wives or no wives. A wood of bluebells in morning sunshine would\nhave precisely the same effect. I ache to paint her. When I have\npainted her and really done justice to that matchless loveliness as I\nsee it, I shall feel all right. At present I have only painted her from\nmemory; but she is to sit to me in October.\"\n\n\"From memory?\" questioned Jane.\n\n\"Yes, I paint a great deal from memory. Give me one look of a certain\nkind at a face, let me see it at a moment which lets one penetrate\nbeneath the surface, and I can paint that face from memory weeks after.\nLots of my best studies have been done that way. Ah, the delight of it!\nBeauty--the worship of beauty is to me a religion.\"\n\n\"Rather a godless form of religion,\" suggested Jane.\n\n\"Ah no,\" said Garth reverently. \"All true beauty comes from God, and\nleads back to God. 'Every good gift and every perfect gift is from\nabove, and cometh down from the Father of lights.' I once met an old\nfreak who said all sickness came from the devil. I never could believe\nthat, for my mother was an invalid during the last years of her life,\nand I can testify that her sickness was a blessing to many, and borne\nto the glory of God. But I am, convinced all true beauty is God-given,\nand that is why the worship of beauty is to me a religion. Nothing bad\nwas ever truly beautiful; nothing good is ever really ugly.\"\n\nJane smiled as she watched him, lying back in the golden sunlight, the\nvery personification of manly beauty. The absolute lack of\nself-consciousness, either for himself or for her, which allowed him to\ntalk thus to the plainest woman of his acquaintance, held a vein of\nhumour which diverted Jane. It appealed to her more than buying\ncoloured air-balls, or screaming because the duchess wore a mushroom\nhat.\n\n\"Then are plain people to be denied their share of goodness, Dal?\" she\nasked.\n\n\"Plainness is not ugliness,\" replied Garth Dalmain simply. \"I learned\nthat when quite a small boy. My mother took me to hear a famous\npreacher. As he sat on the platform during the preliminaries he seemed\nto me quite the ugliest man I had ever seen. He reminded me of a\ngrotesque gorilla, and I dreaded the moment when he should rise up and\nface us and give out a text. It seemed to me there ought to be bars\nbetween, and that we should want to throw nuts and oranges. But when he\nrose to speak, his face was transfigured. Goodness and inspiration\nshone from it, making it as the face of an angel. I never again thought\nhim ugly. The beauty of his soul shone through, transfiguring his body.\nChild though I was, I could differentiate even then between ugliness\nand plainness. When he sat down at the close of his magnificent sermon,\nI no longer thought him a complicated form of chimpanzee. I remembered\nthe divine halo of his smile. Of course his actual plainness of feature\nremained. It was not the sort of face one could have wanted to live\nwith, or to have day after day opposite to one at table. But then one\nwas not called to that sort of discipline, which would have been\nmartyrdom to me. And he has always stood to my mind since as a proof of\nthe truth that goodness is never ugly; and that divine love and\naspiration shining through the plainest features may redeem them\ntemporarily into beauty; and, permanently, into a thing one loves to\nremember.\"\n\n\"I see,\" said Jane. \"It must have often helped you to a right view to\nhave realised that so long ago. But now let us return to the important\nquestion of the face which you ARE to have daily opposite you at table.\nIt cannot be Lady Brand's, nor can it be Myra's; but, you know, Dal, a\nvery lovely one is being suggested for the position.\"\n\n\"No names, please,\" said Garth, quickly. \"I object to girls' names\nbeing mentioned in this sort of conversation.\"\n\n\"Very well, dear boy. I understand and respect your objection. You have\nmade her famous already by your impressionist portrait of her, and I\nhear you are to do a more elaborate picture 'in the fall.' Now, Dal,\nyou know you admire her immensely. She is lovely, she is charming, she\nhails from the land whose women, when they possess charm, unite with it\na freshness and a piquancy which place them beyond compare. In some\nways you are so unique yourself that you ought to have a wife with a\ncertain amount of originality. Now, I hardly know how far the opinion\nof your friends would influence you in such a matter, but you may like\nto hear how fully they approve your very open allegiance to--shall we\nsay--the beautiful 'Stars and Stripes'?\"\n\nGarth Dalmain took out his cigarette case, carefully selected a\ncigarette, and sat with it between his fingers in absorbed\ncontemplation.\n\n\"Smoke,\" said Jane.\n\n\"Thanks,\" said Garth. He struck a match and very deliberately lighted\nhis cigarette. As he flung away the vesta the breeze caught it and it\nfell on the lawn, flaming brightly. Garth sprang up and extinguished\nit, then drew his chair more exactly opposite to Jane's and lay back,\nsmoking meditatively, and watching the little rings he blew, mount into\nthe cedar branches, expand, fade, and vanish.\n\nJane was watching him. The varied and characteristic ways in which her\nfriends lighted and smoked their cigarettes always interested Jane.\nThere were at least a dozen young men of whom she could have given the\nnames upon hearing a description of their method. Also, she had learned\nfrom Deryck Brand the value of silences in an important conversation,\nand the art of not weakening a statement by a postscript.\n\nAt last Garth spoke.\n\n\"I wonder why the smoke is that lovely pale blue as it curls up from\nthe cigarette, and a greyish-white if one blows it out.\"\n\nJane knew it was because it had become impregnated with moisture, but\nshe did not say so, having no desire to contribute her quota of pats to\nthis air-ball, or to encourage the superficial workings of his mind\njust then. She quietly awaited the response to her appeal to his deeper\nnature which she felt certain would be forthcoming. Presently it came.\n\n\"It is awfully good of you, Miss Champion, to take the trouble to think\nall this and to say it to me. May I prove my gratitude by explaining\nfor once where my difficulty lies? I have scarcely defined it to\nmyself, and yet I believe I can express it to you.\" Another long\nsilence. Garth smoked and pondered.\n\nJane waited. It was a very comprehending, very companionable silence.\nGarth found himself parodying the last lines of an old\nsixteenth-century song:\n\n \"Then ever pray that heaven may send\n Such weeds, such chairs, and such a friend.\"\n\nEither the cigarette, or the chair, or Jane, or perhaps all three\ncombined were producing in him a sublime sense of calm, and rest, and\nwell-being; an uplifting of spirit which made all good things seem\nbetter; all difficult things, easy; and all ideals, possible. The\nsilence, like the sunset, was golden; but at last he broke it.\n\n\"Two women--the only two women who have ever really been in my\nlife--form for me a standard below which I cannot fall,--one, my\nmother, a sacred and ideal memory; the other, old Margery Graem, my\nchildhood's friend and nurse, now my housekeeper and general tender and\nmender. Her faithful heart and constant remembrance help to keep me\ntrue to the ideal of that sweet presence which faded from beside me\nwhen I stood on the threshold of manhood. Margery lives at Castle\nGleneesh. When I return home, the sight which first meets my eyes as\nthe hall door opens is old Margery in her black satin apron, lawn\nkerchief, and lavender ribbons. I always feel seven then, and I always\nhug her. You, Miss Champion, don't like me when I feel seven; but\nMargery does. Now, this is what I want you to realise. When I bring a\nbride to Gleneesh and present her to Margery, the kind old eyes will\ntry to see nothing but good; the faithful old heart will yearn to love\nand serve. And yet I shall know she knows the standard, just as I know\nit; I shall know she remembers the ideal of gentle, tender, Christian\nwomanhood, just as I remember it; and I must not, I dare not, fall\nshort. Believe me, Miss Champion, more than once, when physical\nattraction has been strong, and I have been tempted in the worship of\nthe outward loveliness to disregard or forget the essentials,--the\nthings which are unseen but eternal,--then, all unconscious of\nexercising any such influence, old Margery's clear eyes look into mine,\nold Margery's mittened hand seems to rest upon my coat sleeve, and the\nvoice which has guided me from infancy, says, in gentle astonishment:\n`Is this your choice, Master Garthie, to fill my dear lady's place?' No\ndoubt, Miss Champion, it will seem almost absurd to you when you think\nof our set and our sentiments, and the way we racket round that I\nshould sit here on the duchess's lawn and confess that I have been held\nback from proposing marriage to the women I have most admired, because\nof what would have been my old nurse's opinion of them! But you must\nremember her opinion is formed by a memory, and that memory is the\nmemory of my dead mother. Moreover, Margery voices my best self, and\nexpresses my own judgment when it is not blinded by passion or warped\nby my worship of the beautiful. Not that Margery would disapprove of\nloveliness; in fact, she would approve of nothing else for me, I know\nvery well. But her penetration rapidly goes beneath the surface.\nAccording to one of Paul's sublime paradoxes, she looks at the things\nthat are not seen. It seems queer that I can tell you all this, Miss\nChampion, and really it is the first time I have actually formulated it\nin my own mind. But I think it so extremely friendly of you to have\ntroubled to give me good advice in the matter.\"\n\nGarth Dalmain ceased speaking, and the silence which followed suddenly\nassumed alarming proportions, seeming to Jane like a high fence which\nshe was vainly trying to scale. She found herself mentally rushing\nhither and thither, seeking a gate or any possible means of egress. And\nstill she was confronted by the difficulty of replying adequately to\nthe totally unexpected. And what added to her dumbness was the fact\nthat she was infinitely touched by Garth's confession; and when Jane\nwas deeply moved speech always became difficult. That this young\nman--adored by all the girls for his good looks and delightful manners;\npursued for his extreme eligibility by mothers and chaperons; famous\nalready in the world of art; flattered, courted, sought after in\nsociety--should calmly admit that the only woman really left IN his\nlife was his old nurse, and that her opinion and expectations held him\nback from a worldly, or unwise marriage, touched Jane deeply, even\nwhile in her heart she smiled at what their set would say could they\nrealise the situation. It revealed Garth in a new light; and suddenly\nJane understood him, as she had not understood him before.\n\nAnd yet the only reply she could bring herself to frame was: \"I wish I\nknew old Margery.\"\n\nGarth's brown eyes flashed with pleasure.\n\n\"Ah, I wish you did,\" he said. \"And I should like you to see Castle\nGleneesh. You would enjoy the view from the terrace, sheer into the\ngorge, and away across the purple hills. And I think you would like the\npine woods and the moor. I say, Miss Champion, why should not _I_ get\nup a 'best party' in September, and implore the duchess to come and\nchaperon it? And then you could come, and any one else you would like\nasked. And--and, perhaps--we might ask--the beautiful 'Stars and\nStripes,' and her aunt, Mrs. Parker Bangs of Chicago; and then we\nshould see what Margery thought of her!\"\n\n\"Delightful!\" said Jane. \"I would come with pleasure. And really, Dal,\nI think that girl has a sweet nature. Could you do better? The exterior\nis perfect, and surely the soul is there. Yes, ask us all, and see what\nhappens.\"\n\n\"I will,\" cried Garth, delighted. \"And what will Margery think of Mrs.\nParker Bangs?\"\n\n\"Never mind,\" said Jane decidedly. \"When you marry the niece, the aunt\ngoes back to Chicago.\"\n\n\"And I wish her people were not millionaires.\"\n\n\"That can't be helped,\" said Jane. \"Americans are so charming, that we\nreally must not mind their money.\"\n\n\"I wish Miss Lister and her aunt were here,\" remarked Garth. \"But they\nare to be at Lady Ingleby's, where I am due next Tuesday. Do you come\non there, Miss Champion?\"\n\n\"I do,\" replied Jane. \"I go to the Brands for a few days on Tuesday,\nbut I have promised Myra to turn up at Shenstone for the week-end. I\nlike staying there. They are such a harmonious couple.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Garth, \"but no one could help being a harmonious couple,\nwho had married Lady Ingleby.\"\n\n\"What grammar!\" laughed Jane. \"But I know what you mean, and I am glad\nyou think so highly of Myra. She is a dear! Only do make haste and\npaint her and get her off your mind, so as to be free for Pauline\nLister.\"\n\nThe sun-dial pointed to seven o'clock. The rooks had circled round the\nelms and dropped contentedly into their nests.\n\n\"Let us go in,\" said Jane, rising. \"I am glad we have had this talk,\"\nshe added, as he walked beside her across the lawn.\n\n\"Yes,\" said Garth. \"Air-balls weren't in it! It was a football this\ntime--good solid leather. And we each kicked one goal,--a tie, you\nknow. For your advice went home to me, and I think my reply showed you\nthe true lie of things; eh, Miss Champion?\"\n\nHe was feeling seven again; but Jane saw him now through old Margery's\nglasses, and it did not annoy her.\n\n\"Yes,\" she said, smiling at him with her kind, true eyes; \"we will\nconsider it a tie, and surely it will prove a tie to our friendship.\nThank you, Dal, for all you have told me.\"\n\nArrived in her room, Jane found she had half an hour to spare before\ndressing. She took out her diary. Her conversation with Garth Dalmain\nseemed worth recording, particularly his story of the preacher whose\nbeauty of soul redeemed the ugliness of his body. She wrote it down\nverbatim.\n\nThen she rang for her maid, and dressed for dinner, and the concert\nwhich should follow.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\nTHE VEIL IS LIFTED\n\n\n\"MISS CHAMPION! Oh, here you are! Your turn next, please. The last item\nof the local programme is in course of performance, after which the\nduchess explains Velma's laryngitis--let us hope she will not call it\n'appendicitis'--and then I usher you up. Are you ready?\"\n\nGarth Dalmain, as master of ceremonies, had sought Jane Champion on the\nterrace, and stood before her in the soft light of the hanging Chinese\nlanterns. The crimson rambler in his button-hole, and his red silk\nsocks, which matched it, lent an artistic touch of colour to the\nconventional black and white of his evening clothes.\n\nJane looked up from the comfortable depths of her wicker chair; then\nsmiled at his anxious face.\n\n\"I am ready,\" she said, and rising, walked beside him. \"Has it gone\nwell?\" she asked. \"Is it a good audience?\"\n\n\"Packed,\" replied Garth, \"and the duchess has enjoyed herself. It has\nbeen funnier than usual. But now comes the event of the evening. I say,\nwhere is your score?\"\n\n\"Thanks,\" said Jane. \"I shall play it from memory. It obviates the\nbother of turning over.\"\n\nThey passed into the concert-room and stood behind screens and a\ncurtain, close to the half-dozen steps leading, from the side, up on to\nthe platform.\n\n\"Oh, hark to the duchess!\" whispered Garth. \"My NIECE, JANE CHAMPION,\nHAS KINDLY CONSENTED TO STEP INTO THE BREACH--' Which means that you\nwill have to step up on to that platform in another half-minute. Really\nit would be kinder to you if she said less about Velma. But never mind;\nthey are prepared to like anything. There! APPENDICITIS! I told you so.\nPoor Madame Velma! Let us hope it won't get into the local papers. Oh,\ngoodness! She is going to enlarge on new-fangled diseases. Well, it\ngives us a moment's breathing space.... I say, Miss Champion, I was\nchaffing this afternoon about sharps and flats. I can play that\naccompaniment for you if you like. No? Well, just as you think best.\nBut remember, it takes a lot of voice to make much effect in this\nconcert-room, and the place is crowded. Now--the duchess has done. Come\non. Mind the bottom step. Hang it all! How dark it is behind this\ncurtain!\"\n\nGarth gave her his hand, and Jane mounted the steps and passed into\nview of the large audience assembled in the Overdene concert-room. Her\ntall figure seemed taller than usual as she walked alone across the\nrather high platform. She wore a black evening gown of soft material,\nwith old lace at her bosom and one string of pearls round her neck.\nWhen she appeared, the audience gazed at her and applauded doubtfully.\nVelma's name on the programme had raised great expectations; and here\nwas Miss Champion, who certainly played very nicely, but was not\nsupposed to be able to sing, volunteering to sing Velma's song. A more\nkindly audience would have cheered her to the echo, voicing its\ngenerous appreciation of her effort, and sanguine expectation of her\nsuccess. This audience expressed its astonishment, in the dubiousness\nof its faint applause.\n\nJane smiled at them good-naturedly; sat down at the piano, a Bechstein\ngrand; glanced at the festoons of white roses and the cross of crimson\nramblers; then, without further preliminaries, struck the opening chord\nand commenced to sing.\n\nThe deep, perfect voice thrilled through the room.\n\nA sudden breathless hush fell upon the audience.\n\nEach syllable penetrated the silence, borne on a tone so tender and so\namazingly sweet, that casual hearts stood still and marvelled at their\nown emotion; and those who felt deeply already, responded with a yet\ndeeper thrill to the magic of that music.\n\n \"The hours I spent with thee, dear heart,\n Are as a string of pearls to me;\n I count them over, ev'ry one apart,\n My rosary,--my rosary.\"\n\nSoftly, thoughtfully, tenderly, the last two words were breathed into\nthe silence, holding a world of reminiscence--a large-hearted woman's\nfaithful remembrance of tender moments in the past.\n\nThe listening crowd held its breath. This was not a song. This was the\nthrobbing of a heart; and it throbbed in tones of such sweetness, that\ntears started unbidden.\n\nThen the voice, which had rendered the opening lines so quietly, rose\nin a rapid crescendo of quivering pain.\n\n \"Each hour a pearl, each pearl a prayer,\n To still a heart in absence wrung;\n I tell each bead unto the end, and there--\n A cross is hung!\"\n\nThe last four words were given with a sudden power and passion which\nelectrified the assembly. In the pause which followed, could be heard\nthe tension of feeling produced. But in another moment the quiet voice\nfell soothingly, expressing a strength of endurance which would fail in\nno crisis, nor fear to face any depths of pain; yet gathering to itself\na poignancy of sweetness, rendered richer by the discipline of\nsuffering.\n\n \"O memories that bless and burn!\n O barren gain and bitter loss!\n I kiss each bead, and strive at last to learn\n To kiss the cross ... to kiss the cross.\"\n\nOnly those who have heard Jane sing THE ROSARY can possibly realise how\nshe sang \"I KISS EACH BEAD.\" The lingering retrospection in each word;\nbreathed out a love so womanly, so beautiful, so tender, that her\nidentity was forgotten--even by those in the audience who knew her\nbest--in the magic of her rendering of the song.\n\nThe accompaniment, which opens with a single chord, closes with a\nsingle note.\n\nJane struck it softly, lingeringly; then rose, turned from the piano,\nand was leaving the platform, when a sudden burst of wild applause\nbroke from the audience. Jane hesitated, paused, looked at her aunt's\nguests as if almost surprised to find them there. Then the slow smile\ndawned in her eyes and passed to her lips. She stood in the centre of\nthe platform for a moment, awkwardly, almost shyly; then moved on as\nmen's voices began to shout \"Encore! 'core!\" and left the platform by\nthe side staircase.\n\nBut there, behind the scenes, in the semi-darkness of screens and\ncurtains, a fresh surprise awaited Jane, more startling than the\nenthusiastic tumult of her audience.\n\nAt the foot of the staircase stood Garth Dalmain. His face was\nabsolutely colourless, and his eyes shone out from it like burning\nstars. He remained motionless until she stepped from the last stair and\nstood close to him. Then with a sudden movement he caught her by the\nshoulders and turned her round.\n\n\"Go back!\" he said, and the overmastering need quivering in his voice\ndrew Jane's eyes to his in mute astonishment. \"Go back at once and sing\nit all over again, note for note, word for word, just as before. Ah,\ndon't stand here waiting! Go back now! Go back at once! Don't you know\nthat you MUST?\"\n\nJane looked into those shining eyes. Something she saw in them excused\nthe brusque command of his tone. Without a word, she quietly mounted\nthe steps and walked across the platform to the piano. People were\nstill applauding, and redoubled their demonstrations of delight as she\nappeared; but Jane took her seat at the instrument without giving them\na thought.\n\nShe was experiencing a very curious and unusual sensation. Never before\nin her whole life had she obeyed a peremptory command. In her\nchildhood's days, Fraulein and Miss Jebb soon found out that they could\nonly obtain their desires by means of carefully worded requests, or\npathetic appeals to her good feelings and sense of right. An\nunreasonable order, or a reasonable one unexplained, promptly met with\na point-blank refusal. And this characteristic still obtained, though\nmodified by time; and even the duchess, as a rule, said \"please\" to\nJane.\n\nBut now a young man with a white face and blazing eyes had\nunceremoniously swung her round, ordered her up the stairs, and\ncommanded her to sing a song over again, note for note, word for word,\nand she was meekly going to obey.\n\nAs she took her seat, Jane suddenly made up her mind not to sing The\nRosary again. She had many finer songs in her repertoire. The audience\nexpected another. Why should she disappoint those expectations because\nof the imperious demands of a very highly excited boy?\n\nShe commenced the magnificent prelude to Handel's \"Where'er you walk,\"\nbut, as she played it, her sense of truth and justice intervened. She\nhad not come back to sing again at the bidding of a highly excited boy,\nbut of a deeply moved man; and his emotion was of no ordinary kind.\nThat Garth Dalmain should have been so moved as to forget even\nmomentarily his punctilious courtesy of manner, was the highest\npossible tribute to her art and to her song. While she played the\nHandel theme--and played it so that a whole orchestra seemed marshalled\nupon the key-board under those strong, firm finger--she suddenly\nrealised, though scarcely understanding it, the MUST of which Garth had\nspoken, and made up her mind to yield to its necessity. So; when the\nopening bars were ended, instead of singing the grand song from Semele\nshe paused for a moment; struck once more The Rosary's; opening chord;\nand did as Garth had bidden her to do.\n\n \"The hours I spent with thee, dear heart,\n Are as a string of pearls to me;\n I count them over, ev'ry one apart,\n My rosary,--my rosary.\n \"Each hour a pearl, each pearl a prayer,\n To still a heart in absence wrung;\n I tell each bead unto the end, and there--\n A cross is hung!\n \"O memories that bless and burn!\n O barren gain and bitter loss!\n I kiss each bead, and strive at last to learn\n To kiss the cross ... to kiss the cross.\"\n\nWhen Jane left the platform, Garth was still standing motionless at the\nfoot of the stairs. His face was just as white as before, but his eyes\nhad lost that terrible look of unshed tears, which had sent her back,\nat his bidding, without a word of question or remonstrance. A wonderful\nlight now shone in them; a light of adoration, which touched Jane's\nheart because she had never before seen anything quite like it. She\nsmiled as she came slowly down the steps, and held out both hands to\nhim with an unconscious movement of gracious friendliness. Garth\nstepped close to the bottom of the staircase and took them in his,\nwhile she was still on the step above him.\n\nFor a moment he did not speak. Then in a low voice, vibrant with\nemotion: \"My God!\" he said, \"Oh, my God!\"\n\n\"Hush,\" said Jane; \"I never like to hear that name spoken lightly, Dal.\"\n\n\"Spoken lightly!\" he exclaimed. \"No speaking lightly would be possible\nfor me to-night. 'Every perfect gift is from above.' When words fail me\nto speak of the gift, can you wonder if I apostrophise the Giver?\"\n\nJane looked steadily into his shining eyes, and a smile of pleasure\nillumined her own. \"So you liked my song?\" she said.\n\n\"Liked--liked your song?\" repeated Garth, a shade of perplexity\ncrossing his face. \"I do not know whether I liked your song.\"\n\n\"Then why this flattering demonstration?\" inquired Jane, laughing.\n\n\"Because,\" said Garth, very low, \"you lifted the veil, and I--I passed\nwithin.\"\n\nHe was still holding her hands in his; and, as he spoke the last two\nwords, he turned them gently over and, bending, kissed each palm with\nan indescribably tender reverence; then, loosing them, stood on one\nside, and Jane went out on to the terrace alone.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\nGARTH FINDS HIS ROSARY\n\n\nJane spent but a very few minutes in the drawing-room that evening. The\nfun in progress there was not to her taste, and the praises heaped upon\nherself annoyed her. Also she wanted the quiet of her own room in order\nto think over that closing episode of the concert, which had taken\nplace between herself and Garth, behind the scenes. She did not feel\ncertain how to take it. She was conscious that it held an element which\nshe could not fathom, and Garth's last act had awakened in herself\nfeelings which she did not understand. She extremely disliked the way\nin which he had kissed her hands; and yet he had put into the action\nsuch a passion of reverent worship that it gave her a sense of\nconsecration--of being, as it were, set apart to minister always to the\nhearts of men in that perfect gift of melody which should uplift and\nennoble. She could not lose the sensation of the impress of his lips\nupon the palms of her hands. It was as if he had left behind something\ntangible and abiding. She caught herself looking at them anxiously once\nor twice, and the third time this happened she determined to go to her\nroom.\n\nThe duchess was at the piano, completely hidden from view by nearly the\nwhole of her house party, crowding round in fits of delighted laughter.\nRonnie had just broken through from the inmost circle to fetch an\nantimacassar; and Billy, to dash to the writing-table for a sheet of\nnote-paper. Jane knew the note-paper meant a clerical dog collar, and\nshe concluded something had been worn which resembled an antimacassar.\n\nShe turned rather wearily and moved towards the door. Quiet and\nunobserved though her retreat had been, Garth was at the door before\nher. She did not know how he got there; for, as she turned to leave the\nroom, she had seen his sleek head close to Myra Ingleby's on the\nfurther side of the duchess's crowd. He opened the door and Jane passed\nout. She felt equally desirous of saying two things to him,--either:\n\"How dared you behave in so unconventional a way?\" or: \"Tell me just\nwhat you want me to do, and I will do it.\"\n\nShe said neither.\n\nGarth followed her into the hall, lighted a candle, and threw the match\nat Tommy; then handed her the silver candlestick. He was looking\nabsurdly happy. Jane felt annoyed with him for parading this gladness,\nwhich she had unwittingly caused and in which she had no share. Also\nshe felt she must break this intimate silence. It was saying so much\nwhich ought not to be said, since it could not be spoken. She took her\ncandle rather aggressively and turned upon the second step.\n\n\"Good-night, Dal,\" she said. \"And do you know that you are missing the\ncurate?\"\n\nHe looked up at her. His eyes shone in the light of her candle.\n\n\"No,\" he said. \"I am neither missing nor missed. I was only waiting in\nthere until you went up. I shall not go back. I am going out into the\npark now to breathe in the refreshing coolness of the night breeze. And\nI am going to stand under the oaks and tell my beads. I did not know I\nhad a rosary, until to-night, but I have--I have!\"\n\n\"I should say you have a dozen,\" remarked Jane, dryly.\n\n\"Then you would be wrong,\" replied Garth. \"I have just one. But it has\nmany hours. I shall be able to call them all to mind when I get out\nthere alone. I am going to 'count each pearl.'\"\n\n\"How about the cross?\" asked Jane.\n\n\"I have not reached that yet,\" answered Garth. \"There is no cross to my\nrosary.\"\n\n\"I fear there is a cross to every true rosary, Dal,\" said Jane gently,\n\"and I also fear it will go hard with you when you find yours.\"\n\nBut Garth was confident and unafraid.\n\n\"When I find mine,\" he said, \"I hope I shall be able to\"--\nInvoluntarily Jane looked at her hands. He saw the look and smiled,\nthough he had the grace to colour beneath his tan,--\"to FACE the\ncross,\" he said.\n\nJane turned and began to mount the stairs; but Garth arrested her with\nan eager question.\n\n\"Just one moment, Miss Champion! There is something I want to ask you.\nMay I? Will you think me impertinent, presuming, inquisitive?\"\n\n\"I have no doubt I shall,\" said Jane. \"But I am thinking you all sorts\nof unusual things to-night; so three adjectives more or less will not\nmatter much. You may ask.\"\n\n\"Miss Champion, have YOU a rosary?\"\n\nJane looked at him blankly; then suddenly understood the drift of his\nquestion.\n\n\"My dear boy, NO!\" she said. \"Thank goodness, I have kept clear of\n'memories that bless and burn.' None of these things enter into my\nrational and well-ordered life, and I have no wish that they should.\"\n\n\"Then,\" deliberated Garth, \"how came you to sing THE ROSARY as if each\nline were your own experience; each joy or pain a thing--long passed,\nperhaps--but your own?\"\n\n\"Because,\" explained Jane, \"I always live in a song when I sing it. Did\nI not tell you the lesson I learned over the CHANT HINDOU? Therefore I\nhad a rosary undoubtedly when I was singing that song to-night. But,\napart from that, in the sense you mean, no, thank goodness, I have\nnone.\"\n\nGarth mounted two steps, bringing his eyes on a level with the\ncandlestick.\n\n\"But IF you cared,\" he said, speaking very low, \"that is how you would\ncare? that is as you would feel?\"\n\nJane considered. \"Yes,\" she said, \"IF I cared, I suppose I should care\njust so, and feel as I felt during those few minutes.\"\n\n\"Then it was YOU in the song, although the circumstances are not yours?\"\n\n\"Yes, I suppose so,\" Jane replied, \"if we can consider ourselves apart\nfrom our circumstances. But surely this is rather an unprofitable\n'air-ball.' Goodnight, 'Master Garthie!'\"\n\n\"I say, Miss Champion! Just one thing more. Will you sing for me\nto-morrow? Will you come to the music-room and sing all the lovely\nthings I want to hear? And will you let me play a few of your\naccompaniments? Ah, promise you will come. And promise to sing whatever\nI ask, and I won't bother you any more now.\"\n\nHe stood looking up at her, waiting for her promise, with such\nadoration shining in his eyes that Jane was startled and more than a\nlittle troubled. Then suddenly it seemed to her that she had found the\nkey, and she hastened to explain it to herself and to him.\n\n\"Oh, you dear boy!\" she said. \"What an artist you are! And how\ndifficult it is for us commonplace, matter-of-fact people to understand\nthe artistic temperament. Here you go, almost turning my steady old\nhead by your rapture over what seemed to you perfection of sound which\nhas reached you through the ear; just as, again and again, you worship\nat the shrine of perfection of form, which reaches you through the eye.\nI begin to understand how it is you turn the heads of women when you\npaint them. However, you are very delightful in your delight, and I\nwant to go up to bed. So I promise to sing all you want and as much as\nyou wish to-morrow. Now keep your promise and don't bother me any more\nto-night. Don't spend the whole night in the park, and try not to\nfrighten the deer. No, I do not need any assistance with my candle, and\nI am quite used to going upstairs by myself, thank you. Can't you hear\nwhat personal and appropriate remarks Tommy is making down there? Now\ndo run away, Master Garthie, and count your pearls. And if you suddenly\ncome upon a cross--remember, the cross can, in all probability, be\npersuaded to return to Chicago!\"\n\nJane was still smiling as she entered her room and placed her\ncandlestick on the dressing-table.\n\nOverdene was lighted solely by lamps and candles. The duchess refused\nto modernise it by the installation of electric light. But candles\nabounded, and Jane, who liked a brilliant illumination, proceeded to\nlight both candles in the branches on either side of the dressing-table\nmirror, and in the sconces on the wall beside the mantelpiece, and in\nthe tall silver candlesticks upon the writing-table. Then she seated\nherself in a comfortable arm-chair, reached for her writing-case, took\nout her diary and a fountain pen, and prepared to finish the day's\nentry. She wrote, \"SANG 'THE ROSARY' AT AUNT 'GINA'S CONCERT IN PLACE\nOF VELMA, FAILED (LARYNGITIS),\" and came to a full stop.\n\nSomehow the scene with Garth was difficult to record, and the\nsensations which still remained therefrom, absolutely unwritable. Jane\nsat and pondered the situation, content to allow the page to remain\nblank.\n\nBefore she rose, locked her book, and prepared for rest, she had, to\nher own satisfaction, clearly explained the whole thing. Garth's\nartistic temperament was the basis of the argument; and, alas, the\nartistic temperament is not a very firm foundation, either for a\ntheory, or for the fabric of a destiny. However, FAUTE DE MIEUX, Jane\nhad to accept it as main factor in her mental adjustment, thus: This\nvibrant emotion in Garth, so strangely disturbing to her own solid\ncalm, was in no sense personal to herself, excepting in so far as her\nvoice and musical gifts were concerned. Just as the sight of paintable\nbeauty crazed him with delight, making him wild with alternate hope and\ndespair until he obtained his wish and had his canvas and his sitter\narranged to his liking; so now, his passion for the beautiful had been\nawakened, this time through the medium, not of sight, but of sound.\nWhen she had given him his fill of song, and allowed him to play some\nof her accompaniments, he would be content, and that disquieting look\nof adoration would pass from those beautiful brown eyes. Meanwhile it\nwas pleasant to look forward to to-morrow, though it behooved her to\nremember that all this admiration had in it nothing personal to\nherself. He would have gone into even greater raptures over Madame\nBlanche, for instance, who had the same timbre of voice and method of\nsinging, combined with a beauty of person which delighted the eye the\nwhile her voice enchanted the ear. Certainly Garth must see and hear\nher, as music appeared to mean so much to him. Jane began planning\nthis, and then her mind turned to Pauline Lister, the lovely American\ngirl, whose name had been coupled with Garth Dalmain's all the season.\nJane felt certain she was just the wife he needed. Her loveliness would\ncontent him, her shrewd common-sense and straightforward, practical\nways would counterbalance his somewhat erratic temperament, and her\nadaptability would enable her to suit herself to his surroundings, both\nin his northern home and amongst his large circle of friends down\nsouth. Once married, he would give up raving about Flower and Myra, and\nkissing people's hands in that--\"absurd way,\" Jane was going to say,\nbut she was invariably truthful, even in her thoughts, and substituted\n\"extraordinary\" as the more correct adjective--in that extraordinary\nway.\n\nShe sat forward in her chair with her elbows on her knees, and held her\nlarge hands before her, palms upward, realising again the sensations of\nthat moment. Then she pulled herself up sharply. \"Jane Champion, don't\nbe a fool! You would wrong that dear, beauty-loving boy, more than you\nwould wrong yourself, if you took him for one moment seriously. His\nhomage to-night was no more personal to you than his appreciation of\nthe excellent dinner was personal to Aunt Georgina's chef. In his\nenjoyment of the production, the producer was included; but that was\nall. Be gratified at the success of your art, and do not spoil that\nsuccess by any absurd sentimentality. Now wash your very ungainly hands\nand go to bed.\" Thus Jane to herself.\n\n * * * * *\n\nAnd under the oaks, with soft turf beneath his feet, stood Garth\nDalmain, the shy deer sleeping around unconscious of his presence; the\nplanets above, hanging like lamps in the deep purple of the sky. And\nhe, also, soliloquised.\n\n\"I have found her,\" he said, in low tones of rapture, \"the ideal woman,\nthe crown of womanhood, the perfect mate for the spirit, soul, and body\nof the man who can win her.--Jane! Jane! Ah, how blind I have been! To\nhave known her for years, and yet not realised her to be this. But she\nlifted the veil, and I passed in. Ah grand, noble heart! She will never\nbe able to draw the veil again between her soul and mine. And she has\nno rosary. I thank God for that. No other man possesses, or has ever\npossessed, that which I desire more than I ever desired anything upon\nthis earth, Jane's love, Jane's tenderness. Ah, what will it mean? 'I\ncount each pearl.' She WILL count them some day--her pearls and mine.\nGod spare us the cross. Must there be a cross to every true rosary?\nThen God give me the heavy end, and may the mutual bearing of it bind\nus together. Ah, those dear hands! Ah, those true steadfast eyes! ...\nJane!--Jane! Surely it has always been Jane, though I did not know it,\nblind fool that I have been! But one thing I know: whereas I was blind,\nnow I see. And it will always be Jane from this night onward through\ntime and-please God--into eternity.\"\n\nThe night breeze stirred his thick dark hair, and his eyes, as he\nraised them, shone in the starlight.\n\n * * * * *\n\nAnd Jane, almost asleep, was roused by the tapping of her blind against\nthe casement, and murmured \"Anything you wish, Garth, just tell me, and\nI will do it.\" Then awakening suddenly to the consciousness of what she\nhad said, she sat up in the darkness and scolded herself furiously.\n\"Oh, you middle-aged donkey! You call yourself staid and sensible, and\na little flattery from a boy of whom you are fond turns your head\ncompletely. Come to your senses at once; or leave Overdene by the first\ntrain in the morning.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\nADDED PEARLS\n\n\nThe days which followed were golden days to Jane. There was nothing to\nspoil the enjoyment of a very new and strangely sweet experience.\n\nGarth's manner the next morning held none of the excitement or outward\ndemonstration which had perplexed and troubled her the evening before.\nHe was very quiet, and seemed to Jane older than she had ever known\nhim. He had very few lapses into his seven-year-old mood, even with the\nduchess; and when someone chaffingly asked him whether he was\npractising the correct deportment of a soon-to-be-married man,\n\n\"Yes,\" said Garth quietly, \"I am.\"\n\n\"Will she be at Shenstone?\" inquired Ronald; for several of the\nduchess's party were due at Lady Ingleby's for the following week-end.\n\n\"Yes,\" said Garth, \"she will.\"\n\n\"Oh, lor'!\" cried Billy, dramatically. \"Prithee, Benedict, are we to\ntake this seriously?\"\n\nBut Jane who, wrapped in the morning paper, sat near where Garth was\nstanding, came out from behind it to look up at him and say, so that\nonly he heard it \"Oh, Dal, I am so glad! Did you make up your mind last\nnight?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Garth, turning so that he spoke to her alone, \"last night.\"\n\n\"Did our talk in the afternoon have something to do with it?\"\n\n\"No, nothing whatever.\"\n\n\"Was it THE ROSARY?\"\n\nHe hesitated; then said, without looking at her: \"The revelation of THE\nROSARY? Yes.\"\n\nTo Jane his mood of excitement was now fully explained, and she could\ngive herself up freely to the enjoyment of this new phase in their\nfriendship, for the hours of music together were a very real delight.\nGarth was more of a musician than she had known, and she enjoyed his\nclean, masculine touch on the piano, unblurred by slur or pedal; more\ndelicate than her own, where delicacy was required. What her voice was\nto him during those wonderful hours he did not express in words, for\nafter that first evening he put a firm restraint upon his speech. Under\nthe oaks he had made up his mind to wait a week before speaking, and he\nwaited.\n\nBut the new and strangely sweet experience to Jane was that of being\nabsolutely first to some one. In ways known only to himself and to her\nGarth made her feel this. There was nothing for any one else to notice,\nand yet she knew perfectly well that she never came into the room\nwithout his being instantly conscious that she was there; that she\nnever left a room, without being at once missed by him. His attentions\nwere so unobtrusive and tactful that no one else realised them. They\ncalled forth no chaff from friends and no \"Hoity-toity! What now?\" from\nthe duchess. And yet his devotion seemed always surrounding her. For\nthe first time in her life Jane was made to feel herself FIRST in the\nwhole thought of another. It made him seem strangely her own. She took\na pleasure and pride in all he said, and did, and was; and in the hours\nthey spent together in the music-room she learned to know him and to\nunderstand that enthusiastic beauty-loving, irresponsible nature, as\nshe had never understood it before.\n\nThe days were golden, and the parting at night was sweet, because it\ngave an added zest to the pleasure of meeting in the morning. And yet\nduring these golden days the thought of love, in the ordinary sense of\nthe word, never entered Jane's mind. Her ignorance in this matter\narose, not so much from inexperience, as from too large an experience\nof the travesty of the real thing; an experience which hindered her\nfrom recognising love itself, now that love in its most ideal form was\ndrawing near.\n\nJane had not come through a dozen seasons without receiving nearly a\ndozen proposals of marriage. An heiress, independent of parents and\nguardians, of good blood and lineage, a few proposals of a certain type\nwere inevitable. Middle-aged men--becoming bald and grey; tired of\nracketing about town; with beautiful old country places and an\nunfortunate lack of the wherewithal to keep them up--proposed to the\nHonourable Jane Champion in a business-like way, and the Honourable\nJane looked them up and down, and through and through, until they felt\nvery cheap, and then quietly refused them, in an equally business-like\nway.\n\nTwo or three nice boys, whom she had pulled out of scrapes and set on\ntheir feet again after hopeless croppers, had thought, in a wave of\nmaudlin gratitude, how good it would be for a fellow always to have her\nat hand to keep him straight and tell him what he ought to do, don't\nyou know? and--er--well, yes--pay his debts, and be a sort of\nmother-who-doesn't scold kind of person to him; and had caught hold of\nher kind hand, and implored her to marry them. Jane had slapped them if\nthey ventured to touch her, and recommended them not to be silly.\n\nOne solemn proposal she had had quite lately from the bachelor rector\nof a parish adjoining Overdene. He had often inflicted wearisome\nconversations upon her; and when he called, intending to put the\nmomentous question, Jane, who was sitting at her writing-table in the\nOverdene drawing-room, did not see any occasion to move from it. If the\nrector became too prosy, she could surreptitiously finish a few notes.\nHe sank into a deep arm-chair close to the writing-table, crossed his\nsomewhat bandy legs one over the other, made the tips of his fingers\nmeet with unctuous accuracy, and intoned the opening sentences of his\nproposition. Jane, sharpening pencils and sorting nibs, apparently only\ncaught the drift of what he was saying, for when he had chanted the\nphrase, \"Not alone from selfish motives, my dear Miss Champion; but for\nthe good of my parish; for the welfare of my flock, for the advancement\nof the work of the church in our midst,\" Jane opened a despatch-box and\ndrew out her cheque-book.\n\n\"I shall be delighted to subscribe, Mr. Bilberry,\" she said. \"Is it for\na font, a pulpit, new hymn-books, or what?\"\n\n\"My dear lady,\" said the rector tremulously, \"you misunderstand me. My\ndesire is to lead you to the altar.\"\n\n\"Dear Mr. Bilberry,\" said Jane Champion, \"that would be quite\nunnecessary. From any part of your church the fact that you need a new\naltar-cloth is absolutely patent to all comers. I will, with the\ngreatest pleasure, give you a cheque for ten pounds towards it. I have\nattended your church rather often lately because I enjoy a long, quiet\nwalk by myself through the woods. And now I am sure you would like to\nsee my aunt before you go. She is in the aviary, feeding her foreign\nbirds. If you go out by that window and pass along the terrace to your\nleft, you will find the aviary and the duchess. I would suggest the\nadvisability of not mentioning this conversation to my aunt. She does\nnot approve of elaborate altar-cloths, and would scold us both, and\ninsist on the money being spent in providing boots for the school\nchildren. No, please do not thank me. I am really glad of an\nopportunity of helping on your excellent work in this neighbourhood.\"\n\nJane wondered once or twice whether the cheque would be cashed. She\nwould have liked to receive it back by post, torn in half; with a few\nwrathful lines of manly indignation. But when it returned to her in due\ncourse from her bankers, it was indorsed P. BILBERRY, in a neat\nscholarly hand, without even a dash of indignation beneath it; and she\nthrew it into the waste-paper basket, with rather a bitter smile.\n\nThese were Jane's experiences of offers of marriage. She had never been\nloved for her own sake; she had never felt herself really first in the\nheart and life of another. And now, when the adoring love of a man's\nwhole being was tenderly, cautiously beginning to surround and envelop\nher, she did not recognise the reason of her happiness or of his\ndevotion. She considered him the avowed lover of another woman, with\nwhose youth and loveliness she would not have dreamed of competing; and\nshe regarded this closeness of intimacy between herself and Garth as a\ndevelopment of a friendship more beautiful than she had hitherto\nconsidered possible.\n\nThus matters stood when Tuesday arrived and the Overdene party broke\nup. Jane went to town to spend a couple of days with the Brands. Garth\nwent straight to Shenstone, where he had been asked expressly to meet\nMiss Lister and her aunt, Mrs. Parker Bangs. Jane was due at Shenstone\non Friday for the week-end.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX\n\nLADY INGLEBY'S HOUSE PARTY\n\n\nAs Jane took her seat and the train moved out of the London terminus\nshe leaned back in her corner with a sigh of satisfaction. Somehow\nthese days in town had seemed insufferably long. Jane reviewed them\nthoughtfully, and sought the reason. They had been filled with\ninterests and engagements; and the very fact of being in town, as a\nrule, contented her. Why had she felt so restless and dissatisfied and\nlonely?\n\nFrom force of habit she had just stopped at the railway book-stall for\nher usual pile of literature. Her friends always said Jane could not go\neven the shortest journey without at least half a dozen papers. But now\nthey lay unheeded on the seat in front of her. Jane was considering her\nTuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday, and wondering why they had merely\nbeen weary stepping-stones to Friday. And here was Friday at last, and\nonce in the train en route for Shenstone, she began to feel happy and\nexhilarated. What had been the matter with these three days? Flower had\nbeen charming; Deryck, his own friendly, interesting self; little\nDicky, delightful; and Baby Blossom, as sweet as only Baby Blossom\ncould be. What was amiss?\n\n\"I know,\" said Jane. \"Of course! Why did I not realise it before? I had\ntoo much music during those last days at Overdene; and SUCH music! I\nhave been suffering from a surfeit of music, and the miss of it has\ngiven me this blank feeling of loneliness. No doubt we shall have\nplenty at Myra's, and Dal will be there to clamour for it if Myra fails\nto suggest it.\"\n\nWith a happy little smile of pleasurable anticipation, Jane took up the\nSPECTATOR, and was soon absorbed in an article on the South African\nproblem.\n\nMyra met her at the station, driving ponies tandem. A light cart was\nalso there for the maid and baggage; and, without losing a moment, Jane\nand her hostess were off along the country lane at a brisk trot.\n\nThe fields and woods were an exquisite restful green in the afternoon\nsunshine. Wild roses clustered in the hedges. The last loads of hay\nwere being carted in. There was an ecstasy in the songs of the birds\nand a transporting sense of sweetness about all the sights and scents\nof the country, such as Jane had never experienced so vividly before.\nShe drew a deep breath and exclaimed, almost involuntarily: \"Ah! it is\ngood to be here!\"\n\n\"You dear!\" said Lady Ingleby, twirling her whip and nodding in\ngracious response to respectful salutes from the hay-field. \"It is a\ncomfort to have you! I always feel you are like the bass of a\ntune--something so solid and satisfactory and beneath one in case of a\ncrisis. I hate crises. They are so tiring. As I say: Why can't things\nalways go on as they are? They are as they were, and they were as they\nwill be, if only people wouldn't bother. However, I am certain nothing\ncould go far wrong when YOU are anywhere near.\"\n\nMyra flicked the leader, who was inclined to \"sugar,\" and they flew\nalong between the high hedges, brushing lightly against overhanging\nmasses of honeysuckle and wild clematis. Jane snatched a spray of the\nclematis, in passing. \"'Traveller's joy,'\" she said, with that same\nquiet smile of glad anticipation, and put the white blossom in her\nbuttonhole.\n\n\"Well,\" continued Lady Ingleby, \"my house party is going on quite\nsatisfactorily. Oh, and, Jane, there seems no doubt about Dal. How\npleased I shall be if it comes off under my wing! The American girl is\nsimply exquisite, and so vivacious and charming. And Dal has quite\ngiven up being silly--not that _I_ ever thought him silly, but I know\nYOU did--and is very quiet and pensive; really were it any one but he,\none would almost say 'dull.' And they roam about together in the most\napproved fashion. I try to get the aunt to make all her remarks to me.\nI am so afraid of her putting Dal off. He is so fastidious. I have\npromised Billy anything, up to the half of my kingdom, if he will sit\nat the feet of Mrs. Parker Bangs and listen to her wisdom, answer her\nquestions, and keep her away from Dal. Billy is being so abjectly\ndevoted in his attentions to Mrs. Parker Bangs that I begin to have\nfears lest he intends asking me to kiss him; in which case I shall hand\nhim over to you to chastise. You manage these boys so splendidly. I\nfully believe Dal will propose to Pauline Lister tonight. I can't\nimagine why he didn't last night. There was a most perfect moon, and\nthey went on the lake. What more COULD Dal want?--a lake, and a moon,\nand that lovely girl! Billy took Mrs. Parker Bangs in a double canoe\nand nearly upset her through laughing so much at the things she said\nabout having to sit flat on the bottom. But he paddled her off to the\nopposite side of the lake from Dal and her niece, which was all we\nwanted. Mrs. Parker Bangs asked me afterwards whether Billy is a\nwidower. Now what do you suppose she meant by that?\"\n\n\"I haven't the faintest idea,\" said Jane. \"But I am delighted to hear\nabout Dal and Miss Lister. She is just the girl for him, and she will\nsoon adapt herself to his ways and needs. Besides, Dal MUST have\nflawless loveliness, and really he gets it there.\"\n\n\"He does indeed,\" said Myra. \"You should have seen her last night, in\nwhite satin, with wild roses in her hair. I cannot imagine why Dal did\nnot rave. But perhaps it is a good sign that he should take things more\nquietly. I suppose he is making up his mind.\"\n\n\"No,\" said Jane. \"I believe he did that at Overdene. But it means a lot\nto him. He takes marriage very seriously. Whom have you at Shenstone?\"\n\nLady Ingleby told off a list of names. Jane knew them all.\n\n\"Delightful!\" she said. \"Oh! how glad I am to be here! London has been\nso hot and so dull. I never thought it hot or dull before. I feel a\nrenegade. Ah! there is the lovely little church! I want to hear the new\norgan. I was glad your nice parson remembered me and let me have a\nshare in it. Has it two manuals or three?\"\n\n\"Half a dozen I think,\" said Lady Ingleby, \"and you work them up and\ndown with your feet. But I judged it wiser to leave them alone when I\nplayed for the children's service one Sunday. You never know quite what\nwill happen if you touch those mechanical affairs.\"\n\n\"Don't you mean the composition pedals?\" suggested Jane.\n\n\"I dare say I do,\" said Myra placidly. \"Those things underneath, like\nfoot-rests, which startle you horribly if you accidentally kick them.\"\n\nJane smiled at the thought of how Garth would throw back his head and\nshout, if she told him of this conversation. Lady Ingleby's musical\nremarks always amused her friends.\n\nThey passed the village church on the green, ivy-clad, picturesque,\nand, half a minute later, swerved in at the park gates. Myra saw Jane\nglance at the gate-post they had just shaved, and laughed. \"A miss is\nas good as a mile,\" she said, as they dashed up the long drive between\nthe elms, \"as I told dear mamma, when she expostulated wrathfully with\nme for what she called my 'furious driving' the other day. By the way,\nJane, dear mamma has been quite CORDIAL lately. By the time I am\nseventy and she is ninety-eight I think she will begin to be almost\nfond of me. Here we are. Do notice Lawson. He is new, and such a nice\nman. He sings so well, and plays the concertina a little, and teaches\nin the Sunday-school, and speaks really quite excellently at temperance\nmeetings. He is extremely fond of mowing the lawns, and my maid tells\nme he is studying French with her. The only thing he seems really\nincapable of being, is an efficient butler; which is so unfortunate, as\nI like him far too well ever to part with him. Michael says I have a\nperfectly fatal habit of LIKING PEOPLE, and of encouraging them to do\nthe things they do well and enjoy doing, instead of the things they\nwere engaged to do. I suppose I have; but I do like my household to be\nhappy.\"\n\nThey alighted, and Myra trailed into the hall with a lazy grace which\ngave no indication of the masterly way she had handled her ponies, but\nrather suggested stepping from a comfortable seat in a barouche. Jane\nlooked with interest at the man-servant who came forward and deftly\nassisted them. He had not quite the air of a butler but neither could\nshe imagine him playing a concertina or haranguing a temperance meeting\nand he acquitted himself quite creditably.\n\n\"Oh, that was not Lawson,\" explained Myra, as she led the way upstairs.\n\"I had forgotten. He had to go to the vicarage this afternoon to see\nthe vicar about a 'service of song' they are getting up. That was Tom,\nbut we call him 'Jephson' in the house. He was one of Michael's stud\ngrooms, but he is engaged to one of the housemaids, and I found he so\nvery much preferred being in the house, so I have arranged for him to\nunderstudy Lawson, and he is growing side whiskers. I shall have to\nbreak it to Michael on his return from Norway. This way, Jane. We have\nput you in the Magnolia room. I knew you would enjoy the view of the\nlake. Oh, I forgot to tell you, a tennis tournament is in progress. I\nmust hasten to the courts. Tea will be going on there, under the\nchestnuts. Dal and Ronnie are to play the final for the men's singles.\nIt ought to be a fine match. It was to come on at about half-past four.\nDon't wait to do any changings. Your maid and your luggage can't be\nhere just yet.\"\n\n\"Thanks,\" said Jane; \"I always travel in country clothes, and have done\nso to-day, as you see. I will just get rid of the railway dust, and\nfollow you.\"\n\nTen minutes later, guided by sounds of cheering and laughter, Jane made\nher way through the shrubbery to the tennis lawns. The whole of Lady\nIngleby's house party was assembled there, forming a picturesque group\nunder the white and scarlet chestnut-trees. Beyond, on the beautifully\nkept turf of the court, an exciting set was in progress. As she\napproached, Jane could distinguish Garth's slim, agile figure, in white\nflannels and the violet shirt; and young Ronnie, huge and powerful,\ntrusting to the terrific force of his cuts and drives to counterbalance\nGarth's keener eye and swifter turn of wrist.\n\nIt was a fine game. Garth had won the first set by six to four, and now\nthe score stood at five to four in Ronnie's favour; but this game was\nGarth's service, and he was almost certain to win it. The score would\nthen be \"games all.\"\n\nJane walked along the line of garden chairs to where she saw a vacant\none near Myra. She was greeted with delight, but hurriedly, by the\neager watchers of the game.\n\nSuddenly a howl went up. Garth had made two faults.\n\nJane found her chair, and turned her attention to the game. Almost\ninstantly shrieks of astonishment and surprise again arose. Garth had\nserved INTO the net and OVER the line. Game and set were Ronnie's.\n\n\"One all,\" remarked Billy. \"Well! I never saw Dal do THAT before.\nHowever; it gives us the bliss of watching another set. They are\nsplendidly matched. Dal is lightning, and Ronnie thunder.\"\n\nThe players crossed over, Garth rather white beneath his tan. He was\nbeyond words vexed with himself for failing in his service, at that\ncritical juncture. Not that he minded losing the set; but it seemed to\nhim it must be patent to the whole crowd, that it was the sight, out of\nthe tail of his eye, of a tall grey figure moving quietly along the\nline of chairs, which for a moment or two set earth and sky whirling,\nand made a confused blur of net and lines. As a matter of fact, only\none of the onlookers connected Garth's loss of the game with Jane's\narrival, and she was the lovely girl, seated exactly opposite the net,\nwith whom he exchanged a smile and a word as he crossed to the other\nside of the court.\n\nThe last set proved the most exciting of the three. Nine hard-fought\ngames, five to Garth, four to Ronnie. And now Ronnie was serving, and\nfighting hard to make it games-all. Over and over enthusiastic\npartisans of both shouted \"Deuce!\" and then when Garth had won the\n\"vantage,\" a slashing over-hand service from Ronnie beat him, and it\nwas \"deuce\" again.\n\n\"Don't it make one giddy?\" said Mrs. Parker Bangs to Billy, who\nreclined on the sward at her feet. \"I should say it has gone on long\nenough. And they must both be wanting their tea. It would have been\nkind in Mr. Dalmain to have let that ball pass, anyway.\"\n\n\"Yes, wouldn't it?\" said Billy earnestly. \"But you see, Dal is not\nnaturally kind. Now, if I had been playing against Ronnie, I should\nhave let those over-hand balls of his pass long ago.\"\n\n\"I am sure you would,\" said Mrs. Parker Bangs, approvingly; while Jane\nleaned over, at Myra's request, and pinched Billy.\n\nSlash went Ronnie's racket. \"Deuce! deuce!\" shouted half a dozen voices.\n\n\"They shouldn't say that,\" remarked Mrs. Parker Bangs, \"even if they\nare mad about it.\"\n\nBilly hugged his knees, delightedly; looking up at her with an\nexpression of seraphic innocence.\n\n\"No. Isn't it sad?\" he murmured. \"I never say naughty words when I\nplay. I always say 'Game love.' It sounds so much nicer, I think.\"\n\nJane pinched again, but Billy's rapt gaze at Mrs. Parker Bangs\ncontinued.\n\n\"Billy,\" said Myra sternly, \"go into the hall and fetch my scarlet\nsunshade. Yes, I dare say you WILL miss the finish,\" she added in a\nstern whisper, as he leaned over her chair, remonstrating; \"but you\nrichly deserve it.\"\n\n\"I have made up my mind what to ask, dear queen,\" whispered Billy as he\nreturned, breathless, three minutes later and laid the parasol in Lady\nIngleby's lap. \"You promised me anything, up to the half of your\nkingdom. I will have the head of Mrs. Parker Bangs in a charger.\"\n\n\"Oh, shut up, Billy!\" exclaimed Jane, \"and get out of the light! We\nmissed that last stroke. What is the score?\"\n\nOnce again it was Garth's vantage, and once again Ronnie's arm swung\nhigh for an untakable smasher.\n\n\"Play up, Dal!\" cried a voice, amid the general hubbub.\n\nGarth knew that dear voice. He did not look in its direction, but he\nsmiled. The next moment his arm shot out like a flash of lightning. The\nball touched ground on Ronnie's side of the net and shot the length of\nthe court without rising. Ronnie's wild scoop at it was hopeless. Game\nand set were Garth's.\n\nThey walked off the ground together, their rackets under their arms,\nthe flush of a well-contested fight on their handsome faces. It had\nbeen so near a thing that both could sense the thrill of victory.\n\nPauline Lister had been sitting with Garth's coat on her lap, and his\nwatch and chain were in her keeping. He paused a moment to take them up\nand receive her congratulations; then, slipping on his coat, and\npocketing his watch, came straight to Jane.\n\n\"How do you do, Miss Champion?\"\n\nHis eyes sought hers eagerly; and the welcoming gladness he saw in them\nfilled him with certainty and content. He had missed her so unutterably\nduring these days. Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday had just been weary\nstepping-stones to Friday. It seemed incredible that one person's\nabsence could make so vast a difference. And yet how perfect that it\nshould be so; and that they should both realise it, now the day had\ncome when he intended to tell her how desperately he wanted her always.\nYes, that they should BOTH realise it--for he felt certain Jane had\nalso experienced the blank. A thing so complete and overwhelming as the\nmiss of her had been to him could not be one-sided. And how well worth\nthe experience of these lonely days if they had thereby learned\nsomething of what TOGETHER meant, now the words were to be spoken which\nshould insure forever no more such partings.\n\nAll this sped through Garth's mind as he greeted Jane with that most\ncommonplace of English greetings, the everlasting question which never\nreceives an answer. But from Garth, at that moment, it did not sound\ncommonplace to Jane, and she answered it quite frankly and fully. She\nwanted above all things to tell him exactly how she did; to hear all\nabout himself, and compare notes on the happenings of these three\ninterminable days; and to take up their close comradeship again,\nexactly where it had left off. Her hand went home to his with that firm\ncompleteness of clasp, which always made a hand shake with Jane such a\nsatisfactory and really friendly thing.\n\n\"Very fit, thank you, Dal,\" she answered. \"At least I am every moment\nimproving in health and spirits, now I have arrived here at last.\"\n\nGarth stood his racket against the arm of her chair and deposited\nhimself full length on the grass beside her, leaning on his elbow.\n\n\"Was anything wrong with London?\" he asked, rather low, not looking up\nat her, but at the smart brown shoe, planted firmly on the grass so\nnear his hand. \"Nothing was wrong with London,\" replied Jane frankly;\n\"it was hot and dusty of course, but delightful as usual. Something was\nwrong with ME; and you will be ashamed of me, Dal, if I confess what it\nwas.\"\n\nGarth did not look up, but assiduously picked little blades of grass\nand laid them in a pattern on Jane's shoe. This conversation would have\nbeen exactly to the point had they been alone. But was Jane really\ngoing to announce to the assembled company, in that dear, resonant,\ncarrying voice of hers, the sweet secret of their miss of one another?\n\n\"Liver?\" inquired Mrs. Parker Bangs suddenly.\n\n\"Muffins!\" exclaimed Billy instantly, and, rushing for them, almost\nshot them into her lap in the haste with which he handed them,\nstumbling headlong over Garth's legs at the same moment.\n\nJane stared at Mrs. Parker Bangs and her muffins; then looked down at\nthe top of Garth's dark head, bent low over the grass.\n\n\"I was dull,\" she said, \"intolerably dull. And Dal always says 'only a\ndullard is dull.' But I diagnosed my dulness in the train just now and\nfound it was largely his fault. Do you hear, Dal?\"\n\nGarth lifted his head and looked at her, realising in that moment that\nit was, after all, possible for a complete and overwhelming experience\nto be one-sided. Jane's calm grey eyes were full of gay friendliness.\n\n\"It was your fault, my dear boy,\" said Jane.\n\n\"How so?\" queried Garth; and though there was a deep flush on his\nsunburned face, his voice was quietly interrogative.\n\n\"Because, during those last days at Overdene, you led me on into a time\nof musical dissipation such as I had never known before, and I missed\nit to a degree which was positively alarming. I began to fear for the\nbalance of my well-ordered mind.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said Myra, coming out from behind her red parasol, \"you and Dal\ncan have orgies of music here if you want them. You will find a piano\nin the drawing-room and another in the hall, and a Bechstein grand in\nthe billiard-room. That is where I hold the practices for the men and\nmaids. I could not make up my mind which makers I really preferred,\nErard, Broadwood, Collard, or Bechstein; so by degrees I collected one\nof each. And after all I think I play best upon the little cottage\npiano we had in the school-room at home. It stands in my boudoir now. I\nseem more accustomed to its notes, or it lends itself better to my way\nof playing.\"\n\n\"Thank you, Myra,\" said Jane. \"I fancy Dal and I will like the\nBechstein.\"\n\n\"And if you want something really exciting in the way of music,\"\ncontinued Lady Ingleby, \"you might attend some of the rehearsals for\nthis 'service of song' they are getting up in aid of the organ deficit\nfund. I believe they are attempting great things.\"\n\n\"I would sooner pay off the whole deficit, than go within a mile of a\n'service of song,'\" said Jane emphatically.\n\n\"Oh, no,\" put in Garth quickly, noting Myra's look of disappointment.\n\"It is so good for people to work off their own debts and earn the\nthings they need in their churches. And 'services of song' are\ndelightful if well done, as I am sure this will be if Lady Ingleby's\npeople are in it. Lawson outlined it to me this morning, and hummed all\nthe principal airs. It is highly dramatic. Robinson Crusoe--no, of\ncourse not! What's the beggar's name? 'Uncle Tom's Cabin'? Yes, I knew\nit was something black. Lawson is Uncle Tom, and the vicar's small\ndaughter is to be little Eva. Miss Champion, you will walk down with me\nto the very next rehearsal.\"\n\n\"Shall I?\" said Jane, unconscious of how tender was the smile she gave\nhim; conscious only that in her own heart was the remembrance of the\nevening at Overdene when she felt so inclined to say to him: \"Tell me\njust what you want me to do, and I will do it.\"\n\n\"Pauline will just love to go with you,\" said Mrs. Parker Bangs. \"She\ndotes on rural music.\"\n\n\"Rubbish, aunt!\" said Miss Lister, who had slipped into an empty chair\nnear Myra. \"I agree with Miss Champion about 'services of song,' and I\ndon't care for any music but the best.\"\n\nJane turned to her quickly, with a cordial smile and her most friendly\nmanner. \"Ah, but you must come,\" she said. \"We will be victimised\ntogether. And perhaps Dal and Lawson will succeed in converting us to\nthe cult of the 'service of song.' And anyway it will be amusing to\nhave Dal explain it to us. He will need the courage of his convictions.\"\n\n\"Talking of something 'really exciting in the way of music,'\" said\nPauline Lister, \"we had it on board when we came over. There was a nice\nfriendly crowd on board the Arabic, and they arranged a concert for\nhalf-past eight on the Thursday evening. We were about two hundred\nmiles off the coast of Ireland, and when we came up from dinner we had\nrun into a dense fog. At eight o'clock they started blowing the\nfog-horn every half-minute, and while the fog-horn was sounding you\ncouldn't hear yourself speak. However, all the programmes were printed,\nand it was our last night on board, so they concluded to have the\nconcert all the same. Down we all trooped into the saloon, and each\nitem of that programme was punctuated by the stentorian BOO of the\nfog-horn every thirty seconds. You never heard anything so cute as the\nway it came in, right on time. A man with a deep bass voice sang ROCKED\nIN THE CRADLE OF THE DEEP, and each time he reached the refrain, 'And\ncalm and peaceful is my sle-eep,' BOO went the fog-horn, casting a\ncertain amount of doubt on our expectations of peaceful sleep that\nnight, anyway. Then a man with a sweet tenor sang OFT IN THE STILLY\nNIGHT, and the fog-horn showed us just how oft, namely, every thirty\nseconds. But the queerest effect of all was when a girl had to play a\npiano-forte solo. It was something of Chopin's, full of runs and trills\nand little silvery notes. She started all right; but when she was\nhalf-way down the first page, BOO went the fog-horn, a longer blast\nthan usual. We saw her fingers flying, and the turning of the page, but\nnot a note could we hear; and when the old horn stopped and we could\nhear the piano again, she had reached a place half-way down the second\npage, and we hadn't heard what led to it. My! it was funny. That went\non all through. She was a plucky girl to stick to it. We gave her a\ngood round of applause when she had finished, and the fog-horn joined\nin and drowned us. It was the queerest concert experience I ever had.\nBut we all enjoyed it. Only we didn't enjoy that noise keeping right on\nuntil five o'clock next morning.\"\n\nJane had turned in her chair, and listened with appreciative interest\nwhile the lovely American girl talked, watching, with real delight, her\nexquisite face and graceful gestures, and thinking how Dal must enjoy\nlooking at her when she talked with so much charm and animation. She\nglanced down, trying to see the admiration in his eyes; but his head\nwas bent, and he was apparently absorbed in the occupation of tracing\nthe broguing of her shoes with the long stalk of a chestnut leaf. For a\nmoment she watched the slim brown hand, as carefully intent on this\nuseless task, as if working on a canvas; then she suddenly withdrew her\nfoot, feeling almost vexed with him for his inattention and apparent\nindifference.\n\nGarth sat up instantly. \"It must have been awfully funny,\" he said.\n\"And how well you told it. One could hear the fog-horn, and see the\ndismayed faces of the performers. Like an earthquake, a fog-horn is the\nsort of thing you don't ever get used to. It sounds worse every time.\nLet's each tell the funniest thing we remember at a concert. I once\nheard a youth recite Tennyson's Charge of the Light Brigade with much\ndramatic action. But he was extremely nervous, and got rather mixed. In\ndescribing the attitude of mind of the noble six hundred, he told us\nimpressively that it was\"\n\n \"'Theirs not to make reply;\n Theirs not to do or die;\n Theirs BUT TO REASON WHY.'\"\n\n\"The tone and action were all right, and I doubt whether many of the\naudience noticed anything wrong with the words.\"\n\n\"That reminds me,\" said Ronald Ingram, \"of quite the funniest thing I\never heard. It was at a Thanksgiving service when some of our troops\nreturned from South Africa. The proceedings concluded by the singing of\nthe National Anthem right through. You recollect how recently we had\nhad to make the change of pronoun, and how difficult it was to remember\nnot to shout:\"\n\n\"'Send HER victorious'? Well, there was a fellow just behind me, with a\ntremendous voice, singing lustily, and taking special pains to get the\npronouns correct throughout. And when he reached the fourth line of the\nsecond verse he sang with loyal fervour.\"\n\n \"'Confound HIS politics,\n Frustrate HIS knavish tricks!'\"\n\n\"That would amuse the King,\" said Lady Ingleby. \"Are you sure it is a\nfact, Ronnie?\"\n\n\"Positive! I could tell you the church, and the day, and call a whole\npewful of witnesses who were convulsed by it.\"\n\n\"Well, I shall tell his Majesty at the next opportunity, and say you\nheard it. But how about the tennis? What comes next? Final for couples?\nOh, yes! Dal, you and Miss Lister play Colonel Loraine and Miss\nVermount; and I think you ought to win fairly easily. You two are so\nwell matched. Jane, this will be worth watching.\"\n\n\"I am sure it will,\" said Jane warmly, looking at the two, who had\nrisen and stood together in the evening sunlight, examining their\nrackets and discussing possible tactics, while awaiting their\nopponents. They made such a radiantly beautiful couple; it was as if\nnature had put her very best and loveliest into every detail of each.\nThe only fault which could possibly have been found with the idea of\nthem wedded, was that her dark, slim beauty was so very much just a\nfeminine edition of his, that they might easily have been taken for\nbrother and sister; but this was not a fault which occurred to Jane.\nHer whole-hearted admiration of Pauline increased every time she looked\nat her; and now she had really seen them together, she felt sure she\nhad given wise advice to Garth, and rejoiced to know he was taking it.\n\n * * * * *\n\nLater on, as they strolled back to the house together,--she and Garth\nalone,--Jane said, simply: \"Dal, you will not mind if I ask? Is it\nsettled yet?\"\n\n\"I mind nothing you ask,\" Garth replied; \"only be more explicit. Is\nwhat settled?\"\n\n\"Are you and Miss Lister engaged?\"\n\n\"No,\" Garth answered. \"What made you suppose we should be?\"\n\n\"You said at Overdene on Tuesday--TUESDAY! oh! doesn't it seem weeks\nago?--you said we were to take you seriously.\"\n\n\"It seems years ago,\" said Garth; \"and I sincerely hope you will take\nme--seriously. All the same I have not proposed to Miss Lister; and I\nam anxious for an undisturbed talk with you on the subject. Miss\nChampion, after dinner to-night, when all the games and amusements are\nin full swing, and we can escape unobserved, will you come out onto the\nterrace with me, where I shall be able to speak to you without fear of\ninterruption? The moonlight on the lake is worth seeing from the\nterrace. I spent an hour out there last night--ah, no; you are wrong\nfor once--I spent it alone, when the boating was over, and thought\nof--how--to-night--we might be talking there together.\"\n\n\"Certainly I will come,\" said Jane; \"and you must feel free to tell me\nanything you wish, and promise to let me advise or help in any way I\ncan.\"\n\n\"I will tell you everything,\" said Garth very low, \"and you shall\nadvise and help as ONLY you can.\"\n\n * * * * *\n\nJane sat on her window-sill, enjoying the sunset and the exquisite\nview, and glad of a quiet half-hour before she need think of summoning\nher maid. Immediately below her ran the terrace, wide and gravelled,\nbounded by a broad stone parapet, behind which was a drop of eight or\nten feet to the old-fashioned garden, with quaint box-bordered\nflower-beds, winding walks, and stone fountains. Beyond, a stretch of\nsmooth lawn sloping down to the lake, which now lay, a silver mirror,\nin the soft evening light. The stillness was so perfect; the sense of\npeace, so all-pervading. Jane held a book on her knee, but she was not\nreading. She was looking away to the distant woods beyond the lake;\nthen to the pearly sky above, flecked with rosy clouds and streaked\nwith gleams of gold; and a sense of content, and gladness, and\nwell-being, filled her.\n\nPresently she heard a light step on the gravel below and leaned forward\nto see to whom it belonged. Garth had come out of the smoking-room and\nwalked briskly to and fro, once or twice. Then he threw himself into a\nwicker seat just beneath her window, and sat there, smoking\nmeditatively. The fragrance of his cigarette reached Jane, up among the\nmagnolia blossoms. \"'Zenith,' Marcovitch,\" she said to herself, and\nsmiled. \"Packed in jolly green boxes, twelve shillings a hundred! I\nmust remember in case I want to give him a Christmas present. By then\nit will be difficult to find anything which has not already been\nshowered upon him.\"\n\nGarth flung away the end of his cigarette, and commenced humming below\nhis breath; then gradually broke into words and sang softly, in his\nsweet barytone:\n\n \"'It is not mine to sing the stately grace,\n The great soul beaming in my lady's face.'\"\n\nThe tones, though quiet, were so vibrant with passionate feeling, that\nJane felt herself an eavesdropper. She hastily picked a large magnolia\nleaf and, leaning out, let it fall upon his head. Garth started, and\nlooked up. \"Hullo!\" he said. \"YOU--up there?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Jane, laughing down at him, and speaking low lest other\ncasements should be open, \"I--up here. You are serenading the wrong\nwindow, dear 'devout lover.'\"\n\n\"What a lot you know about it,\" remarked Garth, rather moodily.\n\n\"Don't I?\" whispered Jane. \"But you must not mind, Master Garthie,\nbecause you know how truly I care. In old Margery's absence, you must\nlet me be mentor.\"\n\nGarth sprang up and stood erect, looking up at her, half-amused,\nhalf-defiant.\n\n\"Shall I climb the magnolia?\" he said. \"I have heaps to say to you\nwhich cannot be shouted to the whole front of the house.\"\n\n\"Certainly not,\" replied Jane. \"I don't want any Romeos coming in at my\nwindow. 'Hoity-toity! What next?' as Aunt 'Gina would say. Run along\nand change your pinafore, Master Garthie. The 'heaps of things' must\nkeep until to-night, or we shall both be late for dinner.\"\n\n\"All right,\" said Garth, \"all right. But you will come out here this\nevening, Miss Champion? And you will give me as long as I want?\"\n\n\"I will come as soon as we can possibly escape,\" replied Jane; \"and you\ncannot be more anxious to tell me everything than I am to hear it. Oh!\nthe scent of these magnolias! And just look at the great white\ntrumpets! Would you like one for your buttonhole?\"\n\nHe gave her a wistful, whimsical little smile; then turned and went\nindoors.\n\n\"Why do I feel so inclined to tease him?\" mused Jane, as she moved,\nfrom the window. \"Really it is I who have been silly this time; and he,\nstaid and sensible. Myra is quite right. He is taking it very\nseriously. And how about her? Ah! I hope she cares enough, and in the\nright way.--Come in, Matthews! And you can put out the gown I wore on\nthe night of the concert at Overdene, and we must make haste. We have\njust twenty minutes. What a lovely evening! Before you do anything\nelse, come and see this sunset on the lake. Ah! it is good to be here!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X\n\nTHE REVELATION\n\n\nAll the impatience in the world could not prevent dinner at Shenstone\nfrom being a long function, and two of the most popular people in the\nparty could not easily escape afterwards unnoticed. So a distant clock\nin the village was striking ten, as Garth and Jane stepped out on to\nthe terrace together. Garth caught up a rug in passing, and closed the\ndoor of the lower hall carefully behind him.\n\nThey were quite alone. It was the first time they had been really alone\nsince these days apart, which had seemed so long to both.\n\nThey walked silently, side by side, to the wide stone parapet\noverlooking the old-fashioned garden. The silvery moonlight flooded the\nwhole scene with radiance. They could see the stiff box-borders, the\nwinding paths, the queerly shaped flower-beds, and, beyond, the lake,\nlike a silver mirror, reflecting the calm loveliness of the full moon.\n\nGarth spread the rug on the coping, and Jane sat down. He stood beside\nher, one foot on the coping, his arms folded across his chest, his head\nerect. Jane had seated herself sideways, turning towards him, her back\nto an old stone lion mounting guard upon the parapet; but she turned\nher head still further, to look down upon the lake, and she thought\nGarth was looking in the same direction.\n\nBut Garth was looking at Jane.\n\nShe wore the gown of soft trailing black material she had worn at the\nOverdene concert, only she had not on the pearls or, indeed, any\nornament save a cluster of crimson rambler roses. They nestled in the\nsoft, creamy old lace which covered the bosom of her gown. There was a\nquiet strength and nobility about her attitude which thrilled the soul\nof the man who stood watching her. All the adoring love, the passion of\nworship, which filled his heart, rose to his eyes and shone there. No\nneed to conceal it now. His hour had come at last, and he had nothing\nto hide from the woman he loved.\n\nPresently she turned, wondering why he did not begin his confidences\nabout Pauline Lister. Looking up inquiringly, she met his eyes.\n\n\"Dal!\" cried Jane, and half rose from her seat. \"Oh, Dal,--don't!\"\n\nHe gently pressed her back. \"Hush, dear,\" he said. \"I must tell you\neverything, and you have promised to listen, and to advise and help.\nAh, Jane, Jane! I shall need your help. I want it so greatly, and not\nonly your help, Jane--but YOU--you, yourself. Ah, how I want you! These\nthree days have been one continual ache of loneliness, because you were\nnot there; and life began to live and move again, when you returned.\nAnd yet it has been so hard, waiting all these hours to speak. I have\nso much to tell you, Jane, of all you are to me--all you have become to\nme, since the night of the concert. Ah, how can I express it? I have\nnever had any big things in my life; all has been more or less\ntrivial--on the surface. This need of you--this wanting you--is so\nhuge. It dwarfs all that went before; it would overwhelm all that is to\ncome,--were it not that it will be the throne, the crown, the summit,\nof the future.--Oh, Jane! I have admired so many women. I have raved\nabout them, sighed for them, painted them, and forgotten them. But I\nnever LOVED a woman before; I never knew what womanhood meant to a man,\nuntil I heard your voice thrill through the stillness--'I count each\npearl.' Ah, beloved, I have learned to count pearls since then,\nprecious hours in the past, long forgotten, now remembered, and at last\nunderstood. 'Each hour a pearl, each pearl a prayer,' ay, a passionate\nplea that past and present may blend together into a perfect rosary,\nand that the future may hold no possibility of pain or parting. Oh,\nJane--Jane! Shall I ever be able to make you understand--all--how\nmuch--Oh, JANE!\"\n\nShe was not sure just when he had come so near; but he had dropped on\none knee in front of her, and, as he uttered the last broken sentences,\nhe passed both his arms around her waist and pressed his face into the\nsoft lace at her bosom. A sudden quietness came over him. All\nstruggling with explanations seemed hushed into the silence of complete\ncomprehension--an all-pervading, enveloping silence.\n\nJane neither moved nor spoke. It was so strangely sweet to have him\nthere--this whirlwind of emotion come home to rest, in a great\nstillness, just above her quiet heart. Suddenly she realised that the\nblank of the last three days had not been the miss of the music, but\nthe miss of HIM; and as she realised this, she unconsciously put her\narms about him. Sensations unknown to her before, awoke and moved\nwithin her,--a heavenly sense of aloofness from the world, the\nloneliness of life all swept away by this dear fact--just he and she\ntogether. Even as she thought it, felt it, he lifted his head, still\nholding her, and looking into her face, said: \"You and I together, my\nown--my own.\"\n\nBut those beautiful shining eyes were more than Jane could bear. The\nsense of her plainness smote her, even in that moment; and those\nadoring eyes seemed lights that revealed it. With no thought in her\nmind but to hide the outward part from him who had suddenly come so\nclose to the shrine within, she quickly put both hands behind his head\nand pressed his face down again, into the lace at her bosom. But, to\nhim, those dear firm hands holding him close, by that sudden movement,\nseemed an acceptance of himself and of all he had to offer. For ten,\ntwenty, thirty exquisite seconds, his soul throbbed in silence and\nrapture beyond words. Then he broke from the pressure of those\nrestraining hands; lifted his head, and looked into her face once more.\n\n\"My wife!\" he said.\n\n * * * * *\n\nInto Jane's honest face came a look of startled wonder; then a deep\nflush, seeming to draw all the blood, which had throbbed so strangely\nthrough her heart, into her cheeks, making them burn, and her heart die\nwithin her. She disengaged herself from his hold, rose, and stood\nlooking away to where the still waters of the lake gleamed silver in\nthe moonlight.\n\nGarth Dalmain stood beside her. He did not touch her, nor did he speak\nagain. He felt sure he had won; and his whole soul was filled with a\ngladness unspeakable. His spirit was content. The intense silence\nseemed more expressive than words. Any ordinary touch would have dimmed\nthe sense of those moments when her hands had held him to her. So he\nstood quite still and waited.\n\nAt last Jane spoke. \"Do you mean that you wish to ask me to be--to be\nTHAT--to you?\"\n\n\"Yes, dear,\" he answered, gently; but in his voice vibrated the quiet\nof strong self-control. \"At least I came out here intending to ask it\nof you. But I cannot ask it now, beloved. I can't ask you TO BE what\nyou ARE already. No promise, no ceremony, no giving or receiving of a\nring, could make you more my wife than you have been just now in those\nwonderful moments.\"\n\nJane slowly turned and looked at him. She had never seen anything so\nradiant as his face. But still those shining eyes smote her like\nswords. She longed to cover them with her hands; or bid him look away\nover the woods and water, while he went on saying these sweet things to\nher. She put up one foot on the low parapet, leaned her elbow on her\nknee, and shielded her face with her hand. Then she answered him,\ntrying to speak calmly.\n\n\"You have taken me absolutely by surprise, Dal. I knew you had been\ndelightfully nice and attentive since the concert evening, and that our\nmutual understanding of music and pleasure in it, coupled with an\nincreased intimacy brought about by our confidential conversation under\nthe cedar, had resulted in an unusually close and delightful\nfriendship. I honestly admit it seems to have--it has--meant more to me\nthan any friendship has ever meant. But that was partly owing to your\ntemperament, Dal, which tends to make you always the most vivid spot in\none's mental landscape. But truly I thought you wanted me out here in\norder to pour out confidences about Pauline Lister. Everybody believes\nthat her loveliness has effected your final capture, and truly, Dal,\ntruly--I thought so, too.\" Jane paused.\n\n\"Well?\" said the quiet voice, with its deep undertone of gladness. \"You\nknow otherwise now.\"\n\n\"Dal--you have so startled and astonished me. I cannot give you an\nanswer to-night. You must let me have until to-morrow--to-morrow\nmorning.\"\n\n\"But, beloved,\" he said tenderly, moving a little nearer, \"there is no\nmore need for you to answer than I felt need to put a question. Can't\nyou realise this? Question and answer were asked and given just now.\nOh, my dearest--come back to me. Sit down again.\"\n\nBut Jane stood rigid.\n\n\"No,\" she said. \"I can't allow you to take things for granted in this\nway. You took me by surprise, and I lost my head utterly--unpardonably,\nI admit. But, my dear boy, marriage is a serious thing. Marriage is not\na mere question of sentiment. It has to wear. It has to last. It must\nhave a solid and dependable foundation, to stand the test and strain of\ndaily life together. I know so many married couples intimately. I stay\nin their homes, and act sponsor to their children; with the result that\nI vowed never to risk it myself. And now I have let you put this\nquestion, and you must not wonder if I ask for twelve hours to think it\nover.\"\n\nGarth took this silently. He sat down on the stone coping with his back\nto the lake and, leaning backward, tried to see her face; but the hand\ncompletely screened it. He crossed his knees and clasped both hands\naround them, rocking slightly backward and forward for a minute while\nmastering the impulse to speak or act violently. He strove to compose\nhis mind by fixing it upon trivial details which chanced to catch his\neye. His red socks showed clearly in the moonlight against the white\npaving of the terrace, and looked well with black patent-leather shoes.\nHe resolved always to wear red silk socks in the evening, and wondered\nwhether Jane would knit some for him. He counted the windows along the\nfront of the house, noting which were his and which were Jane's, and\nhow many came between. At last he knew he could trust himself, and,\nleaning back, spoke very gently, his dark head almost touching the lace\nof her sleeve.\n\n\"Dearest--tell me, didn't you feel just now--\"\n\n\"Oh, hush!\". cried Jane, almost harshly, \"hush, Dal! Don't talk about\nfeelings with this question between us. Marriage is fact, not feeling.\nIf you want to do really the best thing for us both, go straight\nindoors now and don't speak to me again to-night. I heard you say you\nwere going to try the organ in the church on the common at eleven\no'clock to-morrow morning. Well--I will come there soon after half-past\neleven and listen while you play; and at noon you can send away the\nblower, and I will give you my answer. But now--oh, go away, dear; for\ntruly I cannot bear anymore. I must be left alone.\"\n\nGarth loosed the strong fingers clasped so tightly round his knee. He\nslipped the hand next to her along the stone coping, close to her foot.\nShe felt him take hold of her gown with those deft, masterful fingers.\nThen he bent his dark head quickly, and whispering: \"I kiss the cross,\"\nwith a gesture of infinite reverence and tenderness, which Jane never\nforgot, he kissed the hem of her skirt. The next moment she was alone.\n\nShe listened while his footsteps died away. She heard the door into the\nlower hall open and close. Then slowly she sat down just as she had sat\nwhen he knelt in front of her. Now she was quite alone. The tension of\nthese last hard moments relaxed. She pressed both hands over the lace\nat her bosom where that dear, beautiful, adoring face had been hidden.\nHad she FELT, he asked. Ah! what had she not felt?\n\nTears never came easily to Jane. But to-night she had been called a\nname by which she had never thought to be called; and already her\nhonest heart was telling her she would never be called by it again. And\nlarge silent tears overflowed and fell upon her hands and upon the lace\nat her breast. For the wife and the mother in her had been wakened and\nstirred, and the deeps of her nature broke through the barriers of\nstern repression and almost masculine self-control, and refused to be\ndriven back without the womanly tribute of tears.\n\nAnd around her feet lay the scattered petals of crushed rambler roses.\n\n * * * * *\n\nPresently she passed indoors. The upper hall was filled with merry\ngroups and resounded with \"good-nights\" as the women mounted the great\nstaircase, pausing to fling back final repartees, or to confirm plans\nfor the morrow.\n\nGarth Dalmain was standing at the foot of the staircase, held in\nconversation by Pauline Lister and her aunt, who had turned on the\nfourth step. Jane saw his slim, erect figure and glossy head the moment\nshe entered the hall. His back was towards her, and though she advanced\nand stood quite near, he gave no sign of being aware of her presence.\nBut the joyousness of his voice seemed to make him hers again in this\nnew sweet way. She alone knew what had caused it, and unconsciously she\nput one hand over her bosom as she listened.\n\n\"Sorry, dear ladies,\" Garth was saying, \"but to-morrow morning is\nimpossible. I have an engagement in the village. Yes--really! At eleven\no'clock.\"\n\n\"That sounds so rural and pretty, Mr. Dalmain,\" said Mrs. Parker Bangs.\n\"Why not take Pauline and me along? We have seen no dairies, and no\ndairy-maids, nor any of the things in Adam Bede, since we came over. I\nwould just love to step into Mrs. Poyser's kitchen and see myself\nreflected in the warming-pans on the walls.\"\n\n\"Perhaps we would be DE TROP in the dairy,\" murmured Miss Lister archly.\n\nShe looked very lovely in her creamy-white satin gown, her small head\nheld regally, the brilliant charm of American womanhood radiating from\nher. She wore no jewels, save one string of perfectly matched pearls;\nbut on Pauline Lister's neck even pearls seemed to sparkle.\n\nAll these scintillations, flung at Garth, passed over his sleek head\nand reached Jane where she lingered in the background. She took in\nevery detail. Never had Miss Lister's loveliness been more correctly\nappraised.\n\n\"But it happens, unfortunately, to be neither a dairy-maid nor a\nwarming-pan,\" said Garth. \"My appointment is with a very grubby small\nboy, whose rural beauties consist in a shock of red hair and a whole\npepper-pot of freckles.\"\n\n\"Philanthropic?\" inquired Miss Lister.\n\n\"Yes, at the rate of threepence an hour.\"\n\n\"A caddy, of course,\" cried both ladies together.\n\n\"My! What a mystery about a thing so simple!\" added Mrs. Parker Bangs.\n\"Now we have heard, Mr. Dalmain, that it is well worth the walk to the\nlinks to see you play. So you may expect us to arrive there, time to\nsee you start around.\"\n\nGarth's eyes twinkled. Jane could hear the twinkle in his voice. \"My\ndear lady,\" he said, \"you overestimate my play as, in your great\nkindness of heart, you overestimate many other things connected with\nme. But I shall like to think of you at the golf links at eleven\no'clock to-morrow morning. You might drive there, but the walk through\nthe woods is too charming to miss. Only remember, you cross the park\nand leave by the north gate, not the main entrance by which we go to\nthe railway station. I would offer to escort you, but duty takes me, at\nan early hour, in quite another direction. Besides, when Miss Lister's\nwish to see the links is known, so many people will discover golf to be\nthe one possible way of spending to-morrow morning, that I should be\nbut a unit in the crowd which will troop across the park to the north\ngate. It will be quite impossible for you to miss your way.\"\n\nMrs. Parker Bangs was beginning to explain elaborately that never,\nunder any circumstances, could he be a unit, when her niece\nperemptorily interposed.\n\n\"That will do, aunt. Don't be silly. We are all units, except when we\nmake a crowd; which is what we are doing on this staircase at this\npresent moment, so that Miss Champion has for some time been trying\nineffectually to pass us. Do you golf to-morrow, Miss Champion?\"\n\nGarth stood on one side, and Jane began to mount the stairs. He did not\nlook at her, but it seemed to Jane that his eyes were on the hem of her\ngown as it trailed past him. She paused beside Miss Lister. She knew\nexactly how effectual a foil she made to the American girl's white\nloveliness. She turned and faced him. She wished him to look up and see\nthem standing there together. She wanted the artist eyes to take in the\ncruel contrast. She wanted the artist soul of him to realise it. She\nwaited.\n\nGarth's eyes were still on the hem of her gown, close to the left foot;\nbut he lifted them slowly to the lace at her bosom, where her hand\nstill lay. There they rested a moment, then dropped again, without\nrising higher.\n\n\"Yes,\" said Mrs. Parker Bangs, \"are you playing around with Mr. Dalmain\nto-morrow forenoon, Miss Champion?\"\n\nJane suddenly flushed crimson, and then was furious with herself for\nblushing, and hated the circumstances which made her feel and act so\nunlike her ordinary self. She hesitated during the long dreadful\nmoment. How dared Garth behave in that way? People would think there\nwas something unusual about her gown. She felt a wild impulse to stoop\nand look at it herself to see whether his kiss had materialised and was\nhanging like a star to the silken hem. Then she forced herself to\ncalmness and answered rather brusquely: \"I am not golfing to-morrow;\nbut you could not do better than go to the links. Good-night, Mrs.\nParker Bangs. Sleep well, Miss Lister. Good-night, Dal.\"\n\nGarth was on the step below them, handing Pauline's aunt a letter she\nhad dropped.\n\n\"Good-night, Miss Champion,\" he said, and for one instant his eyes met\nhers, but he did not hold out his hand, or appear to see hers half\nextended.\n\nThe three women mounted the staircase together, then went different\nways. Miss Lister trailed away down a passage to the right, her aunt\ntrotting in her wake.\n\n\"There's been a tiff there,\" said Mrs. Parker Bangs.\n\n\"Poor thing!\" said Miss Lister softly. \"I like her. She's a real good\nsort. I should have thought she would have been more sensible than the\nrest of us.\"\n\n\"A real plain sort,\" said her aunt, ignoring the last sentence.\n\n\"Well, she didn't make her own face,\" said Miss Lister generously.\n\n\"No, and she don't pay other people to make it for her. She's what Sir\nWalter Scott calls: 'Nature in all its ruggedness.'\"\n\n\"Dear aunt,\" remarked Miss Lister wearily, \"I wish you wouldn't trouble\nto quote the English classics to me when we are alone. It is pure waste\nof breath, because you see I KNOW you have read them all. Here is my\ndoor. Now come right in and make yourself comfy on that couch. I am\ngoing to sit in this palatial arm-chair opposite, and do a little very\nneedful explaining. My! How they fix one to the floor! These ancestral\ncastles are all right so far as they go, but they don't know a thing\nabout rockers. Now I have a word or two to say about Miss Champion.\nShe's a real good sort, and I like her. She's not a beauty; but she has\na fine figure, and she dresses right. She has heaps of money, and could\nhave rarer pearls than mine; but she knows better than to put pearls on\nthat brown skin. I like a woman who knows her limitations and is\nsensible over them. All the men adore her, not for what she looks but\nfor what she is, and, my word, aunt, that's what pays in the long run.\nThat is what lasts. Ten years hence the Honourable Jane will still be\nwhat she is, and I shall be trying to look what I'm not. As for Garth\nDalmain, he has eyes for all of us and a heart for none. His pretty\nspeeches and admiring looks don't mean marriage, because he is a man\nwith an ideal of womanhood and he can't see himself marrying below it.\nIf the Sistine Madonna could step down off those clouds and hand the\ninfant to the young woman on her left, he might marry HER; but even\nthen he would be afraid he might see some one next day who did her hair\nmore becomingly, or that her foot would not look so well on his Persian\nrugs as it does on that cloud. He won't marry money, because he has\nplenty of it. And even if he hadn't, money made in candles would not\nappeal to him. He won't marry beauty, because he thinks too much about\nit. He adores so many lovely faces, that he is never sure for\ntwenty-four hours which of them he admires most, bar the fact that, as\nin the case of fruit trees, the unattainable are usually the most\ndesired. He won't marry goodness--virtue--worth--whatever you choose to\ncall the sterling qualities of character--because in all these the\nHonourable Jane Champion is his ideal, and she is too sensible a woman\nto tie such an epicure to her plain face. Besides, she considers\nherself his grandmother, and doesn't require him to teach her to suck\neggs. But Garth Dalmain, poor boy, is so sublimely lacking in\nself-consciousness that he never questions whether he can win his\nideal. He possesses her already in his soul, and it will be a fearful\nsmack in the face when she says 'No,' as she assuredly will do, for\nreasons aforesaid. These three days, while he has been playing around\nwith me, and you and other dear match-making old donkeys have gambolled\nabout us, and made sure we were falling in love, he has been\nworshipping the ground she walks on, and counting the hours until he\nshould see her walk on it again. He enjoyed being with me more than\nwith the other girls, because I understood, and helped him to work all\nconversations round to her, and he knew, when she arrived here, I could\nbe trusted to develop sudden anxiety about you, or have important\nletters to write, if she came in sight. But that is all there will ever\nbe between me and Garth Dalmain; and if you had a really careful regard\nfor my young affections you would drop your false set on the marble\nwash-stand, or devise some other equally false excuse for our immediate\ndeparture for town to-morrow.--And now, dear, don't stay to argue;\nbecause I have said exactly all there is to say on the subject, and a\nlittle more. And try to toddle to bed without telling me of which cute\ncharacter in Dickens I remind you, because I am cuter than any of them,\nand if I stay in this tight frock another second I can't answer for the\nconsequences.--Oui, Josephine, entrez!--Good-night, dear aunt. Happy\ndreams!\"\n\nBut after her maid had left her, Pauline switched off the electric\nlight and, drawing back the curtain, stood for a long while at her\nwindow, looking out at the peaceful English scene bathed in moonlight.\nAt last she murmured softly, leaning her beautiful head against the\nwindow frame:\n\n\"I stated your case well, but you didn't quite deserve it, Dal. You\nought to have let me know about Jane, weeks ago. Anyway, it will stop\nthe talk about you and me. And as for you, dear, you will go on sighing\nfor the moon; and when you find the moon is unattainable, you will not\ndream of seeking solace in more earthly lights--not even poppa's best\nsperm,\" she added, with a wistful little smile, for Pauline's fun\nsparkled in solitude as freely as in company, and as often at her own\nexpense as at that of other people, and her brave American spirit would\nnot admit, even to herself, a serious hurt.\n\nMeanwhile Jane had turned to the left and passed slowly to her room.\nGarth had not taken her half-proffered hand, and she knew perfectly\nwell why. He would never again be content to clasp her hand in\nfriendship. If she cut him off from the touch which meant absolute\npossession, she cut herself off from the contact of simple comradeship.\nGarth, to-night, was like a royal tiger who had tasted blood. It seemed\na queer simile, as she thought of him in his conventional evening\nclothes, correct in every line, well-groomed, smart almost to a fault.\nBut out on the terrace with him she had realised, for the first time,\nthe primal elements which go to the making of a man--a forceful\ndetermined, ruling man--creation's king. They echo of primeval forests.\nThe roar of the lion is in them, the fierceness of the tiger; the\ninstinct of dominant possession, which says: \"Mine to have and hold, to\nfight for and enjoy; and I slay all comers!\" She had felt it, and her\nown brave soul had understood it and responded to it, unafraid; and\nbeen ready to mate with it, if only--ah! if only--\n\nBut things could never be again as they had been before. If she meant\nto starve her tiger, steel bars must be between them for evermore. None\nof those sentimental suggestions of attempts to be a sort of\nunsatisfactory cross between sister and friend would do for the man\nwhose head she had unconsciously held against her breast. Jane knew\nthis. He had kept himself magnificently in hand after she put him from\nher, but she knew he was only giving her breathing space. He still\nconsidered her his own, and his very certainty of the near future had\ngiven him that gentle patience in the present. But even now, while her\nanswer pended, he would not take her hand in friendship. Jane closed\nher door and locked it. She must face this problem of the future, with\nall else locked out excepting herself and him. Ah! if she could but\nlock herself out and think only of him and of his love, as beautiful,\nperfect gifts laid at her feet, that she might draw them up into her\nempty arms and clasp them there for evermore. Just for a little while\nshe would do this. One hour of realisation was her right. Afterwards\nshe must bring HERSELF into the problem,--her possibilities; her\nlimitations; herself, in her relation to him in the future; in the\neffect marriage with her would be likely to have upon him. What it\nmight mean to her did not consciously enter into her calculations. Jane\nwas self-conscious, with the intense self-consciousness of all reserved\nnatures, but she was not selfish.\n\nAt first, then, she left her room in darkness, and, groping her way to\nthe curtains, drew them back, threw up the sash, and, drawing a chair\nto the window, sat down, leaning her elbows on the sill and her chin in\nher hands, and looked down upon the terrace, still bathed in moonlight.\nHer window was almost opposite the place where she and Garth had\ntalked. She could see the stone lion and the vase full of scarlet\ngeraniums. She could locate the exact spot where she was sitting when\nhe--Memory awoke, vibrant.\n\nThen Jane allowed herself the most wonderful mental experience of her\nlife. She was a woman of purpose and decision. She had said she had a\nright to that hour, and she took it to the full. In soul she met her\ntiger and mated with him, unafraid. He had not asked whether she loved\nhim or not, and she did not need to ask herself. She surrendered her\nproud liberty, and tenderly, humbly, wistfully, yet with all the\nstrength of her strong nature, promised to love, honour, and obey him.\nShe met the adoration of his splendid eyes without a tremor. She had\nlocked her body out. She was alone with her soul; and her soul was\nall-beautiful--perfect for him.\n\nThe loneliness of years slipped from her. Life became rich and\npurposeful. He needed her always, and she was always there and always\nable to meet his need. \"Are you content, my beloved?\" she asked over\nand over; and Garth's joyous voice, with the ring of perpetual youth in\nit, always answered: \"Perfectly content.\" And Jane smiled into the\nnight, and in the depths of her calm eyes dawned a knowledge hitherto\nunknown, and in her tender smile trembled, with unspeakable sweetness,\nan understanding of the secret of a woman's truest bliss. \"He is mine\nand I am his. And because he is mine, my beloved is safe; and because I\nam his, he is content.\"\n\nThus she gave herself completely; gathering him into the shelter of her\nlove; and her generous heart expanded to the greatness of the gift.\nThen the mother in her awoke and realised how much of the maternal\nflows into the love of a true woman when she understands how largely\nthe child-nature predominates in the man in love, and how the very\nstrength of his need of her reduces to unaccustomed weakness the strong\nnature to which she has become essential.\n\nJane pressed her hands upon her breast. \"Garth,\" she whispered, \"Garth,\nI UNDERSTAND. My own poor boy, it was so hard to you to be sent away\njust then. But you had had all--all you wanted, in those few wonderful\nmoments, and nothing can rob you of that fact. And you have made me SO\nyours that, whatever the future brings for you and me, no other face\nwill ever be hidden here. It is yours, and I am yours--to-night, and\nhenceforward, forever.\"\n\nJane leaned her forehead on the window-sill. The moonlight fell on the\nheavy coils of her brown hair. The scent of the magnolia blooms rose in\nfragrance around her. The song of a nightingale purled and thrilled in\nan adjacent wood. The lonely years of the past, the perplexing moments\nof the present, the uncertain vistas of the future, all rolled away.\nShe sailed with Garth upon a golden ocean far removed from the shores\nof time. For love is eternal; and the birth of love frees the spirit\nfrom all limitations of the flesh.\n\n * * * * *\n\nA clock in the distant village struck midnight. The twelve strokes\nfloated up to Jane's window across the moonlit park. Time was once\nmore. Her freed spirit resumed the burden of the body.\n\nA new day had begun, the day upon which she had promised her answer to\nGarth. The next time that clock struck twelve she would be standing\nwith him in the church, and her answer must be ready.\n\nShe turned from the window without closing it, drew the curtains\nclosely across, switched on the electric light over the writing-table,\ntook off her evening gown, hung up bodice and skirt in the wardrobe,\nresolutely locking the door upon them. Then she slipped on a sage-green\nwrapper, which she had lately purchased at a bazaar because every one\nelse fled from it, and the old lady whose handiwork it was seemed so\ndisappointed, and, drawing a chair near the writing-table, took out her\ndiary, unlocked the heavy clasp, and began to read. She turned the\npages slowly, pausing here and there, until she came to those she\nsought. Over them she pondered long, her head in her hands. They\ncontained a very full account of her conversation with Garth on the\nafternoon of the day of the concert at Overdene; and the lines upon\nwhich she specially dwelt were these: \"His face was transfigured....\nGoodness and inspiration shone from it, making it as the face of an\nangel.... I never thought him ugly again. Child though I was, I\ncould differentiate even then between ugliness and plainness. I have\nassociated his face ever since with the wondrous beauty of his soul.\nWhen he sat down, at the close of his address, I no longer thought him\na complicated form of chimpanzee. I remembered the divine halo of his\nsmile. Of course it was not the sort of face one COULD have wanted to\nlive with, or to have day after day opposite one at table, but then one\nwas not called to that sort of discipline, which would have been\nmartyrdom to me. And he has always stood to my mind since as a proof of\nthe truth that goodness is never ugly, and that divine love and\naspiration, shining through the plainest features, may redeem them,\ntemporarily, into beauty; and permanently, into a thing one loves to\nremember.\"\n\nAt first Jane read the entire passage. Then her mind focussed itself\nupon one sentence: \"Of course it was not the sort of face one COULD\nhave wanted to live with, or to have day after day opposite one at\ntable, ... which would have been martyrdom to me.\"\n\nAt length Jane arose, turned on all the lights over the dressing-table,\nparticularly two bright ones on either side of the mirror, and, sitting\ndown before it, faced herself honestly.\n\n * * * * *\n\nWhen the village clock struck one, Garth Dalmain stood at his window\ntaking a final look at the night which had meant so much to him. He\nremembered, with an amused smile, how, to help himself to calmness, he\nhad sat on the terrace and thought of his socks, and then had counted\nthe windows between his and Jane's. There were five of them. He knew\nher window by the magnolia tree and the seat beneath it where he had\nchanced to sit, not knowing she was above him. He leaned far out and\nlooked towards it now. The curtains were drawn, but there appeared\nstill to be a light behind them. Even as he watched, it went out.\n\nHe looked down at the terrace. He could see the stone lion and the vase\nof scarlet geraniums. He could locate the exact spot where she was\nsitting when he--\n\nThen he dropped upon his knees beside the window and looked up into the\nstarry sky.\n\nGarth's mother had lived long enough to teach him the holy secret of\nher sweet patience and endurance. In moments of deep feeling, words\nfrom his mother's Bible came to his lips more readily than expressions\nof his own thought. Now, looking upward, he repeated softly and\nreverently: \"'Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, and\ncometh down from the Father of lights, with whom is no variableness,\nneither shadow of turning.' And oh, Father,\" he added, \"keep us in the\nlight--she and I. May there be in us, as there is in Thee, no\nvariableness, neither shadow which is cast by turning.\"\n\nThen he rose to his feet and looked across once more to the stone lion\nand the broad coping. His soul sang within him, and he folded his arms\nacross his chest. \"My wife!\" he said. \"Oh! my wife!\"\n\n * * * * *\n\nAnd, as the village clock struck one, Jane arrived at her decision.\n\nSlowly she rose, and turned off all the lights; then, groping her way\nto the bed, fell upon her knees beside it, and broke into a passion of\ndesperate, silent weeping.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI\n\nGARTH FINDS THE CROSS\n\n\nThe village church on the green was bathed in sunshine as Jane emerged\nfrom the cool shade of the park. The clock proclaimed the hour\nhalf-past eleven, and Jane did not hasten, knowing she was not expected\nuntil twelve. The windows of the church were open, and the massive\noaken doors stood ajar.\n\nJane paused beneath the ivy-covered porch and stood listening. The\ntones of the organ reached her as from an immense distance, and yet\nwith an all-pervading nearness. The sound was disassociated from hands\nand feet. The organ seemed breathing, and its breath was music.\n\nJane pushed the heavy door further open, and even at that moment it\noccurred to her that the freckled boy with a red head, and Garth's slim\nproportions, had evidently passed easily through an aperture which\nrefused ingress to her more massive figure. She pushed the door further\nopen, and went in.\n\nInstantly a stillness entered into her soul. The sense of unseen\npresences, often so strongly felt on entering an empty church alone,\nthe impress left upon old walls and rafters by the worshipping minds of\ncenturies, hushed the insistent beating of her own perplexity, and for\na few moments she forgot the errand which brought her there, and bowed\nher head in unison with the worship of ages.\n\nGarth was playing the \"Veni, Creator Spiritus\" to Attwood's perfect\nsetting; and, as Jane walked noiselessly up to the chancel, he began to\nsing the words of the second verse. He sang them softly, but his\nbeautifully modulated barytone carried well, and every syllable reached\nher.\n\n \"Enable with perpetual light\n The dulness of our blinded sight;\n Anoint and cheer our soiled face\n With the abundance of Thy grace;\n Keep far our foes; give peace at home;\n Where Thou art Guide, no ill can come.\"\n\nThen the organ swelled into full power, pealing out the theme of the\nlast verse without its words, and allowing those he had sung to repeat\nthemselves over and over in Jane's mind: \"Where Thou art Guide, no ill\ncan come.\" Had she not prayed for guidance? Then surely all would be\nwell.\n\nShe paused at the entrance to the chancel. Garth had returned to the\nsecond verse, and was singing again, to a waldflute accompaniment,\n\"Enable with perpetual light--.\"\n\nJane seated herself in one of the old oak stalls and looked around her.\nThe brilliant sunshine from without entered through the stained-glass\nwindows, mellowed into golden beams of soft amber light, with here and\nthere a shaft of crimson. What a beautiful expression--perpetual light!\nAs Garth sang it, each syllable seemed to pierce the silence like a ray\nof purest sunlight. \"The dulness of--\" Jane could just see the top of\nhis dark head over the heavy brocade of the organ curtain. She dreaded\nthe moment when he should turn, and those vivid eyes should catch sight\nof her--\"our blinded sight.\" How would he take what she must say? Would\nshe have strength to come through a long hard scene? Would he be\ntragically heart-broken?--\"Anoint and cheer our soiled face\"--Would he\nargue, and insist, and override her judgment?--\"With the abundance of\nThy grace\"--Could she oppose his fierce strength, if he chose to exert\nit? Would they either of them come through so hard a time without\nwounding each other terribly?--\"Keep far our foes; give peace at\nhome\"--Oh! what could she say? What would he say? How should she\nanswer? What reason could she give for her refusal which Garth would\never take as final?--\"Where Thou art Guide, no ill can come.\"\n\nAnd then, after a few soft, impromptu chords; the theme changed.\n\nJane's heart stood still. Garth was playing \"The Rosary.\" He did not\nsing it; but the soft insistence of the organ pipes seemed to press the\nwords into the air, as no voice could have done. Memory's pearls, in\nall the purity of their gleaming preciousness, were counted one by one\nby the flute and dulciana; and the sadder tones of the waldflute\nproclaimed the finding of the cross. It all held a new meaning for\nJane, who looked helplessly round, as if seeking some way of escape\nfrom the sad sweetness of sound which filled the little church.\n\nSuddenly it ceased. Garth stood up, turned, and saw her. The glory of a\ngreat joy leaped into his face.\n\n\"All right, Jimmy,\" he said; \"that will do for this morning. And here\nis a bright sixpence, because you have managed the blowing so well.\nHullo! It's a shilling! Never mind. You shall have it because it is\nsuch a glorious day. There never was such a day, Jimmy; and I want you\nto be happy also. Now run off quickly, and shut the church door behind\nyou, my boy.\"\n\nAh! how his voice, with its ring of buoyant gladness, shook her soul.\n\nThe red-headed boy, rather grubby, with a whole pepper-pot of freckles,\nbut a beaming face of pleasure, came out from behind the organ,\nclattered down a side aisle; dropped his shilling on the way and had to\nfind it; but at last went out, the heavy door closing behind him with a\nresounding clang.\n\nGarth had remained standing beside the organ, quite motionless, without\nlooking at Jane, and now that they were absolutely alone in the church,\nhe still stood and waited a few moments. To Jane those moments seemed\ndays, weeks, years, an eternity. Then he came out into the centre of\nthe chancel, his head erect, his eyes shining, his whole bearing that\nof a conqueror sure of his victory. He walked down to the quaintly\ncarved oaken screen and, passing beneath it, stood at the step. Then he\nsigned to Jane to come and stand beside him.\n\n\"Here, dearest,\" he said; \"let it be here.\"\n\nJane came to him, and for a moment they stood together, looking up the\nchancel. It was darker than the rest of the church, being lighted only\nby three narrow stained-glass windows, gems of colour and of\nsignificance. The centre window, immediately over the communion table,\nrepresented the Saviour of the world, dying upon the cross. They gazed\nat it in reverent silence. Then Garth turned to Jane.\n\n\"My beloved,\" he said, \"it is a sacred Presence and a sacred place. But\nno place could be too sacred for that which we have to say to each\nother, and the Holy Presence, in which we both believe, is here to\nbless and ratify it. I am waiting for your answer.\"\n\nJane cleared her throat and put her trembling hands into the large\npockets of her tweed coat.\n\n\"Dal,\" she said; \"my answer is a question. How old are you?\"\n\nShe felt his start of intense surprise. She saw the light of expectant\njoy fade from his face. But he replied, after only a momentary\nhesitation: \"I thought you knew, dearest. I am twenty-seven.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said Jane slowly and deliberately, \"I am thirty; and I look\nthirty-five, and feel forty. You are twenty-seven, Dal, and you look\nnineteen, and often feel nine. I have been thinking it over, and--you\nknow--I cannot marry a mere boy.\"\n\nSilence--absolute.\n\nIn sheer terror Jane forced herself to look at him. He was white to the\nlips. His face was very stern and calm--a strange, stony calmness.\nThere was not much youth in it just then. \"ANOINT AND CHEER OUR SOILED\nFACE\"--The silent church seemed to wail the words in bewildered agony.\n\nAt last he spoke. \"I had not thought of myself,\" he said slowly. \"I\ncannot explain how it comes to pass, but I have not thought of myself\nat all, since my mind has been full of you. Therefore I had not\nrealised how little there is in me that you could care for. I believed\nyou had felt as I did, that we were--just each other's.\" For a moment\nhe put out his hand as if he would have touched her. Then it dropped\nheavily to his side. \"You are quite right,\" he said. \"You could not\nmarry any one whom you consider a mere boy.\"\n\nHe turned from her and faced up the chancel. For the space of a long\nsilent minute he looked at the window over the holy table, where hung\nthe suffering Christ. Then he bowed his head. \"I accept the cross,\" he\nsaid, and, turning, walked quietly down the aisle. The church door\nopened, closed behind him with a heavy clang, and Jane was alone.\n\nShe stumbled back to the seat she had left, and fell upon her knees.\n\n\"O, my God,\" she cried, \"send him back to me, oh, send him back! ...\nOh, Garth! It is I who am plain and unattractive and unworthy, not you.\nOh, Garth--come back! come back! come back! ... I will trust and not\nbe afraid ... Oh, my own Dear--come back!\"\n\nShe listened, with straining ears. She waited, until every nerve of her\nbody ached with suspense. She decided what she would say when the heavy\ndoor reopened and she saw Garth standing in a shaft of sunlight. She\ntried to remember the VENI, but the hollow clang of the door had\nsilenced even memory's echo of that haunting music. So she waited\nsilently, and as she waited the silence grew and seemed to enclose her\nwithin cruel, relentless walls which opened only to allow her glimpses\ninto the vista of future lonely years. Just once more she broke that\nsilence. \"Oh, darling, come back! I WILL RISK IT,\" she said. But no\nstep drew near, and, kneeling with her face buried in her clasped\nhands, Jane suddenly realised that Garth Dalmain had accepted her\ndecision as final and irrevocable, and would not return.\n\nHow long she knelt there after realising this, she never knew. But at\nlast comfort came to her. She felt she had done right. A few hours of\npresent anguish were better than years of future disillusion. Her own\nlife would be sadly empty, and losing this newly found joy was costing\nher more than she had expected; but she honestly believed \"she had done\nrightly towards him, and what did her own pain matter?\" Thus comfort\ncame to Jane.\n\nAt last she rose and passed out of the silent church into the breezy\nsunshine.\n\nNear the park gates a little knot of excited boys were preparing to fly\na kite. Jimmy, the hero of the hour, the centre of attraction, proved\nto be the proud possessor of this new kite. Jimmy was finding the day\nglorious indeed, and was being happy. \"Happy ALSO,\" Garth had said. And\nJane's eyes filled with tears, as she remembered the word and the tone\nin which it was spoken.\n\n\"There goes my poor boy's shilling,\" she said to herself sadly, as the\nkite mounted and soared above the common; \"but, alas, where is his joy?\"\n\nAs she passed up the avenue a dog-cart was driven swiftly down it.\nGarth Dalmain drove it; behind him a groom and a portmanteau. He lifted\nhis hat as he passed her, but looked straight before him. In a moment\nhe was gone. Had Jane wanted to stop him she could not have done so.\nBut she did not want to stop him. She felt absolutely satisfied that\nshe had done the right thing, and done it at greater cost to herself\nthan to him. He would eventually--ah, perhaps before so very long--find\nanother to be to him all, and more than all, he had believed she could\nbe. But she? The dull ache at her bosom reminded her of her own words\nthe night before, whispered in the secret of her chamber to him who,\nalas, was not there to hear: \"Whatever the future brings for you and\nme, no other face will ever be hidden here.\" And, in this first hour of\nthe coming lonely years, she knew them to be true.\n\nIn the hall she met Pauline Lister.\n\n\"Is that you, Miss Champion?\" said Pauline. \"Well now, have you heard\nof Mr. Dalmain? He has had to go to town unexpectedly, on the 1.15\ntrain; and aunt has dropped her false teeth on her marble wash-stand\nand must get to the dentist right away. So we go to town on the 2.30.\nIt's an uncertain world. It complicates one's plans, when they have to\ndepend on other people's teeth. But I would sooner break false teeth\nthan true hearts, any day. One can get the former mended, but I guess\nno one can mend the latter. We are lunching early in our rooms; so I\nwish you good-by, Miss Champion.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII\n\nTHE DOCTOR'S PRESCRIPTION\n\n\nThe Honourable Jane Champion stood on the summit of the Great Pyramid\nand looked around her. The four exhausted Arabs whose exertions,\ncombined with her own activity, had placed her there, dropped in the\npicturesque attitudes into which an Arab falls by nature. They had\nhoisted the Honourable Jane's eleven stone ten from the bottom to the\ntop in record time, and now lay around, proud of their achievement and\nsure of their \"backsheesh.\"\n\nThe whole thing had gone as if by clock-work. Two mahogany-coloured,\nfinely proportioned fellows, in scanty white garments, sprang with the\nease of antelopes to the top of a high step, turning to reach down\neagerly and seize Jane's upstretched hands. One remained behind, unseen\nbut indispensable, to lend timely aid at exactly the right moment. Then\ncame the apparently impossible task for Jane, of placing the sole of\nher foot on the edge of a stone four feet above the one upon which she\nwas standing. It seemed rather like stepping up on to the drawing-room\nmantelpiece. But encouraged by cries of \"Eiwa! Eiwa!\" she did it; when\ninstantly a voice behind said, \"Tyeb!\" two voices above shouted,\n\"Keteer!\" the grip on her hands tightened, the Arab behind hoisted, and\nJane had stepped up, with an ease which surprised herself. As a matter\nof fact, under those circumstances the impossible thing would have been\nnot to have stepped up.\n\nArab number four was water-carrier, and offered water from a gourd at\nintervals; and once, when Jane had to cry halt for a few minutes'\nbreathing space, Schehati, handsomest of all, and leader of the\nenterprise, offered to recite English Shakespeare-poetry. This proved\nto be:\n\n \"Jack-an-Jill\n Went uppy hill,\n To fetchy paily water;\n Jack fell down-an\n Broke his crown-an\n Jill came tumbling after.\"\n\nJane had laughed; and Schehati, encouraged by the success of his\nattempt to edify and amuse, used lines of the immortal nursery epic as\nsignals for united action during the remainder of the climb. Therefore\nJane mounted one step to the fact that Jack fell down, and scaled the\nnext to information as to the serious nature of his injuries, and at\nthe third, Schehati, bending over, confidentially mentioned in her ear,\nwhile Ali shoved behind, that \"Jill came tumbling after.\"\n\nThe familiar words, heard under such novel circumstances, took on fresh\nmeaning. Jane commenced speculating as to whether the downfall of Jack\nneed necessarily have caused so complete a loss of self-control and\nequilibrium on the part of Jill. Would she not have proved her devotion\nbetter by bringing the mutual pail safely to the bottom of the hill,\nand there attending to the wounds of her fallen hero? Jane, in her\ntime, had witnessed the tragic downfall of various delightful jacks,\nand had herself ministered tenderly to their broken crowns; for in each\ncase the Jill had remained on the top of the hill, flirting with that\nobjectionable person of the name of Horner, whose cool, calculating way\nof setting to work--so unlike poor Jack's headlong method--invariably\nsecured him the plum; upon which he remarked \"What a good boy am I!\"\nand was usually taken at his own smug valuation. But Jane's entire\nsympathy on these occasions was with the defeated lover, and more than\none Jack was now on his feet again, bravely facing life, because that\nkind hand had been held out to him as he lay in his valley of\nhumiliation, and that comprehending sympathy had proved balm to his\nbroken crown.\n\n\"Dickery, dickery, dock!\" chanted Schehati solemnly, as he hauled\nagain; \"Moses ran up the clock. The clock struck 'one'--\"\n\nTHE CLOCK STRUCK \"ONE\"?--It was nearly three years since that night at\nShenstone when the clock had struck \"one,\" and Jane had arrived at her\ndecision,--the decision which precipitated her Jack from his Pisgah of\nfuture promise. And yet--no. He had not fallen before the blow. He had\ntaken it erect, and his light step had been even firmer than usual as\nhe walked down the church and left her, after quietly and deliberately\naccepting her decision. It was Jane herself, left alone, who fell\nhopelessly over the pail. She shivered even now when she remembered how\nits icy waters drenched her heart. Ah, what would have happened if\nGarth had come back in answer to her cry during those first moments of\nintolerable suffering and loneliness? But Garth was not the sort of man\nwho, when a door has been shut upon him, waits on the mat outside,\nhoping to be recalled. When she put him from her, and he realised that\nshe meant it he passed completely out of her life. He was at the\nrailway station by the time she reached the house, and from that day to\nthis they had never met. Garth evidently considered the avoidance of\nmeetings to be his responsibility, and he never failed her in this.\nOnce or twice she went on a visit to houses where she knew him to be\nstaying. He always happened to have left that morning, if she arrived\nin time for luncheon; or by an early afternoon train, if she was due\nfor tea. He never timed it so that there should be tragic passings of\neach other, with set faces, at the railway stations; or a formal word\nof greeting as she arrived and he departed,--just enough to awaken all\nthe slumbering pain and set people wondering. Jane remembered with\nshame that this was the sort of picturesque tragedy she would have\nexpected from Garth Dalmain. But the man who had surprised her by his\ndignified acquiescence in her decision, continued to surprise her by\nthe strength with which he silently accepted it as final and kept out\nof her way. Jane had not probed the depth of the wound she had\ninflicted.\n\nNever once was his departure connected, in the minds of others, with\nher arrival. There was always some excellent and perfectly natural\nreason why he had been obliged to leave, and he was openly talked of\nand regretted, and Jane heard all the latest \"Dal stories,\" and found\nherself surrounded by the atmosphere of his exotic, beauty-loving\nnature. And there was usually a girl--always the loveliest of the\nparty--confidentially pointed out to Jane, by the rest, as a certainty,\nif only Dal had had another twenty-four hours of her society. But the\ngirl herself would appear quite heart-whole, only very full of an\nevidently delightful friendship, expressing all Dal's ideas on art and\ncolour, as her own, and confidently happy in an assured sense of her\nown loveliness and charm and power to please. Never did he leave behind\nhim traces which the woman who loved him regretted to find. But he was\nalways gone--irrevocably gone. Garth Dalmain was not the sort of man to\nwait on the door-mat of a woman's indecision.\n\nNeither did this Jack of hers break his crown. His portrait of Pauline\nLister, painted six months after the Shenstone visit, had proved the\nfinest bit of work he had as yet accomplished. He had painted the\nlovely American, in creamy white satin, standing on a dark oak\nstaircase, one hand resting on the balustrade, the other, full of\nyellow roses, held out towards an unseen friend below. Behind and above\nher shone a stained-glass window, centuries old, the arms, crest, and\nmottoes of the noble family to whom the place belonged, shining thereon\nin rose-coloured and golden glass. He had wonderfully caught the charm\nand vivacity of the girl. She was gaily up-to-date, and frankly\nAmerican, from the crown of her queenly little head, to the point of\nher satin shoe; and the suggestiveness of placing her in surroundings\nwhich breathed an atmosphere of the best traditions of England's\nancient ancestral homes, the fearless wedding of the new world with the\nold, the putting of this sparkling gem from the new into the beautiful\nmellow setting of the old and there showing it at its best,--all this\nwas the making of the picture. People smiled, and said the painter had\ndone on canvas what he shortly intended doing in reality; but the tie\nbetween artist and sitter never grew into anything closer than a\npleasant friendship, and it was the noble owner of the staircase and\nwindow who eventually persuaded Miss Lister to remain in surroundings\nwhich suited her so admirably.\n\nOne story about that portrait Jane had heard discussed more than once\nin circles where both were known. Pauline Lister had come to the first\nsittings wearing her beautiful string of pearls, and Garth had painted\nthem wonderfully, spending hours over the delicate perfecting of each\nseparate gleaming drop. Suddenly one day he seized his palette-knife,\nscraped the whole necklace off the canvas with a stroke and, declared\nshe must wear her rose-topazes in order to carry out his scheme of\ncolour. She was wearing her rose-topazes when Jane saw the picture in\nthe Academy, and very lovely they looked on the delicate whiteness of\nher neck. But people who had seen Garth's painting of the pearls\nmaintained that that scrape of the palette-knife had destroyed work\nwhich would have been the talk of the year. And Pauline Lister, just\nafter it had happened, was reported to have said, with a shrug of her\npretty shoulders: \"Schemes of colour are all very well. But he scraped\nmy pearls off the canvas because some one who came in hummed a tune\nwhile looking at the picture. I would be obliged if people who walk\naround the studio while I am being painted will in future refrain from\nhumming tunes. I don't want him to scoop off my topazes and call for my\nemeralds. Also I feel like offering a reward for the discovery of that\ntune. I want to know what it has to do with my scheme of colour,\nanyway.\"\n\nWhen Jane heard the story, she was spending a few days with the Brands\nin Wimpole Street. It was told at tea, in Lady Brand's pretty boudoir.\nThe duchess's Concert, at which Garth had heard her sing THE ROSARY,\nwas a thing of the past. Nearly a year had elapsed since their final\nparting, and this was the very first thought or word or sign of his\nremembrance, which directly or indirectly, had come her way. She could\nnot doubt that the tune hummed had been THE ROSARY.\n\n \"The hours I spent with thee, dear heart,\n Are as a string of pearls to me;\n I count them over, every one, apart.\"\n\nShe seemed to hear Garth's voice on the terrace, as she heard it in\nthose first startled moments of realising the gift which was being laid\nat her feet--\"I have learned to count pearls, beloved.\"\n\nJane's heart was growing cold and frozen in its emptiness. This\nincident of the studio warmed and woke it for the moment, and with the\nwaking came sharp pain. When the visitors had left, and Lady Brand had\ngone to the nursery, she walked over to the piano, sat down, and softly\nplayed the accompaniment of \"The Rosary.\" The fine unexpected chords,\nfull of discords working into harmony, seemed to suit her mood and her\nmemories.\n\nSuddenly a voice behind her said: \"Sing it, Jane.\" She turned quickly.\nThe doctor had come in, and was lying back luxuriously in a large\narm-chair at her elbow, his hands clasped behind his head. \"Sing it,\nJane,\" he said.\n\n\"I can't, Deryck,\" she answered, still softly sounding the chords. \"I\nhave not sung for months.\"\n\n\"What has been the matter--for months?\"\n\nJane took her hands off the keys, and swung round impulsively.\n\n\"Oh, boy,\" she said. \"I have made a bad mess of my life! And yet I know\nI did right. I would do the same again; at least--at least, I hope I\nwould.\"\n\nThe doctor sat in silence for a minute, looking at her and pondering\nthese short, quick sentences. Also he waited for more, knowing it would\ncome more easily if he waited silently.\n\nIt came.\n\n\"Boy--I gave up something, which was more than life itself to me, for\nthe sake of another, and I can't get over it. I know I did right, and\nyet--I can't get over it.\"\n\nThe doctor leaned forward and took the clenched hands between his.\n\n\"Can you tell me about it, Jeanette?\"\n\n\"I can tell no one, Deryck; not even you.\"\n\n\"If ever you find you must tell some one, Jane, will you promise to\ncome to me?\"\n\n\"Gladly.\"\n\n\"Good! Now, my dear girl, here is a prescription for you. Go abroad.\nAnd, mind, I do not mean by that, just to Paris and back, or\nSwitzerland this summer, and the Riviera in the autumn. Go to America\nand see a few big things. See Niagara. And all your life afterwards,\nwhen trivialities are trying you, you will love to let your mind go\nback to the vast green mass of water sweeping over the falls; to the\nthunderous roar, and the upward rush of spray; to the huge perpetual\nonwardness of it all. You will like to remember, when you are bothering\nabout pouring water in and out of teacups, 'Niagara is flowing still.'\nStay in a hotel so near the falls that you can hear their great voice\nnight and day, thundering out themes of power and progress. Spend hours\nwalking round and viewing it from every point. Go to the Cave of the\nWinds, across the frail bridges, where the guide will turn and shout to\nyou: 'Are your rings on tight?' Learn, in passing, the true meaning of\nthe Rock of Ages. Receive Niagara into your life and soul as a\npossession, and thank God for it.\"\n\n\"Then go in for other big things in America. Try spirituality and\nhumanity; love and life. Seek out Mrs. Ballington Booth, the great\n'Little Mother' of all American prisoners. I know her well, I am proud\nto say, and can give you a letter of introduction. Ask her to take you\nwith her to Sing-Sing, or to Columbus State Prison, and to let you hear\nher address an audience of two thousand convicts, holding out to them\nthe gospel of hope and love,--her own inspired and inspiring belief in\nfresh possibilities even for the most despairing.\"\n\n\"Go to New York City and see how, when a man wants a big building and\nhas only a small plot of ground, he makes the most of that ground by\nrunning his building up into the sky. Learn to do likewise.--And then,\nwhen the great-souled, large-hearted, rapid-minded people of America\nhave waked you to enthusiasm with their bigness, go off to Japan and\nsee a little people nobly doing their best to become great.--Then to\nPalestine, and spend months in tracing the footsteps of the greatest\nhuman life ever lived. Take Egypt on your way home, just to remind\nyourself that there are still, in this very modern world of ours, a few\npassably ancient things,--a well-preserved wooden man, for instance,\nwith eyes of opaque white quartz, a piece of rock crystal in the centre\nfor a pupil. These glittering eyes looked out upon the world from\nbeneath their eyelids of bronze, in the time of Abraham. You will find\nit in the museum at Cairo. Ride a donkey in the Mooskee if you want\nreal sport; and if you feel a little slack, climb the Great Pyramid.\nAsk for an Arab named Schehati, and tell him you want to do it one\nminute quicker than any lady has ever done it before.\"\n\n\"Then come home, my dear girl, ring me up and ask for an appointment;\nor chance it, and let Stoddart slip you into my consulting-room between\npatients, and report how the prescription has worked. I never gave a\nbetter; and you need not offer me a guinea! I attend old friends\ngratis.\"\n\nJane laughed, and gripped his hand. \"Oh, boy,\" she said, \"I believe you\nare right. My whole ideas of life have been focussed on myself and my\nown individual pains and losses. I will do as you say; and God bless\nyou for saying it.--Here comes Flower. Flower,\" she said, as the\ndoctor's wife trailed in, wearing a soft tea-gown, and turning on the\nelectric lights as she passed, \"will this boy of ours ever grow old?\nHere he is, seriously advising that a stout, middle-aged woman should\nclimb the Great Pyramid as a cure for depression, and do it in record\ntime!\"\n\n\"Darling,\" said the doctor's wife, seating herself on the arm of his\nchair, \"whom have you been seeing who is stout, or depressed, or\nmiddle-aged? If you mean Mrs. Parker Bangs, she is not middle-aged,\nbecause she is an American, and no American is ever middle-aged. And\nshe is only depressed because, even after painting her lovely niece's\nportrait, Garth Dalmain has failed to propose to her. And it is no good\nadvising her to climb the Great Pyramid, though she is doing Egypt this\nwinter, because I heard her say yesterday that she should never think\nof going up the pyramids until the children of Israel, or whoever the\nnatives are who live around those parts, have the sense to put an\nelevator right up the centre.\"\n\nJane and the doctor laughed, and Flower, settling herself more\ncomfortably, for the doctor's arm had stolen around her, said: \"Jane, I\nheard you playing THE ROSARY just now, such a favourite of mine, and it\nis months since I heard it. Do sing it, dear.\"\n\nJane met the doctor's eyes and smiled reassuringly; then turned without\nany hesitation and did as Flower asked. The prescription had already\ndone her good.\n\nAt the last words of the song the doctor's wife bent over and laid a\ntender little kiss just above his temple, where the thick dark hair was\nstreaked with silver. But the doctor's mind was intent on Jane, and\nbefore the final chords were struck he knew he had diagnosed her case\ncorrectly. \"But she had better go abroad,\" he thought. \"It will take\nher mind off herself altogether, giving her a larger view of things in\ngeneral, and a better proportioned view of things in particular. And\nthe boy won't change; or, if he does, Jane will be proved right, to her\nown satisfaction. But, if this is HER side, good heavens, what must HIS\nbe! I had wondered what was sapping all his buoyant youthfulness. To\ncare for Jane would be an education; but to have made Jane care! And\nthen to have lost her! He must have nerves of steel, to be facing life\nat all. What is this cross they are both learning to kiss, and holding\nup between them? Perhaps Niagara will sweep it away, and she will cable\nhim from there.\"\n\nThen the doctor took the dear little hand resting on his shoulder and\nkissed it softly, while Jane's back was still turned. For the doctor\nhad had past experience of the cross, and now the pearls were very\nprecious.\n\nSo Jane took the prescription, and two years went by in the taking; and\nhere she was, on the top of the Great Pyramid, and, moreover, she had\ndone it in record time, and laughed as she thought of how she should\nreport the fact to Deryck.\n\nHer Arabs lay around, very hot and shiny, and content. Large backsheesh\nwas assured, and they looked up at her with pleased possessive eyes, as\nan achievement of their own; hardly realising how large a part her\nfinely developed athletic powers and elastic limbs had played in the\nspeed of the ascent.\n\nAnd Jane stood there, sound in wind and limb, and with the exhilarating\nsense, always helpful to the mind, of a bodily feat accomplished.\n\nShe was looking her best in her Norfolk coat and skirt of brown tweed\nwith hints of green and orange in it, plenty of useful pockets piped\nwith leather, leather buttons, and a broad band of leather round the\nbottom of the skirt. A connoisseur would have named at once the one and\nonly firm from which that costume could have come, and the hatter who\nsupplied the soft green Tyrolian hat--for Jane scorned pith\nhelmets--which matched it so admirably. But Schehati was no connoisseur\nof clothing, though a pretty shrewd judge of ways and manners, and he\nsummed up Jane thus: \"Nice gentleman-lady! Give good backsheesh, and\nnot sit down halfway and say: `No top'! But real lady-gentleman! Give\nbacksheesh with kind face, and not send poor Arab to Assouan.\"\n\nJane was deeply tanned by the Eastern sun. Burning a splendid brown,\nand enjoying the process, she had no need of veils or parasols; and her\nstrong eyes faced the golden light of the desert without the aid of\nsmoked glasses. She had once heard Garth remark that a sight which made\nhim feel really ill, was the back view of a woman in a motor-veil, and\nJane had laughingly agreed, for to her veils of any kind had always\nseemed superfluous. The heavy coils of her brown hair never blew about\ninto fascinating little curls and wisps, but remained where, with a few\nwell-directed hairpins, she each morning solidly placed them.\n\nJane had never looked better than she did on this March day, standing\non the summit of the Great Pyramid. Strong, brown, and well-knit, a\nreliable mind in a capable body, the undeniable plainness of her face\nredeemed by its kindly expression of interest and enjoyment; her wide,\npleasant smile revealing her fine white teeth, witnesses to her perfect\nsoundness and health, within and without.\n\n\"Nice gentleman-lady,\" murmured Schehati again: and had Jane overheard\nthe remark it would not have offended her; for, though she held a\nmasculine woman only one degree less in abhorrence than an effeminate\nman, she would have taken Schehati's compound noun as a tribute to the\nfact that she was well-groomed and independent, knowing her own mind,\nand, when she started out to go to a place, reaching it in the shortest\npossible time, without fidget, fuss, or flurry. These three feminine\nattributes were held in scorn by Jane, who knew herself so deeply\nwomanly that she could afford in minor ways to be frankly unfeminine.\n\nThe doctor's prescription had worked admirably. That look of falling to\npieces and ageing prematurely--a general dilapidation of mind and\nbody--which it had grieved and startled him to see in Jane as she sat\nbefore him on the music-stool, was gone completely. She looked a calm,\npleasant thirty; ready to go happily on, year by year, towards an\nequally agreeable and delightful forty; and not afraid of fifty, when\nthat time should come. Her clear eyes looked frankly out upon the\nworld, and her sane mind formed sound opinions and pronounced fair\njudgments, tempered by the kindliness of an unusually large and\ngenerous heart.\n\nJust now she was considering the view and finding it very good. Its\nstrong contrasts held her.\n\nOn one side lay the fertile Delta, with its groves of waving palm,\norange, and olive trees, growing in rich profusion on the banks of the\nNile, a broad band of gleaming silver. On the other, the Desert, with\nits far-distant horizon, stretching away in undulations of golden sand;\nnot a tree, not a leaf, not a blade of grass, but boundless liberty, an\nocean of solid golden glory. For the sun was setting, and the sky\nflamed into colour.\n\n\"A parting of the ways,\" said Jane; \"a place of choice. How difficult\nto know which to choose--liberty or fruitfulness. One would have to\nconsult the Sphinx--wise old guardian of the ages, silent keeper of\nTime's secrets, gazing on into the future as It has always gazed, while\nfuture became present, and present glided into past.--Come, Schehati,\nlet us descend. Oh, yes, I will certainly sit upon the stone on which\nthe King sat when he was Prince of Wales. Thank you for mentioning it.\nIt will supply a delightful topic of conversation next time I am\nhonoured by a few minutes of his gracious Majesty's attention, and will\nsave me from floundering into trite remarks about the weather.--And now\ntake me to the Sphinx, Schehati. There is a question I would ask of It,\njust as the sun dips below the horizon.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII\n\nTHE ANSWER OF THE SPHINX\n\n\nMoonlight in the desert.\n\nJane ordered her after-dinner coffee on the piazza of the hotel, that\nshe might lose as little as possible of the mystic loveliness of the\nnight. The pyramids appeared so huge and solid, in the clear white\nlight; and the Sphinx gathered unto itself more mystery.\n\nJane promised herself a stroll round by moonlight presently. Meanwhile\nshe lay back in a low wicker chair, comfortably upholstered, sipping\nher coffee, and giving herself up to the sense of dreamy content which,\nin a healthy body, is apt to follow vigorous exertion.\n\nVery tender and quiet thoughts of Garth came to her this evening,\nperhaps brought about by the associations of moonlight.\n\n \"The moon shines bright:--in such a night as this,\n When the sweet wind did gently kiss the trees,\n And they did make no noise--\"\n\nAh! the great poet knew the effect upon the heart of a vivid reminder\nto the senses. Jane now passed beneath the spell.\n\nTo begin with, Garth's voice seemed singing everywhere:\n\n \"Enable with perpetual light\n The dulness of our blinded sight.\"\n\nThen from out the deep blue and silvery light, Garth's dear adoring\neyes seemed watching her. Jane closed her own, to see them better.\nTo-night she did not feel like shrinking from them, they were so full\nof love.\n\nNo shade of critical regard was in them. Ah! had she wronged him with\nher fears for the future? Her heart seemed full of trust to-night, full\nof confidence in him and in herself. It seemed to her that if he were\nhere she could go out with him into this brilliant moonlight, seat\nherself upon some ancient fallen stone, and let him kneel in front of\nher and gaze and gaze in his persistent way, as much as he pleased. In\nthought there seemed to-night no shrinking from those dear eyes. She\nfelt she would say: \"It is all your own, Garth, to look at when you\nwill. For your sake, I could wish it beautiful; but if it is as you\nlike it, my own Dear, why should I hide it from you?\"\n\nWhat had brought about this change of mind? Had Deryck's prescription\ndone its full work? Was this a saner point of view than the one she had\nfelt constrained to take when she arrived, through so much agony of\nrenunciation, at her decision? Instead of going up the Nile, and then\nto Constantinople and Athens, should she take the steamer which sailed\nfrom Alexandria to-morrow, be in London a week hence, send for Garth,\nmake full confession, and let him decide as to their future?\n\nThat he loved her still, it never occurred to Jane to doubt. At the\nvery thought of sending for him and telling him the simple truth, he\nseemed so near her once more, that she could feel the clasp of his\narms, and his head upon her heart. And those dear shining eyes! Oh,\nGarth, Garth!\n\n\"One thing is clear to me to-night,\" thought Jane. \"If he still needs\nme--wants me--I cannot live any longer away from him. I must go to\nhim.\" She opened her eyes and looked towards the Sphinx. The whole line\nof reasoning which had carried such weight at Shenstone flashed through\nher mind in twenty seconds. Then she closed her eyes again and clasped\nher hands upon her bosom.\n\n\"I will risk it,\" she said; and deep joy awoke within her heart.\n\nA party of English people came from the dining-room on to the piazza\nwith a clatter. They had arrived that evening and gone in late to\ndinner. Jane had hardly noticed them,--a handsome woman and her\ndaughter, two young men, and an older man of military appearance. They\ndid not interest Jane, but they broke in upon her reverie; for they\nseated themselves at a table near by and, in truly British fashion,\ncontinued a loud-voiced conversation, as if no one else were present.\nOne or two foreigners, who had been peacefully dreaming over coffee and\ncigarettes, rose and strolled away to quiet seats under the palm trees.\nJane would have done the same, but she really felt too comfortable to\nmove, and afraid of losing the sweet sense of Garth's nearness. So she\nremained where she was.\n\nThe elderly man held in his hand a letter and a copy of the MORNING\nPOST, just received from England. They were discussing news contained\nin the letter and a paragraph he had been reading aloud from the paper.\n\n\"Poor fellow! How too sad!\" said the chaperon of the party.\n\n\"I should think he would sooner have been killed outright!\" exclaimed\nthe girl. \"I know I would.\"\n\n\"Oh, no,\" said one of the young men, leaning towards her. \"Life is\nsweet, under any circumstances.\"\n\n\"Oh, but blind!\" cried the young voice, with a shudder. \"Quite blind\nfor the rest of one's life. Horrible!\"\n\n\"Was it his own gun?\" asked the older woman. \"And how came they to be\nhaving a shooting party in March?\"\n\nJane smiled a fierce smile into the moonlight. Passionate love of\nanimal life, intense regard for all life, even of the tiniest insect,\nwas as much a religion with her as the worship of beauty was with\nGarth. She never could pretend sorrow over these accounts of shooting\naccidents, or falls in the hunting-field. When those who went out to\ninflict cruel pain were hurt themselves; when those who went forth to\ntake eager, palpitating life, lost their own; it seemed to Jane a just\nretribution. She felt no regret, and pretended none. So now she smiled\nfiercely to herself, thinking: \"One pair of eyes the less to look along\na gun and frustrate the despairing dash for home and little ones of a\nterrified little mother rabbit. One hand that will never again change a\nsoaring upward flight of spreading wings, into an agonised mass of\nfalling feathers. One chance to the good, for the noble stag, as he\nmakes a brave run to join his hinds in the valley.\"\n\nMeanwhile the military-looking man had readjusted his eye-glasses and\nwas holding the sheets of a closely written letter to the light.\n\n\"No,\" he said after a moment, \"shooting parties are over. There is\nnothing doing on the moors now. They were potting bunnies.\"\n\n\"Was he shooting?\" asked the girl.\n\n\"No,\" replied the owner of the letter, \"and that seems such hard luck.\nHe had given up shooting altogether a year or two ago. He never really\nenjoyed it, because he so loved the beauty of life and hated death in\nevery form. He has a lovely place in the North, and was up there\npainting. He happened to pass within sight of some fellows\nrabbit-shooting, and saw what he considered cruelty to a wounded\nrabbit. He vaulted over a gate to expostulate and to save the little\ncreature from further suffering. Then it happened. One of the lads,\napparently startled, let off his gun. The charge struck a tree a few\nyards off, and the shot glanced. It did not strike him full. The face\nis only slightly peppered and the brain quite uninjured. But shots\npierced the retina of each eye, and the sight is hopelessly gone.\"\n\n\"Awful hard luck,\" said the young man.\n\n\"I never can understand a chap not bein' keen on shootin',\" said the\nyouth who had not yet spoken.\n\n\"Ah, but you would if you had known him,\" said the soldier. \"He was so\nfull of life and vivid vitality. One could not imagine him either dying\nor dealing death. And his love of the beautiful was almost a form of\nreligious worship. I can't explain it; but he had a way of making you\nsee beauty in things you had hardly noticed before. And now, poor chap,\nhe can't see them himself.\"\n\n\"Has he a mother?\" asked the older woman.\n\n\"No, he has no one. He is absolutely alone. Scores of friends of\ncourse; he was a most popular man about town, and could stay in almost\nany house in the kingdom if he chose to send a post-card to say he was\ncoming. But no relations, I believe, and never would marry. Poor chap!\nHe will wish he had been less fastidious, now. He might have had the\npick of all the nicest girls, most seasons. But not he! Just charming\nfriendships, and wedded to his art. And now, as Lady Ingleby, says, he\nlies in the dark, helpless and alone.\"\n\n\"Oh, do talk of something else!\" cried the girl, pushing back her chair\nand rising. \"I want to forget it. It's too horribly sad. Fancy what it\nmust be to wake up and not know whether it is day or night, and to have\nto lie in the dark and wonder. Oh, do come out and talk of something\ncheerful.\"\n\nThey all rose, and the young man slipped his hand through the girl's\narm, glad of the excuse her agitation provided.\n\n\"Forget it, dear,\" he said softly. \"Come on out and see the old Sphinx\nby moonlight.\"\n\nThey left the piazza, followed by the rest of the party; but the man to\nwhom the MORNING POST belonged laid it on the table and stayed behind,\nlighting a cigar.\n\nJane rose from her chair and came towards him.\n\n\"May I look at your paper?\" she said abruptly.\n\n\"Certainly,\" he replied, with ready courtesy. Then, looking more\nclosely at her: \"Why, certainly, Miss Champion. And how do you do? I\ndid not know you were in these parts.\"\n\n\"Ah, General Loraine! Your face seemed familiar, but I had not\nrecognised you, either. Thanks, I will borrow this if I may. And don't\nlet me keep you from your friends. We shall meet again by and by.\"\n\nJane waited until the whole party had passed out of sight and until the\nsound of their voices and laughter had died away in the distance. Then\nshe returned to her chair, the place where Garth had seemed so near.\nShe looked once more at the Sphinx and at the huge pyramid in the\nmoonlight.\n\nThen she took up the paper and opened it.\n\n \"Enable with perpetual light\n The dulness of our blinded sight.\"\n\nYes--it was Garth Dalmain--HER Garth, of the adoring shining eyes--who\nlay at his house in the North; blind, helpless, and alone.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV\n\nIN DERYCK'S SAFE CONTROL\n\n\nThe white cliffs of Dover gradually became more solid and distinct,\nuntil at length they rose from the sea, a strong white wall, emblem of\nthe undeniable purity of England, the stainless honour and integrity of\nher throne, her church, her parliament, her courts of justice, and her\ndealings at home and abroad, whether with friend or foe. \"Strength and\nwhiteness,\" thought Jane as she paced the steamer's deck; and after a\ntwo years' absence her heart went out to her native land. Then Dover\nCastle caught her eye, so beautiful in the pearly light of that spring\nafternoon. Her mind leaped to enjoyment, then fell back stunned by the\nblow of quick remembrance, and Jane shut her eyes.\n\nAll beautiful sights brought this pang to her heart since the reading\nof that paragraph on the piazza of the Mena House Hotel.\n\nAn hour after she had read it, she was driving down the long straight\nroad to Cairo; embarked at Alexandria the next day; landed at Brindisi,\nand this night and day travelling had brought her at last within sight\nof the shores of England. In a few minutes she would set foot upon\nthem, and then there would be but two more stages to her journey. For,\nfrom the moment she started, Jane never doubted her ultimate\ndestination,--the room where pain and darkness and despair must be\nwaging so terrible a conflict against the moral courage, the mental\nsanity, and the instinctive hold on life of the man she loved.\n\nThat she was going to him, Jane knew; but she felt utterly unable to\narrange how or in what way her going could be managed. That it was a\ncomplicated problem, her common sense told her; though her yearning\narms and aching bosom cried out: \"O God, is it not simple? Blind and\nalone! MY Garth!\"\n\nBut she knew an unbiased judgment, steadier than her own, must solve\nthe problem; and that her surest way to Garth lay through the doctor's\nconsulting-room. So she telegraphed to Deryck from Paris, and at\npresent her mind saw no further than Wimpole Street.\n\nAt Dover she bought a paper, and hastily scanned its pages as she\nwalked along the platform in the wake of the capable porter who had\ntaken possession of her rugs and hand baggage. In the personal column\nshe found the very paragraph she sought.\n\n\"We regret to announce that Mr. Garth Dalmain still lies in a most\nprecarious condition at his house on Deeside, Aberdeenshire, as a\nresult of the shooting accident a fortnight ago. His sight is\nhopelessly gone, but the injured parts were progressing favourably, and\nall fear of brain complications seemed over. During the last few days,\nhowever, a serious reaction from shock has set in, and it has been\nconsidered necessary to summon Sir Deryck Brand, the well-known nerve\nspecialist, in consultation with the oculist and the local practitioner\nin charge of the case. There is a feeling of wide-spread regret and\nsympathy in those social and artistic circles where Mr. Dalmain was so\nwell-known and so deservedly popular.\"\n\n\"Oh, thank you, m'lady,\" said the efficient porter when he had\nascertained, by a rapid glance into his palm, that Jane's half-crown\nwas not a penny. He had a sick young wife at home, who had been ordered\nextra nourishment, and just as the rush on board began, he had put up a\nsimple prayer to the Heavenly Father \"who knoweth that ye have need of\nthese things,\" asking that he might catch the eye of a generous\ntraveller. He felt he had indeed been \"led\" to this plain, brown-faced,\nbroad-shouldered lady, when he remembered how nearly, after her curt\nnod from a distance had engaged him, he had responded to the\nblandishments of a fussy little woman, with many more bags and rugs,\nand a parrot cage, who was now doling French coppers out of the window\nof the next compartment. \"Seven pence 'apenny of this stuff ain't much\nfor carrying all that along, I DON'T think!\" grumbled his mate; and\nJane's young porter experienced the double joy of faith confirmed, and\nwilling service generously rewarded.\n\nA telegraph boy walked along the train, saying: \"Honrubble Jain\nChampyun\" at intervals. Jane heard her name, and her arm shot out of\nthe window.\n\n\"Here, my boy! It is for me.\"\n\nShe tore it open. It was from the doctor.\n\n\"Welcome home. Just back from Scotland. Will meet you Charing Cross,\nand give you all the time you want. Have coffee at Dover. DERYCK.\"\n\nJane gave one hard, tearless sob of thankfulness and relief. She had\nbeen so lonely.\n\nThen she turned to the window. \"Here, somebody! Fetch me a cup of\ncoffee, will you?\"\n\nCoffee was the last thing she wanted; but it never occurred to any one\nto disobey the doctor, even at a distance.\n\nThe young porter, who still stood sentry at the door of Jane's\ncompartment, dashed off to the refreshment room; and, just as the train\nbegan to move, handed a cup of steaming coffee and a plate of\nbread-and-butter in at the window.\n\n\"Oh, thank you, my good fellow,\" said Jane, putting the plate on the\nseat, while she dived into her pocket. \"Here! you have done very well\nfor me. No, never mind the change. Coffee at a moment's notice should\nfetch a fancy price. Good-bye.\"\n\nThe train moved on, and the porter stood looking after it with tears in\nhis eyes. Over the first half-crown he had said to himself: \"Milk and\nnew-laid eggs.\" Now, as he pocketed the second, he added the other two\nthings mentioned by the parish doctor: \"Soup and jelly\"; and his heart\nglowed. \"Your heavenly Father knoweth that ye have need of these\nthings.\"\n\nAnd Jane, seated in a comfortable corner, choked back the tears of\nrelief which threatened to fall, drank her coffee, and was thereby more\nrevived than she could have thought possible. She, also, had need of\nmany things. Not of half-crowns; of those she had plenty. But above all\nelse she needed just now a wise, strong, helpful friend, and Deryck had\nnot failed her.\n\nShe read his telegram through once more, and smiled. How like him to\nthink of the coffee; and oh, how like him to be coming to the station.\n\nShe took off her hat and leaned back against the cushions. She had been\ntravelling night and day, in one feverish whirl of haste, and at last\nshe had brought herself within reach of Deryck's hand and Deryck's safe\ncontrol. The turmoil of her soul was stilled; a great calm took its\nplace, and Jane dropped quietly off to sleep. \"Your heavenly Father\nknoweth that ye have need of these things.\"\n\n * * * * *\n\nWashed and brushed and greatly refreshed, Jane stood at the window of\nher compartment as the train steamed into Charing Cross.\n\nThe doctor was stationed exactly opposite the door when her carriage\ncame to a standstill; mere chance, and yet, to Jane, it seemed so like\nhim to have taken up his position precisely at the right spot on that\nlong platform. An enthusiastic lady patient had once said of Deryck\nBrand, with more accuracy of definition than of grammar: \"You know, he\nis always so very JUST THERE.\" And this characteristic of the doctor\nhad made him to many a very present help in time of trouble.\n\nHe was through the line of porters and had his hand upon the handle of\nJane's door in a moment. Standing at the window, she took one look at\nthe firm lean face, now alight with welcome, and read in the kind,\nsteadfast eyes of her childhood's friend a perfect sympathy and\ncomprehension. Then she saw behind him her aunt's footman, and her own\nmaid, who had been given a place in the duchess's household. In another\nmoment she was on the platform and her hand was in Deryck's.\n\n\"That is right, dear,\" he said. \"All fit and well, I can see. Now hand\nover your keys. I suppose you have nothing contraband? I telephoned the\nduchess to send some of her people to meet your luggage, and not to\nexpect you herself until dinner time, as you were taking tea with us.\nWas that right? This way. Come outside the barrier. What a rabble! All\nwanting to break every possible rule and regulation, and each trying to\nbe the first person in the front row. Really the patience and good\ntemper of railway officials should teach the rest of mankind a lesson.\"\n\nThe doctor, talking all the time, piloted Jane through the crowd;\nopened the door of a neat electric brougham, helped her in, took his\nseat beside her, and they glided swiftly out into the Strand, and\nturned towards Trafalgar Square.\n\n\"Well,\" said the doctor, \"Niagara is a big thing isn't it? When people\nsay to me, 'Were you not disappointed in Niagara? WE were!' I feel\ntempted to wish, for one homicidal moment, that the earth would open\nher mouth and swallow them up. People who can be disappointed in\nNiagara, and talk about it, should no longer be allowed to crawl on the\nface of the earth. And how about the 'Little Mother'? Isn't she worth\nknowing? I hope she sent me her love. And New York harbour! Did you\never see anything to equal it, as you steam away in the sunset?\"\n\nJane gave a sudden sob; then turned to him, dry-eyed.\n\n\"Is there no hope, Deryck?\"\n\nThe doctor laid his hand on hers. \"He will always be blind, dear. But\nlife holds other things beside sight. We must never say: 'No hope.'\"\n\n\"Will he live?\"\n\n\"There is no reason he should not live. But how far life will be worth\nliving, largely depends upon what can be done for him, poor chap,\nduring the next few months. He is more shattered mentally than\nphysically.\"\n\nJane pulled off her gloves, swallowed suddenly, then gripped the\ndoctor's knee. \"Deryck--I love him.\"\n\nThe doctor remained silent for a few moments, as if pondering this\ntremendous fact. Then he lifted the fine, capable hand resting upon his\nknee and kissed it with a beautiful reverence,--a gesture expressing\nthe homage of the man to the brave truthfulness of the woman.\n\n\"In that case, dear,\" he said, \"the future holds in store so great a\ngood for Garth Dalmain that I think he may dispense with sight.--\nMeanwhile you have much to say to me, and it is, of course, your right\nto hear every detail of his case that I can give. And here we are at\nWimpole Street. Now come into my consulting-room. Stoddart has orders\nthat we are on no account to be disturbed.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV\n\nTHE CONSULTATION\n\n\nThe doctor's room was very quiet. Jane leaned back in his dark green\nleather arm-chair, her feet on a footstool, her hands gripping the arms\non either side.\n\nThe doctor sat at his table, in the round pivot-chair he always\nused,--a chair which enabled him to swing round suddenly and face a\npatient, or to turn away very quietly and bend over his table.\n\nJust now he was not looking at Jane. He had been giving her a detailed\naccount of his visit to Castle Gleneesh, which he had left only on the\nprevious evening. He had spent five hours with Garth. It seemed kindest\nto tell her all; but he was looking straight before him as he talked,\nbecause he knew that at last the tears were running unchecked down\nJane's cheeks, and he wished her to think he did not notice them.\n\n\"You understand, dear,\" he was saying, \"the actual wounds are going on\nwell. Strangely enough, though the retina of each eye was pierced, and\nthe sight is irrecoverably gone, there was very little damage done to\nsurrounding parts, and the brain is quite uninjured. The present danger\narises from the shock to the nervous system and from the extreme mental\nanguish caused by the realisation of his loss. The physical suffering\nduring the first days and nights must have been terrible. Poor fellow,\nhe looks shattered by it. But his constitution is excellent, and his\nlife has been so clean, healthy, and normal, that he had every chance\nof making a good recovery, were it not that as the pain abated and his\nblindness became more a thing to be daily and hourly realised, his\nmental torture was so excessive. Sight has meant so infinitely much to\nhim,--beauty of form, beauty of colour. The artist in him was so\nall-pervading. They tell me he said very little. He is a brave man and\na strong one. But his temperature began to vary alarmingly; he showed\nsymptoms of mental trouble, of which I need not give you technical\ndetails; and a nerve specialist seemed more necessary than an oculist.\nTherefore he is now in my hands.\"\n\nThe doctor paused, straightened a few books lying on the table, and\ndrew a small bowl of violets closer to him. He studied these\nattentively for a few moments, then put them back where his wife had\nplaced them and went on speaking.\n\n\"I am satisfied on the whole. He needed a friendly voice to penetrate\nthe darkness. He needed a hand to grasp his, in faithful comprehension.\nHe did not want pity, and those who talked of his loss without\nunderstanding it, or being able to measure its immensity, maddened him.\nHe needed a fellow-man to come to him and say: 'It is a fight--an\nawful, desperate fight. But by God's grace you will win through to\nvictory. It would be far easier to die; but to die would be to lose;\nyou must live to win. It is utterly beyond all human strength; but by\nGod's grace you will come through conqueror.' All this I said to him,\nJeanette, and a good deal more; and then a strangely beautiful thing\nhappened. I can tell you, and of course I could tell Flower, but to no\none else on earth would I repeat it. The difficulty had been to obtain\nfrom him any response whatever. He did not seem able to rouse\nsufficiently to notice anything going on around him. But those words,\n'by God's grace,' appeared to take hold of him and find immediate echo\nin his inner consciousness. I heard him repeat them once or twice, and\nthen change them to 'with the abundance of Thy grace.' Then he turned\nhis head slowly on the pillow, and what one could see of his face\nseemed transformed. He said: 'Now I remember it, and the music is\nthis'; and his hands moved on the bedclothes, as if forming chords.\nThen, in a very low voice, but quite clearly, he repeated the second\nverse of the VENI, CREATOR SPIRITUS. I knew it, because I used to sing\nit as a chorister in my father's church at home. You remember?\"\n\n \"'Enable with perpetual light\n The dulness of our blinded sight.\n Anoint and cheer our soiled face\n With the abundance of Thy grace.\n Keep far our foes; give peace at home;\n Where Thou art Guide, no ill can come.'\"\n\n\"It was the most touching thing I ever heard.\"\n\nThe doctor paused, for Jane had buried her face in her hands and was\nsobbing convulsively. When her sobs grew less violent, the doctor's\nquiet voice continued: \"You see, this gave me something to go upon.\nWhen a crash such as this happens, all a man has left to hold on to is\nhis religion. According as his spiritual side has been developed, will\nhis physical side stand the strain. Dalmain has more of the real thing\nthan any one would think who only knew him superficially. Well, after\nthat we talked quite definitely, and I persuaded him to agree to one or\ntwo important arrangements. You know, he has no relations of his own,\nto speak of; just a few cousins, who have never been very friendly. He\nis quite alone up there; for, though he has hosts of friends, this is a\ntime when friends would have to be very intimate to be admitted; and\nthough he seemed so boyish and easy to know, I begin to doubt whether\nany of us knew the real Garth--the soul of the man, deep down beneath\nthe surface.\"\n\nJane lifted her head. \"I did,\" she said simply.\n\n\"Ah,\" said the doctor, \"I see. Well, as I said, ordinary friends could\nnot be admitted. Lady Ingleby went, in her sweet impulsive way, without\nletting them know she was coming; travelled all the way up from\nShenstone with no maid, and nothing but a handbag, and arrived at the\ndoor in a fly. Robert Mackenzie, the local medical man, who is an\ninveterate misogynist, feared at first she was an unsuspected wife of\nDal's. He seemed to think unannounced ladies arriving in hired vehicles\nmust necessarily turn out to be undesirable wives. I gather they had a\nsomewhat funny scene. But Lady Ingleby soon got round old Robbie, and\ncame near to charming him--as whom does she not? But of course they did\nnot dare let her into Dal's room; so her ministry of consolation\nappears to have consisted in letting Dal's old housekeeper weep on her\nbeautiful shoulder. It was somewhat of a comedy, hearing about it, when\none happened to know them all, better than they knew each other. But to\nreturn to practical details. He has had a fully trained male nurse and\nhis own valet to wait on him. He absolutely refused one of our London\nhospital nurses, who might have brought a little gentle comfort and\nwomanly sympathy to his sick-room. He said he could not stand being\ntouched by a woman; so there it remained. A competent man was found\ninstead. But we can now dispense with him, and I have insisted upon\nsending up a lady nurse of my own choosing; not so much to wait on him,\nor do any of a sick-nurse's ordinary duties--his own man can do these,\nand he seems a capable fellow--but to sit with him, read to him, attend\nto his correspondence,--there are piles of unopened letters he ought to\nhear,--in fact help him to take up life again in his blindness. It will\nneed training; it will require tact; and this afternoon I engaged\nexactly the right person. She is a gentlewoman by birth, has nursed for\nme before, and is well up in the special knowledge of mental things\nwhich this case requires. Also she is a pretty, dainty little thing;\njust the kind of elegant young woman poor Dal would have liked to have\nabout him when he could see. He was such a fastidious chap about\nappearances, and such a connoisseur of good looks. I have written a\ndescriptive account of her to Dr. Mackenzie, and he will prepare his\npatient for her arrival. She is to go up the day after to-morrow. We\nare lucky to get her, for she is quite first-rate, and she has only\njust finished with a long consumptive case, now on the mend and ordered\nabroad. So you see, Jeanette, all is shaping well.--And now, my dear\ngirl, you have a story of your own to tell me, and my whole attention\nshall be at your disposal. But first of all I am going to ring for tea,\nand you and I will have it quietly down here, if you will excuse me for\na few minutes while I go upstairs and speak to Flower.\"\n\n * * * * *\n\nIt seemed so natural to Jane to be pouring out the doctor's tea, and to\nwatch him putting a liberal allowance of salt on the thin\nbread-and-butter, and then folding it over with the careful accuracy\nwhich had always characterised his smallest action. In the essentials\nhe had changed so little since the days when as a youth of twenty\nspending his vacations at the rectory he used to give the lonely girl\nat the manor so much pleasure by coming up to her school-room tea; and\nwhen it proved possible to dispose of her governess's chaperonage and\nbe by themselves, what delightful times they used to have, sitting on\nthe hearth-rug, roasting chestnuts and discussing the many subjects\nwhich were of mutual interest. Jane could still remember the painful\npleasure of turning hot chestnuts on the bars with her fingers, and how\nshe hastened to do them herself, lest he should be burned. She had\nalways secretly liked and admired his hands, with the brown thin\nfingers, so delicate in their touch and yet full of such gentle\nstrength. She used to love watching them while he sharpened her pencils\nor drew wonderful diagrams in her exercise books; thinking how in years\nto come, when he performed important operations, human lives would\ndepend upon their skill and dexterity. In those early years he had\nseemed so much older than she. And then came the time when she shot up\nrapidly into young womanhood and their eyes were on a level and their\nages seemed the same. Then, as the years went on, Jane began to feel\nolder than he, and took to calling him \"Boy\" to emphasise this fact.\nAnd then came--Flower;--and complications. And Jane had to see his face\ngrow thin and worn, and his hair whiten on the temples. And she yearned\nover him, yet dared not offer sympathy. At last things came right for\nthe doctor, and all the highest good seemed his; in his profession; in\nhis standing among men; and, above all, in his heart life, which Flower\nhad always held between her two sweet hands. And Jane rejoiced, but\nfelt still more lonely now she had no companion in loneliness. And\nstill their friendship held, with Flower admitted as a third--a\nwistful, grateful third, anxious to learn from the woman whose\nfriendship meant so much to her husband, how to succeed where she had\nhitherto failed. And Jane's faithful heart was generous and loyal to\nboth, though in sight of their perfect happiness her loneliness grew.\n\nAnd now, in her own hour of need, it had to be Deryck only; and the\ndoctor knew this, and had arranged accordingly; for at last his chance\nhad come, to repay the faithful devotion of a lifetime. The\nconversation of that afternoon would be the supreme test of their\nfriendship. And so, with a specialist's appreciation of the mental\neffect of the most trivial external details, the doctor had ordered\nmuffins, and a kettle on the fire, and had asked Jane to make the tea.\n\nBy the time the kettle boiled, they had remembered the chestnuts, and\nwere laughing about poor old Fraulein's efforts to keep them in order,\nand the strategies by which they used to evade her vigilance. And the\nyears rolled back, and Jane felt herself very much at home with the\nchum of her childhood.\n\nNevertheless, there was a moment of tension when the doctor drew back\nthe tea-table and they faced each other in easy-chairs on either side\nof the fireplace. Each noticed how characteristic was the attitude of\nthe other.\n\nJane sat forward, her feet firmly planted on the hearth-rug, her arms\non her knees, and her hands clasped in front of her.\n\nThe doctor leaned back, one knee crossed over the other, his elbows on\nthe arms of his chair, the tips of his fingers meeting, in absolute\nstillness of body and intense concentration of mind.\n\nThe silence between them was like a deep, calm pool.\n\nJane took the first plunge.\n\n\"Deryck, I am going to tell you everything. I am going to speak of my\nheart, and mind, and feelings, exactly as if they were bones, and\nmuscles, and lungs. I want you to combine the offices of doctor and\nconfessor in one.\"\n\nThe doctor had been contemplating his finger-tips. He now glanced\nswiftly at Jane, and nodded; then turned his head and looked into the\nfire.\n\n\"Deryck, mine has been a somewhat lonely existence. I have never been\nessential to the life of another, and no one has ever touched the real\ndepths of mine. I have known they were there, but I have known they\nwere unsounded.\"\n\nThe doctor opened his lips, as if to speak; then closed them in a\nfirmer line than before, and merely nodded his head silently.\n\n\"I had never been loved with that love which makes one absolutely first\nto a person, nor had I ever so loved. I had--cared very much; but\ncaring is not loving.--Oh, Boy, I know that now!\"\n\nThe doctor's profile showed rather white against the dark-green\nbackground of his chair; but he smiled as he answered: \"Quite true,\ndear. There is a distinction, and a difference.\"\n\n\"I had heaps of friends, and amongst them a good many nice men, mostly\nrather younger than myself, who called me 'Miss Champion.' to my face,\nand 'good old Jane' behind my back.\"\n\nThe doctor smiled. He had as often heard the expression, and could\nrecall the whole-hearted affection and admiration in the tones of those\nwho used it.\n\n\"Men as a rule,\" Continued Jane, \"get on better with me than do women.\nBeing large and solid, and usually calling a spade 'a spade;' and not\n'a garden implement,' women consider me strong-minded, and are inclined\nto be afraid of me. The boys know they can trust me; they make a\nconfidante of me, looking upon me as a sort of convenient elder sister\nwho knows less about them than an elder sister would know, and is\nprobably more ready to be interested in those things which they choose\nto tell. Among my men friends, Deryck, was Garth Dalmain.\"\n\nJane paused, and the doctor waited silently for her to continue.\n\n\"I was always interested in him, partly because he was so original and\nvivid in his way of talking, and partly because\"--a bright flush\nsuddenly crept up into the tanned cheeks-\"well, though I did not\nrealise it then, I suppose I found his extraordinary beauty rather\nfascinating. And then, our circumstances were so much alike,--both\norphans, and well off; responsible to no one for our actions; with\nheaps of mutual friends, and constantly staying at the same houses. We\ndrifted into a pleasant intimacy, and of all my friends, he was the one\nwho made me feel most like `a man and a brother.' We discussed women by\nthe dozen, all his special admirations in turn, and the effect of their\nbeauty upon him, and I watched with interest to see who, at last, would\nfix his roving fancy. But on one eventful day all this was changed in\nhalf an hour. We were both staying at Overdene. There was a big house\nparty, and Aunt Georgina had arranged a concert to which half the\nneighbourhood was coming. Madame Velma failed at the last minute. Aunt\n'Gina, in a great state of mind, was borrowing remarks from her macaw.\nYou know how? She always says she is merely quoting `the dear bird.'\nSomething had to be done. I offered to take Velma's place; and I sang.\"\n\n\"Ah,\" said the doctor.\n\n\"I sang The Rosary--the song Flower asked for the last time I was here.\nDo you remember?\"\n\nThe doctor nodded. \"I remember.\"\n\n\"After that, all was changed between Garth and me. I did not understand\nit at first. I knew the music had moved him deeply, beauty of sound\nhaving upon him much the same effect as beauty of colour; but I thought\nthe effect would pass in the night. But the days went on, and there was\nalways this strange sweet difference; not anything others would notice;\nbut I suddenly became conscious that, for the first time in my whole\nlife, I was essential to somebody. I could not enter a room without\nrealising that he was instantly aware of my presence; I could not leave\na room without knowing that he would at once feel and regret my\nabsence. The one fact filled and completed all things; the other left a\nblank which could not be removed. I knew this, and yet--incredible\nthough it may appear--I did not realise it meant LOVE. I thought it was\nan extraordinarily close bond of sympathy and mutual understanding,\nbrought about principally by our enjoyment of one another's music. We\nspent hours in the music-room. I put it down to that; yet when he\nlooked at me his eyes seemed to touch as well as see me, and it was a\nvery tender and wonderful touch. And all the while I never thought of\nlove. I was so plain and almost middle-aged; and he, such a beautiful,\nradiant youth. He was like a young sun-god, and I felt warmed and\nvivified when he was near; and he was almost always near. Honestly,\nthat was my side of the days succeeding the concert. But HIS! He told\nme afterwards, Deryck, it had been a sudden revelation to him when he\nheard me sing The Rosary, not of music only, but of ME. He said he had\nnever thought of me otherwise than as a good sort of chum; but then it\nwas as if a veil were lifted, and he saw, and knew, and felt me as a\nwoman. And--no doubt it will seem odd to you. Boy; it did to me;--but\nhe said, that the woman he found then was his ideal of womanhood, and\nthat from that hour he wanted me for his own as he had never wanted\nanything before.\"\n\nJane paused, and looked into the glowing heart of the fire.\n\nThe doctor turned slowly and looked at Jane. He himself had experienced\nthe intense attraction of her womanliness,--all the more overpowering\nwhen it was realised, because it did not appear upon the surface. He\nhad sensed the strong mother-tenderness lying dormant within her; had\nknown that her arms would prove a haven of refuge, her bosom a soothing\npillow, her love a consolation unspeakable. In his own days of\nloneliness and disappointment, the doctor had had to flee from this in\nJane,--a precious gift, so easy to have taken because of her very\nignorance of it; but a gift to which he had no right. Thus the doctor\ncould well understand the hold it would gain upon a man who had\ndiscovered it, and who was free to win it for his own.\n\nBut he only said, \"I do not think it odd, dear.\"\n\nJane had forgotten the doctor. She came back promptly from the glowing\nheart of the fire.\n\n\"I am glad you don't,\" she said. \"I did.--well, we both left Overdene\non the same day. I came to you; he went to Shenstone. It was a Tuesday.\nOn the Friday I went down to Shenstone, and we met again. Having been\napart for a little while seemed to make this curious feeling of\n`togetherness,' deeper and sweeter than ever. In the Shenstone house\nparty was that lovely American girl, Pauline Lister. Garth was\nenthusiastic about her beauty, and set on painting her. Everybody made\nsure he was going to propose to her. Deryck, I thought so, too; in fact\nI had advised him to do it. I felt so pleased and interested over it,\nthough all the while his eyes touched me when he looked at me, and I\nknew the day did not begin for him until we had met, and was over when\nwe had said good-night. And this experience of being first and most to\nhim made everything so golden, and life so rich, and still I thought of\nit only as an unusually delightful friendship. But the evening of my\narrival at Shenstone he asked me to come out on to the terrace after\ndinner, as he wanted specially to talk to me. Deryck, I thought it was\nthe usual proceeding of making a confidante of me, and that I was to\nhear details of his intentions regarding Miss Lister. Thinking that, I\nwalked calmly out beside him; sat down on the parapet, in the brilliant\nmoonlight, and quietly waited for him to begin. Then--oh, Deryck! It\nhappened.\"\n\nJane put her elbows on her knees, and buried her face in her clasped\nhands.\n\n\"I cannot tell you--details. His love--it just poured over me like\nmolten gold. It melted the shell of my reserve; it burst through the\nice of my convictions; it swept me off my feet upon a torrent of\nwondrous fire. I knew nothing in heaven or earth but that this love was\nmine, and was for me. And then--oh, Deryck! I can't explain--I don't\nknow myself how it happened--but this whirlwind of emotion came to rest\nupon my heart. He knelt with his arms around me, and we held each other\nin a sudden great stillness; and in that moment I was all his, and he\nknew it. He might have stayed there hours if he had not moved or\nspoken; but presently he lifted up his face and looked at me. Then he\nsaid two words. I can't repeat them, Boy; but they brought me suddenly\nto my senses, and made me realise what it all meant. Garth Dalmain\nwanted me to marry him.\"\n\nJane paused, awaiting the doctor's expression of surprise.\n\n\"What else could it have meant?\" said Deryck Brand, very quietly. He\npassed his hand over his lips, knowing they trembled a little. Jane's\nconfessions were giving him a stiffer time than he had expected. \"Well,\ndear, so you--?\"\n\n\"I stood up,\" said Jane; \"for while he knelt there he was master of me,\nmind and body; and some instinct told me that if I were to be won to\nwifehood, my reason must say `yes' before the rest of me. It is\n`spirit, soul, and body' in the Word, not `body, soul, and spirit,' as\nis so often misquoted; and I believe the inspired sequence to be the\nright one.\"\n\nThe doctor made a quick movement of interest. \"Good heavens, Jane!\" he\nsaid. \"You have got hold of a truth there, and you have expressed it\nexactly as I have often wanted to express it without being able to find\nthe right words. You have found them, Jeanette.\"\n\nShe looked into his eager eyes and smiled sadly. \"Have I, Boy?\" she\nsaid. \"Well, they have cost me dear.--I put my lover from me and told\nhim I must have twelve hours for calm reflection. He was so sure--so\nsure of me, so sure of himself--that he agreed without a protest. At my\nrequest he left me at once. The manner of his going I cannot tell, even\nto you, Dicky. I promised to meet him at the village church next day\nand give him my answer. He was to try the new organ at eleven. We knew\nwe should be alone. I came. He sent away the blower. He called me to\nhim at the chancel step. The setting was so perfect. The artist in him\nsang for joy, and thrilled with expectation. The glory of absolute\ncertainty was in his eyes; though he had himself well in hand. He kept\nfrom touching me while he asked for my answer. Then--I refused him,\npoint blank, giving a reason he could not question. He turned from me\nand left the church, and I have not spoken to him from that day to\nthis.\"\n\nA long silence in the doctor's consulting-room. One manly heart was\nentering into the pain of another, and yet striving not to be indignant\nuntil he knew the whole truth.\n\nJane's spirit was strung up to the same pitch as in that fateful hour,\nand once more she thought herself right.\n\nAt last the doctor spoke. He looked at her searchingly now, and held\nher eyes.\n\n\"And why did you refuse him, Jane?\" The kind voice was rather stern.\n\nJane put out her hands to him appealingly. \"Ah, Boy, I must make you\nunderstand! How could I do otherwise, though, indeed, it was putting\naway the highest good life will ever hold for me? Deryck, you know\nGarth well enough to realise how dependent he is on beauty; he must be\nsurrounded by it, perpetually. Before this unaccountable need of each\nother came to us he had talked to me quite freely on this point, saying\nof a plain person whose character and gifts he greatly admired, and\nwhose face he grew to like in consequence: 'But of course it was not\nthe sort of face one would have wanted to live with, or to have day\nafter day opposite to one at table; but then one was not called to that\nsort of discipline, which would be martyrdom to me.' Oh, Deryck! Could\nI have tied Garth to my plain face? Could I have let myself become a\ndaily, hourly discipline to that radiant, beauty-loving nature? I know\nthey say, 'Love is blind.' But that is before Love has entered into his\nkingdom. Love desirous, sees only that, in the one beloved, which has\nawakened the desire. But Love content, regains full vision, and, as\ntime goes on, those powers of vision increase and become, by means of\ndaily, hourly, use,--microscopic and telescopic. Wedded love is not\nblind. Bah! An outsider staying with married people is apt to hear what\nlove sees, on both sides, and the delusion of love's blindness is\ndispelled forever. I know Garth was blind, during all those golden\ndays, to my utter lack of beauty, because he wanted ME so much. But\nwhen he had had me, and had steeped himself in all I have to give of\nsoul and spirit beauty; when the daily routine of life began, which\nafter all has to be lived in complexions, and with features to the\nfore; when he sat down to breakfast and I saw him glance at me and then\nlook away, when I was conscious that I was sitting behind the\ncoffee-pot, looking my very plainest, and that in consequence my boy's\ndiscipline had begun; could I have borne it? Should I not, in the\nmiserable sense of failing him day by day, through no fault of my own,\nhave grown plainer and plainer; until bitterness and disappointment,\nand perhaps jealousy, all combined to make me positively ugly? I ask\nyou, Deryck, could I have borne it?\"\n\nThe doctor was looking at Jane with an expression of keen professional\ninterest.\n\n\"How awfully well I diagnosed the case when I sent you abroad,\" he\nremarked meditatively. \"Really, with so little data to go upon--\"\n\n\"Oh, Boy,\" cried Jane, with a movement of impatience, \"don't speak to\nme as if I were a patient. Treat me as a human being, at least, and\ntell me--as man to man--could I have tied Garth Dalmain to my plain\nface? For you know it is plain.\"\n\nThe doctor laughed. He was glad to make Jane a little angry. \"My dear\ngirl,\" he said, \"were we speaking as man to man, I should have a few\nvery strong things to say to you. As we are speaking as man to\nwoman,--and as a man who has for a very long time respected, honoured,\nand admired a very dear and noble woman,--I will answer your question\nfrankly. You are not beautiful, in the ordinary acceptation of the\nword, and no one who really loves you would answer otherwise; because\nno one who knows and loves you would dream of telling you a lie. We\nwill even allow, if you like, that you are plain, although I know half\na dozen young men who, were they here, would want to kick me into the\nstreet for saying so, and I should have to pretend in self-defence that\ntheir ears had played them false and I had said, 'You are JANE,' which\nis all they would consider mattered. So long as you are yourself, your\nfriends will be well content. At the same time, I may add, while this\ndear face is under discussion, that I can look back to times when I\nhave felt that I would gladly walk twenty miles for a sight of it; and\nin its absence I have always wished it present, and in its presence I\nhave never wished it away.\"\n\n\"Ah, but, Deryck, you did not have to have it always opposite you at\nmeals,\" insisted Jane gravely.\n\n\"Unfortunately not. But I enjoyed the meals more on the happy occasions\nwhen it was there.\"\n\n\"And, Deryck--YOU DID NOT HAVE TO KISS IT.\"\n\nThe doctor threw back his head and shouted with laughter, so that\nFlower, passing up the stairs, wondered what turn the conversation\ncould be taking.\n\nBut Jane was quite serious; and saw in it no laughing matter.\n\n\"No, dear,\" said the doctor when he had recovered; \"to my infinite\ncredit be it recorded, that in all the years I have known it I have\nnever once kissed it.\"\n\n\"Dicky, don't tease! Oh, Boy, it is the most vital question of my whole\nlife; and if you do not now give me wise and thoughtful advice, all\nthis difficult confession will have been for nothing.\"\n\nThe doctor became grave immediately. He leaned forward and took those\nclasped hands between his.\n\n\"Dear,\" he said, \"forgive me if I seemed to take it lightly. My most\nearnest thought is wholly at your disposal. And now let me ask you a\nfew questions. How did you ever succeed in convincing Dalmain that such\na thing as this was an insuperable obstacle to your marriage?\"\n\n\"I did not give it as a reason.\"\n\n\"What then did you give as your reason for refusing him?\"\n\n\"I asked him how old he was.\"\n\n\"Jane! Standing there beside him in the chancel, where he had come\nawaiting your answer?\"\n\n\"Yes. It did seem awful when I came to think it over afterwards. But it\nworked.\"\n\n\"I have no doubt it worked. What then?\"\n\n\"He said he was twenty-seven. I said I was thirty, and looked\nthirty-five, and felt forty. I also said he might be twenty-seven, but\nhe looked nineteen, and I was sure he often felt nine.\"\n\n\"Well?\"\n\n\"Then I said that I could not marry a mere boy.\"\n\n\"And he acquiesced?\"\n\n\"He seemed stunned at first. Then he said of course I could not marry\nhim if I considered him that. He said it was the first time he had\ngiven a thought to himself in the matter. Then he said he bowed to my\ndecision, and he walked down the church and went out, and we have not\nmet since.\"\n\n\"Jane,\" said the doctor, \"I wonder he did not see through it. You are\nso unused to lying, that you cannot have lied, on the chancel step, to\nthe man you loved, with much conviction.\"\n\nA dull red crept up beneath Jane's tan.\n\n\"Oh, Deryck, it was not entirely a lie. It was one of those dreadful\nlies which are 'part a truth,' of which Tennyson says that they are 'a\nharder matter to fight.'\"\n\n \"'A lie which is all a lie\n May be met and fought with outright;\n But a lie which is part a truth\n Is a harder matter to fight,'\"\n\nquoted the doctor.\n\n\"Yes,\" said Jane. \"And he could not fight this, just because it was\npartly true. He is younger than I by three years, and still more by\ntemperament. It was partly for his delightful youthfulness that I\nfeared my maturity and staidness. It was part a truth, but oh, Deryck,\nit was more a lie; and it was altogether a lie to call him--the man\nwhom I had felt complete master of me the evening before--'a mere boy.'\nAlso he could not fight it because it took him so utterly by surprise.\nHe had been all the time as completely without self-consciousness, as I\nhad been morbidly full of it. His whole thought had been of me. Mine\nhad been of him and--of myself.\"\n\n\"Jane,\" said the doctor, \"of all that you have suffered since that\nhour, you deserved every pang.\"\n\nJane bent her head. \"I know,\" she said.\n\n\"You were false to yourself, and not true to your lover. You robbed and\ndefrauded both. Cannot you now see your mistake? To take it on the\nlowest ground, Dalmain, worshipper of beauty as he was, had had a\nsurfeit of pretty faces. He was like the confectioner's boy who when\nfirst engaged is allowed to eat all the cakes and sweets he likes, and\nwho eats so many in the first week, that ever after he wants only plain\nbread-and-butter. YOU were Dal's bread-and-butter. I am sorry if you do\nnot like the simile.\"\n\nJane smiled. \"I do like the simile,\" she said.\n\n\"Ah, but you were far more than this, my dear girl. You were his ideal\nof womanhood. He believed in your strength and tenderness, your\ngraciousness and truth. You shattered this ideal; you failed this faith\nin you. His fanciful, artistic, eclectic nature with all its unused\npossibilities of faithful and passionate devotion, had found its haven\nin your love; and in twelve hours you turned it adrift. Jane--it was a\ncrime. The magnificent strength of the fellow is shown by the way he\ntook it. His progress in his art was not arrested. All his best work\nhas been done since. He has made no bad mad marriage, in mockery of his\nown pain; and no grand loveless one, to spite you. He might have done\nboth--I mean either. And when I realise that the poor fellow I was with\nyesterday--making such a brave fight in the dark, and turning his head\non the pillow to say with a gleam of hope on his drawn face: `Where\nThou art Guide, no ill can come'--had already been put through all this\nby you--Jane, if you were a man, I'd horsewhip you!\" said the doctor.\n\nJane squared her shoulders and lifted her head with more of her old\nspirit than she had yet shown.\n\n\"You have lashed me well, Boy,\" she said, \"as only words spoken in\nfaithful indignation can lash. And I feel the better for the pain.--\nAnd now I think I ought to tell you that while I was on the top of the\nGreat Pyramid I suddenly saw the matter from a different standpoint.\nYou remember that view, with its sharp line of demarcation? On one side\nthe river, and verdure, vegetation, fruitfulness, a veritable 'garden\nenclosed'; on the other, vast space as far as the eye could reach;\ngolden liberty, away to the horizon, but no sign of vegetation, no hope\nof cultivation, just barren, arid, loneliness. I felt this was an exact\npicture of my life as I live it now. Garth's love, flowing through it,\nas the river, could have made it a veritable 'garden of the Lord.' It\nwould have meant less liberty, but it would also have meant no\nloneliness. And, after all, the liberty to live for self alone becomes\nin time a weary bondage. Then I realised that I had condemned him also\nto this hard desert life. I came down and took counsel of the old\nSphinx. Those calm, wise eyes, looking on into futurity, seemed to say:\n'They only live who love.' That evening I resolved to give up the Nile\ntrip, return home immediately, send for Garth, admit all to him, asking\nhim to let us both begin again just where we were three years ago in\nthe moonlight on the terrace at Shenstone. Ten minutes after I had\nformed this decision, I heard of his accident.\"\n\nThe doctor shaded his face with his hand. \"The wheels of time,\" he said\nin a low voice, \"move forward--always; backward, never.\"\n\n\"Oh, Deryck,\" cried Jane, \"sometimes they do. You and Flower know that\nsometimes they do.\"\n\nThe doctor smiled sadly and very tenderly. \"I know,\" he said, \"that\nthere is always one exception which proves every rule.\" Then he added\nquickly: \"But, unquestionably, it helps to mend matters, so far as your\nown mental attitude is concerned, that before you knew of Dalmain's\nblindness you should have admitted yourself wrong, and made up your\nmind to trust him.\"\n\n\"I don't know that I was altogether clear about having been wrong,\"\nsaid Jane, \"but I was quite convinced that I couldn't live any longer\nwithout him, and was therefore prepared to risk it. And of course now,\nall doubt or need to question is swept away by my poor boy's accident,\nwhich simplifies matters, where that particular point is concerned.\"\n\nThe doctor looked at Jane with a sudden raising of his level brows.\n\"Simplifies matters?\" he said.\n\nThen, as Jane, apparently satisfied with the expression, did not\nattempt to qualify it, he rose and stirred the fire; standing over it\nfor a few moments in silent thought. When he sat down again, his voice\nwas very quiet, but there was an alertness about his expression which\nroused Jane. She felt that the crisis of their conversation had been\nreached.\n\n\"And now, my dear Jeanette,\" said the doctor, \"suppose you tell me what\nyou intend doing.\"\n\n\"Doing?\" said Jane. \"Why, of course, I shall go straight to Garth. I\nonly want you to advise me how best to let him know I am coming, and\nwhether it is safe for him to have the emotion of my arrival. Also I\ndon't want to risk being kept from him by doctors or nurses. My place\nis by his side. I ask no better thing of life than to be always beside\nhim. But sick-room attendants are apt to be pig-headed; and a fuss\nunder these circumstances would be unbearable. A wire from you will\nmake all clear.\"\n\n\"I see,\" said the doctor slowly. \"Yes, a wire from me will undoubtedly\nopen a way for you to Garth Dalmain's bedside. And, arrived there, what\nthen?\"\n\nA smile of ineffable tenderness parted Jane's lips. The doctor saw it,\nbut turned away immediately. It was not for him, or for any man, to see\nthat look. The eyes which should have seen it were sightless evermore.\n\n\"What then, Deryck? Love will know best what then. All barriers will be\nswept away, and Garth and I will be together.\"\n\nThe doctor's finger-tips met very exactly before he spoke again; and\nwhen he did speak, his tone was very level and very kind.\n\n\"Ah, Jane,\" he said, \"that is the woman's point of view. It is\ncertainly the simplest, and perhaps the best. But at Garth's bedside\nyou will be confronted with the man's point of view; and I should be\nfailing the trust you have placed in me did I not put that before you\nnow.--From the man's point of view, your own mistaken action three\nyears ago has placed you now in an almost impossible position. If you\ngo to Garth with the simple offer of your love--the treasure he asked\nthree years ago and failed to win--he will naturally conclude the love\nnow given is mainly pity; and Garth Dalmain is not the man to be\ncontent with pity, where he has thought to win love, and failed. Nor\nwould he allow any woman--least of all his crown of womanhood--to tie\nherself to his blindness unless he were sure such binding was her\ndeepest joy. And how could you expect him to believe this in face of\nthe fact that, when he was all a woman's heart could desire, you\nrefused him and sent him from you?--If, on the other hand, you explain,\nas no doubt you intend to do, the reason of that refusal, he can but\nsay one thing: 'You could not trust me to be faithful when I had my\nsight. Blind, you come to me, when it is no longer in my power to prove\nmy fidelity. There is no virtue in necessity. I can never feel I\npossess your trust, because you come to me only when accident has put\nit out of my power either to do the thing you feared, or to prove\nmyself better than your doubts.' My dear girl, that is how matters\nstand from the man's point of view; from his, I make no doubt, even\nmore than from mine; for I recognise in Garth Dalmain a stronger man\nthan myself. Had it been I that day in the church, wanting you as he\ndid, I should have grovelled at your feet and promised to grow up.\nGarth Dalmain had the iron strength to turn and go, without a protest,\nwhen the woman who had owned him mate the evening before, refused him\non the score of inadequacy the next morning. I fear there is no\nquestion of the view he would take of the situation as it now stands.\"\n\nJane's pale, startled face went to the doctor's heart.\n\n\"But Deryck--he--loves--\"\n\n\"Just because he loves, my poor old girl, where you are concerned he\ncould never be content with less than the best.\"\n\n\"Oh, Boy, help me! Find a way! Tell me what to do!\" Despair was in\nJane's eyes.\n\nThe doctor considered long, in silence. At last he said: \"I see only\none way out. If Dal could somehow be brought to realise your point of\nview at that time as a possible one, without knowing it had actually\nbeen the cause of your refusal of him, and could have the chance to\nexpress himself clearly on the subject--to me, for instance--in a way\nwhich might reach you without being meant to reach you, it might put\nyou in a better position toward him. But it would be difficult to\nmanage. If you could be in close contact with his mind, constantly near\nhim unseen--ah, poor chap, that is easy now--I mean unknown to him; if,\nfor instance, you could be in the shoes of this nurse-companion person\nI am sending him, and get at his mind on the matter; so that he could\nfeel when you eventually made your confession, he had already justified\nhimself to you, and thus gone behind his blindness, as it were.\"\n\nJane bounded in her chair. \"Deryck, I have it! Oh, send ME as his\nnurse-companion! He would never dream it was I. It is three years since\nhe heard my voice, and he thinks me in Egypt. The society column in all\nthe papers, a few weeks ago, mentioned me as wintering in Egypt and\nSyria and remaining abroad until May. Not a soul knows I have come\nhome. You are the best judge as to whether I have had training and\nexperience; and all through the war our work was fully as much mental\nand spiritual, as surgical. It was not up to much otherwise. Oh, Dicky,\nyou could safely recommend me; and I still have my uniforms stowed away\nin case of need. I could be ready in twenty-four hours, and I would go\nas Sister--anything, and eat in the kitchen if necessary.\"\n\n\"But, my dear girl,\" said the doctor quietly, \"you could not go as\nSister Anything, unfortunately. You could only go as Nurse Rosemary\nGray; for I engaged her this morning, and posted a full and explicit\naccount of her to Dr. Mackenzie, which he will read, to our patient. I\nnever take a case from one nurse and give it to another, excepting for\nincompetency. And Nurse Rosemary Gray could more easily fly, than prove\nincompetent. She will not be required to eat in the kitchen. She is a\ngentlewoman, and will be treated as such. I wish indeed you could be in\nher shoes, though I doubt whether you could have carried it\nthrough--And now I have something to tell you. Just before I left him,\nDalmain asked after you. He sandwiched you most carefully in between\nthe duchess and Flower; but he could not keep the blood out of his thin\ncheeks, and he gripped the bedclothes in his effort to keep his voice\nsteady. He asked where you were. I said, I believed, in Egypt. When you\nwere coming home. I told him I had heard you intended returning to\nJerusalem for Easter, and I supposed we might expect you home at the\nend of April or early in May. He inquired how you were. I replied that\nyou were not a good correspondent, but I gathered from occasional\ncables and post-cards that you were very fit and having a good time. I\nthen volunteered the statement that it was I who had sent you abroad\nbecause you were going all to pieces. He made a quick movement with his\nhand as if he would have struck me for using the expression. Then he\nsaid: 'Going to pieces? SHE!' in a tone of most utter contempt for me\nand my opinions. Then he hastily made minute inquiries for Flower. He\nhad already asked about the duchess all the questions he intended\nasking about you. When he had ascertained that Flower was at home and\nwell, and had sent him her affectionate sympathy, he begged me to\nglance through a pile of letters which were waiting until he felt able\nto have them read to him, and to tell him any of the handwritings known\nto me. All the world seemed to have sent him letters of sympathy, poor\nchap. I told him a dozen or so of the names I knew,--a royal\nhandwriting among them. He asked whether there were any from abroad.\nThere were two or three. I knew them all, and named them. He could not\nbear to hear any of them read; even the royal letter remained unopened,\nthough he asked to have it in his hand, and fingered the tiny crimson\ncrown. Then he asked. 'Is there one from the duchess?' There was. He\nwished to hear that one, so I opened and read it. It was very\ncharacteristic of her Grace; full of kindly sympathy, heartily yet\ntactfully expressed. Half-way through she said: 'Jane will be upset. I\nshall write and tell her next time she sends me an address. At present\nI have no idea in which quarter of the globe my dear niece is to be\nfound. Last time I heard of her she seemed in a fair way towards\nmarrying a little Jap and settling in Japan. Not a bad idea, my dear\nDal, is it? Though, if Japan is at all like the paper screens, I don't\nknow where in that Liliputian country they will find a house, or a\nhusband, or a what-do-you-call-'em thing they ride in, solid enough for\nour good Jane!' With intuitive tact of a very high order, I omitted\nthis entire passage about marrying the Jap. When your aunt's letter was\nfinished, he asked point blank whether there was one from you. I said\nNo, but that it was unlikely the news had reached you, and I felt sure\nyou would write when it did. So I hope you will, dear; and Nurse\nRosemary Gray will have instructions to read all his letters to him.\"\n\n\"Oh, Deryck,\" said Jane brokenly, \"I can't bear it! I must go to him!\"\n\nThe telephone bell on the doctor's table whirred sharply. He went over\nand took up the receiver.\n\n\"Hullo! ... Yes, it is Dr. Brand.... Who is speaking? ... Oh, is\nit you, Matron?\"--Jane felt quite sorry the matron could not see the\ndoctor's charming smile into the telephone.--\"Yes? What name did you\nsay? ... Undoubtedly. This morning; quite definitely. A most\nimportant case. She is to call and see me to-night ... What? ...\nMistake on register? Ah, I see ... Gone where? ... Where? ...\nSpell it, please ... Australia! Oh, quite out of reach! ... Yes, I\nheard he was ordered there ... Never mind, Matron. You are in no way\nto blame ... Thanks, I think not. I have some one in view ... Yes....\nYes.... No doubt she might do ... I will let you know if I\nshould require her ... Good-bye, Matron, and thank you.\"\n\nThe doctor hung up the receiver. Then he turned to Jane; a slow,\nhalf-doubtful smile gathering on his lips.\n\n\"Jeanette,\" he said, \"I do not believe in chance. But I do believe in a\nHigher Control, which makes and unmakes our plans. You shall go.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI\n\nTHE DOCTOR FINDS A WAY\n\n\n\"And now as to ways and means,\" said the doctor, when Jane felt better.\n\"You must leave by the night mail from Euston, the day after to-morrow.\nCan you be ready?\"\n\n\"I am ready,\" said Jane.\n\n\"You must go as Nurse Rosemary Gray.\"\n\n\"I don't like that,\" Jane interposed. \"I should prefer a fictitious\nname. Suppose the real Rosemary Gray turned up, or some one who knows\nher.\"\n\n\"My, dear girl, she is half-way to Australia by now, and you will see\nno one up there but the household and the doctor. Any one who turned up\nwould be more likely to know you. We must take these risks. Besides, in\ncase of complications arising, I will give you a note, which you can\nproduce at once, explaining the situation, and stating that in agreeing\nto fill the breach you consented at my request to take the name in\norder to prevent any necessity for explanations to the patient, which\nat this particular juncture would be most prejudicial. I can honestly\nsay this, it being even more true than appears. So you must dress the\npart, Jane, and endeavour to look the part, so far as your five foot\neleven will permit; for please remember that I have described you to\nDr. Mackenzie as 'a pretty, dainty little thing, refined and elegant,\nand considerably more capable than she looks.'\"\n\n\"Dicky! He will instantly realise that I am not the person mentioned in\nyour letter.\"\n\n\"Not so, dear. Remember we have to do with a Scotchman, and a Scotchman\nnever realises anything 'instantly.' The Gaelic mind works slowly,\nthough it works exceeding sure. He will be exceeding sure, when he has\ncontemplated you for a while, that I am a 'verra poor judge o' women,'\nand that Nurse Gray is a far finer woman than I described. But he will\nhave already created for Dalmain, from my letter, a mental picture of\nhis nurse; which is all that really matters. We must trust to\nProvidence that old Robbie does not proceed to amend it by the\noriginal. Try to forestall any such conversation. If the good doctor\nseems to mistrust you, take him on one side, show him my letter, and\ntell him the simple truth. But I do not suppose this will be necessary.\nWith the patient, you must remember the extreme sensitiveness of a\nblind man's hearing. Tread lightly. Do not give him any opportunity to\njudge of your height. Try to remember that you are not supposed to be\nable to reach the top shelf of an eight-foot bookcase without the aid\nof steps or a chair. And when the patient begins to stand and walk, try\nto keep him from finding out that his nurse is slightly taller than\nhimself. This should not be difficult; one of his fixed ideas being\nthat in his blindness he will not be touched by a woman. His valet will\nlead him about. And, Jane, I cannot imagine any one who has ever had\nyour hand in his, failing to recognise it. So I advise you, from the\nfirst, to avoid shaking hands. But all these precautions do not obviate\nthe greatest difficulty of all,--your voice. Do you suppose, for a\nmoment, he will not recognise that?\"\n\n\"I shall take the bull by the horns in that case,\" said Jane, \"and you\nmust help me. Explain the fact to me now, as you might do if I were\nreally Nurse Rosemary Gray, and had a voice so like my own.\"\n\nThe doctor smiled. \"My dear Nurse Rosemary,\" he said, \"you must not be\nsurprised if our patient detects a remarkable similarity between your\nvoice and that of a mutual friend of his and mine. I have constantly\nnoticed it myself.\"\n\n\"Indeed, sir,\" said Jane. \"And may I know whose voice mine so closely\nresembles?\"\n\n\"The Honourable Jane Champion's,\" said the doctor, with the delightful\nsmile with which he always spoke to his nurses. \"Do you know her?\"\n\n\"Slightly,\" said Jane, \"and I hope to know her better and better as the\nyears go by.\"\n\nThen they both laughed. \"Thank you, Dicky. Now I shall know what to say\nto the patient.--Ah, but the misery of it! Think of it being possible\nthus to deceive Garth,--Garth of the bright, keen all--perceiving\nvision! Shall I ever have the courage to carry it through?\"\n\n\"If you value your own eventual happiness and his you will, dear. And\nnow I must order the brougham and speed you to Portland Place, or you\nwill be late--for dinner, a thing the duchess cannot overlook 'as you\nvery well know,' even in a traveller returned from round the world. And\nif you take my advice, you will tell your kind, sensible old aunt the\nwhole story, omitting of course all moonlight details, and consult her\nabout this plan. Her shrewd counsel will be invaluable, and you may be\nglad of her assistance later on.\"\n\nThey rose and faced each other on the hearth-rug.\n\n\"Boy,\" said Jane with emotion, \"you have been so good to me, and so\nfaithful. Whatever happens, I shall be grateful always.\"\n\n\"Hush,\" said the doctor. \"No need for gratitude when long-standing\ndebts are paid.--To-morrow I shall not have a free moment, and I\nforesee the next day as very full also. But we might dine together at\nEuston at seven, and I will see you off. Your train leaves at eight\no'clock, getting you to Aberdeen soon after seven the next morning, and\nout to Gleneesh in time for breakfast. You will enjoy arriving in the\nearly morning light; and the air of the moors braces you\nwonderfully.--Thank you, Stoddart. Miss Champion is ready. Hullo,\nFlower! Look up, Jane. Flower, and Dicky, and Blossom, are hanging over\nthe topmost banisters, dropping you showers of kisses. Yes, the river\nyou mentioned does produce a veritable 'garden of the Lord.' God send\nyou the same, dear. And now, sit well back, and lower your veil. Ah, I\nremember, you don't wear them. Wise girl! If all women followed your\nexample it would impoverish the opticians. Why? Oh, constant focussing\non spots, for one thing. But lean back, for you must not be seen if you\nare supposed to be still in Cairo, waiting to go up the Nile. And, look\nhere\"--the doctor put his head in at the carriage window--\"very plain\nluggage, mind. The sort of thing nurses speak of as 'my box'; with a\nvery obvious R. G. on it!\"\n\n\"Thank you, Boy,\" whispered Jane. \"You think of everything.\"\n\n\"I think of YOU,\" said the doctor. And in all the hard days to come,\nJane often found comfort in remembering those last quiet words.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII\n\nENTER--NURSE ROSEMARY\n\n\nNurse Rosemary Gray had arrived at Gleneesh.\n\nWhen she and her \"box\" were deposited on the platform of the little\nwayside railway station, she felt she had indeed dropped from the\nclouds; leaving her own world, and her own identity, on some\nfar-distant planet.\n\nA motor waited outside the station, and she had a momentary fear lest\nshe should receive deferential recognition from the chauffeur. But he\nwas as solid and stolid as any other portion of the car, and paid no\nmore attention to her than he did to her baggage. The one was a nurse;\nthe other, a box, both common nouns, and merely articles to be conveyed\nto Gleneesh according to orders. So he looked straight before him,\npresenting a sphinx-like profile beneath the peak of his leather cap,\nwhile a slow and solemn porter helped Jane and her luggage into the\nmotor. When she had rewarded the porter with threepence,\nconscientiously endeavouring to live down to her box, the chauffeur\nmoved foot and hand with the silent precision of a machine, they swung\nround into the open, and took the road for the hills.\n\nUp into the fragrant heather and grey rocks; miles of moor and sky and\nsolitude. More than ever Jane felt as if she had dropped into another\nworld, and so small an incident as the omission of the usual respectful\nsalute of a servant, gave her a delightful sense of success and\nsecurity in her new role.\n\nShe had often heard of Garth's old castle up in the North, an\ninheritance from his mother's family, but was hardly prepared for so\nmuch picturesque beauty or such stateliness of archway and entrance. As\nthey wound up the hillside and the grey turrets came into view, with\npine woods behind and above, she seemed to hear Garth's boyish voice\nunder the cedar at Overdene, with its ring of buoyant enjoyment,\nsaying: \"I should like you to see Castle Gleneesh. You would enjoy the\nview from the terrace; and the pine woods, and the moor.\" And then he\nhad laughingly declared his intention of getting up a \"best party\" of\nhis own, with the duchess as chaperon; and she had promised to make one\nof it. And now he, the owner of all this loveliness, was blind and\nhelpless; and she was entering the fair portals of Gleneesh, unknown to\nhim, unrecognised by any, as a nurse-secretary sort of person. Jane had\nsaid at Overdene: \"Yes, ask us, and see what happens.\" And now this was\nhappening. What would happen next?\n\nGarth's man, Simpson, received her at the door, and again a possible\ndanger was safely passed. He had entered Garth's service within the\nlast three years and evidently did not know her by sight.\n\nJane stood looking round the old hall, in the leisurely way of one\naccustomed to arrive for the first time as guest at the country homes\nof her friends; noting the quaint, large fireplace, and the shadowy\nantlers high up on the walls. Then she became aware that Simpson,\nalready half-way up the wide oak staircase, was expecting the nurse to\nhurry after him. This she did, and was received at the top of the\nstaircase by old Margery. It did not require the lawn kerchief, the\nblack satin apron, and the lavender ribbons, for Jane to recognise\nGarth's old Scotch nurse, housekeeper, and friend. One glance at the\ngrave, kindly face, wrinkled and rosy,--a beautiful combination of\nperfect health and advancing years,--was enough. The shrewd, keen eyes,\nseeing quickly beneath the surface, were unmistakable. She conducted\nJane to her room, talking all the time in a kindly effort to set her at\nher ease, and to express a warm welcome with gentle dignity, not\nforgetting the cloud of sadness which hung over the house and rendered\nher presence necessary. She called her \"Nurse Gray\" at the conclusion\nof every sentence, with an upward inflection and pretty rolling of the\nr's, which charmed Jane. She longed to say: \"You old dear! How I shall\nenjoy being in the house with you!\" but remembered in time that a\nremark which would have been gratifying condescension on the part of\nthe Honourable Jane Champion, would be little short of impertinent\nfamiliarity from Nurse Rosemary Gray. So she followed meekly into the\npretty room prepared for her; admired the chintz; answered questions\nabout her night journey; admitted that she would be very glad of\nbreakfast, but still more of a bath if convenient.\n\nAnd now bath and breakfast were both over, and Jane was standing beside\nthe window in her room, looking down at the wonderful view, and waiting\nuntil the local doctor should arrive and summon her to Garth's room.\n\nShe had put on the freshest-looking and most business-like of her\nuniforms, a blue print gown, linen collar and cuffs, and a white apron\nwith shoulder straps and large pockets. She also wore the becoming cap\nbelonging to one of the institutions to which she had once been for\ntraining. She did not intend wearing this later on, but just this\nmorning she omitted no detail which could impress Dr. Mackenzie with\nher extremely professional appearance. She was painfully conscious that\nthe severe simplicity of her dress tended rather to add to her height,\nnotwithstanding her low-heeled ward shoes with their noiseless rubber\nsoles. She could but hope Deryck would prove right as to the view Dr.\nMackenzie would take.\n\nAnd then far away in the distance, along the white ribbon of road,\nwinding up from the valley, she saw a high gig, trotting swiftly; one\nman in it, and a small groom seated behind. Her hour had come.\n\nJane fell upon her knees, at the window, and prayed for strength,\nwisdom, and courage. She could realise absolutely nothing. She had\nthought so much and so continuously, that all mental vision was out of\nfocus and had become a blur. Even his dear face had faded and was\nhidden from her when she frantically strove to recall it to her mental\nview. Only the actual fact remained clear, that in a few short minutes\nshe would be taken to the room where he lay. She would see the face she\nhad not seen since they stood together at the chancel step--the face\nfrom which the glad confidence slowly faded, a horror of chill\ndisillusion taking its place.\n\n \"Anoint and cheer our soiled face\n With the abundance of Thy grace.\"\n\nShe would see that dear face, and he, sightless, would not see hers,\nbut would be easily deluded into believing her to be some one else.\n\nThe gig had turned the last bend of the road, and passed out of sight\non its way to the front of the house.\n\nJane rose and stood waiting. Suddenly she remembered two sentences of\nher conversation with Deryck. She had said: \"Shall I ever have the\ncourage to carry it through?\" And Deryck had answered, earnestly: \"If\nyou value your own eventual happiness and his, you will.\"\n\nA tap came at her door. Jane walked across the room, and opened it.\n\nSimpson stood on the threshold.\n\n\"Dr. Mackenzie is in the library, nurse,\" he said, \"and wishes to see\nyou there.\"\n\n\"Then, will you kindly take me to the library, Mr. Simpson,\" said Nurse\nRosemary Gray.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII\n\nTHE NAPOLEON OF THE MOORS\n\n\nOn the bear-skin rug, with his back to the fire, stood Dr. Robert\nMackenzie, known to his friends as \"Dr. Rob\" or \"Old Robbie,\" according\nto their degrees of intimacy.\n\nJane's first impression was of a short, stout man, in a sealskin\nwaistcoat which had seen better days, a light box-cloth overcoat three\nsizes too large for him, a Napoleonic attitude,--little spindle legs\nplanted far apart, arms folded on chest, shoulders hunched up,--which\nled one to expect, as the eye travelled upwards, an ivory-white\ncomplexion, a Roman nose, masterful jaw, and thin lips folded in a line\nof conscious power. Instead of which one found a red, freckled face, a\nnose which turned cheerfully skyward, a fat pink chin, and drooping\nsandy moustache. The only striking feature of the face was a pair of\nkeen blue eyes, which, when turned upon any one intently, almost\ndisappeared beneath bushy red eyebrows and became little points of\nturquoise light.\n\nJane had not been in his presence two minutes before she perceived\nthat, when his mind was working, he was entirely unconscious of his\nbody, which was apt to do most peculiar things automatically; so that\nhis friends had passed round the remark: \"Robbie chews up dozens of\ngood pen-holders, while Dr. Mackenzie is thinking out excellent\nprescriptions.\"\n\nWhen Jane entered, his eyes were fixed upon an open letter, which she\ninstinctively knew to be Deryck's, and he did not look up at once. When\nhe did look up, she saw his unmistakable start of surprise. He opened\nhis mouth to speak, and Jane was irresistibly reminded of a tame\ngoldfish at Overdene, which used to rise to the surface when the\nduchess dropped crumbs. He closed it without uttering a word, and\nturned again to Deryck's letter; and Jane felt herself to be the crumb,\nor rather the camel, which he was finding it difficult to swallow.\n\nShe waited in respectful silence, and Deryck's words passed with\ncalming effect through the palpitating suspense of her brain. \"The\nGaelic mind works slowly, though it works exceeding sure. He will be\nexceeding sure that I am a verra poor judge o' women.\"\n\nAt last the little man on the hearth-rug lifted his eyes again to\nJane's; and, alas, how high he had to lift them!\n\n\"Nurse--er?\" he said inquiringly, and Jane thought his searching eyes\nlooked like little bits of broken blue china in a hay-stack.\n\n\"Rosemary Gray,\" replied Jane meekly, with a curtsey in her voice;\nfeeling as if they were rehearsing amateur theatricals at Overdene, and\nthe next minute the duchess's cane would rap the floor and they would\nbe told to speak up and not be so slow.\n\n\"Ah,\" said Dr. Robert Mackenzie, \"I see.\"\n\nHe stared hard at the carpet in a distant corner of the room, then\nwalked across and picked up a spline broken from a bass broom; brought\nit back to the hearth-rug; examined it with minute attention; then put\none end between his teeth and began to chew it.\n\nJane wondered what was the correct thing to do at this sort of\ninterview, when a doctor neither sat down himself nor suggested that\nthe nurse should do so. She wished she had asked Deryck. But he could\nnot possibly have enlightened her, because the first thing he always\nsaid to a nurse was: \"My dear Nurse SO-AND-SO, pray sit down. People\nwho have much unavoidable standing to do should cultivate the habit of\nseating themselves comfortably at every possible opportunity.\"\n\nBut the stout little person on the hearth-rug was not Deryck. So Jane\nstood at attention, and watched the stiff bit of bass wag up and down,\nand shorten, inch by inch. When it had finally disappeared, Dr. Robert\nMackenzie spoke again.\n\n\"So you have arrived, Nurse Gray,\" he said.\n\n\"Truly the mind of a Scotchman works slowly,\" thought Jane, but she was\nthankful to detect the complete acceptance of herself in his tone.\nDeryck was right; and oh the relief of not having to take this\nunspeakable little man into her confidence in this matter of the\ndeception to be practised on Garth.\n\n\"Yes, sir, I have arrived,\" she said.\n\nAnother period of silence. A fragment of the bass broom reappeared and\nvanished once more, before Dr. Mackenzie spoke again.\n\n\"I am glad you have arrived, Nurse Gray,\" he said.\n\n\"I am glad TO have arrived, sir,\" said Jane gravely, almost expecting\nto hear the duchess's delighted \"Ha, ha!\" from the wings. The little\ncomedy was progressing.\n\nThen suddenly she became aware that during the last few minutes Dr.\nMackenzie's mind had been concentrated upon something else. She had not\nfilled it at all. The next moment it was turned upon her and two swift\nturquoise gleams from under the shaggy brows swept over her, with the\nrapidity and brightness of search-lights. Dr. Mackenzie commenced\nspeaking quickly, with a wonderful rolling of r's.\n\n\"I understand, Miss Gray, you have come to minister to the patient's\nmind rather than to his body. You need not trouble to explain. I have\nit from Sir Deryck Brand, who prescribed a nurse-companion for the\npatient, and engaged you. I fully agreed with his prescription; and,\nallow me to say, I admire its ingredients.\"\n\nJane bowed, and realised how the duchess would be chuckling. What an\ninsufferable little person! Jane had time to think this, while he\nwalked across to the table-cloth, bent over it, and examined an ancient\nspot of ink. Finding a drop of candle grease near it, he removed it\nwith his thumb nail; brought it carefully to the fire, and laid it on\nthe coals. He watched it melt, fizzle, and flare, with an intense\nconcentration of interest; then jumped round on Jane, and caught her\nlook of fury.\n\n\"And I think there remains very little for me to say to you about the\ntreatment, Miss Gray,\" he finished calmly. \"You will have received\nminute instructions from Sir Deryck himself. The great thing now is to\nhelp the patient to take an interest in the outer world. The temptation\nto persons who suddenly become totally blind, is to form a habit of\nliving entirely in a world within; a world of recollection,\nretrospection, and imagination; the only world, in fact, in which they\ncan see.\"\n\nJane made a quick movement of appreciation and interest. After all she\nmight learn something useful from this eccentric little Scotchman. Oh\nto keep his attention off rubbish on the carpet, and grease spots on\nthe table-cloth!\n\n\"Yes?\" she said. \"Do tell me more.\"\n\n\"This,\" continued Dr. Mackenzie, \"is our present difficulty with Mr.\nDalmain. There seems to be no possibility of arousing his interest in\nthe outside world. He refuses to receive visitors; he declines to hear\nhis letters. Hours pass without a word being spoken by him. Unless you\nhear him speak to me or to his valet, you will easily suppose yourself\nto have a patient who has lost the power of speech as well as the gift\nof sight. Should he express a wish to speak to me alone when we are\nwith him, do not leave the room. Walk over to the fireplace and remain\nthere. I desire that you should hear, that when he chooses to rouse and\nmake an effort, he is perfectly well able to do so. The most important\npart of your duties, Nurse Gray, will be the aiding him day by day to\nresume life,--the life of a blind man, it is true; but not therefore\nnecessarily an inactive life. Now that all danger of inflammation from\nthe wounds has subsided, he may get up, move about, learn to find his\nway by sound and touch. He was an artist by profession. He will never\npaint again. But there are other gifts which may form reasonable\noutlets to an artistic nature.\"\n\nHe paused suddenly, having apparently caught sight of another grease\nspot, and walked over to the table; but the next instant jumped round\non Jane, quick as lightning, with a question.\n\n\"Does he play?\" said Dr. Rob.\n\nBut Jane was on her guard, even against accidental surprises.\n\n\"Sir Deryck did not happen to mention to me, Dr. Mackenzie, whether Mr.\nDalmain is musical or not.\"\n\n\"Ah, well,\" said the little doctor, resuming his Napoleonic attitude in\nthe centre of the hearth-rug; \"you must make it your business to find\nout. And, by the way, Nurse, do you play yourself?\"\n\n\"A little,\" said Jane.\n\n\"Ah,\" said Dr. Rob. \"And I dare say you sing a little, too?\"\n\nJane acquiesced.\n\n\"In that case, my dear lady, I leave most explicit orders that you\nneither sing a little nor play a little to Mr. Dalmain. We, who have\nour sight, can just endure while people who 'play a little' show us how\nlittle they can play; because we are able to look round about us and\nthink of other things. But to a blind man, with an artist's sensitive\nsoul, the experience might culminate in madness. We must not risk it. I\nregret to appear uncomplimentary, but a patient's welfare must take\nprecedence of all other considerations.\"\n\nJane smiled. She was beginning to like Dr. Rob.\n\n\"I will be most careful,\" she said, \"neither to play nor to sing to Mr.\nDalmain.\"\n\n\"Good,\" said Dr. Mackenzie. \"But now let me tell you what you most\ncertainly may do, by-and-by. Lead him to the piano. Place him there\nupon a seat where he will feel secure; none of your twirly, rickety\nstools. Make a little notch on the key-board by which he can easily\nfind middle C. Then let him relieve his pent-up soul by the painting of\nsound-pictures. You will find this will soon keep him happy for hours.\nAnd, if he is already something of a musician,--as that huge grand\npiano, with no knick-knacks on it indicates,--he may begin that sort of\nthing at once, before he is ready to be worried with the Braille\nsystem, or any other method of instructing the blind. But contrive an\neasy way--a little notch in the wood-work below the note--by means of\nwhich, without hesitation or irritation, he can locate himself\ninstantly at middle C. Never mind the other notes. It is all the SEEING\nhe will require when once he is at the piano. Ha, ha! Not bad for a\nScotchman, eh, Nurse Gray?\"\n\nBut Jane could not laugh; though somewhere in her mental background she\nseemed to hear laughter and applause from the duchess. This was no\ncomedy to Jane,--her blind Garth at the piano, his dear beautiful head\nbent over the keys, his fingers feeling for that pathetic little notch,\nto be made by herself, below middle C. She loathed this individual who\ncould make a pun on the subject of Garth's blindness, and, in the back\nof her mind, Tommy seemed to join the duchess, flapping up and down on\nhis perch and shrieking: \"Kick him out! Stop his jaw!\"\n\n\"And now,\" said Dr. Mackenzie unexpectedly, \"the next thing to be done,\nNurse Gray, is to introduce you to the patient.\"\n\nJane felt the blood slowly leave her face and concentrate in a terrible\npounding at her heart. But she stood her ground, and waited silently.\n\nDr. Mackenzie rang the bell. Simpson appeared.\n\n\"A decanter of sherry, a wine-glass, and a couple of biscuits,\" said\nDr. Rob.\n\nSimpson vanished.\n\n\"Little beast!\" thought Jane. \"At eleven o'clock in the morning!\".\n\nDr. Rob stood, and waited; tugging spitefully at his red moustache, and\nlooking intently out of the window.\n\nSimpson reappeared, placed a small tray on the table, and went quietly\nout, closing the door behind him.\n\nDr. Rob poured out a glass of sherry, drew up a chair to the table, and\nsaid: \"Now, Nurse, sit down and drink that, and take a biscuit with it.\"\n\nJane protested. \"But, indeed, doctor, I never--\"\n\n\"I have no doubt you 'never,'\" said Dr. Rob, \"especially at eleven\no'clock in the morning. But you will to-day; so do not waste any time\nin discussion. You have had a long night journey; you are going\nupstairs to a very sad sight indeed, a strain on the nerves and\nsensibilities. You have come through a trying interview with me, and\nyou are praising Heaven it is over. But you will praise Heaven with\nmore fervency when you have drunk the sherry. Also you have been\nstanding during twenty-three minutes and a half. I always stand to\nspeak myself, and I prefer folk should stand to listen. I can never\ntalk to people while they loll around. But you will walk upstairs all\nthe more steadily, Nurse Rosemary Gray, if you sit down now for five\nminutes at this table.\"\n\nJane obeyed, touched and humbled. So, after all, it was a kind,\ncomprehending heart under that old sealskin waistcoat; and a shrewd\nunderstanding of men and matters, in spite of the erratic, somewhat\nobjectionable exterior. While she drank the wine and finished the\nbiscuits, he found busy occupation on the other side of the room,\npolishing the window with his silk pocket-handkerchief; making a queer\nhumming noise all the time, like a bee buzzing up the pane. He seemed\nto have forgotten her presence; but, just as she put down the empty\nglass, he turned and, walking straight across the room, laid his hand\nupon her shoulder.\n\n\"Now, Nurse,\" he said, \"follow me upstairs, and, just at first, speak\nas little as possible. Remember, every fresh voice intruding into the\nstill depths of that utter blackness, causes an agony of bewilderment\nand disquietude to the patient. Speak little and speak low, and may God\nAlmighty give you tact and wisdom.\"\n\nThere was a dignity of conscious knowledge and power in the small\nquaint figure which preceded Jane up the staircase. As she followed,\nshe became aware that her spirit leaned on his and felt sustained and\nstrengthened. The unexpected conclusion of his sentence, old-fashioned\nin its wording, yet almost a prayer, gave her fresh courage. \"May God\nAlmighty give you tact and wisdom,\" he had said, little guessing how\ngreatly she needed them. And now another voice, echoing through\nmemory's arches to organ-music, took up the strain: \"Where Thou art\nGuide, no ill can come.\" And with firm though noiseless step, Jane\nfollowed Dr. Mackenzie into the roam where Garth was lying, helpless,\nsightless, and disfigured.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIX\n\nTHE VOICE IN THE DARKNESS\n\n\nJust the dark head upon the pillow. That was all Jane saw at first, and\nshe saw it in sunshine. Somehow she had always pictured a darkened\nroom, forgetting that to him darkness and light were both alike, and\nthat there was no need to keep out the sunlight, with its healing,\npurifying, invigorating powers.\n\nHe had requested to have his bed moved into a corner--the corner\nfarthest from door, fireplace, and windows--with its left side against\nthe wall, so that he could feel the blank wall with his hand and,\nturning close to it, know himself shut away from all possible prying of\nunseen eyes. This was how he now lay, and he did not turn as they\nentered.\n\nJust the dear dark head upon the pillow. It was all Jane saw at first.\nThen his right arm in the sleeve of a blue silk sleeping-suit,\nstretched slightly behind him as he lay on his left side, the thin\nwhite hand limp and helpless on the coverlet.\n\nJane put her hands behind her. The impulse was so strong to fall on her\nknees beside the bed, take that poor hand in both her strong ones, and\ncover it with kisses. Ah surely, surely then, the dark head would turn\nto her, and instead of seeking refuge in the hard, blank wall, he would\nhide that sightless face in the boundless tenderness of her arms. But\nDeryck's warning voice sounded, grave and persistent: \"If you value\nyour own eventual happiness and his--\" So Jane put her hands behind her\nback.\n\nDr. Mackenzie advanced to the side of the bed and laid his hand upon\nGarth's shoulder. Then, with an incredible softening of his rather\nstrident voice, he spoke so slowly and quietly, that Jane could hardly\nbelieve this to be the man who had jerked out questions, comments, and\norders to her, during the last half-hour.\n\n\"Good morning, Mr. Dalmain. Simpson tells me it has been an excellent\nnight, the best you have yet had. Now that is good. No doubt you were\nrelieved to be rid of Johnson, capable though he was, and to be back in\nthe hands of your own man again. These trained attendants are never\ncontent with doing enough; they always want to do just a little more,\nand that little more is a weariness to the patient.--Now I have brought\nyou to-day one who is prepared to do all you need, and yet who, I feel\nsure, will never annoy you by attempting more than you desire. Sir\nDeryck Brand's prescription, Nurse Rosemary Gray, is here; and I\nbelieve she is prepared to be companion, secretary, reader, anything\nyou want, in fact a new pair of eyes for you, Mr. Dalmain, with a\nclever brain behind them, and a kind, sympathetic, womanly heart\ndirecting and controlling that brain. Nurse Gray arrived this morning,\nMr. Dalmain.\"\n\nNo response from the bed. But Garth's hand groped for the wall; touched\nit, then dropped listlessly back.\n\nJane could not realise that SHE was \"Nurse Gray.\" She only longed that\nher poor boy need not be bothered with the woman! It all seemed, at\nthis moment, a thing apart from herself and him.\n\nDr. Mackenzie spoke again. \"Nurse Rosemary Gray is in the room, Mr.\nDalmain.\"\n\nThen Garth's instinctive chivalry struggled up through the blackness.\nHe did not turn his head, but his right hand made a little courteous\nsign of greeting, and he said in a low, distinct voice: \"How do you do?\nI am sure it is most kind of you to come so far. I hope you had an easy\njourney.\"\n\nJane's lips moved, but no sound would pass them.\n\nDr. Rob made answer quickly, without looking at her: \"Miss Gray had a\nvery good journey, and looks as fresh this morning as if she had spent\nthe night in bed. I can see she is a cold-water young lady.\"\n\n\"I hope my housekeeper will make her comfortable. Please give orders,\"\nsaid the tired voice; and Garth turned even closer to the wall, as if\nto end the conversation.\n\nDr. Rob attacked his moustache, and stood looking down at the blue silk\nshoulder for a minute, silently.\n\nThen he turned and spoke to Jane. \"Come over to the window, Nurse Gray.\nI want to show you a special chair we have obtained for Mr. Dalmain, in\nwhich he will be most comfortable as soon as he feels inclined to sit\nup. You see? Here is an adjustable support for the head, if necessary;\nand these various trays and stands and movable tables can be swung\nround into any position by a touch. I consider it excellent, and Sir\nDeryck approved it. Have you seen one of this kind before, Nurse Gray?\"\n\n\"We had one at the hospital, but not quite so complete as this,\" said\nJane.\n\nIn the stillness of that sunlit chamber, the voice from the bed broke\nupon them with startling suddenness; and in it was the cry of one lost\nin an abyss of darkness, but appealing to them with a frantic demand\nfor instant enlightenment.\n\n\"WHO is in the room?\" cried Garth Dalmain.\n\nHis face was still turned to the wall; but he had raised himself on his\nleft elbow, in an attitude which betokened intent listening.\n\nDr. Mackenzie answered. \"No one is in the room, Mr. Dalmain, but myself\nand Nurse Gray.\"\n\n\"There IS some one else in the room!\" said Garth violently. \"How dare\nyou lie to me! Who was speaking?\"\n\nThen Jane came quickly to the side of the bed. Her hands were\ntrembling, but her voice was perfectly under control.\n\n\"It was I who spoke, sir,\" she said; \"Nurse Rosemary Gray. And I feel\nsure I know why my voice startled you. Dr. Brand warned me it might do\nso. He said I must not be surprised if you detected a remarkable\nsimilarity between my voice and that of a mutual friend of yours and\nhis. He said he had often noticed it.\"\n\nGarth, in his blindness, remained quite still; listening and\nconsidering. At length he asked slowly: \"Did he say whose voice?\"\n\n\"Yes, for I asked him. He said it was Miss Champion's.\"\n\nGarth's head dropped back upon the pillow. Then without turning he said\nin a tone which Jane knew meant a smile on that dear hidden face: \"You\nmust forgive me, Miss Gray, for being so startled and so stupidly,\nunpardonably agitated. But, you know, being blind is still such a new\nexperience, and every fresh voice which breaks through the black\ncurtain of perpetual night, means so infinitely more than the speaker\nrealises. The resemblance in your voice to that of the lady Sir Deryck\nmentioned is so remarkable that, although I know her to be at this\nmoment in Egypt, I could scarcely believe she was not in the room. And\nyet the most unlikely thing in the world would be that she should have\nbeen in this room. So I owe you and Dr. Mackenzie most humble apologies\nfor my agitation and unbelief.\"\n\nHe stretched out his right hand, palm upwards, towards Jane.\n\nJane clasped her shaking hands behind her.\n\n\"Now, Nurse, if you please,\" broke in Dr. Mackenzie's rasping voice\nfrom the window, \"I have a few more details to explain to you over\nhere.\"\n\nThey talked together for a while without interruption, until Dr. Rob\nremarked: \"I suppose I will have to be going.\"\n\nThen Garth said: \"I wish to speak to you alone, doctor, for a few\nminutes.\"\n\n\"I will wait for you downstairs, Dr. Mackenzie,\" said Jane, and was\nmoving towards the door, when an imperious gesture from Dr. Rob stopped\nher, and she turned silently to the fireplace. She could not see any\nneed now for this subterfuge, and it annoyed her. But the freckled\nlittle Napoleon of the moors was not a man to be lightly disobeyed. He\nwalked to the door, opened and closed it; then returned to the bedside,\ndrew up a chair, and sat down.\n\n\"Now, Mr. Dalmain,\" he said.\n\nGarth sat up and turned towards him eagerly.\n\nThen, for the first time, Jane saw his face.\n\n\"Doctor,\" he said, \"tell me about this nurse. Describe her to me.\"\n\nThe tension in tone and attitude was extreme. His hands were clasped in\nfront of him, as if imploring sight through the eyes of another. His\nthin white face, worn with suffering, looked so eager and yet so blank.\n\n\"Describe her to me, doctor,\" he said; \"this Nurse Rosemary Gray, as\nyou call her.\"\n\n\"But it is not a pet name of mine, my dear sir,\" said Dr. Rob\ndeliberately. \"It is the young lady's own name, and a pretty one, too.\n'Rosemary for remembrance.' Is not that Shakespeare?\"\n\n\"Describe her to me,\" insisted Garth, for the third time.\n\nDr. Mackenzie glanced at Jane. But she had turned her back, to hide the\ntears which were streaming down her cheeks. Oh, Garth! Oh, beautiful\nGarth of the shining eyes!\n\nDr. Rob drew Deryck's letter from his pocket and studied it.\n\n\"Well,\" he said slowly, \"she is a pretty, dainty little thing; just the\nsort of elegant young woman you would like to have about you, could you\nsee her.\"\n\n\"Dark or fair?\" asked Garth.\n\nThe doctor glanced at what he could see of Jane's cheek, and at the\nbrown hands holding on to the mantelpiece.\n\n\"Fair,\" said Dr. Rob, without a moment's hesitation.\n\nJane started and glanced round. Why should this little man be lying on\nhis own account?\n\n\"Hair?\" queried the strained voice from the bed.\n\n\"Well,\" said Dr. Rob deliberately, \"it is mostly tucked away under a\nmodest little cap; but, were it not for that wise restraint, I should\nsay it might be that kind of fluffy, fly-away floss-silk, which puts\nthe finishing touch to a dainty, pretty woman.\"\n\nGarth lay back, panting, and pressed his hands over his sightless face.\n\n\"Doctor,\" he said, \"I know I have given you heaps of trouble, and\nto-day you must think me a fool. But if you do not wish me to go mad in\nmy blindness, send that girl away. Do not let her enter my room again.\"\n\n\"Now, Mr. Dalmain,\" said Dr. Mackenzie patiently; \"let us consider this\nthing. We may take it you have nothing against this young lady\nexcepting a chance resemblance in her voice to that of a friend of\nyours now far away. Was not this other lady a pleasant person?\"\n\nGarth laughed suddenly, bitterly; a laugh like a hard, sob. \"Oh, yes,\"\nhe said, \"she was quite a pleasant person.\"\n\n\"'Rosemary for remembrance,'\" quoted Dr. Rob. \"Then why should not\nNurse Rosemary call up a pleasant remembrance? Also it seems to me to\nbe a kind, sweet, womanly voice, which is something to be thankful for\nnowadays, when so many women talk, fit to scare the crows; cackle,\ncackle, cackle--like stones rattling in a tin canister.\"\n\n\"But can't you understand, doctor,\" said Garth wearily, \"that it is\njust the remembrance and the resemblance which, in my blindness, I\ncannot bear? I have nothing against her voice, Heaven knows! But I tell\nyou, when I heard it first I thought it was--it was she--the\nother--come to me--here--and--\" Garth's voice ceased suddenly.\n\n\"The pleasant lady?\" suggested Dr. Rob. \"I see. Well now, Mr. Dalmain,\nSir Deryck said the best thing that could happen would be if you came\nto wish for visitors. It appears you have many friends ready and\nanxious to come any distance in order to bring you help or cheer. Why\nnot let me send for this pleasant lady? I make no doubt she would come.\nThen when she herself had sat beside you, and talked with you, the\nnurse's voice would trouble you no longer.\"\n\nGarth sat up again, his face wild with protest. Jane turned on the\nhearth-rug, and stood watching it.\n\n\"No, doctor,\" he said. \"Oh, my God, no! In the whole world, she is the\nlast person I would have enter this room!\"\n\nDr. Mackenzie bent forward to examine minutely a microscopic darn in\nthe sheet. \"And why?\" he asked very low.\n\n\"Because,\" said Garth, \"that pleasant lady, as you rightly call her,\nhas a noble, generous heart, and it might overflow with pity for my\nblindness; and pity from her I could not accept. It would be the last\nstraw upon my heavy cross. I can bear the cross, doctor; I hope in time\nto carry it manfully, until God bids me lay it down. But that last\nstraw--HER pity--would break me. I should fall in the dark, to rise no\nmore.\"\n\n\"I see,\" said Dr. Rob gently. \"Poor laddie! The pleasant lady must not\ncome.\"\n\nHe waited silently a few minutes, then pushed back his chair and stood\nup.\n\n\"Meanwhile,\" he said, \"I must rely on you, Mr. Dalmain, to be agreeable\nto Nurse Rosemary Gray, and not to make her task too difficult. I dare\nnot send her back. She is Dr. Brand's choice. Besides--think of the\ncruel blow to her in her profession. Think of it, man!--sent off at a\nmoment's notice, after spending five minutes in her patient's room,\nbecause, forsooth, her voice maddened him! Poor child! What a statement\nto enter on her report! See her appear before the matron with it! Can't\nyou be generous and unselfish enough to face whatever trial there may\nbe for you in this bit of a coincidence?\"\n\nGarth hesitated. \"Dr. Mackenzie,\" he said at last, \"will you swear to\nme that your description of this young lady was accurate in every\ndetail?\"\n\n\"'Swear not at all,'\" quoted Dr. Rob unctuously. \"I had a pious mother,\nladdie. Besides I can do better than that. I will let you into a\nsecret. I was reading from Sir Deryck's letter. I am no authority on\nwomen myself, having always considered dogs and horses less ensnaring\nand more companionable creatures. So I would not trust my own eyes, but\npreferred to give you Sir Deryck's description. You will allow him to\nbe a fine judge of women. You have seen Lady Brand?\"\n\n\"Seen her? Yes,\" said Garth eagerly, a slight flush tinting his thin\ncheeks, \"and more than that, I've painted her. Ah, such a\npicture!--standing at a table, the sunlight in her hair, arranging\ngolden daffodils in an old Venetian vase. Did you see it, doctor, in\nthe New Gallery, two years ago?\"\n\n\"No,\" said Dr. Rob. \"I am not finding myself in galleries, new or old.\nBut\"--he turned a swift look of inquiry on Jane, who nodded--\"Nurse\nGray was telling me she had seen it.\"\n\n\"Really?\" said Garth, interested. \"Somehow one does not connect nurses\nwith picture galleries.\"\n\n\"I don't know why not,\" said Dr. Rob. \"They must go somewhere for their\noutings. They can't be everlastingly nosing shop windows in all\nweathers; so why not go in and have a look at your pictures? Besides,\nMiss Rosemary is a young lady of parts. Sir Deryck assures me she is a\ngentlewoman by birth, well-read and intelligent.--Now, laddie, what is\nit to be?\"\n\nGarth considered silently.\n\nJane turned away and gripped the mantelpiece. So much hung in the\nbalance during that quiet minute.\n\nAt length Garth spoke, slowly, hesitatingly. \"If only I could quite\ndisassociate the voice from the--from that other personality. If I\ncould be quite sure that, though her voice is so extraordinarily like,\nshe herself is not--\" he paused, and Jane's heart stood still. Was a\ndescription of herself coming?--\"is not at all like the face and figure\nwhich stand clear in my remembrance as associated with that voice.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said Dr. Rob, \"I'm thinking we can manage that for you. These\nnurses know their patients must be humoured. We will call the young\nlady back, and she shall kneel down beside your bed--Bless you! She\nwon't mind, with me to play old Gooseberry!--and you shall pass your\nhands over her face and hair, and round her little waist, and assure\nyourself, by touch, what an elegant, dainty little person it is, in a\nblue frock and white apron.\"\n\nGarth burst out laughing, and his voice had a tone it had not yet held.\n\"Of all the preposterous suggestions!\" he said. \"Good heavens! What an\nass I must have been making of myself! And I begin to think I have\nexaggerated the resemblance. In a day or two, I shall cease to notice\nit. And, look here, doctor, if she really was interested in that\nportrait--Here, I say--where are you going?\"\n\n\"All right, sir,\" said Dr. Rob. \"I was merely moving a chair over to\nthe fireside, and taking the liberty of pouring out a glass of water.\nReally you are becoming abnormally quick of hearing. Now I am all\nattention. What about the portrait?\"\n\n\"I was only going to say, if she the nurse, you know--is really\ninterested in my portrait of Lady Brand, there are studies of it up in\nthe studio, which she might care to see. If she brought them here and\ndescribed them to me I could explain--But, I say, doctor. I can't have\ndainty young ladies in and out of my room while I'm in bed. Why\nshouldn't I get up and try that chair of yours? Send Simpson along; and\ntell him to look out my brown lounge-suit and orange tie. Good heavens!\nwhat a blessing to have the MEMORY of colours and of how they blend!\nThink of the fellows who are BORN blind. And please ask Miss Gray to go\nout in the pine wood, or on the moor, or use the motor, or rest, or do\nanything she likes. Tell her to make herself quite at home; but on no\naccount to come up here until Simpson reports me ready.\"\n\n\"You may rely on Nurse Gray to be most discreet,\" said Dr. Rob; whose\nvoice had suddenly become very husky. \"And as for getting up, laddie,\ndon't go too fast. You will not find your strength equal to much. But I\nam bound to tell you there is nothing to keep you in bed if you feel\nlike rising.\"\n\n\"Good-bye, doctor,\" said Garth, groping for his hand; \"and I am sorry I\nshall never be able to offer to paint Mrs. Mackenzie!\"\n\n\"You'd have to paint her with a shaggy head, four paws, and the softest\namber eyes in the world,\" said Dr. Rob tenderly; \"and, looking out from\nthose eyes, the most faithful, loving dog-heart in creation. In all the\nyears we've kept house together she has never failed to meet me with a\nwelcome, never contradicted me or wanted the last word, and never\nworried me for so much as the price of a bonnet. There's a woman for\nyou!--Well, good-bye, lad, and God Almighty bless you. And be careful\nhow you go. Do not be surprised if I look in again on my way back from\nmy rounds to see how you like that chair.\"\n\nDr. Mackenzie held open the door. Jane passed noiselessly out before\nhim. He followed, signing to her to precede him down the stairs.\n\nIn the library, Jane turned and faced him. He put her quietly into a\nchair and stood before her. The bright blue eyes were moist, beneath\nthe shaggy brows.\n\n\"My dear,\" he said, \"I feel myself somewhat of a blundering old fool.\nYou must forgive me. I never contemplated putting you through such an\nordeal. I perfectly understand that, while he hesitated, you must have\nfelt your whole career at stake. I see you have been weeping; but you\nmust not take it too much to heart that our patient made so much of\nyour voice resembling this Miss Champion's. He will forget all about it\nin a day or two, and you will be worth more to him than a dozen Miss\nChampions. See what good you have done him already. Here he is wanting\nto get up and explain his pictures to you. Never you fear. You will\nsoon win your way, and I shall be able to report to Sir Deryck what a\nfine success you have made of the case. Now I must see the valet and\ngive him very full instructions. And I recommend you to go for a blow\non the moor and get an appetite for lunch. Only put on something warmer\nthan that. You will have no sick-room work to do; and having duly\nimpressed me with your washableness and serviceableness, you may as\nwell wear something comfortable to protect you from our Highland nip.\nHave you warmer clothing with you?\"\n\n\"It is the rule of our guild to wear uniform,\" said Jane; \"but I have a\ngrey merino.\"\n\n\"Ah, I see. Well, wear the grey merino. I shall return in two hours to\nobserve how he stands that move. Now, don't let me keep you.\"\n\n\"Dr. Mackenzie,\" said Jane quietly, \"may I ask why you described me as\nfair; and my very straight, heavy, plainly coiled hair, as fluffy,\nfly-away floss-silk?\"\n\nDr. Rob had already reached the bell, but at her question he stayed his\nhand and, turning, met Jane's steadfast eyes with the shrewd turquoise\ngleam of his own.\n\n\"Why certainly you may ask, Nurse Rosemary Gray,\" he said, \"though I\nwonder you think it necessary to do so. It was of course perfectly\nevident to me that, for reasons of his own, Sir Deryck wished to paint\nan imaginary portrait of you to the patient, most likely representing\nsome known ideal of his. As the description was so different from the\nreality, I concluded that, to make the portrait complete, the two\ntouches unfortunately left to me to supply, had better be as unlike\nwhat I saw before me as the rest of the picture. And now, if you will\nbe good enough--\" Dr. Rob rang the bell violently.\n\n\"And why did you take the risk of suggesting that he should feel me?\"\npersisted Jane.\n\n\"Because I knew he was a gentleman,\" shouted Dr. Rob angrily. \"Oh, come\nin, Simpson--come in, my good fellow--and shut that door! And God\nAlmighty be praised that He made you and me MEN, and not women!\"\n\nA quarter of an hour later, Jane watched him drive away, thinking to\nherself: \"Deryck was right. But what a queer mixture of shrewdness and\nobtuseness, and how marvellously it worked out to the furtherance of\nour plans.\"\n\nBut as she watched the dog-cart start off at a smart trot across the\nmoor, she would have been more than a little surprised could she have\noverheard Dr. Rob's muttered remarks to himself, as he gathered up the\nreins and cheered on his sturdy cob. He had a habit of talking over his\nexperiences, half aloud, as he drove from case to case; the two sides\nof his rather complex nature apparently comparing notes with each\nother. And the present conversation opened thus:\n\n\"Now what has brought the Honourable Jane up here?\" said Dr. Rob.\n\n\"Dashed if I know,\" said Dr. Mackenzie.\n\n\"You must not swear, laddie,\" said Dr. Rob; \"you had a pious mother.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XX\n\nJANE REPORTS PROGRESS\n\n\nLetter from the Honourable Jane Champion to Sir Deryck Brand.\n\nCastle Gleneesh, N. B.\n\nMy dear Deryck: My wires and post-cards have not told you much beyond\nthe fact of my safe arrival. Having been here a fortnight, I think it\nis time I sent you a report. Only you must remember that I am a poor\nscribe. From infancy it has always been difficult to me to write\nanything beyond that stock commencement: \"I hope you are quite well;\"\nand I approach the task of a descriptive letter with an effort which is\ncolossal. And yet I wish I might, for once, borrow the pen of a ready\nwriter; because I cannot help knowing that I have been passing through\nexperiences such as do not often fall to the lot of a woman.\n\nNurse Rosemary Gray is getting on capitally. She is making herself\nindispensable to the patient, and he turns to her with a completeness\nof confidence which causes her heart to swell with professional pride.\n\nPoor Jane has got no further than hearing, from his own lips, that she\nis the very last person in the whole world he would wish should come\nnear him in his blindness. When she was suggested as a possible\nvisitor, he said: \"Oh, my God, NO!\" and his face was one wild,\nhorrified protest. So Jane is getting her horsewhipping, Boy,\nand--according to the method of a careful and thoughtful judge, who\norders thirty lashes of the \"cat,\" in three applications of ten--so is\nJane's punishment laid on at intervals; not more than she can bear at a\ntime; but enough to keep her heart continually sore, and her spirit in\nperpetual dread. And you, dear, clever doctor, are proved perfectly\nright in your diagnosis of the sentiment of the case. He says her pity\nwould be the last straw on his already heavy cross; and the expression\nis an apt one, her pity for him being indeed a thing of straw. The only\npity she feels is pity for herself, thus hopelessly caught in the\nmeshes of her own mistake. But how to make him realise this, is the\npuzzle.\n\nDo you remember how the Israelites were shut in, between Migdol and the\nsea? I knew Migdol meant \"towers,\" but I never understood the passage,\nuntil I stood upon that narrow wedge of desert, with the Red Sea in\nfront and on the left; the rocky range of Gebel Attaka on the right,\ntowering up against the sky, like the weird shapes of an impregnable\nfortress; the sole outlet or inlet behind, being the route they had\njust travelled from Egypt, and along which the chariots and horsemen of\nPharaoh were then thundering in hot pursuit. Even so, Boy, is poor Jane\nnow tramping her patch of desert, which narrows daily to the measure of\nher despair. Migdol is HIS certainty that HER love could only be pity.\nThe Red Sea is the confession into which she must inevitably plunge, to\navoid scaling Migdol; in the chill waters of which, as she drags him in\nwith her, his love is bound to drown, as waves of doubt and mistrust\nsweep over its head,--doubts which he has lost the power of removing;\nmistrust which he can never hope to prove to have been false and\nmistaken. And behind come galloping the hosts of Pharaoh; chance,\nspeeding on the wheels of circumstance. At any moment some accident may\ncompel a revelation; and instantly HE will be scaling rocky Migdol,\nwith torn hands and bleeding feet; and she--poor Jane--floundering in\nthe depths of the Red Sea. O for a Moses, with divine commission, to\nstretch out the rod of understanding love, making a safe way through;\nso that together they might reach the Promised Land! Dear wise old Boy,\ndare you undertake the role of Moses!\n\nBut here am I writing like a page of Baedeker, and failing to report on\nactual facts.\n\nAs you may suppose, Jane grows haggard and thin in spite of old\nMargery's porridge--which is \"put on\" every day after lunch, for the\nnext morning's breakfast, and anybody passing \"gives it a stir.\" Did\nyou know that was the right way to make porridge, Deryck? I always\nthought it was made in five minutes, as wanted. Margery says that must\nbe the English stuff which profanely goes by the name. (N.B. Please\nmark the self-control with which I repeat Scotch remarks, without\nrushing into weird spelling; a senseless performance, it seems to me.\nFor if you know already how old Margery pronounces \"porridge,\" you can\nread her pronunciation into the sentence; and if you do not know it, no\ngrotesque spelling on my part could convey to your mind any but a\ncaricatured version of the pretty Scotch accent with which Margery\nsays: \"Stir the porridge, Nurse Gray.\" In fact, I am agreeably\nsurprised at the ease with which I understand the natives, and the\npleasure I derive from their conversation; for, after wrestling with\none or two modern novels dealing with the Highlands, I had expected to\nfind the language an unknown tongue. Instead of which, lo! and behold,\nold Margery, Maggie the housemaid, Macdonald the gardener, and\nMacalister the game-keeper, all speak a rather purer English than I do;\nfar more carefully pronounced, and with every R sounded and rolled.\nTheir idioms are more characteristic than their accent. They say\n\"whenever\" for \"when,\" and use in their verbs several quaint variations\nof tense.)\n\nBut what a syntactical digression! Oh, Boy, the wound at my heart is so\ndeep and so sore that I dread the dressings, even by your delicate\ntouch. Where was I? Ah, the porridge gave me my loophole of escape.\nWell, as I was saying, Jane grows worn and thin, old Margery's porridge\nnotwithstanding; but Nurse Rosemary Gray is flourishing, and remains a\npretty, dainty little thing, with the additional charm of fluffy,\nfly-away floss-silk, for hair,--Dr. Rob's own unaided contribution to\nthe fascinating picture. By the way, I was quite unprepared to find him\nsuch a character. I learn much from Dr. Mackenzie, and I love Dr. Rob,\nexcepting on those occasions when I long to pick him up by the scruff\nof his fawn overcoat and drop him out of the window.\n\nOn the point of Nurse Rosemary's personal appearance, I found it best\nto be perfectly frank with the household. You can have no conception\nhow often awkward moments arose; as, for instance, in the library, the\nfirst time Garth came downstairs; when he ordered Simpson to bring the\nsteps for Miss Gray, and Simpson opened his lips to remark that Nurse\nGray could reach to the top shelf on her own tiptoes with the greatest\nease, he having just seen her do it. Mercifully, the perfect training\nof an English man-servant saved the situation, and he merely said:\n\"Yessir; certainly sir,\" and looked upon, me, standing silently by, as\na person who evidently delighted in giving unnecessary trouble. Had it\nbeen dear old Margery with her Scotch tongue, which starts slowly, but\ngathers momentum as it rolls, and can never be arrested until the full\nflood of her thought has been poured forth, I should have been\nconstrained to pick her up bodily in my dainty arms and carry her out.\n\nSo I sent for Simpson and Margery to the dining-room that evening, when\nthe master was safely out of ear-shot, and told them that, for reasons\nwhich I could not fully explain, a very incorrect description of my\nappearance had been given him. He thought me small and slim; fair and\nvery pretty; and it was most important, in order to avoid long\nexplanations and mental confusion for him, that he should not at\npresent be undeceived. Simpson's expression of polite attention did not\nvary, and his only comment was: \"Certainly, miss. Quite so.\" But across\nold Margery's countenance, while I was speaking, passed many shades of\nopinion, which, fortunately, by the time I had finished, crystallized\ninto an approving smile of acquiescence. She even added her own\ncommentary: \"And a very good thing, too, I am thinking. For Master\nGarth, poor laddie, was always so set upon having beauty about him.\n'Master Garthie,' I would say to him, when he had friends coming, and\nall his ideas in talking over the dinner concerned the cleaning up of\nthe old silver, and putting out of Valentine glass and Worstered china;\n'Master Garthie,' I would say, feeling the occasion called for the apt\nquoting of Scripture, 'it appears to me your attention is given\nentirely to the outside of the cup and platter, and you care nothing\nfor all the good things that lie within.' So it is just as well to keep\nhim deceived, Miss Gray.\" And then, as Simpson coughed tactfully behind\nhis hand, and nudged her very obviously with his elbow, she added, as a\nsympathetic after-thought: \"For, though a homey face may indeed be\nredeemed by its kindly expression, you cannot very well explain\nexpression to the blind.\" So you see, Deryck, this shrewd old body, who\nhas known Garth from boyhood, would have entirely agreed with the\ndecision of three years ago.\n\nWell, to continue my report. The voice gave us some trouble, as you\nforesaw, and the whole plan hung in the balance during a few awful\nmoments; for, though he easily accepted the explanation we had planned,\nhe sent me out, and told Dr. Mackenzie my voice in his room would\nmadden him. Dr. Rob was equal to the occasion, and won the day; and\nGarth, having once given in, never mentioned the matter again. Only,\nsometimes I see him listening and remembering.\n\nBut Nurse Rosemary Gray has beautiful hours when poor anxious, yearning\nJane is shut out. For her patient turns to her, and depends on her, and\ntalks to her, and tries to reach her mind, and shows her his, and is a\nwonderful person to live with and know. Jane, marching about in the\ncold, outside, and hearing them talk, realises how little she\nunderstood the beautiful gift which was laid at her feet; how little\nshe had grasped the nature and mind of the man whom she dismissed as \"a\nmere boy.\" Nurse Rosemary, sitting beside him during long sweet hours\nof companionship, is learning it; and Jane, ramping up and down her\nnarrowing strip of desert, tastes the sirocco of despair.\n\nAnd now I come to the point of my letter, and, though I am a woman, I\nwill not put it in a postscript.\n\nDeryck, can you come up soon, to pay him a visit, and to talk to me? I\ndon't think I can bear it, unaided, much longer; and he would so enjoy\nhaving you, and showing you how he had got on, and all the things he\nhad already learned to do. Also you might put in a word for Jane; or at\nall events, get at his mind on the subject. Oh, Boy, if you COULD spare\nforty-eight hours! And a breath of the moors would be good for you.\nAlso I have a little private plan, which depends largely for its\nfulfilment on your coming. Oh, Boy--come!\n\nYours, needing you,\n\nJeanette.\n\n\nFrom Sir Deryck Brand to Nurse Rosemary Gray, Castle Gleneesh, N. B.\n\nWimpole Street.\n\nMy dear Jeanette: Certainly I will come. I will leave Euston on Friday\nevening. I can spend the whole of Saturday and most of Sunday at\nGleneesh, but must be home in time for Monday's work.\n\nI will do my best, only, alas! I am not Moses, and do not possess his\nwonder-working rod. Moreover, latest investigations have proved that\nthe Israelites could not have crossed at the place you mention, but\nfurther north at the Bitter Lakes; a mere matter of detail, in no way\naffecting the extreme appositeness of your illustration, rather, adding\nto it; for I fear there are bitter waters ahead of you, my poor girl.\n\nStill I am hopeful, nay, more than hopeful,--confident. Often of late,\nin connection with you, I have thought of the promise about all things\nworking together for good. Any one can make GOOD things work together\nfor good: but only the Heavenly Father can bring good out of evil; and,\ntaking all our mistakes and failings and foolishnesses, cause them to\nwork to our most perfect well-being. The more intricate and involved\nthis problem of human existence becomes, the greater the need to take\nas our own clear rule of life: \"Trust in the Lord with all thine heart;\nand lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge\nHim, and He shall direct thy paths.\" Ancient marching orders, and\nsimple; but true, and therefore eternal.\n\nI am glad Nurse Rosemary is proving so efficient, but I hope we may not\nhave to face yet another complication in our problem. Suppose our\npatient falls in love with dainty little Nurse Rosemary, where will\nJane be then? I fear the desert would have to open its mouth and\nswallow her up. We must avert such a catastrophe. Could not Rosemary be\ninduced to drop an occasional H, or to confess herself as rather \"gone\"\non Simpson?\n\nOh, my poor old girl! I could not jest thus, were I not coming shortly\nto your aid.\n\nHow maddening it is! And you so priceless! But most men are either\nfools or blind, and one is both. Trust me to prove it to him,--to my\nown satisfaction and his,--if I get the chance.\n\nYours always devotedly,\n\nDeryck Brand.\n\n\nFrom Sir Deryck Brand to Dr. Robert Mackenzie.\n\nDear Mackenzie: Do you consider it to be advisable that I should\nshortly pay a visit to our patient at Gleneesh and give an opinion on\nhis progress?\n\nI find I can make it possible to come north this week-end.\n\nI hope you are satisfied with the nurse I sent up.\n\nYours very faithfully,\n\nDeryck Brand.\n\nFrom Dr. Robert Mackenzie to Sir Deryck Brand.\n\nDear Sir Deryck: Every possible need of the patient's is being met by\nthe capable lady you sent to be his nurse. I am no longer needed. Nor\nare you--for the patient. But I deem it exceedingly advisable that you\nshould shortly pay a visit to the nurse, who is losing more flesh than\na lady of her proportions can well afford.\n\nSome secret care, besides the natural anxiety of having the\nresponsibility of this case, is wearing her out. She may confide in\nyou. She cannot quite bring herself to trust in\n\nYour humble servant,\n\nRobert Mackenzie.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXI\n\nHARD ON THE SECRETARY\n\n\nNurse Rosemary sat with her patient in the sunny library at Gleneesh. A\nsmall table was between them, upon which lay a pile of letters--his\nmorning mail--ready for her to open, read to him, and pass across,\nshould there chance to be one among them he wished to touch or to keep\nin his pocket.\n\nThey were seated close to the French window opening on to the terrace;\nthe breeze, fragrant with the breath of spring flowers, blew about\nthem, and the morning sun streamed in.\n\nGarth, in white flannels, wearing a green tie and a button-hole of\nprimroses, lay back luxuriously, enjoying, with his rapidly quickening\nsenses, the scent of the flowers and the touch of the sun-beams.\n\nNurse Rosemary finished reading a letter of her own, folded it, and put\nit in her pocket with a feeling of thankful relief. Deryck was coming.\nHe had not failed her.\n\n\"A man's letter, Miss Gray,\" said Garth unexpectedly.\n\n\"Quite right,\" said Nurse Rosemary. \"How did you know?\"\n\n\"Because it was on one sheet. A woman's letter on a matter of great\nimportance would have run to two, if not three. And that letter was on\na matter of importance.\"\n\n\"Right again,\" said Nurse Rosemary, smiling. \"And again, how did you\nknow?\"\n\n\"Because you gave a little sigh of relief after reading the first line,\nand another, as you folded it and replaced it in the envelope.\"\n\nNurse Rosemary laughed. \"You are getting on so fast, Mr. Dalmain, that\nsoon we shall be able to keep no secrets. My letter was from--\"\n\n\"Oh, don't tell me,\" cried Garth quickly, putting out his hand in\nprotest. \"I had no idea of seeming curious as to your private\ncorrespondence, Miss Gray. Only it is such a pleasure to report\nprogress to you in the things I manage to find out without being told.\"\n\n\"But I meant to tell you anyway,\" said Nurse Rosemary. \"The letter is\nfrom Sir Deryck, and, amongst other things, he says he is coming up to\nsee you next Saturday.\"\n\n\"Ah, good!\" said Garth. \"And what a change he will find! And I shall\nhave the pleasure of reporting on the nurse, secretary, reader, and\nunspeakably patient guide and companion he provided for me.\" Then he\nadded, in a tone of suddenly awakened anxiety: \"He is not coming to\ntake you away, is he?\"\n\n\"No,\" said Nurse Rosemary, \"not yet. But, Mr. Dalmain, I was wanting to\nask whether you could spare me just during forty-eight hours; and Dr.\nBrand's visit would be an excellent opportunity. I could leave you more\neasily, knowing you would have his companionship. If I may take the\nweek-end, leaving on Friday night, I could return early on Monday\nmorning, and be with you in time to do the morning letters. Dr. Brand\nwould read you Saturday's and Sunday's--Ah, I forgot; there is no\nSunday post. So I should miss but one; and he would more than take my\nplace in other ways.\"\n\n\"Very well,\" said Garth, striving not to show disappointment. \"I should\nhave liked that we three should have talked together. But no wonder you\nwant a time off. Shall you be going far?\"\n\n\"No; I have friends near by. And now, do you wish to attend to your\nletters?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Garth, reaching out his hand. \"Wait a minute. There is a\nnewspaper among them. I smell the printing ink. I don't want that. But\nkindly give me the rest.\"\n\nNurse Rosemary took out the newspaper; then pushed the pile along,\nuntil it touched his hand.\n\nGarth took them. \"What a lot!\" he said, smiling in pleasurable\nanticipation. \"I say, Miss Gray, if you profit as you ought to do by\nthe reading of so many epistles written in every possible and\nimpossible style, you ought to be able to bring out a pretty\ncomprehensive 'Complete Letter-writer.' Do you remember the condolences\nof Mrs. Parker-Bangs? I think that was the first time we really laughed\ntogether. Kind old soul! But she should not have mentioned blind\nBartimaeus dipping seven times in the pool of Siloam. It is always best\nto avoid classical allusions, especially if sacred, unless one has them\naccurately. Now--\" Garth paused.\n\nHe had been handling his letters, one by one; carefully fingering each,\nbefore laying it on the table beside him. He had just come to one\nwritten on foreign paper, and sealed. He broke off his sentence\nabruptly, held the letter silently for a moment, then passed his\nfingers slowly over the seal.\n\nNurse Rosemary watched him anxiously. He made no remark, but after a\nmoment laid it down and took up the next. But when he passed the pile\nacross to her, he slipped the sealed letter beneath the rest, so that\nshe should come to it last of all.\n\nThen the usual order of proceedings commenced. Garth lighted a\ncigarette--one of the first things he had learned to do for\nhimself--and smoked contentedly, carefully placing his ash-tray, and\nalmost unfailingly locating the ash, in time and correctly.\n\nNurse Rosemary took up the first letter, read the postmark, and\ndescribed the writing on the envelope. Garth guessed from whom it came,\nand was immensely pleased if, on opening, his surmise proved correct.\nThere were nine to-day, of varying interest,--some from men friends,\none or two from charming women who professed themselves ready to come\nand see him as soon as he wished for visitors, one from a blind asylum\nasking for a subscription, a short note from the doctor heralding his\nvisit, and a bill for ties from a Bond Street shop.\n\nNurse Rosemary's fingers shook as she replaced the eighth in its\nenvelope. The last of the pile lay on the table. As she took it up,\nGarth with a quick movement flung his cigarette-end through the window,\nand lay back, shading his face with his hand.\n\n\"Did I shoot straight, nurse?\" he asked.\n\nShe leaned forward and saw the tiny column of blue smoke rising from\nthe gravel.\n\n\"Quite straight,\" she said. \"Mr. Dalmain, this letter has an Egyptian\nstamp, and the postmark is Cairo. It is sealed with scarlet\nsealing-wax, and the engraving on the seal is a plumed helmet with the\nvisor closed.\"\n\n\"And the writing?\" asked Garth, mechanically and very quietly.\n\n\"The handwriting is rather bold and very clear, with no twirls or\nflourishes. It is written with a broad nib.\"\n\n\"Will you kindly open it, nurse, and tell me the signature before\nreading the rest of the letter.\"\n\nNurse Rosemary fought with her throat, which threatened to close\naltogether and stifle her voice. She opened the letter, turned to the\nlast page, and found the signature.\n\n\"It is signed 'Jane Champion,' Mr. Dalmain,\" said Nurse Rosemary.\n\n\"Read it, please,\" said Garth quietly. And Nurse Rosemary began.\n\nDear Dal: What CAN I write? If I were with you, there would be so much\nI could say; but writing is so difficult, so impossible.\n\nI know it is harder for you than it would have been for any of us; but\nyou will be braver over it than we should have been, and you will come\nthrough splendidly, and go on thinking life beautiful, and making it\nseem so to other people. _I_ never thought it so until that summer at\nOverdene and Shenstone when you taught me the perception of beauty.\nSince then, in every sunset and sunrise, in the blue-green of the\nAtlantic, the purple of the mountains, the spray of Niagara, the cherry\nblossom of Japan, the golden deserts of Egypt, I have thought of you,\nand understood them better, because of you. Oh, Dal! I should like to\ncome and tell you all about them, and let you see them through my eyes;\nand then you would widen out my narrow understanding of them, and show\nthem again to me in greater loveliness.\n\nI hear you receive no visitors; but cannot you make just one exception,\nand let me come?\n\nI was at the Great Pyramid when I heard. I was sitting on the piazza\nafter dinner. The moonlight called up memories. I had just made up my\nmind to give up the Nile, and to come straight home, and write asking\nyou to come and see me; when General Loraine turned up, with an English\npaper and a letter from Myra, and--I heard. Would you have come, Garth?\n\nAnd now, my friend, as you cannot come to me, may I come to you? If you\njust say: \"COME,\" I will come from any part of the world where I may\nchance to be when the message reaches me. Never mind this Egyptian\naddress. I shall not be there when you are hearing this. Direct to me\nat my aunt's town house. All my letters go there, and are forwarded\nunopened.\n\nLET ME COME. And oh, do believe that I know something of how hard it is\nfor you. But God can \"enable.\"\n\nBelieve me to be,\n\nYours, more than I can write,\n\nJane Champion.\n\nGarth removed the hand which had been shielding his face.\n\n\"If you are not tired, Miss Gray, after reading so many letters, I\nshould like to dictate my answer to that one immediately, while it is\nfresh in my mind. Have you paper there? Thank you. May we begin?-- Dear\nMiss Champion ... I am deeply touched by your kind letter of sympathy\n... It was especially good of you to write to me from so far away amid\nso much which might well have diverted your attention from friends at\nhome.\"\n\nA long pause. Nurse Rosemary Gray waited, pen in hand, and hoped the\nbeating of her heart was only in her own ears, and not audible across\nthe small table.\n\n\"I am glad you did not give up the Nile trip but--\"\n\nAn early bee hummed in from the hyacinths and buzzed against the pane.\nOtherwise the room was very still.\n\n--\"but of course, if you had sent for me I should have come.\"\n\nThe bee fought the window angrily, up and down, up and down, for\nseveral minutes; then found the open glass and whirled out into the\nsunshine, joyfully.\n\nAbsolute silence in the room, until Garth's quiet voice broke it as he\nwent on dictating.\n\n\"It is more than kind of you to suggest coming to see me, but--\"\n\nNurse Rosemary dropped her pen. \"Oh, Mr. Dalmain,\" she said, \"let her\ncome.\"\n\nGarth turned upon her a face of blank surprise.\n\n\"I do not wish it,\" he said, in a tone of absolute finality.\n\n\"But think how hard it must be for any one to want so much to be near\na--a friend in trouble, and to be kept away.\"\n\n\"It is only her wonderful kindness of heart makes her offer to come,\nMiss Gray. She is a friend and comrade of long ago. It would greatly\nsadden her to see me thus.\"\n\n\"It does not seem so to her,\" pleaded Nurse Rosemary. \"Ah, cannot you\nread between the lines? Or does it take a woman's heart to understand a\nwoman's letter? Did I read it badly? May I read it over again?\"\n\nA look of real annoyance gathered upon Garth's face. He spoke with\nquiet sternness, a frown bending his straight black brows.\n\n\"You read it quite well,\" he said, \"but you do not do well to discuss\nit. I must feel able to dictate my letters to my secretary, without\nhaving to explain them.\"\n\n\"I beg your pardon, sir,\" said Nurse Rosemary humbly. \"I was wrong.\"\n\nGarth stretched his hand across the table, and left it there a moment;\nthough no responsive hand was placed within it.\n\n\"Never mind,\" he said, with his winning smile, \"my kind little mentor\nand guide. You can direct me in most things, but not in this. Now let\nus conclude. Where were we? Ah--'to suggest coming to see me.' Did you\nput `It is most kind' or `It is more than kind?'\"\n\n\"'More than kind,'\" said Nurse Rosemary, brokenly.\n\n\"Right, for it is indeed more than kind. Only she and I can possibly\nknow how much more. Now let us go on ... But I am receiving no\nvisitors, and do not desire any until I have so mastered my new\ncircumstances that the handicap connected with them shall neither be\npainful nor very noticeable to other people. During the summer I shall\nbe learning step by step to live this new life, in complete seclusion\nat Gleneesh. I feel sure my friends will respect my wish in this\nmatter. I have with me one who most perfectly and patiently is\nhelping--Ah, wait!\" cried Garth suddenly. \"I will not say that. She\nmight think--she might misunderstand. Had you begun to write it? No?\nWhat was the last word? 'Matter?' Ah yes. That is right. Full stop\nafter 'matter.' Now let me think.\"\n\nGarth dropped his face into his hands, and sat for a long time absorbed\nin thought.\n\nNurse Rosemary waited. Her right hand held the pen poised over the\npaper. Her left was pressed against her breast. Her eyes rested on that\ndark bowed head, with a look of unutterable yearning and of passionate\ntenderness. At last Garth lifted his face. \"Yours very sincerely, Garth\nDalmain;\" he said. And, silently, Nurse Rosemary wrote it.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXII\n\nDR. ROB TO THE RESCUE\n\n\nInto the somewhat oppressive silence which followed the addressing and\nclosing of the envelope, broke the cheery voice of Dr. Rob.\n\n\"Which is the patient to-day? The lady or the gentleman? Ah, neither, I\nsee. Both flaunt the bloom of perfect health and make the doctor shy.\nIt is spring without, but summer within,\" ran on Dr. Rob gaily,\nwondering why both faces were so white and perturbed, and why there was\nin the air a sense of hearts in torment. \"Flannels seem to call up\nboating and picnic parties; and I see you have discarded the merino,\nNurse Gray, and returned to the pretty blue washables. More becoming,\nundoubtedly; only, don't take cold; and be sure you feed up well. In\nthis air people must eat plenty, and you have been perceptibly losing\nweight lately. We don't want TOO airy-fairy dimensions.\"\n\n\"Why do you always chaff Miss Gray about being small, Dr. Rob?\" asked\nGarth, in a rather vexed tone. \"I am sure being short is in no way\ndetrimental to her.\"\n\n\"I will chaff her about being tall if you like,\" said Dr. Rob, looking\nat her with a wicked twinkle, as she stood in the window, drawn up to\nher full height, and regarding him with cold disapproval.\n\n\"I would sooner no comments of any kind were made upon her personal\nappearance,\" said Garth shortly; then added, more pleasantly: \"You see,\nshe is just a voice to me--a kind, guiding voice. At first I used to\nform mental pictures of her, of a hazy kind; but now I prefer to\nappropriate in all its helpfulness what I DO know, and leave unimagined\nwhat I do not. Did it ever strike you that she is the only person--bar\nthat fellow Johnson, who belongs to a nightmare time I am quickly\nforgetting--I have yet had near me, in my blindness, whom I had not\nalready seen; the only voice I have ever heard to which I could not put\na face and figure? In time, of course, there will be many. At present\nshe stands alone to me in this.\"\n\nDr. Rob's observant eye had been darting about during this explanation,\nseeking to focus itself upon something worthy of minute examination.\nSuddenly he spied the foreign letter lying close beside him on the\ntable.\n\n\"Hello!\" he said. \"Pyramids? The Egyptian stamp? That's interesting.\nHave you friends out there, Mr. Dalmain?\"\n\n\"That letter came from Cairo,\" Garth replied; \"but I believe Miss\nChampion has by now gone on to Syria.\" Dr. Rob attacked his moustache,\nand stared at the letter meditatively. \"Champion?\" he repeated.\n\"Champion? It's an uncommon name. Is your correspondent, by any chance,\nthe Honourable Jane?\"\n\n\"Why, that letter is from her,\" replied Garth, surprised. \"Do you know\nher?\" His voice vibrated eagerly.\n\n\"Well,\" answered Dr. Rob, with slow deliberation, \"I know her face, and\nI know her voice; I know her figure, and I know a pretty good deal of\nher character. I know her at home, and I know her abroad. I've seen her\nunder fire, which is more than most men of her acquaintance can claim.\nBut there is one thing I never knew until to-day and that is her\nhandwriting. May I examine this envelope?\" He turned to the\nwindow;--yes, this audacious little Scotchman had asked the question of\nNurse Rosemary. But only a broad blue back met his look of inquiry.\nNurse Rosemary was studying the view. He turned back to Garth, who had\nevidently already made a sign of assent, and on whose face was clearly\nexpressed an eager desire to hear more, and an extreme disinclination\nto ask for it.\n\nDr. Mackenzie took up the envelope and pondered it.\n\n\"Yes,\" he said, at last, \"it is like her,--clear, firm, unwavering;\nknowing what it means to say, and saying it; going where it means to\ngo, and getting there. Ay, lad, it's a grand woman that; and if you\nhave the Honourable Jane for your friend, you can be doing without a\nfew other things.\"\n\nA tinge of eager colour rose in Garth's thin cheeks. He had been so\nstarved in his darkness for want of some word concerning her, from that\nouter light in which she moved. He had felt so hopelessly cut off from\nall chance of hearing of her. And all the while, if only he had known\nit, old Robbie could have talked of her. He had had to question Brand\nso cautiously, fearing to betray his secret and hers; but with Dr. Rob\nand Nurse Gray no such precautions were needed. He could safely guard\nhis secret, and yet listen and speak.\n\n\"Where--when?\" asked Garth.\n\n\"I will tell you where, and I will tell you when,\" answered Dr. Rob,\n\"if you feel inclined for a war tale on this peaceful spring morning.\"\n\nGarth was aflame With eagerness. \"Have you a chair, doctor?\" he said.\n\"And has Miss Gray a chair?\"\n\n\"I have no chair, sir,\" said Dr. Rob, \"because when I intend thoroughly\nto enjoy my own eloquence it is my custom to stand. Nurse Gray has no\nchair, because she is standing at the window absorbed in the view. She\nhas apparently ceased to pay any heed to you and me. You will very\nrarely find one woman take much interest in tales about another. But\nyou lean back in your own chair, laddie, and light a cigarette. And a\nwonderful thing it is to see you do it, too, and better than pounding\nthe wall. Eh? All of which we may consider we owe to the lady who\ndisdains us and prefers the scenery. Well, I'm not much to look at,\ngoodness knows; and she can see you all the rest of the day. Now that's\na brand worth smoking. What do you call it--'Zenith'? Ah, and\n'Marcovitch.' Yes; you can't better that for drawing-room and garden\npurposes. It mingles with the flowers. Lean back and enjoy it, while I\nsmell gun-powder. For I will tell you where I first saw the Honourable\nJane. Out in South Africa, in the very thick of the Boer war. I had\nvolunteered for the sake of the surgery experience. She was out there,\nnursing; but the real thing, mind you. None of your dabbling in\neau-de-cologne with lace handkerchiefs, and washing handsome faces when\nthe orderlies had washed them already; making charming conversation to\nmen who were getting well, but fleeing in dread from the dead or the\ndying. None of that, you may be sure, and none of that allowed in her\nhospital; for Miss Champion was in command there, and I can tell you\nshe made them scoot. She did the work of ten, and expected others to do\nit too. Doctors and orderlies adored her. She was always called 'The\nHonourable Jane,' most of the men sounding the H and pronouncing the\ntitle as four syllables. Ay, and the wounded soldiers! There was many a\nlad out there, far from home and friends, who, when death came, died\nwith a smile on his lips, and a sense of mother and home quite near,\nbecause the Honourable Jane's arm was around him, and his dying head\nrested against her womanly breast. Her voice when she talked to them?\nNo,--that I shall never forget. And to hear her snap at the women, and\norder along the men; and then turn and speak to a sick Tommy as his\nmother or his sweetheart would have wished to hear him spoken to, was a\nlesson in quick-change from which I am profiting still. And that big,\nloving heart must often have been racked; but she was always brave and\nbright. Just once she broke down. It was over a boy whom she tried hard\nto save--quite a youngster. She had held him during the operation which\nwas his only chance; and when it proved no good, and he lay back\nagainst her unconscious, she quite broke down and said: 'Oh, doctor,--a\nmere boy--and to suffer so, and then die like this!' and gathered him\nto her, and wept over him, as his own mother might have done. The\nsurgeon told me of it himself. He said the hardest hearts in the tent\nwere touched and softened. But, it was the only time the Honourable\nJane broke down.\"\n\nGarth shielded his face with his hand. His half-smoked cigarette fell\nunheeded to the floor. The hand that had held it was clenched on his\nknee. Dr. Rob picked it up, and rubbed the scorched spot on the carpet\ncarefully with his foot. He glanced towards the window. Nurse Rosemary\nhad turned and was leaning against the frame. She did not look at him,\nbut her eyes dwelt with troubled anxiety on Garth.\n\n\"I came across her several times, at different centres,\" continued Dr.\nRob; \"but we were not in the same departments, and she spoke to me only\nonce. I had ridden in, from a temporary overflow sort of place where we\nwere dealing with the worst cases straight off the field, to the main\nhospital in the town for a fresh supply of chloroform. While they\nfetched it, I walked round the ward, and there in a corner was Miss\nChampion, kneeling beside a man whose last hour was very near, talking\nto him quietly, and taking measures at the same time to ease his pain.\nSuddenly there came a crash--a deafening rush--and another crash, and\nthe Honourable Jane and her patient were covered with dust and\nsplinters. A Boer shell had gone clean through the roof just over their\nheads. The man sat up, yelling with fear. Poor chap, you couldn't blame\nhim; dying, and half under morphine. The Honourable Jane never turned a\nhair. 'Lie down, my man,' she said, 'and keep still.' 'Not here,'\nsobbed the man. 'All right,' said the Honourable Jane; 'we will soon\nmove you.' Then she turned and saw me. I was in the most nondescript\nkhaki, a non-com's jacket which I had caught up on leaving the tent,\nand various odds and ends of my outfit which had survived the wear and\ntear of the campaign. Also I was dusty with a long gallop. 'Here,\nserjeant,' she said, 'lend a hand with this poor fellow. I can't have\nhim disturbed just now.' That was Jane's only comment on the passing of\na shell within a few yards of her own head. Do you wonder the men\nadored her? She placed her hands beneath his shoulders, and signed to\nme to take him under the knees, and together we carried him round a\nscreen, out of the ward, and down a short passage; turning unexpectedly\ninto a quiet little room, with a comfortable bed, and photographs and\nbooks arranged on the tiny dressing-table. She said: 'Here, if you\nplease, serjeant,' and we laid him on the bed. 'Whose is it?' I asked.\nShe looked surprised at being questioned, but seeing I was a stranger,\nanswered civilly: 'Mine.' And then, noting that he had dozed off while\nwe carried him, added: 'And he will have done with beds, poor chap,\nbefore I need it.' There's nerve for you!--Well, that was my only\nconversation out there with the Honourable Jane. Soon after I had had\nenough and came home.\"\n\nGarth lifted his head. \"Did you ever meet her at home?\" he asked.\n\n\"I did,\" said Dr. Rob. \"But she did not remember me. Not a flicker of\nrecognition. Well, how could I expect it? I wore a beard out there; no\ntime to shave; and my jacket proclaimed me a serjeant, not a surgeon.\nNo fault of hers if she did not expect to meet a comrade from the front\nin the wilds of--of Piccadilly,\" finished Dr. Rob lamely. \"Now, having\nspun so long a yarn, I must be off to your gardener's cot in the wood,\nto see his good wife, who has had what he pathetically calls 'an\nincrease.' I should think a decrease would have better suited the size\nof his house. But first I must interview Mistress Margery in the\ndining-room. She is anxious about herself just now because she 'canna\neat bacon.' She says it flies between her shoulders. So erratic a\ndeviation from its normal route on the part of the bacon, undoubtedly\nrequires investigation. So, by your leave, I will ring for the good\nlady.\"\n\n\"Not just yet, doctor,\" said a quiet voice from the window. \"I want to\nsee you in the dining-room, and will follow you there immediately. And\nafterwards, while you investigate Margery, I will run up for my bonnet,\nand walk with you through the woods, if Mr. Dalmain will not mind an\nhour alone.\"\n\nWhen Jane reached the dining-room, Dr. Robert Mackenzie was standing on\nthe hearth-rug in a Napoleonic attitude, just as on the morning of\ntheir first interview. He looked up uncertainly as she came in.\n\n\"Well?\" he said. \"Am I to pay the piper?\"\n\nJane came straight to him, with both hands extended.\n\n\"Ah, serjeant!\" she said. \"You dear faithful old serjeant! See what\ncomes of wearing another man's coat. And my dilemma comes from taking\nanother woman's name. So you knew me all the time, from the first\nmoment I came into the room?\"\n\n\"From the first moment you entered the room,\" assented Dr. Rob.\n\n\"Why did you not say so?\" asked Jane.\n\n\"Well, I concluded you had your reasons for being 'Nurse Rosemary\nGray,' and it did not come within my province to question your\nidentity.\"\n\n\"Oh, you dear!\" said Jane. \"Was there ever anything so shrewd, and so\nwise, and so bewilderingly far-seeing, standing on two legs on a\nhearth-rug before! And when I remember how you said: 'So you have\narrived, Nurse Gray?' and all the while you might have been saying.\n'How do you do, Miss Champion? And what brings you up here under\nsomebody else's name?\"\n\n\"I might have so said,\" agreed Dr. Rob reflectively; \"but praise be, I\ndid not.\"\n\n\"But tell me\" said Jane \"why let it out now?\"\n\nDr. Rob laid his hand on her arm. \"My dear, I am an old fellow, and all\nmy life I have made it my business to know, without being told. You\nhave been coming through a strain,--a prolonged period of strain,\nsometimes harder, sometimes easier, but never quite relaxed,--a strain\nsuch as few women could have borne. It was not only with him; you had\nto keep it up towards us all. I knew, if it were to continue, you must\nsoon have the relief of some one with whom to share the secret,--some\none towards whom you could be yourself occasionally. And when I found\nyou had been writing to him here, sending the letter to be posted in\nCairo (how like a woman, to strain at a gnat, after swallowing such a\ncamel!), awaiting its return day after day, then obliged to read it to\nhim yourself, and take down his dictated answer, which I gathered from\nyour faces when I entered was his refusal of your request to come and\nsee him, well, it seemed to me about time you were made to realise that\nyou might as well confide in an old fellow who, in common with all the\nmen who knew you in South Africa, would gladly give his right hand for\nthe Honourable Jane.\"\n\nJane looked at him, her eyes full of gratitude. For the moment she\ncould not speak.\n\n\"But tell me, my dear,\" said Dr. Rob, \"tell me, if you can: why does\nthe lad put from him so firmly that which, if indeed it might be his\nfor the asking, would mean for him so great, so wonderful, so\ncomforting a good?\"\n\n\"Ah, doctor,\" said Jane, \"thereby hangs a tale of sad mistrust and\nmistake, and the mistrust and mistake, alas, were mine. Now, while you\nsee Margery, I will prepare for walking; and as we go through the wood\nI will try to tell you the woeful thing which came between him and me\nand placed our lives so far apart. Your wise advice will help me, and\nyour shrewd knowledge of men and of the human heart may find us a way\nout, for indeed we are shut in between Migdol and the sea.\"\n\nAs Jane crossed the hall and was about to mount the stairs, she looked\ntowards the closed library door. A sudden fear seized her, lest the\nstrain of listening to that tale of Dr. Rob's had been too much for\nGarth. None but she could know all it must have awakened of memory to\nbe told so vividly of the dying soldiers whose heads were pillowed on\nher breast, and the strange coincidence of those words, \"A mere\nboy--and to suffer so!\" She could not leave the house without being\nsure he was safe and well. And yet she instinctively feared to intrude\nwhen he imagined himself alone for an hour.\n\nThen Jane, in her anxiety, did a thing she had never done before. She\nopened the front door noiselessly, passed round the house to the\nterrace, and when approaching the open window of the library, trod on\nthe grass border, and reached it without making the faintest sound.\n\nNever before had she come upon him unawares, knowing he hated and\ndreaded the thought of an unseen intrusion on his privacy.\n\nBut now--just this once--\n\nJane looked in at the window.\n\nGarth sat sideways in the chair, his arms folded on the table beside\nhim, his face buried in them. He was sobbing as she had sometimes heard\nmen sob after agonising operations, borne without a sound until the\nworst was over. And Garth's sob of agony was this: \"OH, MY WIFE--MY\nWIFE--MY WIFE!\"\n\nJane crept away. How she did it she never knew. But some instinct told\nher that to reveal herself then, taking him at a disadvantage, when Dr.\nRob's story had unnerved and unmanned him, would be to ruin all. \"IF\nYOU VALUE YOUR ULTIMATE HAPPINESS AND HIS,\" Deryck's voice always\nsounded in warning. Besides, it was such a short postponement. In the\ncalm earnest thought which would succeed this storm, his need of her,\nwould win the day. The letter, not yet posted, would be rewritten. He\nwould say \"COME\"--and the next minute he would be in her arms.\n\nSo Jane turned noiselessly away.\n\nComing in, an hour later, from her walk with Dr. Rob, her heart filled\nwith glad anticipation, she found him standing in the window, listening\nto the countless sounds he was learning to distinguish. He looked so\nslim and tall and straight in his white flannels, both hands thrust\ndeep into the pockets of his coat, that when he turned at her approach\nit seemed to her as if the shining eyes MUST be there.\n\n\"Was it lovely in the woods?\" he asked. \"Simpson shall take me up there\nafter lunch. Meanwhile, is there time, if you are not tired, Miss Gray,\nto finish our morning's work?\"\n\nFive letters were dictated and a cheque written. Then Jane noticed that\nhers to him had gone from among the rest. But his to her lay on the\ntable ready for stamping. She hesitated.\n\n\"And about the letter to Miss Champion?\" she said. \"Do you wish it to\ngo as it is, Mr. Dalmain?\"\n\n\"Why certainly,\" he said. \"Did we not finish it?\"\n\n\"I thought,\" said Jane nervously, looking away from his blank face, \"I\nthought perhaps--after Dr. Rob's story--you might--\"\n\n\"Dr. Rob's story could make no possible difference as to whether I\nshould let her come here or not,\" said Garth emphatically; then added\nmore gently: \"It only reminded me--\"\n\n\"Of what?\" asked Jane, her hands upon her breast.\n\n\"Of what a glorious woman she is,\" said Garth Dalmain, and blew a long,\nsteady cloud of smoke into the summer air.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIII\n\nTHE ONLY WAY\n\n\nWhen Deryck Brand alighted at the little northern wayside station, he\nlooked up and down the gravelled platform, more than half expecting to\nsee Jane. The hour was early, but she invariably said \"So much the\nbetter\" to any plan which involved rising earlier than usual. Nothing\nwas to be seen, however, but his portmanteau in the distance--looking\nas if it had taken up a solitary and permanent position where the guard\nhad placed it--and one slow porter, who appeared to be overwhelmed by\nthe fact that he alone was on duty to receive the train.\n\nThere were no other passengers descending; there was no other baggage\nto put out. The guard swung up into his van as the train moved off.\n\nThe old porter, shading his eyes from the slanting rays of the morning\nsun, watched the train glide round the curve and disappear from sight;\nthen slowly turned and looked the other way,--as if to make sure there\nwas not another coming,--saw the portmanteau, and shambled towards it.\nHe stood looking down upon it pensively, then moved slowly round,\napparently reading the names and particulars of all the various\ncontinental hotels at which the portmanteau had recently stayed with\nits owner.\n\nDr. Brand never hurried people, He always said: \"It answers best, in\nthe long run, to let them take their own time. The minute or two gained\nby hurrying them is lost in the final results.\" But this applied\nchiefly to patients in the consulting-room; to anxious young students\nin hospital; or to nurses, too excitedly conscious at first of the fact\nthat he was talking to them, to take in fully what he was saying. His\nhabit of giving people, even in final moments, the full time they\nwanted, had once lost him an overcoat, almost lost him a train, and won\nhim the thing in life he most desired. But that belongs to another\nstory.\n\nMeanwhile he wanted his breakfast on this fresh spring morning. And he\nwanted to see Jane. Therefore, as porter and portmanteau made no\nadvance towards him, the doctor strode down the platform.\n\n\"Now then, my man!\" he called.\n\n\"I beg your pardon?\" said the Scotch porter.\n\n\"I want my portmanteau.\"\n\n\"Would this be your portmanteau?\" inquired the porter doubtfully.\n\n\"It would,\" said the doctor. \"And it and I would be on our way to\nCastle Gleneesh, if you would be bringing it out and putting it into\nthe motor, which I see waiting outside.\"\n\n\"I will be fetching a truck,\" said the porter. But when he returned,\ncarefully trundling it behind him, the doctor, the portmanteau, and the\nmotor were all out of sight.\n\nThe porter shaded his eyes and gazed up the road.\n\n\"I will be hoping it WAS his portmanteau,\" he said, and went back to\nhis porridge.\n\nMeanwhile the doctor sped up into the hills, his mind alight with\neagerness to meet Jane and to learn the developments of the last few\ndays. Her non-appearance at the railway station filled him with an\nundefinable anxiety. It would have been so like Jane to have been\nthere, prompt to seize the chance of a talk with him alone before he\nreached the house. He had called up, in anticipation, such a vivid\npicture of her, waiting on the platform,--bright, alert, vigorous, with\nthat fresh and healthy vigour which betokens a good night's rest, a\npleasant early awakening, and a cold tub recently enjoyed,--and the\ndisappointment of not seeing her had wrought in him a strange\nforeboding. What if her nerve had given way under the strain?\n\nThey turned a bend in the winding road, and the grey turrets of\nGleneesh came in sight, high up on the other side of the glen, the moor\nstretching away behind and above it. As they wound up the valley to the\nmoorland road which would bring them round to the house, the doctor\ncould see, in the clear morning light, the broad lawn and terrace of\nGleneesh, with its gay flower-beds, smooth gravelled walks, and broad\nstone parapet, from which was a drop almost sheer down into the glen\nbelow.\n\nSimpson received him at the hall door; and he just stopped himself in\ntime, as he was about to ask for Miss Champion. This perilous approach\nto a slip reminded him how carefully he must guard words and actions in\nthis house, where Jane had successfully steered her intricate course.\nHe would never forgive himself if he gave her away.\n\n\"Mr. Dalmain is in the library, Sir Deryck,\" said Simpson; and it was a\nvery alert, clear-headed doctor who followed the man across the hall.\n\nGarth rose from his chair and walked forward to meet him, his right\nhand outstretched, a smile of welcome on his face, and so direct and\nunhesitating a course that the doctor had to glance at the sightless\nface to make sure that this lithe, graceful, easy-moving figure was\nindeed the blind man he had come to see. Then he noticed a length of\nbrown silk cord stretched from an arm of the chair Garth had quitted to\nthe door. Garth's left hand had slipped lightly along it as he walked.\n\nThe doctor put his hand into the one outstretched, and gripped it\nwarmly.\n\n\"My dear fellow! What a change!\"\n\n\"Isn't it?\" said Garth delightedly. \"And it is entirely she who has\nworked it,--the capital little woman you sent up to me. I want to tell\nyou how first-rate she is.\" He had reached his chair again, and found\nand drew forward for the doctor the one in which Jane usually sat,\n\"this is her own idea.\" He unhitched the cord, and let it fall to the\nfloor, a fine string remaining attached to it and to the chair, by\nwhich he could draw it up again at will. \"There is one on this side\nleading to the piano, and one here to the window. Now how should you\nknow them apart?\"\n\n\"They are brown, purple, and orange,\" replied the doctor.\n\n\"Yes,\" said Garth. \"You know them by the colours, but I distinguish\nthem by a slight difference in the thickness and in the texture, which\nyou could not see, but which I can feel. And I enjoy thinking of the\ncolours, too. And sometimes I wear ties and things to match them. You\nsee, I know exactly how they look; and it was so like her to remember\nthat. An ordinary nurse would have put red, green, and blue, and I\nshould have sat and hated the thought of them knowing how vilely they\nmust be clashing with my Persian carpet. But she understands how much\ncolours mean to me, even though I cannot see them.\"\n\n\"I conclude that by 'she' you mean Nurse Rosemary,\" said the doctor. \"I\nam glad she is a success.\"\n\n\"A success!\" exclaimed Garth. \"Why, she helped me to live again! I am\nashamed to remember how at the bottom of all things I was when you came\nup before, Brand,--just pounding the wall, as old Robbie expresses it.\nYou must have thought me a fool and a coward.\"\n\n\"I thought you neither, my dear fellow. You were coming through a\nstiffer fight than any of us have been called to face. Thank God, you\nhave won.\"\n\n\"I owe a lot to you, Brand, and still more to Miss Gray. I wish she\nwere here to see you. She is away for the week-end.\"\n\n\"Away! J--just now?\" exclaimed the doctor, almost surprised into\nanother slip.\n\n\"Yes; she went last night. She is week-ending in the neighbourhood. She\nsaid she was not going far, and should be back with me early on Monday\nmorning. But she seemed to want a change of scene, and thought this a\ngood opportunity, as I shall have you here most of the time. I say,\nBrand, I do think it is extraordinarily good of you to come all this\nway to see me. You know, from such a man as yourself it is almost\noverwhelming.\"\n\n\"You must not be overwhelmed, my dear chap; and, though I very truly\ncame to see you, I am also up, about another old friend in the near\nneighbourhood in whom I am interested. I only mention this in order to\nbe quite honest, and to lift from off you any possible burden of\nfeeling yourself my only patient.\"\n\n\"Oh, thanks!\" said Garth. \"It lessens my compunction without\ndiminishing my gratitude. And now you must be wanting a brush up and\nbreakfast, and here am I selfishly keeping you from both. And I say,\nBrand,\"--Garth coloured hotly, boyishly, and hesitated,--\"I am awfully\nsorry you will have no companion at your meals, Miss Gray being away. I\ndo not like to think of you having them alone, but I--I always have\nmine by myself. Simpson attends to them.\"\n\nHe could not see the doctor's quick look of comprehension, but the\nunderstanding sympathy of the tone in which he said: \"Ah, yes. Yes, of\ncourse,\" without further comment, helped Garth to add: \"I couldn't even\nhave Miss Gray with me. We always take our meals apart. You cannot\nimagine how awful it is chasing your food all round your plate, and\nnever sure it is not on the cloth, after all, or on your tie, while you\nare hunting for it elsewhere.\"\n\n\"No, I can't imagine,\" said the doctor. \"No one could who had not been\nthrough it. But can you bear it better with Simpson than with Nurse\nRosemary? She is trained to that sort of thing, you know.\"\n\nGarth coloured again. \"Well, you see, Simpson is the chap who shaves\nme, and gets me into my clothes, and takes me about; and, though it\nwill always be a trial, it is a trial to which I am growing accustomed.\nYou might put it thus: Simpson is eyes to my body; Miss Gray is vision\nto my mind. Simpson's is the only touch which cores to me in the\ndarkness. Do you know, Miss Gray has never touched me,--not even to\nshake hands. I am awfully glad of this. I will tell you why presently,\nif I may. It makes her just a MIND and VOICE to me, and nothing more;\nbut a wonderfully kind and helpful voice. I feel as if I could not live\nwithout her.\"\n\nGarth rang the bell and Simpson appeared.\n\n\"Take Sir Deryck to his room; and he will tell you what time he would\nlike breakfast. And when you have seen to it all, Simpson, I will go\nout for a turn. Then I shall be free, Brand, when you are. But do not\ngive me any more time this morning if you ought to be resting, or out\non the moors having a holiday from minds and men.\"\n\nThe doctor tubbed and got into his knickerbockers and an old Norfolk\njacket; then found his way to the dining-room, and did full justice to\nan excellent breakfast. He was still pondering the problem of Jane, and\nat the same time wondering in another compartment of his mind in what\nsort of machine old Margery made her excellent coffee, when that good\nlady appeared, enveloped in an air of mystery, and the doctor\nimmediately propounded the question.\n\n\"A jug,\" said old Margery. \"And would you be coming with me, Sir\nDeryck,--and softly, whenever you have finished your breakfast?\"\n\n\"Softly,\" said Margery again, as they crossed the hall, the doctor's\ntall figure closely following in her portly wake. After mounting a few\nstairs she turned to whisper impressively: \"It is not what ye make it\nIN; it is HOW ye make it.\" She ascended a few more steps, then turned\nto say: \"It all hangs upon the word FRESH,\" and went on mounting.\n\"Freshly roasted--freshly ground--water--freshly-boiled--\" said old\nMargery, reaching the topmost stair somewhat breathless; then turning,\nbustled along a rather dark passage, thickly carpeted, and hung with\nold armour and pictures.\n\n\"Where are we going, Mistress Margery?\" asked the doctor, adapting his\nstride to her trot--one to two.\n\n\"You will be seeing whenever we get there, Sir Deryck,\" said Margery.\n\"And never touch it with metal, Sir Deryck. Pop it into an earthenware\njug, pour your boiling water straight upon it, stir it with a wooden\nspoon, set it on the hob ten minutes to settle; the grounds will all go\nto the bottom, though you might not think it; and you pour it\nout--fragrant, strong, and clear. But the secret is, fresh, fresh,\nfresh, and don't stint your coffee.\"\n\nOld Margery paused before a door at the end of the passage, knocked\nlightly; then looked up at the doctor with her hand on the door-handle,\nand an expression of pleading earnestness in her faithful Scotch eyes.\n\n\"And you will not forget the wooden spoon, Sir Deryck?\"\n\nThe doctor looked down into the kind old face raised to his in the dim\nlight. \"I will not forget the wooden spoon, Mistress Margery,\" he said,\ngravely. And old Margery, turning the handle whispered mysteriously\ninto the half-opened doorway: \"It will be Sir Deryck, Miss Gray,\" and\nushered the doctor into a cosy little sitting-room.\n\nA bright fire burned in the grate. In a high-backed arm-chair in front\nof it sat Jane, with her feet on the fender. He could only see the top\nof her head, and her long grey knees; but both were unmistakably Jane's:\n\n\"Oh, Dicky!\" she said, and a great thankfulness was in her voice, \"is\nit you? Oh, come in, Boy, and shut the door. Are we alone? Come round\nhere quick and shake hands, or I shall be plunging about trying to find\nyou.\"\n\nIn a moment the doctor had reached the hearth-rug, dropped on one knee\nin front of the large chair, and took the vaguely groping hands held\nout to him.\n\n\"Jeanette?\" he said. \"Jeanette!\" And then surprise and emotion silenced\nhim.\n\nJane's eyes were securely bandaged. A black silk scarf, folded in four\nthicknesses, was firmly tied at the back of her smooth coils of hair.\nThere was a pathetic helplessness about her large capable figure,\nsitting alone, in this bright little sitting-room, doing nothing.\n\n\"Jeanette!\" said the doctor, for the third time. \"And you call this\nweek-ending?\"\n\n\"Dear,\" said Jane, \"I have gone into Sightless Land for my week-end.\nOh, Deryck, I had to do it. The only way really to help him is to know\nexactly what it means, in all the small, trying details. I never had\nmuch imagination, and I have exhausted what little I had. And he never\ncomplains, or explains how things come hardest. So the only way to find\nout is to have forty-eight hours of it one's self. Old Margery and\nSimpson quite enter into it, and are helping me splendidly. Simpson\nkeeps the coast clear if we want to come down or go out; because with\ntwo blind people about, it would be a complication if they ran into one\nanother. Margery helps me with all the things in which I am helpless;\nand, oh Dicky, you would never believe how many they are! And the\nawful, awful dark--a black curtain always in front of you, sometimes\nseeming hard and firm, like a wall of coal, within an inch of your\nface; sometimes sinking away into soft depths of blackness--miles and\nmiles of distant, silent, horrible darkness; until you feel you must\nfall forward into it and be submerged and overwhelmed. And out of that\ndarkness come voices. And if they speak loudly, they hit you like\ntapping hammers; and if they murmur indistinctly, they madden you\nbecause you can't SEE what is causing it. You can't see that they are\nholding pins in their mouths, and that therefore they are mumbling; or\nthat they are half under the bed, trying to get out something which has\nrolled there, and therefore the voice seems to come from somewhere\nbeneath the earth. And, because you cannot see these things to account\nfor it, the variableness of sound torments you. Ah!--and the waking in\nthe morning to the same blackness as you have had all night! I have\nexperienced it just once,--I began my darkness before dinner last\nnight,--and I assure you, Deryck, I dread to-morrow morning. Think what\nit must be to wake to that always, with no prospect of ever again\nseeing the sunlight! And then the meals--\"\n\n\"What! You keep it on?\" The doctor's voice sounded rather strained.\n\n\"Of course,\" said Jane. \"And you cannot imagine the humiliation of\nfollowing your food all round the plate, and then finding it on the\ntable-cloth; of being quite sure there was a last bit somewhere, and\nwhen you had given up the search and gone on to another course,\ndiscovering it, eventually, in your lap. I do not wonder my poor boy\nwould not let me come to his meals. But after this I believe he will,\nand I shall know exactly how to help him and how to arrange so that\nvery soon he will have no difficulty. Oh, Dicky, I had to do it! There\nwas no other way.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said the doctor quietly, \"you had to do it.\" And Jane in her\nblindness could not see the working of his face, as he added below his\nbreath: \"You being YOU, dear, there was no other way.\"\n\n\"Ah, how glad I am you realise the necessity, Deryck! I had so feared\nyou might think it useless or foolish. And it was now or never; because\nI trust--if he forgives me--this will be the only week-end I shall ever\nhave to spend away from him. Boy, do you think he will forgive me?\"\n\nIt was fortunate Jane was blind: The doctor swallowed a word, then:\n\"Hush, dear,\" he said. \"You make me sigh for the duchess's parrot. And\nI shall do no good here, if I lose patience with Dalmain. Now tell me;\nyou really never remove that bandage?\"\n\n\"Only to wash my face,\" replied Jane, smiling. \"I can trust myself not\nto peep for two minutes. And last night I found it made my head so hot\nthat I could not sleep; so I slipped it off for an hour or two, but\nwoke and put it on again before dawn.\"\n\n\"And you mean to wear it until to-morrow morning?\"\n\nJane smiled rather wistfully. She knew what was involved in that\nquestion.\n\n\"Until to-morrow night, Boy,\" she answered gently.\n\n\"But, Jeanette,\" exclaimed the doctor, in indignant protest; \"surely\nyou will see me before I go! My dear girl, would it not be carrying the\nexperiment unnecessarily far?\"\n\n\"Ah, no,\" said Jane, leaning towards him with her pathetic bandaged\neyes. \"Don't you see, dear, you give me the chance of passing through\nwhat will in time be one of his hardest experiences, when his dearest\nfriends will come and go, and be to him only voice and touch; their\nfaces unseen and but dimly remembered? Deryck, just because this\nhearing and not seeing you IS so hard, I realise how it is enriching me\nin what I can share with him. He must not have to say: 'Ah, but you saw\nhim before he left.' I want to be able to say: 'He came and went,--my\ngreatest friend,--and I did not see him at all.'\"\n\nThe doctor walked over to the window and stood there, whistling softly.\nJane knew he was fighting down his own vexation. She waited patiently.\nPresently the whistling stopped and she heard him laugh. Then he came\nback and sat down near her.\n\n\"You always were a THOROUGH old thing!\" he said.\n\n\"No half-measures would do. I suppose I must agree.\"\n\nJane reached out for his hand. \"Ah, Boy,\" she said, \"now you will help\nme. But I never before knew you so nearly selfish.\"\n\n\"The 'other man' is always a problem,\" said the doctor. \"We male\nbrutes, by nature, always want to be first with all our women; not\nmerely with the one, but with all those in whom we consider, sometimes\nwith egregious presumption, that we hold a right. You see it\neverywhere,--fathers towards their daughters, brothers as regards their\nsisters, friends in a friendship. The 'other man,' when he arrives, is\nalways a pill to swallow. It is only natural, I suppose; but it is\nfallen nature and therefore to be surmounted. Now let me go and forage\nfor your hat and coat, and take you out upon the moors. No? Why not? I\noften find things for Flower, so really I know likely places in which\nto search. Oh, all right! I will send Margery. But don't be long. And\nyou need not be afraid of Dalmain hearing us, for I saw him just now\nwalking briskly up and down the terrace, with only an occasional touch\nof his cane against the parapet. How much you have already\naccomplished! We shall talk more freely out on the moor; and, as I\nmarch you along, we can find out tips which may be useful when the time\ncomes for you to lead the 'other man' about. Only do be careful how you\ncome downstairs with old Margery. Think if you fell upon her, Jane! She\ndoes make such excellent coffee!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIV\n\nTHE MAN'S POINT OF VIEW\n\n\nA deep peace reigned in the library at Gleneesh. Garth and Deryck sat\ntogether and smoked in complete fellowship, enjoying that sense of calm\ncontent which follows an excellent dinner and a day spent in moorland\nair.\n\nJane, sitting upstairs in her self-imposed darkness, with nothing to do\nbut listen, fancied she could hear the low hum of quiet voices in the\nroom beneath, carrying on a more or less continuous conversation.\n\nIt was a pity she could not see them as they sat together, each looking\nhis very best,--Garth in the dinner jacket which suited his slight\nupright figure so well; the doctor in immaculate evening clothes of the\nlatest cut and fashion, which he had taken the trouble to bring,\nknowing Jane expected the men of her acquaintance to be punctilious in\nthe matter of evening dress, and little dreaming she would have,\nliterally, no eyes for him.\n\nAnd indeed the doctor himself was fastidious to a degree where clothes\nwere concerned, and always well groomed and unquestionably correct in\ncut and fashion, excepting in the case of his favourite old Norfolk\njacket. This he kept for occasions when he intended to be what he\ncalled \"happy and glorious,\" though Lady Brand made gentle but\npersistent attempts to dispose of it.\n\nThe old Norfolk jacket had walked the moors that morning with Jane. She\nhad recognised the feel of it as he drew her hand within his arm, and\nthey had laughed over its many associations. But now Simpson was\nfolding it and putting it away, and a very correctly clad doctor sat in\nan arm-chair in front of the library fire, his long legs crossed the\none over the other, his broad shoulders buried in the depths of the\nchair.\n\nGarth sat where he could feel the warm flame of the fire, pleasant in\nthe chill evening which succeeded the bright spring day. His chair was\nplaced sideways, so that he could, with his hand, shield his face from\nhis visitor should he wish to do so.\n\n\"Yes,\" Dr. Brand was saying thoughtfully, \"I can easily see that all\nthings which reach you in that darkness assume a different proportion\nand possess a greatly enhanced value. But I think you will find, as\ntime goes on, and you come in contact with more people, there will be a\ngreat readjustment, and you will become less consciously sensitive to\nsound and touch from others. At present your whole nervous system is\nhighly strung, and responds with an exaggerated vibration to every\nimpression made upon it. A highly strung nervous system usually\nexaggerates. And the medium of sight having been taken away, the other\nmeans of communication with the outer world, hearing and touch, draw to\nthemselves an overplus of nervous force, and have become painfully\nsensitive. Eventually things will right themselves, and they will only\nbe usefully keen and acute. What was it you were going to tell me about\nNurse Rosemary not shaking hands?\"\n\n\"Ah, yes,\" said Garth. \"But first I want to ask, Is it a rule of her\norder, or guild, or institution, or whatever it is to which she\nbelongs, that the nurses should never shake hands with their patients?\"\n\n\"Not that I have ever heard,\" replied the doctor.\n\n\"Well, then, it must have been Miss Gray's own perfect intuition as to\nwhat I want, and what I don't want. For from the very first she has\nnever shaken hands, nor in any way touched me. Even in passing across\nletters, and handing me things, as she does scores of times daily,\nnever once have I felt her fingers against mine.\"\n\n\"And this pleases you?\" inquired the doctor, blowing smoke rings into\nthe air, and watching the blind face intently.\n\n\"Ah, I am so grateful for it,\" said Garth earnestly. \"Do you know,\nBrand, when you suggested sending me a lady nurse and secretary, I felt\nI could not possibly stand having a woman touch me.\"\n\n\"So you said,\" commented the doctor quietly.\n\n\"No! Did I? What a bear you must have thought me.\"\n\n\"By no means,\" said the doctor, \"but a distinctly unusual patient. As a\nrule, men--\"\n\n\"Ah, I dare say,\" Garth interposed half impatiently. \"There was a time\nwhen I should have liked a soft little hand about me. And I dare say by\nnow I should often enough have caught it and held it, perhaps kissed\nit--who knows? I used to do such things, lightly enough. But, Brand,\nwhen a man has known the touch of THE Woman, and when that touch has\nbecome nothing but a memory; when one is dashed into darkness, and that\nmemory becomes one of the few things which remain, and, remaining,\nbrings untold comfort, can you wonder if one fears another touch which\nmight in any way dim that memory, supersede it, or take away from its\nutter sacredness?\"\n\n\"I understand,\" said the doctor slowly. \"It does not come within my own\nexperience, but I understand. Only--my dear boy, may I say it?--if the\nOne Woman exists--and it is excusable in your case to doubt it, because\nthere were so many--surely her place should be here; her actual touch,\none of the things which remain.\"\n\n\"Ah, say it,\" answered Garth, lighting another cigarette. \"I like to\nhear it said, although as a matter of fact you might as well say that\nif the view from the terrace exists, I ought to be able to see it. The\nview is there, right enough, but my own deficiency keeps me from seeing\nit.\"\n\n\"In other words,\" said the doctor, leaning forward and picking up the\nmatch which, not being thrown so straight as usual, had just missed the\nfire; \"in other words, though She was the One Woman, you were not the\nOne Man?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Garth bitterly, but almost beneath his breath. \"I was 'a\nmere boy.'\"\n\n\"Or you thought you were not,\" continued the doctor, seeming not to\nhave heard the last remark. \"As a matter of fact, you are always the\nOne Man to the One Woman, unless another is before you in the field.\nOnly it may take time and patience to prove it to her.\"\n\nGarth sat up and turned a face of blank surprise towards the doctor.\n\"What an extraordinary statement!\" he said. \"Do you really mean it?\"\n\n\"Absolutely,\" replied the doctor in a tone of quiet conviction. \"If you\neliminate all other considerations, such as money, lands, titles,\nwishes of friends, attraction of exteriors--that is to say, admiration\nof mere physical beauty in one another, which is after all just a\nquestion of comparative anatomy; if, freed of all this social and\nhabitual environment, you could place the man and the woman in a mental\nGarden of Eden, and let them face one another, stripped of all shams\nand conventionalities, soul viewing soul, naked and unashamed; if under\nthose circumstances she is so truly his mate, that all the noblest of\nthe man cries out: 'This is the One Woman!' then I say, so truly is he\nher mate, that he cannot fail to be the One Man; only he must have the\nconfidence required to prove it to her. On him it bursts, as a\nrevelation; on her it dawns slowly, as the breaking of the day.\"\n\n\"Oh, my God,\" murmured Garth brokenly, \"it was just that! The Garden of\nEden, soul to soul, with no reservations, nothing to fear, nothing to\nhide. I realised her my WIFE, and called her so. And the next morning\nshe called ME 'a mere boy,' whom she could not for a moment think of\nmarrying. So what becomes of your fool theory, Brand?\"\n\n\"Confirmed,\" replied the doctor quietly. \"Eve, afraid of the immensity\nof her bliss, doubtful of herself, fearful of coming short of the\nmarvel of his ideal of her, fleeing from Adam, to hide among the trees\nof the garden. Don't talk about fool theories, my boy. The fool-fact\nwas Adam, if he did not start in prompt pursuit.\"\n\nGarth sat forward, his hands clutching the arms of his chair. That\nquiet, level voice was awakening doubts as to his view of the\nsituation, the first he had had since the moment of turning and walking\ndown the Shenstone village church three years ago. His face was livid,\nand as the firelight played upon it the doctor saw beads of\nperspiration gleam on his forehead.\n\n\"Oh, Brand,\" he said, \"I am blind. Be merciful. Things mean so terribly\nmuch in the dark.\"\n\nThe doctor considered. Could his nurses and students have seen the look\non his face at that moment, they would have said that he was performing\na most critical and delicate operation, in which a slip of the scalpel\nmight mean death to the patient. They would have been right; for the\nwhole future of two people hung in the balance; depending, in this\ncrisis, upon the doctor's firmness and yet delicacy of touch. This\nstrained white face in the firelight, with its beads of mental agony\nand its appealing \"I am blind,\" had not entered into the doctor's\ncalculations. It was a view of \"the other man\" upon which he could not\nlook unmoved. But the thought of that patient figure with bandaged eyes\nsitting upstairs in suspense, stretching dear helpless hands to him,\nsteadied the doctor's nerve. He looked into the fire.\n\n\"You may be blind, Dalmain, but I do not want you to be a fool,\" said\nthe doctor quietly.\n\n\"Am I--was I--a fool?\" asked Garth.\n\n\"How can I judge?\" replied the doctor. \"Give me a clear account of the\ncircumstances from your point of view, and I will give you my opinion\nof the case.\"\n\nHis tone was so completely dispassionate and matter-of-fact, that it\nhad a calming effect on Garth, giving him also a sense of security. The\ndoctor might have been speaking of a sore throat, or a tendency to\nsciatica.\n\nGarth leaned back in his chair, slipped his hand into the breast-pocket\nof his jacket, and touched a letter lying there. Dare he risk it? Could\nhe, for once take for himself the comfort of speaking of his trouble to\na man he could completely trust, and yet avoid the danger of betraying\nher identity to one who knew her so intimately?\n\nGarth weighed this, after the manner of a chess-player looking several\nmoves ahead. Could the conversation become more explicit, sufficiently\nso to be of use, and yet no clue be given which would reveal Jane as\nthe One Woman?\n\nHad the doctor uttered a word of pressure or suggestion, Garth would\nhave decided for silence. But the doctor did not speak. He leaned\nforward and reached the poker, mending the fire with extreme care and\nmethod. He placed a fragrant pine log upon the springing flame, and as\nhe did so he whistled softly the closing bars of Veni, Creator Spiritus.\n\nGarth, occupied with his own mental struggle, was, for once, oblivious\nto sounds from without, and did not realise why, at this critical\nmoment, these words should have come with gentle insistence into his\nmind:\n\n \"Keep far our foes; give peace at home;\n Where Thou art Guide, no ill can come.\"\n\nHe took them as an omen. They turned the scale.\n\n\"Brand,\" he said, \"if, as you are so kind as to suggest, I give myself\nthe extreme relief of confiding in you, will you promise me never to\nattempt to guess at the identity of the One Woman?\"\n\nThe doctor smiled; and the smile in his voice as he answered, added to\nGarth's sense of security.\n\n\"My dear fellow,\" he said, \"I never guess at other people's secrets. It\nis a form of mental recreation which does not appeal to me, and which I\nshould find neither entertaining nor remunerative. If I know them\nalready, I do not require to guess them. If I do not know them, and\ntheir possessors wish me to remain in ignorance, I would as soon think\nof stealing their purse as of filching their secret.\"\n\n\"Ah, thanks,\" said Garth. \"Personally, I do not mind what you know. But\nI owe it to her, that her name should not appear.\"\n\n\"Undoubtedly,\" said the doctor. \"Except in so far as she herself,\nchooses to reveal it, the One Woman's identity should always remain a\nsecret. Get on with your tale, old chap. I will not interrupt.\"\n\n\"I will state it as simply and as shortly as I can,\" began Garth. \"And\nyou will understand that there are details of which no fellow could\nspeak.--I had known her several years in a friendly way, just staying\nat the same houses, and meeting at Lord's and Henley and all the places\nwhere those in the same set do meet. I always liked her, and always\nfelt at my best with her, and thought no end of her opinion, and so\nforth. She was a friend and a real chum to me, and to lots of other\nfellows. But one never thought of love-making in connection with her.\nAll the silly things one says to ordinary women she would have laughed\nat. If one had sent her flowers to wear, she would have put them in a\nvase and wondered for whom they had really been intended. She danced\nwell, and rode straight; but the man she danced with had to be awfully\ngood at it, or he found himself being guided through the giddy maze;\nand the man who wanted to be in the same field with her, must be\nprepared for any fence or any wall. Not that I ever saw her in the\nhunting-field; her love of life and of fair play would have kept her\nout of that. But I use it as a descriptive illustration. One was always\nglad to meet her in a house party, though one could not have explained\nwhy. It is quite impossible to describe her. She was just--well, just--\"\n\nThe doctor saw \"just Jane\" trembling on Garth's lips, and knew how\ninadequate was every adjective to express this name. He did not want\nthe flood of Garth's confidences checked, so he supplied the needed\nwords.\n\n\"Just a good sort. Yes, I quite understand. Well?\"\n\n\"I had had my infatuations, plenty of them,\" went on the eager young\nvoice. \"The one thing I thought of in women was their exteriors. Beauty\nof all kinds--of any kind--crazed me for the moment. I never wanted to\nmarry them, but I always wanted to paint them. Their mothers, and\naunts, and other old dowagers in the house parties used to think I\nmeant marriage, but the girls themselves knew better. I don't believe a\ngirl now walks this earth who would accuse me of flirting. I admired\ntheir beauty, and they knew it, and they knew that was all my\nadmiration meant. It was a pleasant experience at the time, and, in\nseveral instances, helped forward good marriages later on. Pauline\nLister was apportioned to me for two whole seasons, but she eventually\nmarried the man on whose jolly old staircase I painted her. Why didn't\nI come a cropper over any of them? Because there were too many, I\nsuppose. Also, the attraction was skin-deep. I don't mind telling you\nquite frankly: the only one whose beauty used to cause me a real pang\nwas Lady Brand. But when I had painted it and shown it to the world in\nits perfection, I was content. I asked no more of any woman than to\npaint her, and find her paintable. I could not explain this to the\nhusbands and mothers and chaperons, but the women themselves understood\nit well enough; and as I sit here in my darkness not a memory rises up\nto reproach me.\"\n\n\"Good boy,\" said Deryck Brand, laughing. \"You were vastly\nmisunderstood, but I believe you.\"\n\n\"You see,\" resumed Garth, \"that sort of thing being merely skin-deep, I\nwent no deeper. The only women I really knew were my mother, who died\nwhen I was nineteen, and Margery Graem, whom I always hugged at meeting\nand parting, and always shall hug until I kiss the old face in its\ncoffin, or she straightens me in mine. Those ties of one's infancy and\nboyhood are among the closest and most sacred life can show. Well, so\nthings were until a certain evening in June several years ago. She--the\nOne Woman--and I were in the same house party at a lovely old place in\nthe country. One afternoon we had been talking intimately, but quite\ncasually and frankly. I had no more thought of wanting to marry her\nthan of proposing to old Margery. Then--something happened,--I must not\ntell you what; it would give too clear a clue to her identity. But it\nrevealed to me, in a few marvellous moments, the woman in her; the\nwife, the mother; the strength, the tenderness; the exquisite\nperfection of her true, pure soul. In five minutes there awakened in me\na hunger for her which nothing could still, which nothing ever will\nstill, until I stand beside her in the Golden City, where they shall\nhunger no more, neither thirst any more; and there shall be no more\ndarkness, or depending upon sun, moon, or candle, for the glory of God\nshall lighten it; and there shall be no more sorrow, neither shall\nthere be any more pain, for former things shall have passed away.\"\n\nThe blind face shone in the firelight. Garth's retrospection was\nbringing him visions of things to come.\n\nThe doctor sat quite still and watched the vision fade. Then he said:\n\"Well?\"\n\n\"Well,\" continued the young voice in the shadow, with a sound in it of\nhaving dropped back to earth and finding it a mournful place; \"I never\nhad a moment's doubt as to what had happened to me. I knew I loved her;\nI knew I wanted her; I knew her presence made my day and her absence\nmeant chill night; and every day was radiant, for she was there.\"\n\nGarth paused for breath and to enjoy a moment of silent retrospection.\n\nThe doctor's voice broke in with a question, clear, incisive. \"Was she\na pretty woman; handsome, beautiful?\"\n\n\"A pretty woman?\" repeated Garth, amazed: \"Good heavens, no! Handsome?\nBeautiful? Well you have me there, for, 'pon my honour, I don't know.\"\n\n\"I mean, would you have wished to paint her?\"\n\n\"I HAVE painted her,\" said Garth very low, a moving tenderness in his\nvoice; \"and my two paintings of her, though done in sadness and done\nfrom memory, are the most beautiful work I ever produced. No eye but my\nown has ever seen them, and now none ever will see them, excepting\nthose of one whom I must perforce trust to find them for me, and bring\nthem to me for destruction.\"\n\n\"And that will be--?\" queried the doctor.\n\n\"Nurse Rosemary Gray,\" said Garth.\n\nThe doctor kicked the pine log, and the flames darted up merrily. \"You\nhave chosen well,\" he said, and had to make a conscious effort to keep\nthe mirth in his face from passing into his voice. \"Nurse Rosemary will\nbe discreet. Very good. Then we may take it the One Woman was\nbeautiful?\"\n\nBut Garth looked perplexed. \"I do not know,\" he answered slowly. \"I\ncannot see her through the eyes of others. My vision of her, in that\nilluminating moment, followed the inspired order of things,--spirit,\nsoul, and body. Her spirit was so pure and perfect, her soul so\nbeautiful, noble, and womanly, that the body which clothed soul and\nspirit partook of their perfection and became unutterably dear.\"\n\n\"I see,\" said the doctor, very gently. \"Yes, you dear fellow, I see.\"\n(Oh, Jane, Jane! You were blind, without a bandage, in those days!)\n\n\"Several glorious days went by,\" continued Garth. \"I realise now that I\nwas living in the glow of my own certainty that she was the One Woman.\nIt was so clear and sweet and wonderful to me, that I never dreamed of\nit not being equally clear to her. We did a lot of music together for\npure enjoyment; we talked of other people for the fun of it; we enjoyed\nand appreciated each other's views and opinions; but we did not talk of\nourselves, because we KNEW, at least _I_ knew, and, before God, I\nthought she did. Every time I saw her she seemed more grand and\nperfect. I held the golden key to trifling matters not understood\nbefore. We young fellows, who all admired her, used nevertheless to\njoke a bit about her wearing collars and stocks, top boots and short\nskirts; whacking her leg with a riding-whip, and stirring the fire with\nher toe. But after that evening, I understood all this to be a sort of\nfence behind which she hid her exquisite womanliness, because it was of\na deeper quality than any man looking upon the mere surface of her had\never fathomed or understood. And when she came trailing down in the\nevening, in something rich and clinging and black, with lots of soft\nold lace covering her bosom and moving with the beating of her great\ntender heart; ah, then my soul rejoiced and my eyes took their fill of\ndelight! I saw her, as all day long I had known her to be,--perfect in\nher proud, sweet womanliness.\"\n\n\"Is he really unconscious,\" thought the doctor, \"of how unmistakable a\nword-picture of Jane he is painting?\"\n\n\"Very soon,\" continued Garth, \"we had three days apart, and then met\nagain at another house, in a weekend party. One of the season's\nbeauties was there, with whom my name was being freely coupled, and\nsomething she said on that subject, combined with the fearful blankness\nof those three interminable days, made me resolve to speak without\ndelay. I asked her to come out on to the terrace that evening. We were\nalone. It was a moonlight night.\"\n\nA long silence. The doctor did not break it. He knew his friend was\ngoing over in his mind all those things of which a man does not speak\nto another man.\n\nAt last Garth said simply, \"I told her.\"\n\nNo comment from the doctor, who was vividly reminded of Jane's\n\"Then--it happened,\" when SHE had reached this point in the story.\nAfter a few moments of further silence, steeped in the silver moonlight\nof reminiscence for Garth; occupied by the doctor in a rapid piecing in\nof Jane's version; the sad young voice continued:\n\n\"I thought she understood completely. Afterwards I knew she had not\nunderstood at all. Her actions led me to believe I was accepted, taken\ninto her great love, even as she was wrapped around by mine. Not\nthrough fault of hers,--ah, no; she was blameless throughout; but\nbecause she did not, could not, understand what any touch of hers must\nmean to me. In her dear life, there had never been another man; that\nmuch I knew by unerring instinct and by her own admission. I have\nsometimes thought that she may have had an ideal in her girlish days,\nagainst whom, in after years, she measured others, and, finding them\ncome short, held them at arm's length. But, if I am right in this\nsurmise, he must have been a blind fool, unconscious of the priceless\nlove which might have been his, had he tried to win it. For I am\ncertain that, until that night, no man's love had ever flamed about\nher; she had never felt herself enveloped in a cry which was all one\npassionate, in-articulate, inexplicable, boundless need of herself.\nWhile I thought she understood and responded,--Heaven knows I DID think\nit,--she did not in the least understand, and was only trying to be\nsympathetic and kind.\"\n\nThe doctor stirred in his chair, slowly crossed one leg over the other,\nand looked searchingly into the blind face. He was finding these\nconfidences of the \"other man\" more trying than he had expected.\n\n\"Are you sure of that?\" he asked rather huskily.\n\n\"Quite sure,\" said Garth. \"Listen. I called her--what she was to me\njust then, what I wanted her to be always, what she is forever, so far\nas my part goes, and will be till death and beyond. That one word,--no,\nthere were two,--those two words made her understand. I see that now.\nShe rose at once and put me from her. She said I must give her twelve\nhours for quiet thought, and she would come to me in the village church\nnext morning with her answer. Brand, you may think me a fool; you\ncannot think me a more egregious ass than I now think myself; but I was\nabsolutely certain she was mine; so sure that, when she came, and we\nwere alone together in the house of God, instead of going to her with\nthe anxious haste of suppliant and lover, I called her to me at the\nchancel step as if I were indeed her husband and had the right to bid\nher come. She came, and, just as a sweet formality before taking her to\nme, I asked for her answer. It was this: 'I cannot marry a mere boy.'\"\n\nGarth's voice choked in his throat on the last word. His head was bowed\nin his hands. He had reached the point where most things stopped for\nhim; where all things had ceased forever to be as they were before.\n\nThe room seemed strangely silent. The eager voice had poured out into\nit such a flow of love and hope and longing; such a revealing of a soul\nin which the true love of beauty had created perpetual youth; of a\nheart held free by high ideals from all playing with lesser loves, but\nrising to volcanic force and height when the true love was found at\nlast.\n\nThe doctor shivered at that anticlimax, as if the chill of an empty\nchurch were in his bones. He knew how far worse it had been than Garth\nhad told. He knew of the cruel, humiliating question: \"How old are\nyou?\" Jane had confessed to it. He knew how the outward glow of adoring\nlove had faded as the mind was suddenly turned inward to\nself-contemplation. He had known it all as abstract fact. Now he saw it\nactually before him. He saw Jane's stricken lover, bowed beside him in\nhis blindness, living again through those sights and sounds which no\nmerciful curtain of oblivion could ever hide or veil.\n\nThe doctor had his faults, but they were not Peter's. He never, under\nany circumstances, spoke BECAUSE he wist not what to say.\n\nHe leaned forward and laid a hand very tenderly on Garth's shoulder.\n\"Poor chap,\" he said. \"Ah, poor old chap.\"\n\nAnd for a long while they sat thus in silence.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXV\n\nTHE DOCTOR'S DIAGNOSIS\n\n\n\"So you expressed no opinion? explained nothing? let him go on\nbelieving that? Oh, Dicky! And you might have said so much!\"\n\nIn the quiet of the Scotch Sabbath morning, Jane and the doctor had\nclimbed the winding path from the end of the terrace, which zigzagged\nup to a clearing amongst the pines. Two fallen trees at a short\ndistance from each other provided convenient seats in full sunshine,\nfacing a glorious view,--down into the glen, across the valley, and\naway to the purple hills beyond. The doctor had guided Jane to the\nsunnier of the two trunks, and seated himself beside her. Then he had\nquietly recounted practically the whole of the conversation of the\nprevious evening.\n\n\"I expressed no opinion. I explained nothing. I let him continue to\nbelieve what he believes; because it is the only way to keep you on the\npinnacle where he has placed you. Let any other reason for your conduct\nthan an almost infantine ignorance of men and things be suggested and\naccepted, and down you will come, my poor Jane, and great will be the\nfall. Mine shall not be the hand thus to hurl you headlong. As you say,\nI might have said so much, but I might also have lived to regret it.\"\n\n\"I should fall into his arms,\" said Jane recklessly, \"and I would\nsooner be there than on a pinnacle.\"\n\n\"Excuse me, my good girl,\" replied the doctor. \"It is more likely you\nwould fall into the first express going south. In fact, I am not\ncertain you would wait for an express. I can almost see the Honourable\nJane quitting yonder little railway station, seated in an empty\ncoal-truck. No! Don't start up and attempt to stride about among the\npine needles,\" continued the doctor, pulling Jane down beside him\nagain. \"You will only trip over a fir cone and go headlong into the\nvalley. It is no use forestalling the inevitable fall.\"\n\n\"Oh, Dicky,\" sighed Jane, putting her hand through his arm; and leaning\nher bandaged eyes against the rough tweed of his shoulder; \"I don't\nknow what has come to you to-day. You are not kind to me. You have\nharrowed my poor soul by repeating all Garth said last night; and,\nthanks to that terribly good memory of yours, you have reproduced the\ntones of his voice in every inflection. And then, instead of comforting\nme, you leave me entirely in the wrong, and completely in the lurch.\"\n\n\"In the wrong--yes,\" said Deryck; \"in the lurch--no. I did not say I\nwould do nothing to-day. I only said I could do nothing last night. You\ncannot take up a wounded thing and turn it about and analyse it. When\nwe bade each other good-night, I told him I would think the matter over\nand give him my opinion to-day. I will tell you what has happened to me\nif you like. I have looked into the inmost recesses of a very rare and\nbeautiful nature, and I have seen what havoc a woman can work in the\nlife of the man who loves her. I can assure you, last night was no\npastime. I woke this morning feeling as if I had, metaphorically, been\nbeaten black and blue.\"\n\n\"Then what do you suppose _I_ feel?\" inquired Jane pathetically.\n\n\"You still feel yourself in the right--partly,\" replied Deryck. \"And so\nlong as you think you have a particle of justification and cling to it,\nyour case is hopeless. It will have to be: 'I confess. Can you\nforgive?'\"\n\n\"But I acted for the best,\" said Jane. \"I thought of him before I\nthought of myself. It would have been far easier to have accepted the\nhappiness of the moment, and chanced the future.\"\n\n\"That is not honest, Jeanette. You thought of yourself first. You dared\nnot face the possibility of the pain to you if his love cooled or his\nadmiration waned. When one comes to think of it, I believe every form\nof human love--a mother's only excepted--is primarily selfish. The best\nchance for Dalmain is that his helpless blindness may awaken the mother\nlove in you. Then self will go to the wall.\"\n\n\"Ah me!\" sighed Jane. \"I am lost and weary and perplexed in this\nbewildering darkness. Nothing seems clear; nothing seems right. If I\ncould see your kind eyes, Boy, your hard voice would hurt less.\"\n\n\"Well, take off the bandage and look,\" said the doctor.\n\n\"I will not!\" cried Jane furiously. \"Have I gone through all this to\nfail at the last?\"\n\n\"My dear girl, this self-imposed darkness is getting on your nerves.\nTake care it does not do more harm than good. Strong remedies--\"\n\n\"Hush!\" whispered Jane. \"I hear footsteps.\"\n\n\"You can always hear footsteps in a wood if you hearken for them,\" said\nthe doctor; but he spoke low, and then sat quiet, listening.\n\n\"I hear Garth's step,\" whispered Jane. \"Oh, Dicky, go to the edge and\nlook over. You can see the windings of the path below.\"\n\nThe doctor stepped forward quietly and looked down upon the way they\nhad ascended. Then he came back to Jane.\n\n\"Yes,\" he said. \"Fortune favours us. Dalmain is coming up the path with\nSimpson. He will be here in two minutes.\"\n\n\"Fortune favours us? My dear Dicky! Of all mis-chances!\" Jane's hand\nflew to her bandage, but the doctor stayed her just in time.\n\n\"Not at all,\" he said. \"And do not fail at the last in your experiment.\nI ought to be able to keep you two blind people apart. Trust me, and\nkeep dark--I mean, sit still. And can you not understand why I said\nfortune favours us? Dalmain is coming for my opinion on the case. You\nshall hear it together. It will be a saving of time for me, and most\nenlightening for you to mark how he takes it. Now keep quiet. I promise\nhe shall not sit on your lap. But if you make a sound, I shall have to\nsay you are a bunny or a squirrel, and throw fir cones at you.\"\n\nThe doctor rose and sauntered round the bend of the path.\n\nJane sat on in darkness.\n\n\"Hullo, Dalmain,\" she heard Deryck say. \"Found your way up here? An\nideal spot. Shall we dispense with Simpson? Take my arm.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" replied Garth. \"I was told you were up here, Brand, and followed\nyou.\"\n\nThey came round the bend together, and out into the clearing.\n\n\"Are you alone?\" asked Garth standing still. \"I thought I heard voices.\"\n\n\"You did,\" replied the doctor. \"I was talking to a young woman.\"\n\n\"What sort of young woman?\" asked Garth.\n\n\"A buxom young person,\" replied the doctor, \"with a decidedly touchy\ntemper.\"\n\n\"Do you know her name?\"\n\n\"Jane,\" said the doctor recklessly.\n\n\"Not 'Jane,'\" said Garth quickly,--\"Jean. I know her,--my gardener's\neldest daughter. Rather weighed down by family cares, poor girl.\"\n\n\"I saw she was weighed down,\" said the doctor. \"I did not know it was\nby family cares. Let us sit on this trunk. Can you call up the view to\nmind?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" replied Garth; \"I know it so well. But it terrifies me to find\nhow my mental pictures are fading; all but one.\"\n\n\"And that is--?\" asked the doctor.\n\n\"The face of the One Woman,\" said Garth in his blindness.\n\n\"Ah, my dear fellow,\" said the doctor, \"I have not forgotten my promise\nto give you this morning my opinion on your story. I have been thinking\nit over carefully, and have arrived at several conclusions. Shall we\nsit on this fallen tree? Won't you smoke? One can talk better under the\ninfluence of the fragrant weed.\"\n\nGarth took out his cigarette case, chose a cigarette, lighted it with\ncare, and flung the flaming match straight on to Jane's clasped hands.\n\nBefore the doctor could spring up, Jane had smilingly flicked it off.\n\n\"What nerve!\" thought Deryck, with admiration. \"Ninety-nine women out\nof a hundred would have said 'Ah!' and given away the show. Really, she\ndeserves to win.\"\n\nSuddenly Garth stood up. \"I think we shall do better on the other log,\"\nhe said unexpectedly. \"It is always in fuller sunshine.\" And he moved\ntowards Jane.\n\nWith a bound the doctor sprang in front of him, seized Jane with one\nstrong hand and drew her behind him; then guided Garth to the very spot\nwhere she had been sitting.\n\n\"How accurately you judge distance,\" he remarked, backing with Jane\ntowards the further trunk. Then he seated himself beside Garth in the\nsunshine. \"Now for our talk,\" said the doctor, and he said it rather\nbreathlessly.\n\n\"Are you sure we are alone?\" asked Garth. \"I seem conscious of another\npresence.\"\n\n\"My dear fellow,\" said the doctor, \"is one ever alone in a wood?\nCountless little presences surround us. Bright eyes peep down from the\nbranches; furry tails flick in and out of holes; things unseen move in\nthe dead leaves at our feet. If you seek solitude, shun the woods.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" replied Garth, \"I know, and I love listening to them. I meant a\nhuman presence. Brand, I am often so tried by the sense of an unseen\nhuman presence near me. Do you know, I could have sworn the other day\nthat she--the One Woman--came silently, looked upon me in my blindness,\npitied me, as her great tender heart would do, and silently departed.\"\n\n\"When was that?\" asked the doctor.\n\n\"A few days ago. Dr. Rob had been telling us how he came across her\nin--Ah! I must not say where. Then he and Miss Gray left me alone, and\nin the lonely darkness and silence I felt her eyes upon me.\"\n\n\"Dear boy,\" said the doctor, \"you must not encourage this dread of\nunseen presences. Remember, those who care for us very truly and deeply\ncan often make us conscious of their mental nearness, even when far\naway, especially if they know we are in trouble and needing them. You\nmust not be surprised if you are often conscious of the nearness of the\nOne Woman, for I believe--and I do not say it lightly, Dalmain--I\nbelieve her whole heart and love and life are yours.\"\n\n\"Good Lord!\" exclaimed Garth, and springing up, strode forward\naimlessly.\n\nThe doctor caught him by the arm. In another moment he would have\nfallen over Jane's feet.\n\n\"Sit down, man,\" said the doctor, \"and listen to me. You gain nothing\nby dashing about in the dark in that way. I am going to prove my words.\nBut you must give me your calm attention. Now listen. We are confronted\nin this case by a psychological problem, and one which very likely has\nnot occurred to you. I want you for a moment to picture the One Man and\nthe One Woman facing each other in the Garden of Eden, or in the\nmoonlight--wherever it was--if you like better. Now will you realise\nthis? The effect upon a man of falling in love is to create in him a\ncomplete unconsciousness of self. On the other hand, the effect upon a\nwoman of being loved and sought, and of responding to that love and\nseeking, is an accession of intense self-consciousness. He, longing to\nwin and take, thinks of her only. She, called upon to yield and give,\nhas her mind turned at once upon herself. Can she meet his need? Is she\nall he thinks her? Will she be able to content him completely, not only\nnow but in the long vista of years to come? The more natural and\nunconscious of self she had been before, the harder she would be hit by\nthis sudden, overwhelming attack of self-consciousness.\"\n\nThe doctor glanced at Jane on the log six yards away. She had lifted\nher clasped hands and was nodding towards him, her face radiant with\nrelief and thankfulness.\n\nHe felt he was on the right tack. But the blind face beside him clouded\nheavily, and the cloud deepened as he proceeded.\n\n\"You see, my dear chap, I gathered from yourself she was not of the\ntype of feminine loveliness you were known to admire. Might she not\nhave feared that her appearance would, after a while, have failed to\ncontent you?\"\n\n\"No,\" replied Garth with absolutely finality of tone. \"Such a\nsuggestion is unworthy. Besides, had the idea by any possibility\nentered her mind, she would only have had to question me on the point.\nMy decision would have been final; my answer would have fully reassured\nher.\"\n\n\"Love is blind,\" quoted the doctor quietly.\n\n\"They lie who say so,\" cried Garth violently. \"Love is so far-seeing\nthat it sees beneath the surface and delights in beauties unseen by\nother eyes.\"\n\n\"Then you do not accept my theory?\" asked the doctor.\n\n\"Not as an explanation of my own trouble,\" answered Garth; \"because I\nknow the greatness of her nature would have lifted her far above such a\nconsideration. But I do indeed agree as to the complete oblivion to\nself of the man in love. How else could we ever venture to suggest to a\nwoman that she should marry us? Ah, Brand, when one thinks of it, the\nintrusion into her privacy; the asking the right to touch, even her\nhand, at will; it could not be done unless the love of her and the\nthought of her had swept away all thoughts of self. Looking back upon\nthat time I remember how completely it was so with me. And when she\nsaid to me in the church: 'How old are you?'--ah, I did not tell you\nthat last night--the revulsion of feeling brought about by being turned\nat that moment in upon myself was so great, that my joy seemed to\nshrivel and die in horror at my own unworthiness.\"\n\nSilence in the wood. The doctor felt he was playing a losing game. He\ndared not look at the silent figure opposite. At last he spoke.\n\n\"Dalmain, there are two possible solutions to your problem. Do you\nthink it was a case of Eve holding back in virginal shyness, expecting\nAdam to pursue?\"\n\n\"Ah, no,\" said Garth emphatically. \"We had gone far beyond all that.\nNor could you suggest it, did you know her. She is too honest, too\nabsolutely straight and true, to have deceived me. Besides, had it been\nso, in all these lonely years, when she found I made no sign, she would\nhave sent me word of what she really meant.\"\n\n\"Should you have gone to her then?\" asked the doctor.\n\n\"Yes,\" said Garth slowly. \"I should have gone and I should have\nforgiven--because she is my own. But it could never have been the same.\nIt would have been unworthy of us both.\"\n\n\"Well,\" continued the doctor, \"the other solution remains. You have\nadmitted that the One Woman came somewhat short of the conventional\nstandard of beauty. Your love of loveliness was so well known. Do you\nnot think, during the long hours of that night,--remember how new it\nwas to her to be so worshipped and wanted,--do you not think her\ncourage failed her? She feared she might come short of what eventually\nyou would need in the face and figure always opposite you at your\ntable; and, despite her own great love and yours, she thought it wisest\nto avoid future disillusion by rejecting present joy. Her very love for\nyou would have armed her to this decision.\"\n\nThe silent figure opposite nodded, and waited with clasped hands.\nDeryck was pleading her cause better than she could have pleaded it\nherself.\n\nSilence in the woods. All nature seemed to hush and listen for the\nanswer.\n\nThen:--\"No,\" said Garth's young voice unhesitatingly. \"In that case she\nwould have told me her fear, and I should have reassured her\nimmediately. Your suggestion is unworthy of my beloved.\"\n\nThe wind sighed in the trees. A cloud passed before the sun. The two\nwho sat in darkness, shivered and were silent.\n\nThen the doctor spoke. \"My dear boy,\" he said, and a deep tenderness\nwas in his voice: \"I must maintain my unalterable belief that to the\nOne Woman you are still the One Man. In your blindness her rightful\nplace is by your side. Perhaps even now she is yearning to be here.\nWill you tell me her name, and give me leave to seek her out, hear from\nherself her version of the story; and, if it be as I think, bring her\nto you, to prove, in your affliction, her love and tenderness?\"\n\n\"Never!\" said Garth. \"Never, while life shall last! Can you not see\nthat if when I had sight, and fame, and all heart could desire, I could\nnot win her love, what she might feel for me now, in my helpless\nblindness, could be but pity? And pity from her I could never accept.\nIf I was 'a mere boy' three years ago, I am 'a mere blind man' now, an\nobject for kind commiseration. If indeed you are right, and she\nmistrusted my love and my fidelity, it is now out of my power forever\nto prove her wrong and to prove myself faithful. But I will not allow\nthe vision of my beloved to be dimmed by these suggestions. For her\ncompletion, she needed so much more than I could give. She refused me\nbecause I was not fully worthy. I prefer it should be so. Let us leave\nit at that.\"\n\n\"It leaves you to loneliness,\" said the doctor sadly.\n\n\"I prefer loneliness,\" replied Garth's young voice, \"to disillusion.\nHark! I hear the first gong, Brand. Margery will be grieved if we keep\nher Sunday dishes waiting.\"\n\nHe stood up and turned his sightless face towards the view.\n\n\"Ah, how well I know it,\" he said. \"When Miss Gray and I sit up here,\nshe tells me all she sees, and I tell her what she does not see, but\nwhat I know is there. She is keen on art, and on most of the things I\ncare about. I must ask for an arm, Brand, though the path is wide and\ngood. I cannot risk a tumble. I have come one or two awful croppers,\nand I promised Miss Gray--The path is wide. Yes, we can walk two\nabreast, three abreast if necessary. It is well we had this good path\nmade. It used to be a steep scramble.\"\n\n\"Three abreast,\" said the doctor. \"So we could--if necessary.\" He\nstepped back and raised Jane from her seat, drawing her cold hand\nthrough his left arm. \"Now, my dear fellow, my right arm will suit you\nbest; then you can keep your stick in your right hand.\"\n\nAnd thus they started down through the wood, on that lovely Sabbath\nmorn of early summer; and the doctor walked erect between those two\nsevered hearts, uniting, and yet dividing them.\n\nJust once Garth paused and listened. \"I seem to hear another footstep,\"\nhe said, \"besides yours and mine.\"\n\n\"The wood is full of footsteps,\" said the doctor, \"just as the heart is\nfull of echoes. If you stand still and listen you can hear what you\nwill in either.\"\n\n\"Then let us not stand still,\" said Garth, \"for in old days, if I was\nlate for lunch, Margery used to spank me.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVI\n\nHEARTS MEET IN SIGHTLESS LAND\n\n\n\"It will be absolutely impossible, Miss Gray, for me ever to tell you\nwhat I think of this that you have done for my sake.\"\n\nGarth stood at the open library window. The morning sunlight poured\ninto the room. The air was fragrant with the scent of flowers, resonant\nwith the songs of birds. As he stood there in the sunshine, a new look\nof strength and hopefulness was apparent in every line of his erect\nfigure. He held out eager hands towards Nurse Rosemary, but more as an\nexpression of the outgoing of his appreciation and gratitude than with\nany expectation of responsive hands being placed within them.\n\n\"And here was I, picturing you having a gay weekend, and wondering\nwhere, and who your friends in this neighbourhood could be. And all the\nwhile you were sitting blindfold in the room over my head. Ah, the\ngoodness of it is beyond words! But did you not feel somewhat of a\ndeceiver, Miss Gray?\"\n\nShe always felt that--poor Jane. So she readily answered: \"Yes. And yet\nI told you I was not going far. And my friends in the neighbourhood\nwere Simpson and Margery, who aided and abetted. And it was true to say\nI was going, for was I not going into darkness? and it is a different\nworld from the land of light.\"\n\n\"Ah, how true that is!\" cried Garth. \"And how difficult to make people\nunderstand the loneliness of it, and how they seem suddenly to arrive\nclose to one from another world; stooping from some distant planet,\nwith sympathetic voice and friendly touch; and then away they go to\nanother sphere, leaving one to the immensity of solitude in Sightless\nLand.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" agreed Nurse Rosemary, \"and you almost dread the coming, because\nthe going makes the darkness darker, and the loneliness more lonely.\"\n\n\"Ah, so YOU experienced that?\" said Garth. \"Do you know, now you have\nweek-ended in Sightless Land, I shall not feel it such a place of\nsolitude. At every turn I shall be able to say:--'A dear and faithful\nfriend has been here.'\"\n\nHe laughed a laugh of such almost boyish pleasure, that all the mother\nin Jane's love rose up and demanded of her one supreme effort. She\nlooked at the slight figure in white flannels, leaning against the\nwindow frame, so manly, so beautiful still, and yet so helpless and so\nneeding the wealth of tenderness which was hers to give. Then, standing\nfacing him, she opened her arms, as if the great preparedness of that\nplace of rest, so close to him must, magnet-like, draw him to her; and\nstanding thus in the sunlight, Jane spoke.\n\nWas she beautiful? Was she paintable? Would a man grow weary of such a\nlook turned on him, of such arms held out? Alas! Too late! On that\npoint no lover shall ever be able to pass judgment. That look is for\none man alone. He only will ever bring it to that loving face. And he\ncannot pronounce upon its beauty in voice of rapturous content. He\ncannot judge. He cannot see. He is blind!\n\n\"Mr. Dalmain, there are many smaller details; but before we talk of\nthose I want to tell you the greatest of all the lessons I learned in\nSightless Land.\" Then, conscious that her emotion was producing in her\nvoice a resonant depth which might remind him too vividly of notes in\nThe Rosary, she paused, and resumed in the high, soft edition of her\nown voice which it had become second nature to her to use as Nurse\nRosemary: \"Mr. Dalmain, it seems to me I learned to understand how that\nwhich is loneliness unspeakable to ONE might be Paradise of a very\nperfect kind for TWO. I realised that there might be circumstances in\nwhich the dark would become a very wonderful meeting-place for souls.\nIf I loved a man who lost his sight, I should be glad to have mine in\norder to be eyes for him when eyes were needed; just as, were I rich\nand he poor, I should value my money simply as a thing which might be\nuseful to him. But I know the daylight would often be a trial to me,\nbecause it would be something he could not share; and when evening\ncame, I should long to say: 'Let us put out the lights and shut away\nthe moonlight and sit together in the sweet soft darkness, which is\nmore uniting than the light.'\"\n\nWhile Jane was speaking, Garth paled as he listened, and his face grew\nstrangely set. Then, as if under a reaction of feeling, a boyish flush\nspread to the very roots of his hair. He visibly shrank from the voice\nwhich was saying these things to him. He fumbled with his right hand\nfor the orange cord which would guide him to his chair.\n\n\"Nurse Rosemary,\" he said, and at the tone of his voice Jane's\noutstretched arms dropped to her sides; \"it is kind of you to tell me\nall these beautiful thoughts which came to you in the darkness. But I\nhope the man who is happy enough to possess your love, or who is going\nto be fortunate enough to win it, will neither be so unhappy nor so\nunfortunate as to lose his sight. It will be better for him to live\nwith you in the light, than to be called upon to prove the kind way in\nwhich you would be willing to adapt yourself to his darkness. How about\nopening our letters?\" He slipped his hand along the orange cord and\nwalked over to his chair.\n\nThen, with a sense of unutterable dismay, Jane saw what she had done.\nShe had completely forgotten Nurse Rosemary, using her only as a means\nof awakening in Garth an understanding of how much her--Jane's--love\nmight mean to him in his blindness. She had forgotten that, to Garth,\nNurse Rosemary's was the only personality which counted in this\nconversation; she, who had just given him such a proof of her interest\nand devotion. And--O poor dear Garth! O bold, brazen Nurse\nRosemary!--he very naturally concluded she was making love to him. Jane\nfelt herself between Scylla and Charybdis, and she took a very prompt\nand characteristic plunge.\n\nShe came across to her place on the other side of the small table and\nsat down. \"I believe it was the thought of him made me realise this,\"\nshe said; \"but just now I and my young man have fallen out. He does not\neven know I am here.\"\n\nGarth unbent at once, and again that boyish heightening of colour\nindicated his sense of shame at what he had imagined.\n\n\"Ah, Miss Gray,\" he said eagerly, \"you will not think it impertinent or\nintrusive on my part, but do you know I have wondered sometimes whether\nthere was a happy man.\"\n\nNurse Rosemary laughed. \"Well, we can't call him a happy man just now,\"\nshe said, \"so far as his thoughts of me are concerned. My whole heart\nis his, if he could only be brought to believe it. But a\nmisunderstanding has grown up between us,--my fault entirely,--and he\nwill not allow me to put it right.\"\n\n\"What a fool!\" cried Garth. \"Are you and he engaged?\"\n\nNurse Rosemary hesitated. \"Well--not exactly engaged,\" she said,\n\"though it practically amounts to that. Neither of us would give a\nthought to any one else.\"\n\nGarth knew there was a class of people whose preliminary step to\nmarriage was called \"keeping company,\" a stage above the housemaid's\n\"walking out,\" both expressions being exactly descriptive of the\ncircumstances of the case; for, whereas pretty Phyllis and her swain go\nwalking out of an evening in byways and between hedges, or along\npavements and into the parks,--these keep each other company in the\nparlours and arbours of their respective friends and relations. Yet,\nsomehow, Garth had never thought of Nurse Rosemary as belonging to any\nother class than his own. Perhaps this ass of a fellow, whom he already\ncordially disliked, came of a lower stratum; or perhaps the rules of\nher nursing guild forbade a definite engagement, but allowed \"an\nunderstanding.\" Anyway the fact remained that the kind-hearted, clever,\ndelightful little lady, who had done so much for him, had \"a young man\"\nof her own; and this admitted fact lifted a weight from Garth's mind.\nHe had been so afraid lately of not being quite honest with her and\nwith himself. She had become so necessary to him, nay, so essential,\nand by her skill and devotion had won so deep a place in his gratitude.\nTheir relation was of so intimate a nature, their companionship so\nclose and continuous; and into this rather ideal state of things had\nheavily trodden Dr. Rob the other day with a suggestion. Garth, alone\nwith him, bad been explaining how indispensable Miss Gray had become to\nhis happiness and comfort, and how much he dreaded a recall from her\nmatron.\n\n\"I fear they do not let them go on indefinitely at one case; but\nperhaps Sir Deryck can arrange that this should be an exception,\" said\nGarth.\n\n\"Oh, hang the matron, and blow Sir Deryck,\" said Dr. Rob breezily. \"If\nyou want her as a permanency, make sure of her. Marry her, my boy! I'll\nwarrant she'd have you!\"\n\nThus trod Dr. Rob, with heavily nailed boots, upon the bare toes of a\ndelicate situation.\n\nGarth tried to put the suggestion out of his mind and failed. He began\nto notice thoughts and plans of Nurse Rosemary's for his benefit, which\nso far exceeded her professional duties that it seemed as if there must\nbe behind them the promptings of a more tender interest. He put the\nthought away again and again, calling Dr. Rob an old fool, and himself\na conceited ass. But again and again there came about him, with Nurse\nRosemary's presence, the subtile surrounding atmosphere of a watchful\nlove.\n\nThen, one night, he faced and fought a great temptation.\n\nAfter all why should he not do as Dr. Rob suggested? Why not marry this\ncharming, capable, devoted nurse, and have her constantly about him in\nhis blindness? SHE did not consider him \"a mere boy.\" ... What had he\nto offer her? A beautiful home, every luxury, abundant wealth, a\ncompanionship she seemed to find congenial ... But then the Tempter\noverreached himself, for he whispered: \"And the voice would be always\nJane's. You have never seen the nurse's face; you never will see it.\nYou can go on putting to the voice the face and form you adore. You can\nmarry the little nurse, and go on loving Jane.\" ... Then Garth cried\nout in horror: \"Avaunt, Satan!\" and the battle was won.\n\nBut it troubled his mind lest by any chance her peace of heart should\nbe disturbed through him. So it was with relief, and yet with an\nunreasonable smouldering jealousy, that he heard of the young man to\nwhom she was devoted. And now it appeared she was unhappy through her\nyoung man, just as he was unhappy through--no, because of--Jane.\n\nA sudden impulse came over him to do away forever with the thought\nwhich in his own mind had lately come between them, and to establish\ntheir intimacy on an even closer and firmer basis, by being absolutely\nfrank with her on the matter.\n\n\"Miss Gray,\" he said, leaning towards her with that delightful smile of\nboyish candour which many women had found irresistible, \"it is good of\nyou to have told me about yourself; and, although I confess to feeling\nunreasonably jealous of the fortunate fellow who possesses your whole\nheart, I am glad he exists, because we all miss something unless we\nhave in our lives the wonderful experience of the One Woman or the One\nMan. And I want to tell you something, dear sweet friend of mine, which\nclosely touches you and me; only, before I do so, put your hand in\nmine, that I may realise you in a closer intimacy than heretofore. You,\nwho have been in Sightless Land, know how much a hand clasp means down\nhere.\"\n\nGarth stretched his hand across the table, and his whole attitude was\ntense with expectation.\n\n\"I cannot do that, Mr. Dalmain,\" said Nurse Rosemary, in a voice which\nshook a little. \"I have burned my hands. Oh, not seriously. Do not look\nso distressed. Just a lighted match. Yes; while I was blind. Now tell\nme the thing which touches you and me.\"\n\nGarth withdrew his hand and clasped both around his knee. He leaned\nback in his chair, his face turned upwards. There was upon it an\nexpression so pure, the exaltation of a spirit so lifted above the\ntemptations of the lower nature, that Jane's eyes filled with tears as\nshe looked at him. She realised what his love for her, supplemented by\nthe discipline of suffering, had done for her lover.\n\nHe began to speak softly, not turning towards her. \"Tell me,\" he said,\n\"is he--very much to you?\"\n\nJane's eyes could not leave the dear face and figure in the chair.\nJane's emotion trembled in Nurse Rosemary's voice.\n\n\"He is all the world to me,\" she said.\n\n\"Does he love you as you deserve to be loved?\"\n\nJane bent and laid her lips on the table where his outstretched hand\nhad rested. Then Nurse Rosemary answered: \"He loved me far, FAR more\nthan I ever deserved.\"\n\n\"Why do you say 'loved'? Is not 'loves' the truer tense?\"\n\n\"Alas, no!\" said Nurse Rosemary, brokenly; \"for I fear I have lost his\nlove by my own mistrust of it and my own wrong-doing.\"\n\n\"Never!\" said Garth. \"'Love never faileth.' It may for a time appear to\nbe dead, even buried. But the Easter morn soon dawns, and lo, Love\nariseth! Love grieved, is like a bird with wet wings. It cannot fly; it\ncannot rise. It hops about upon the ground, chirping anxiously. But\nevery flutter shakes away more drops; every moment in the sunshine is\ndrying the tiny feathers; and very soon it soars to the tree top, all\nthe better for the bath, which seemed to have robbed it of the power to\nrise.\"\n\n\"Ah,--if my beloved could but dry his wings,\" murmured Nurse Rosemary.\n\"But I fear I did more than wet them. I clipped them. Worse still,--I\nbroke them.\"\n\n\"Does he know you feel yourself so in the wrong?\" Garth asked the\nquestion very gently.\n\n\"No,\" replied Nurse Rosemary. \"He will give me no chance to explain,\nand no opportunity to tell him how he wrongs himself and me by the view\nhe now takes of my conduct.\"\n\n\"Poor girl!\" said Garth in tones of sympathy and comprehension. \"My own\nexperience has been such a tragedy that I can feel for those whose\ncourse of true love does not run smooth. But take my advice, Miss Gray.\nWrite him a full confession. Keep nothing back. Tell him just how it\nall happened. Any man who truly loves would believe, accept your\nexplanation, and be thankful. Only, I hope he would not come tearing up\nhere and take you away from me!\"\n\nJane smiled through a mist of tears.\n\n\"If he wanted me, Mr. Dalmain, I should have to go to him,\" said Nurse\nRosemary.\n\n\"How I dread the day,\" continued Garth, \"when you will come and say to\nme: 'I have to go.' And, do you know, I have sometimes thought--you\nhave done so much for me and become so much to me--I have sometimes\nthought--I can tell you frankly now--it might have seemed as if there\nwere a very obvious way to try to keep you always. You are so immensely\nworthy of all a man could offer, of all the devotion a man could give.\nAnd because, to one so worthy, I never could have offered less than the\nbest, I want to tell you that in my heart I hold shrined forever one\nbeloved face. All others are gradually fading. Now, in my blindness, I\ncan hardly recall clearly the many lovely faces I have painted and\nadmired. All are more or less blurred and indistinct. But this one face\ngrows clearer, thank God, as the darkness deepens. It will be with me\nthrough life, I shall see it in death, THE FACE OF THE WOMAN I LOVE.\nYou said 'loved' of your lover, hesitating to be sure of his present\nstate of heart. I can neither say 'love' nor 'loved' of my beloved. She\nnever loved me. But I love her with a love which makes it impossible\nfor me to have any 'best' to offer to another woman. If I could bring\nmyself, from unworthy motives and selfish desires, to ask another to\nwed me, I should do her an untold wrong. For her unseen face would be\nnothing to me; always that one and only face would be shining in my\ndarkness. Her voice would be dear, only in so far as it reminded me of\nthe voice of the woman I love. Dear friend, if you ever pray for me,\npray that I may never be so base as to offer to any woman such a husk\nas marriage with me would mean.\"\n\n\"But--\" said Nurse Rosemary. \"She--she who has made it a husk for\nothers; she who might have the finest of the wheat, the full corn in\nthe ear, herself?\"\n\n\"She,\" said Garth, \"has refused it. It was neither fine enough nor full\nenough. It was not worthy. O my God, little girl--! What it means, to\nappear inadequate to the woman one loves!\"\n\nGarth dropped his face between his hands with a groan.\n\nSilence unbroken reigned in the library.\n\nSuddenly Garth began to speak, low and quickly, without lifting his\nhead.\n\n\"Now,\" he said, \"now I feel it, just as I told Brand, and never so\nclearly before, excepting once, when I was alone. Ah, Miss Gray! Don't\nmove! Don't stir! But look all round the room and tell me whether you\nsee anything. Look at the window. Look at the door. Lean forward and\nlook behind the screen. I cannot believe we are alone. I will not\nbelieve it. I am being deceived in my blindness. And yet--I am NOT\ndeceived. I am conscious of the presence of the woman I love. Her eyes\nare fixed upon me in pity, sorrow, and compassion. Her grief at my woe\nis so great that it almost enfolds me, as I had dreamed her love would\ndo ... O my God! She is so near--and it is so terrible, because I do\nnot wish her near. I would sooner a thousand miles were between us--and\nI am certain there are not many yards! ... Is it psychic? or is it\nactual? or am I going mad? ... Miss Gray! YOU would not lie to me. No\npersuasion or bribery or confounded chicanery could induce YOU to\ndeceive me on this point. Look around, for God's sake, and tell me! Are\nwe alone? And if not, WHO IS IN THE ROOM besides you and me?\"\n\nJane had been sitting with her arms folded upon the table, her yearning\neyes fixed upon Garth's bowed head. When he wished her a thousand miles\naway she buried her face upon them. She was so near him that had Garth\nstretched out his right hand again, it would have touched the heavy\ncoils of her soft hair. But Garth did not raise his head, and Jane\nstill sat with her face buried.\n\nThere was silence in the library for a few moments after Garth's\nquestion and appeal. Then Jane lifted her face.\n\n\"There is no one in the room, Mr. Dalmain,\" said Nurse Rosemary, \"but\nYOU--and ME.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVII\n\nTHE EYES GARTH TRUSTED\n\n\n\"So you enjoy motoring, Miss Gray?\"\n\nThey had been out in the motor together for the first time, and were\nnow having tea together in the library, also for the first time; and,\nfor the first time, Nurse Rosemary was pouring out for her patient.\nThis was only Monday afternoon, and already her week-end experience had\nwon for her many new privileges.\n\n\"Yes, I like it, Mr. Dalmain; particularly in this beautiful air.\"\n\n\"Have you had a case before in a house where they kept a motor?\"\n\nNurse Rosemary hesitated. \"Yes, I have stayed in houses where they had\nmotors, and I have been in Dr. Brand's. He met me at Charing Cross once\nwith his electric brougham.\"\n\n\"Ah, I know,\" said Garth. \"Very neat. On your way to a case, or\nreturning from a case?\"\n\nNurse Rosemary smiled, then bit her lip. \"To a case,\" she replied quite\ngravely. \"I was on my way to his house to talk it over and receive\ninstructions.\"\n\n\"It must be splendid working under such a fellow as Brand,\" said Garth;\n\"and yet I am certain most of the best things you do are quite your own\nidea. For instance, he did not suggest your week-end plan, did he? I\nthought not. Ah, the difference it has made! Now tell me. When we were\nmotoring we never slowed up suddenly to pass anything, or tooted to\nmake something move out of the way, without your having already told me\nwhat we were going to pass or what was in the road a little way ahead.\nIt was: 'We shall be passing a hay cart at the next bend; there will be\njust room, but we shall have to slow up'; or, 'An old red cow is in the\nvery middle of the road a little way on. I think she will move if we\nhoot.' Then, when the sudden slow down and swerve came, or the toot\ntoot of the horn, I knew all about it and was not taken unawares. Did\nyou know how trying it is in blindness to be speeding along and\nsuddenly alter pace without having any idea why, or swerve to one side,\nand not know what one has just been avoiding? This afternoon our spin\nwas pure pleasure, because not once did you let these things happen. I\nknew all that was taking place, as soon as I should have known it had I\nhad my sight.\"\n\nJane pressed her hand over her bosom. Ah, how able she was always to\nfill her boy's life with pure pleasure. How little of the needless\nsuffering of the blind should ever be his if she won the right to be\nbeside him always.\n\n\"Well, Mr. Dalmain,\" said Nurse Rosemary, \"I motored to the station\nwith Sir Deryck yesterday afternoon, and I noticed all you describe. I\nhave never before felt nervous in a motor, but I realised yesterday how\nlargely that is owing to the fact that all the time one keeps an\nunconscious look-out; measuring distances, judging speed, and knowing\nwhat each turn of the handle means. So when we go out you must let me\nbe eyes to you in this.\"\n\n\"How good you are!\" said Garth, gratefully. \"And did you see Sir Deryck\noff?\"\n\n\"No. I did not SEE Sir Deryck at all. But he said good-bye, and I felt\nthe kind, strong grip of his hand as he left me in the car. And I sat\nthere and heard his train start and rush away into the distance.\"\n\n\"Was it not hard to you to let him come and go and not to see his face?\"\n\nJane smiled. \"Yes, it was hard,\" said Nurse Rosemary; \"but I wished to\nexperience that hardness.\"\n\n\"It gives one an awful blank feeling, doesn't it?\" said Garth.\n\n\"Yes. It almost makes one wish the friend had not come.\"\n\n\"Ah--\" There was a depth of contented comprehension in Garth's sigh;\nand the brave heart, which had refused to lift the bandage to the very\nlast, felt more than recompensed.\n\n\"Next time I reach the Gulf of Partings in Sightless Land,\" continued\nGarth, \"I shall say: 'A dear friend has stood here for my sake.'\"\n\n\"Oh, and one's meals,\" said Nurse Rosemary laughing. \"Are they not\ngrotesquely trying?\"\n\n\"Yes, of course; I had forgotten you would understand all that now. I\nnever could explain to you before why I must have my meals alone. You\nknow the hunt and chase?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Nurse Rosemary, \"and it usually resolves itself into 'gone\naway,' and turns up afterwards unexpectedly! But, Mr. Dalmain, I have\nthought out several ways of helping so much in that and making it all\nquite easy. If you will consent to have your meals with me at a small\ntable, you will see how smoothly all will work. And later on, if I am\nstill here, when you begin to have visitors, you must let me sit at\nyour left, and all my little ways of helping would be so unobtrusive,\nthat no one would notice.\"\n\n\"Oh, thanks,\" said Garth. \"I am immensely grateful. I have often been\nreminded of a silly game we used to play at Overdene, at dessert, when\nwe were a specially gay party. Do you know the old Duchess of Meldrum?\nOr anyway, you may have heard of her? Ah, yes, of course, Sir Deryck\nknows her. She called him in once to her macaw. She did not mention the\nmacaw on the telephone, and Sir Deryck, thinking he was wanted for the\nduchess, threw up an important engagement and went immediately. Luckily\nshe was at her town house. She would have sent just the same had she\nbeen at Overdene. I wish you knew Overdene. The duchess gives perfectly\ndelightful 'best parties,' in which all the people who really enjoy\nmeeting one another find themselves together, and are well fed and well\nhoused and well mounted, and do exactly as they like; while the dear\nold duchess tramps in and out, with her queer beasts and birds,\nshedding a kindly and exciting influence wherever she goes. Last time I\nwas there she used to let out six Egyptian jerboas in the drawing-room\nevery evening after dinner, awfully jolly little beggars, like\nminiature kangaroos. They used to go skipping about on their hind legs,\nfrightening some of the women into fits by hiding under their gowns,\nand making young footmen drop trays of coffee cups. The last\nimportation is a toucan,--a South American bird, with a beak like a\nbanana, and a voice like an old sheep in despair. But Tommy, the\nscarlet macaw, remains prime favourite, and I must say he is clever and\nknows more than you would think.\"\n\n\"Well, at Overdene we used to play a silly game at dessert with\nmuscatels. We each put five raisins at intervals round our plates, then\nwe shut our eyes and made jabs at them with forks. Whoever succeeded\nfirst in spiking and eating all five was the winner. The duchess never\nwould play. She enjoyed being umpire, and screaming at the people who\npeeped. Miss Champion and I--she is the duchess's niece, you\nknow--always played fair, and we nearly always made a dead heat of it.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Nurse Rosemary, \"I know that game. I thought of it at once\nwhen I had my blindfold meals.\"\n\n\"Ah,\" cried Garth, \"had I known, I would not have let you do it!\"\n\n\"I knew that,\" said Nurse Rosemary. \"That was why I week-ended.\"\n\nGarth passed his cup to be refilled, and leaned forward confidentially.\n\n\"Now,\" he said, \"I can venture to tell you one of my minor trials. I am\nalways so awfully afraid of there being a FLY in things. Ever since I\nwas a small boy I have had such a horror of inadvertently eating flies.\nWhen I was about six, I heard a lady visitor say to my mother: 'Oh, one\nHAS to swallow a fly--about once a year! I have just swallowed mine, on\nthe way here!' This terrible idea of an annual fly took possession of\nmy small mind. I used to be thankful when it happened, and I got it\nover. I remember quickly finishing a bit of bread in which I had seen\nsigns of legs and wings, feeling it was an easy way of taking it and I\nshould thus be exempt for twelve glad months; but I had to run up and\ndown the terrace with clenched hands while I swallowed it. And when I\ndiscovered the fallacy of the annual fly, I was just as particular in\nmy dread of an accidental one. I don't believe I ever sat down to\nsardines on toast at a restaurant without looking under the toast for\nmy bugbear, though as I lifted it I felt rather like the old woman who\nalways looks under the bed for a burglar. Ah, but since the accident\nthis foolishly small thing HAS made me suffer! I cannot say: 'Simpson,\nare you sure there is not a fly in this soup?' Simpson would say:\n'No--sir; no fly--sir,' and would cough behind his hand, and I could\nnever ask him again.\"\n\nNurse Rosemary leaned forward and placed his cup where he could reach\nit easily, just touching his right hand with the edge of the saucer.\n\"Have all your meals with me,\" she said, in a tone of such complete\nunderstanding, that it was almost a caress; \"and I can promise there\nshall never be any flies in anything. Could you not trust my eyes for\nthis?\"\n\nAnd Garth replied, with a happy, grateful smile: \"I could trust your\nkind and faithful eyes for anything. Ah! and that reminds me: I want to\nintrust to them a task I could confide to no one else. Is it twilight\nyet, Miss Gray, or is an hour of daylight left to us?\"\n\nNurse Rosemary glanced out of the window and looked at her watch. \"We\nordered tea early,\" she said, \"because we came in from our drive quite\nhungry. It is not five o'clock yet, and a radiant afternoon. The sun\nsets at half-past seven.\"\n\n\"Then the light is good,\" said Garth. \"Have you finished tea? The sun\nwill be shining in at the west window of the studio. You know my studio\nat the top of the house? You fetched the studies of Lady Brand from\nthere. I dare say you noticed stacks of canvases in the corners. Some\nare unused; some contain mere sketches or studies; some are finished\npictures. Miss Gray, among the latter are two which I am most anxious\nto identify and to destroy. I made Simpson guide me up the other day\nand leave me there alone. And I tried to find them by touch; but I\ncould not be sure, and I soon grew hopelessly confused amongst all the\ncanvases. I did not wish to ask Simpson's help, because the subjects,\nare--well, somewhat unusual, and if he found out I had destroyed them\nit might set him wondering and talking, and one hates to awaken\ncuriosity in a servant. I could not fall back on Sir Deryck because he\nwould have recognised the portraits. The principal figure is known to\nhim. When I painted those pictures I never dreamed of any eye but my\nown seeing them. So you, my dear and trusted secretary, are the one\nperson to whom I can turn. Will you do what I ask? And will you do it\nnow?\"\n\nNurse Rosemary pushed back her chair. \"Why of course, Mr. Dalmain. I am\nhere to do anything and everything you may desire; and to do it when\nyou desire it.\"\n\nGarth took a key from his waistcoat pocket, and laid it on the table.\n\"There is the studio latch-key. I think the canvases I want are in the\ncorner furthest from the door, behind a yellow Japanese screen. They\nare large--five feet by three and a half. If they are too cumbersome\nfor you to bring down, lay them face to face, and ring for Simpson. But\ndo not leave him alone with them.\"\n\nNurse Rosemary picked up the key, rose, and went over to the piano,\nwhich she opened. Then she tightened the purple cord, which guided\nGarth from his chair to the instrument.\n\n\"Sit and play,\" she said, \"while I am upstairs, doing your commission.\nBut just tell me one thing. You know how greatly your work interests\nme. When I find the pictures, is it your wish that I give them a mere\ncursory glance, just sufficient for identification; or may I look at\nthem, in the beautiful studio light? You can trust me to do whichever\nyou desire.\"\n\nThe artist in Garth could not resist the wish to have his work seen and\nappreciated. \"You may look at them of course, if you wish,\" he sail.\n\"They are quite the best work I ever did, though I painted them wholly\nfrom memory. That is--I mean, that used to be--a knack of mine. And\nthey are in no sense imaginary. I painted exactly what I saw--at least,\nso far as the female face and figure are concerned. And they make the\npictures. The others are mere accessories.\" He stood up, and went to\nthe piano. His fingers began to stray softly amongst the harmonies of\nthe Veni.\n\nNurse Rosemary moved towards the door. \"How shall I know them?\" she\nasked, and waited.\n\nThe chords of the Veni hushed to a murmur, Garth's voice from the piano\ncame clear and distinct, but blending with the harmonies as if he were\nreciting to music.\n\n\"A woman and a man ... alone, in a garden--but the surroundings are\nonly indicated. She is in evening dress; soft, black, and trailing;\nwith lace at her breast. It is called: 'The Wife.'\"\n\n\"Yes?\"\n\n\"The same woman; the same scene; but without the man, this time. No\nneed to paint the man; for now--visible or invisible--to her, he is\nalways there. In her arms she holds\"--the low murmur of chords ceased;\nthere was perfect silence in the room-\"a little child. It is called:\n'The Mother.'\"\n\nThe Veni burst forth in an unrestrained upbearing of confident petition:\n\n\"Keep far our foes; give peace at home\"--and the door closed behind\nNurse Rosemary.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVIII\n\nIN THE STUDIO\n\n\nJane mounted to the studio; unlocked the door, and, entering, closed it\nafter her.\n\nThe evening sun shone through a western window, imparting an added\nrichness to the silk screens and hangings; the mauve wistaria of a\nJapanese embroidery; or the golden dragon of China on a deep purple\nground, wound up in its own interminable tail, and showing rampant\nclaws in unexpected places.\n\nSeveral times already Jane had been into Garth's studio, but always to\nfetch something for which he waited eagerly below; and she had never\nfelt free to linger. Margery had a duplicate key; for she herself went\nup every day to open the windows, dust tenderly all special treasures;\nand keep it exactly as its owner had liked it kept, when his quick eyes\ncould look around it. But this key was always on Margery's bunch; and\nJane did not like to ask admission, and risk a possible refusal.\n\nNow, however, she could take her own time; and she seated herself in\none of the low and very deep wicker lounge-chairs, comfortably\nupholstered; so exactly fitting her proportions, and supporting arms,\nknees, and head, just rightly, that it seemed as if all other chairs\nwould in future appear inadequate, owing to the absolute perfection of\nthis one. Ah, to be just that to her beloved! To so fully meet his\nneed, at every point, that her presence should be to him always a\nsource of strength, and rest, and consolation.\n\nShe looked around the room. It was so like Garth; every detail perfect;\nevery shade of colour enhancing another, and being enhanced by it. The\narrangements for regulating the light, both from roof and windows; the\neasels of all kinds and sizes; clean bareness, where space, and freedom\nfrom dust, were required; the luxurious comfort round the fireplace,\nand in nooks and corners; all were so perfect. And the plain brown\nwall-paper, of that beautiful quiet shade which has in it no red, and\nno yellow; a clear nut-brown. On an easel near the further window stood\nan unfinished painting; palette and brushes beside it, just as Garth\nhad left them when he went out on that morning, nearly three months\nago; and, vaulting over a gate to protect a little animal from\nunnecessary pain, was plunged himself into such utter loss and anguish.\n\nJane rose, and took stock of all his quaint treasures on the\nmantelpiece. Especially her mind was held and fascinated by a stout\nlittle bear in brass, sitting solidly yet jauntily on its haunches, its\nfront paws clasping a brazen pole; its head turned sideways; its small,\nbeady, eyes, looking straight before it. The chain, from its neck to\nthe pole denoted captivity and possible fierceness. Jane had no doubt\nits head would lift, and its body prove a receptacle for matches; but\nshe felt equally certain that, should she lift its head and look, no\nmatches would be within it. This little bear was unmistakably Early\nVictorian; a friend of childhood's days; and would not be put to common\nuses. She lifted the head. The body was empty. She replaced it gently\non the mantelpiece, and realised that she was deliberately postponing\nan ordeal which must be faced.\n\nDeryck had told her of Garth's pictures of the One Woman. Garth,\nhimself, had now told her even more. But the time had come when she\nmust see them for herself. It was useless to postpone the moment. She\nlooked towards the yellow screen.\n\nThen she walked, over to the western window, and threw it wide open.\nThe sun was dipping gently towards the purple hills. The deep blue of\nthe sky began to pale, as a hint of lovely rose crept into it. Jane\nlooked heavenward and, thrusting her hands deeply into her pockets,\nspoke aloud. \"Before God\" she said,--\"in case I am never able to say or\nthink it again, I will say it now--I BELIEVE I WAS RIGHT. I considered\nGarth's future happiness, and I considered my own. I decided as I did\nfor both our sakes, at terrible cost to present joy. But, before God, I\nbelieved I was right; and--I BELIEVE IT STILL.\"\n\nJane never said it again.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIX\n\nJANE LOOKS INTO LOVE'S MIRROR\n\n\nBehind the yellow screen, Jane found a great confusion of canvases, and\nunmistakable evidence of the blind hands which had groped about in a\nvain search, and then made fruitless endeavours to sort and rearrange.\nVery tenderly, Jane picked up each canvas from the fallen heap; turning\nit the right way up, and standing it with its face to the wall.\nBeautiful work, was there; some of it finished; some, incomplete. One\nor two faces she knew, looked out at her in their pictured loveliness.\nBut the canvases she sought were not there.\n\nShe straightened herself, and looked around. In a further corner,\npartly concealed by a Cairo screen, stood another pile. Jane went to\nthem.\n\nAlmost immediately she found the two she wanted; larger than the rest,\nand distinguishable at a glance by the soft black gown of the central\nfigure.\n\nWithout giving them more than a passing look, she carried them over to\nthe western window, and placed them in a good light. Then she drew up\nthe chair in which she had been sitting; took the little brass bear in\nher left hand, as a talisman to help her through what lay before her;\nturned the second picture with its face to the easel; and sat down to\nthe quiet contemplation of the first.\n\nThe noble figure of a woman, nobly painted, was the first impression\nwhich leapt from eye to brain. Yes, nobility came first, in stately\npose, in uplifted brow, in breadth of dignity. Then--as you marked the\ngrandly massive figure, too well-proportioned to be cumbersome, but\nlarge and full, and amply developed; the length of limb; the firmly\nplanted feet; the large capable hands,--you realised the second\nimpression conveyed by the picture, to be strength;--strength to do;\nstrength to be; strength to continue. Then you looked into the face.\nAnd there you were confronted with a great surprise. The third thought\nexpressed by the picture was Love--love, of the highest, holiest, most\nideal, kind; yet, withal, of the most tenderly human order; and you\nfound it in that face.\n\nIt was a large face, well proportioned to the figure. It had no\npretensions whatever to ordinary beauty. The features were good; there\nwas not an ugly line about them; and yet, each one just missed the\nbeautiful; and the general effect was of a good-looking plainness;\nunadorned, unconcealed, and unashamed. But the longer you looked, the\nmore desirable grew the face; the less you noticed its negations; the\nmore you admired its honesty, its purity, its immense strength of\npurpose; its noble simplicity. You took in all these outward details;\nyou looked away for a moment, to consider them; you looked back to\nverify them; and then the miracle happened. Into the face had stolen\nthe \"light that never was on sea or land.\" It shone from the quiet grey\neyes,--as, over the head of the man who knelt before her, they looked\nout of the picture--with an expression of the sublime surrender of a\nwoman's whole soul to an emotion which, though it sways and masters\nher, yet gives her the power to be more truly herself than ever before.\nThe startled joy in them; the marvel at a mystery not yet understood;\nthe passionate tenderness; and yet the almost divine compassion for the\nunrestrained violence of feeling, which had flung the man to his knees,\nand driven him to the haven of her breast; the yearning to soothe, and\ngive, and content;--all these were blended into a look of such\nexquisite sweetness, that it brought tears to the eyes of the beholder.\n\nThe woman was seated on a broad marble parapet. She looked straight\nbefore her. Her knees came well forward, and the long curve of the\ntrain of her black gown filled the foreground on the right. On the\nleft, slightly to one side of her, knelt a man, a tall slight figure in\nevening dress, his arms thrown forward around her waist; his face\ncompletely hidden in the soft lace at her bosom; only the back of his\nsleek dark head, visible. And yet the whole figure denoted a passion of\ntense emotion. She had gathered him to her with what you knew must have\nbeen an exquisite gesture, combining the utter self-surrender of the\nwoman, with the tender throb of maternal solicitude; and now her hands\nwere clasped behind his head, holding him closely to her. Not a word\nwas being spoken. The hidden face was obviously silent; and her firm\nlips above his dark head were folded in a line of calm self-control;\nthough about them hovered the dawning of a smile of bliss ineffable.\n\nA crimson rambler rose climbing some woodwork faintly indicated on the\nleft, and hanging in a glowing mass from the top left-hand corner,\nsupplied the only vivid colour in the picture.\n\nBut, from taking in these minor details, the eye returned to that calm\ntender face, alight with love; to those strong capable hands, now\nlearning for the first time to put forth the protective passion of a\nwoman's tenderness; and the mind whispered the only possible name for\nthat picture: The Wife.\n\nJane gazed at it long, in silence. Had Garth's little bear been\nanything less solid than Early Victorian brass; it must have bent and\nbroken under the strong pressure of those clenched hands.\n\nShe could not doubt, for a moment, that she looked upon herself; but,\noh, merciful heavens! how unlike the reflected self of her own mirror!\nOnce or twice as she looked, her mind refused to work, and she simply\ngazed blankly at the minor details of the picture. But then again, the\nexpression of the grey eyes drew her, recalling so vividly every\nfeeling she had experienced when that dear head had come so\nunexpectedly to its resting-place upon her bosom. \"It is true,\" she\nwhispered; and again: \"Yes; it is true. I cannot deny it. It is as I\nfelt; it must be as I looked.\"\n\nAnd then, suddenly; she fell upon her knees before the picture. \"Oh, my\nGod! Is that as I looked? And the next thing that happened was my boy\nlifting his shining eyes and gazing at me in the moonlight. Is THIS\nwhat he saw? Did I look SO? And did the woman who looked so; and who,\nlooking so, pressed his head down again upon her breast, refuse next\nday to marry him, on the grounds of his youth, and her superiority?...\nOh, Garth, Garth! ... O God, help him to understand! ... help him\nto forgive me!\"\n\nIn the work-room just below, Maggie the housemaid was singing as she\nsewed. The sound floated through the open window, each syllable\ndistinct in the clear Scotch voice, and reached Jane where she knelt.\nHer mind, stunned to blankness by its pain, took eager hold upon the\nwords of Maggie's hymn. And they were these.\n\n \"O Love, that will not let me go,\n I rest my weary soul in Thee;\n I give Thee back the life I owe,\n That in Thine ocean depths its flow\n May richer, fuller be.\"\n\n \"O Light, that followest all my way,\n I yield my flick'ring torch to Thee;\n My heart restores its borrowed ray,\n That in Thy sunshine's blaze its day\n May brighter, fairer be.\"\n\nJane took the second picture, and placed it in front of the first.\n\nThe same woman, seated as before; but the man was not there; and in her\narms, its tiny dark head pillowed against the fulness of her breast,\nlay a little child. The woman did not look over that small head, but\nbent above it, and gazed into the baby face.\n\nThe crimson rambler had grown right across the picture, and formed a\nglowing arch above mother and child. A majesty of tenderness was in the\nlarge figure of the mother. The face, as regarded contour and features,\nwas no less plain; but again it was transfigured, by the mother-love\nthereon depicted. You knew \"The Wife\" had more than fulfilled her\nabundant promise. The wife was there in fullest realisation; and, added\nto wifehood, the wonder of motherhood. All mysteries were explained;\nall joys experienced; and the smile on her calm lips, bespoke ineffable\ncontent.\n\nA rambler rose had burst above them, and fallen in a shower of crimson\npetals upon mother and child. The baby-fingers clasped tightly the soft\nlace at her bosom. A petal had fallen upon the tiny wrist. She had\nlifted her hand to remove it; and, catching the baby-eyes, so dark and\nshining, paused for a moment, and smiled.\n\nJane, watching them, fell to desperate weeping. The \"mere boy\" had\nunderstood her potential possibilities of motherhood far better than\nshe understood them herself. Having had one glimpse of her as \"The\nWife,\" his mind had leaped on, and seen her as \"The Mother.\" And again\nshe was forced to say: \"It is true--yes; it is true.\"\n\nAnd then she recalled the old line of cruel reasoning:\n\n\"It was not the sort of face one would have wanted to see always in\nfront of one at table.\" Was this the sort of face--this, as Garth had\npainted it, after a supposed year of marriage? Would any man weary of\nit, or wish to turn away his eyes?\n\nJane took one more long look. Then she dropped the little bear, and\nburied her face in her hands; while a hot blush crept up to the very\nroots of her hair, and tingled to her finger-tips.\n\nBelow, the fresh young voice was singing again.\n\n \"O Joy, that seekest me through pain,\n I cannot close my heart to Thee;\n I trace the rainbow through the rain,\n And feel the promise is not vain\n That morn shall tearless be.\"\n\nAfter a while Jane whispered: \"Oh, my darling, forgive me. I was\naltogether wrong. I will confess; and, God helping me, I will explain;\nand, oh, my darling, you will forgive me?\"\n\nOnce more she lifted her head and looked at the picture. A few stray\npetals of the crimson rambler lay upon the ground; reminding her of\nthose crushed roses, which, falling from her breast, lay scattered on\nthe terrace at Shenstone, emblem of the joyous hopes and glory of love\nwhich her decision of that night had laid in the dust of disillusion.\nBut crowning this picture, in rich clusters of abundant bloom, grew the\nrambler rose. And through the open window came the final verse of\nMaggie's hymn.\n\n \"O Cross, that liftest up my head,\n I dare not ask to fly from Thee;\n I lay in dust life's glory dead,\n And from the ground there blossoms red\n Life that shall endless be.\"\n\nJane went to the western window, and stood, with her arms stretched\nabove her, looking out upon the radiance of the sunset. The sky blazed\ninto gold and crimson at the horizon; gradually as the eye lifted,\npaling to primrose, flecked with rosy clouds; and, overhead, deep\nblue--fathomless, boundless, blue.\n\nJane gazed at the golden battlements above the purple hills, and\nrepeated, half aloud: \"And the city was of pure gold;--and had no need\nof the sun, neither of the moon to shine in it: for the glory of God\ndid lighten it. And there shall be no more death; neither sorrow, nor\ncrying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are\npassed away.\"\n\nAh, how much had passed away since she stood at that western window,\nnot an hour before. All life seemed readjusted; its outlook altered;\nits perspective changed. Truly Garth had \"gone behind his blindness.\"\n\nJane raised her eyes to the blue; and a smile of unspeakable\nanticipation parted her lips. \"Life, that shall endless be,\" she\nmurmured. Then, turning, found the little bear, and restored him to his\nplace upon the mantelpiece; put back the chair; closed the western\nwindow; and, picking up the two canvases, left the studio, and made her\nway carefully downstairs.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXX\n\n\"THE LADY PORTRAYED\"\n\n\n\"It has taken you long, Miss Gray. I nearly sent Simpson up, to find\nout what had happened.\"\n\n\"I am glad you did not do that, Mr. Dalmain. Simpson would have found\nme weeping on the studio floor; and to ask his assistance under those\ncircumstances, would have been more humbling than inquiring after the\nfly in the soup!\"\n\nGarth turned quickly in his chair. The artist-ear had caught the tone\nwhich meant comprehension of his work.\n\n\"Weeping!\" he said. \"Why?\"\n\n\"Because,\" answered Nurse Rosemary, \"I have been entranced. These\npictures are so exquisite. They stir one's deepest depths. And yet they\nare so pathetic--ah, SO pathetic; because you have made a plain woman,\nbeautiful.\"\n\nGarth rose to his feet, and turned upon her a face which would have\nblazed, had it not been sightless.\n\n\"A WHAT?\" he exclaimed.\n\n\"A plain woman,\" repeated Nurse Rosemary, quietly. \"Surely you realised\nyour model to be that. And therein lies the wonder of the pictures. You\nhave so beautified her by wifehood, and glorified her by motherhood,\nthat the longer one looks the more one forgets her plainness; seeing\nher as loving and loved; lovable, and therefore lovely. It is a triumph\nof art.\"\n\nGarth sat down, his hands clasped before him.\n\n\"It is a triumph of truth,\" he said. \"I painted what I saw.\"\n\n\"You painted her soul,\" said Nurse Rosemary, \"and it illuminated her\nplain face.\"\n\n\"I SAW her soul,\" said Garth, almost in a whisper; \"and that vision was\nso radiant that it illumined my dark life. The remembrance lightens my\ndarkness, even now.\"\n\nA very tender silence fell in the library.\n\nThe twilight deepened.\n\nThen Nurse Rosemary spoke, very low. \"Mr. Dalmain, I have a request to\nmake of you. I want to beg you not to destroy these pictures.\"\n\nGarth lifted his head. \"I must destroy them, child,\" he said. \"I cannot\nrisk their being seen by people who would recognise my--the--the lady\nportrayed.\"\n\n\"At all events, there is one person who must see them, before they are\ndestroyed.\"\n\n\"And that is?\" queried Garth.\n\n\"The lady portrayed,\" said Nurse Rosemary, bravely.\n\n\"How do you know she has not seen them?\"\n\n\"Has she?\" inquired Nurse Rosemary.\n\n\"No,\" said Garth, shortly; \"and she never will.\"\n\n\"She must.\"\n\nSomething in the tone of quiet insistence struck Garth.\n\n\"Why?\" he asked; and listened with interest for the answer.\n\n\"Because of all it would mean to a woman who knows herself plain, to\nsee herself thus beautified.\"\n\nGarth sat very still for a few moments. Then: \"A woman\nwho--knows--herself--plain?\" he repeated, with interrogative amazement\nin his voice.\n\n\"Yes,\" proceeded Nurse Rosemary, encouraged. \"Do you suppose, for a\nmoment, that that lady's mirror has ever shown her a reflection in any\nway approaching what you have made her in these pictures? When we stand\nbefore our looking-glasses, Mr. Dalmain, scowling anxiously at hats and\nbows, and partings, we usually look our very worst; and that lady, at\nher very worst, would be of a most discouraging plainness.\"\n\nGarth sat perfectly silent.\n\n\"Depend upon it,\" continued Nurse Rosemary, \"she never sees herself as\n'The Wife'--'The Mother.' Is she a wife?\".\n\nGarth hesitated only the fraction of a second. \"Yes,\" he said, very\nquietly.\n\nJane's hands flew to her breast. Her heart must be held down, or he\nwould hear it throbbing.\n\nNurse Rosemary's voice had in it only a slight tremor, when she spoke\nagain.\n\n\"Is she a mother?\"\n\n\"No,\" said Garth. \"I painted what might have been.\"\n\n\"If--?\"\n\n\"If it HAD been,\" replied Garth, curtly.\n\nNurse Rosemary felt rebuked. \"Dear Mr. Dalmain,\" she said, humbly; \"I\nrealise how officious I must seem to you, with all these questions, and\nsuggestions. But you must blame the hold these wonderful paintings of\nyours have taken on my mind. Oh, they are beautiful--beautiful!\"\n\n\"Ah,\" said Garth, the keen pleasure of the artist springing up once\nmore. \"Miss Gray, I have somewhat forgotten them. Have you them here?\nThat is right. Put them up before you, and describe them to me. Let me\nhear how they struck you, as pictures.\" Jane rose, and went to the\nwindow. She threw it open; and as she breathed in the fresh air,\nbreathed out a passionate prayer that her nerve, her voice, her\nself-control might not fail her, in this critical hour. She herself had\nbeen convicted by Garth's pictures. Now she must convince Garth, by her\ndescription of them. He must be made to believe in the love he had\ndepicted.\n\nThen Nurse Rosemary sat down; and, in the gentle, unemotional voice,\nwhich was quite her own, described to the eager ears of the blind\nartist, exactly what Jane had seen in the studio.\n\nIt was perfectly done. It was mercilessly done. All the desperate,\nhopeless, hunger for Jane, awoke in Garth; the maddening knowledge that\nshe had been his, and yet not his; that, had he pressed for her answer\nthat evening, it could not have been a refusal; that the cold\ncalculations of later hours, had no place in those moments of ecstasy.\nYet--he lost her--lost her! Why? Ah, why? Was there any possible reason\nother than the one she gave?\n\nNurse Rosemary's quiet voice went on, regardless of his writhings. But\nshe was drawing to a close. \"And it is such a beautiful crimson\nrambler, Mr. Dalmain,\" she said. \"I like the idea of its being small\nand in bud, in the first picture; and blooming in full glory, in the\nsecond.\"\n\nGarth pulled himself together and smiled. He must not give way before\nthis girl.\n\n\"Yes,\" he said; \"I am glad you noticed that. And, look here. We will\nnot destroy them at once. Now they are found, there is no hurry. I am\nafraid I am giving you a lot of trouble; but will you ask for some\nlarge sheets of brown paper, and make a package, and write upon it:\n'Not to be opened,' and tell Margery to put them back in the studio.\nThen, when I want them, at any time, I shall have no difficulty in\nidentifying them.\"\n\n\"I am so glad,\" said Nurse Rosemary. \"Then perhaps the plain lady--\"\n\n\"I cannot have her spoken of so,\" said Garth, hotly. \"I do not know\nwhat she thought of herself--I doubt if she ever gave a thought to self\nat all. I do not know what you would have thought of her. I can only\ntell you that, to me, hers is the one face which is visible in my\ndarkness. All the loveliness I have painted, all the beauty I have\nadmired, fades from my mental vision, as wreaths of mist; flutters from\nmemory's sight, as autumn leaves. Her face alone abides; calm, holy,\ntender, beautiful,--it is always before me. And it pains me that one\nwho has only seen her as MY hand depicted her should speak of her as\nplain.\"\n\n\"Forgive me,\" said Nurse Rosemary, humbly. \"I did not mean to pain you,\nsir. And, to show you what your pictures have done for me, may I tell\nyou a resolution I made in the studio? I cannot miss what they\ndepict--the sweetest joys of life--for want of the courage to confess\nmyself wrong; pocket my pride; and be frank and humble. I am going to\nwrite a full confession to my young man, as to my share of the\nmisunderstanding which has parted us. Do you think he will understand?\nDo you think he will forgive?\"\n\nGarth smiled. He tried to call up an image of a pretty troubled face,\nframed in a fluffy setting of soft fair hair. It harmonised so little\nwith the voice; but it undoubtedly was Nurse Rosemary Gray, as others\nsaw her.\n\n\"He will be a brute if he doesn't, child,\" he said.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXI\n\nIN LIGHTER VEIN\n\n\nDinner that evening, the first at their small round table, was a great\nsuccess. Nurse Rosemary's plans all worked well; and Garth delighted in\narrangements which made him feel less helpless.\n\nThe strain of the afternoon brought its reaction of merriment. A little\njudicious questioning drew forth further stories of the duchess and her\npets; and Miss Champion's name came in with a frequency which they both\nenjoyed.\n\nIt was a curious experience for Jane, to hear herself described in\nGarth's vivid word-painting. Until that fatal evening at Shenstone, she\nhad been remarkably free from self-consciousness; and she had no idea\nthat she had a way of looking straight into people's eyes when she\ntalked to them, and that that was what muddled up \"the silly little\nminds of women who say they are afraid of her, and that she makes them\nnervous! You see she looks right into their shallow shuffling little\nsouls, full of conceited thoughts about themselves, and nasty\nill-natured thoughts about her; and no wonder they grow panic-stricken,\nand flee; and talk of her as 'that formidable Miss Champion.' I never\nfound her formidable; but, when I had the chance of a real talk with\nher, I used to be thankful I had nothing of which to be ashamed. Those\nclear eyes touched bottom every time, as our kindred over the water so\nexpressively put it.\"\n\nNeither had Jane any idea that she always talked with a poker, if\npossible; building up the fire while she built up her own argument; or\nattacking it vigorously, while she demolished her opponent's; that she\nstirred the fire with her toe, but her very smart boots never seemed\nany the worse; that when pondering a difficult problem, she usually\nstood holding her chin in her right hand, until she had found the\nsolution. All these small characteristics Garth described with vivid\ntouch, and dwelt upon with a tenacity of remembrance, which astonished\nJane, and revealed him, in his relation to herself three years before,\nin a new light.\n\nHis love for her had been so suddenly disclosed, and had at once had to\nbe considered as a thing to be either accepted or put away; so that\nwhen she decided to put it away, it seemed not to have had time to\nbecome in any sense part of her life. She had viewed it; realised all\nit might have meant; and put it from her.\n\nBut now she understood how different it had been for Garth. During the\nweek which preceded his declaration, he had realised, to the full, the\nmeaning of their growing intimacy; and, as his certainty increased, he\nhad more and more woven her into his life; his vivid imagination\ncausing her to appear as his beloved from the first; loved and wanted,\nwhen as yet they were merely acquaintances; kindred spirits; friends.\n\nTo find herself thus shrined in his heart and memory was infinitely\ntouching to Jane; and seemed to promise, with sweet certainty, that it\nwould not be difficult to come home there to abide, when once all\nbarriers between them were removed.\n\nAfter dinner, Garth sat long at the piano, filling the room with\nharmony. Once or twice the theme of The Rosary crept in, and Jane\nlistened anxiously for its development; but almost immediately it gave\nway to something else. It seemed rather to haunt the other melodies,\nthan to be actually there itself.\n\nWhen Garth left the piano, and, guided by the purple cord, reached his\nchair, Nurse Rosemary said gently \"Mr. Dalmain, can you spare me for a\nfew days at the end of this week?\"\n\n\"Oh, why?\" said Garth. \"To go where? And for how long? Ah, I know I\nought to say: 'Certainly! Delighted!' after all your goodness to me.\nBut I really cannot! You don't know what life was without you, when you\nweek-ended! That week-end seemed months, even though Brand was here. It\nis your own fault for making yourself so indispensable.\"\n\nNurse Rosemary smiled. \"I daresay I shall not be away for long,\" she\nsaid. \"That is, if you want me, I can return. But, Mr. Dalmain, I\nintend to-night to write that letter of which I told you. I shall post\nit to-morrow. I must follow it up almost immediately. I must be with\nhim when he receives it, or soon afterwards. I think--I hope--he will\nwant me at once. This is Monday. May I go on Thursday?\"\n\nPoor Garth looked blankly dismayed.\n\n\"Do nurses, as a rule, leave their patients, and rush off to their\nyoung men in order to find out how they have liked their letters?\" he\ninquired, in mock protest.\n\n\"Not as a rule, sir,\" replied Nurse Rosemary, demurely. \"But this is an\nexceptional case.\"\n\n\"I shall wire to Brand.\"\n\n\"He will send you a more efficient and more dependable person.\"\n\n\"Oh you wicked little thing!\" cried Garth. \"If Miss Champion were here,\nshe would shake you! You, know perfectly well that nobody could fill\nyour place!\"\n\n\"It is good of you to say so, sir,\" replied Nurse Rosemary, meekly.\n\"And is Miss Champion much addicted to shaking people?\"\n\n\n\n\"Don't call me 'sir'! Yes; when people are tiresome she often says she\nwould like to shake them; and one has a mental vision of how their\nteeth would chatter. There is a certain little lady of our acquaintance\nwhom we always call 'Mrs. Do-and-don't.' She isn't in our set; but she\ncalls upon it; and sometimes it asks her to lunch, for fun. If you\ninquire whether she likes a thing, she says: 'Well, I do, and I don't.'\nIf you ask whether she is going to a certain function, she says: 'Well,\nI am, and I'm not.' And if you send her a note, imploring a straight\nanswer to a direct question, the answer comes back: 'Yes AND no.' Miss\nChampion used to say she would like to take her up by the scruff of her\nfeather boa, and shake her, asking at intervals: 'Shall I stop?' so as\nto wring from Mrs. Do-and-don't a definite affirmative, for once.\"\n\n\"Could Miss Champion carry out such a threat? Is she a very massive\nperson?\"\n\n\"Well, she could, you know; but she wouldn't. She is most awfully kind,\neven to little freaks she laughs at. No, she isn't massive. That word\ndoes not describe her at all. But she is large, and very finely\ndeveloped. Do you know the Venus of Milo? Yes; in the Louvre. I am glad\nyou know Paris. Well, just imagine the Venus of Milo in a tailor-made\ncoat and skirt,--and you have Miss Champion.\"\n\nNurse Rosemary laughed, hysterically. Either the Venus of Milo, or Miss\nChampion, or this combination of both, proved too much for her.\n\n\"Little Dicky Brand summed up Mrs. Do-and-don't rather well,\" pursued\nGarth. \"She was calling at Wimpole Street, on Lady Brand's 'at home'\nday. And Dicky stood talking to me, in his black velvets and white\nwaistcoat, a miniature edition of Sir Deryck. He indicated Mrs.\nDo-and-don't on a distant lounge, and remarked: 'THAT lady never KNOWS;\nshe always THINKS. I asked her if her little girl might come to my\nparty, and she said: \"I think so.\" Now if she had asked ME if I was\ncoming to HER party, I should have said: \"Thank you; I am.\" It is very\ntrying when people only THINK about important things, such as little\ngirls and parties; because their thinking never amounts to much. It\ndoes not so much matter what they think about other things--the\nweather, for instance; because that all happens, whether they think or\nnot. Mummie asked that lady whether it was raining when she got here;\nand she said: \"I THINK not.\" I can't imagine why Mummie always wants to\nknow what her friends think about the weather. I have heard her ask\nseven ladies this afternoon whether it is raining. Now if father or I\nwanted to know whether it was raining we should just step over to the\nwindow, and look out; and then come back and go do with really\ninteresting conversation. But Mummie asks them whether it is raining,\nor whether they think it has been raining, or is going to rain; and\nwhen they have told her, she hurries away and asks somebody else. I\nasked the thinking lady in the feather thing, whether she knew who the\nfather and mother were, of the young lady whom Cain married; and she\nsaid: \"Well, I do; and I don't.\" I said: \"If you DO, perhaps you will\ntell me. And if you DON'T, perhaps you would like to take my hand, and\nwe will walk over together and ask the Bishop--the one with the thin\nlegs, and the gold cross, talking to Mummie.\" But she thought she had\nto go, quite in a hurry. So I saw her off; and then asked the Bishop\nalone. Bishops are most satisfactory kind of people; because they are\nquite sure about everything; and you feel safe in quoting them to\nNurse. Nurse told Marsdon that this one is in \"sheep's clothing,\"\nbecause he wears a gold cross. I saw the cross; but I saw no sheep's\nclothing. I was looking out for the kind of woolly thing our new curate\nwears on his back in church. Should you call that \"sheep's clothing\"? I\nasked father, and he said: \"No. Bunny-skin.\" And mother seemed as\nshocked as if father and I had spoken in church, instead of just as we\ncame out. And she said: \"It is a B.A. hood.\" Possibly she thinks \"baa\"\nis spelled with only one \"a.\" Anyway father and I felt it best to let\nthe subject drop.'\"\n\nNurse Rosemary laughed. \"How exactly like Dicky,\" she said. \"I could\nhear his grave little voice, and almost see him pull down his small\nwaistcoat!\"\n\n\"Why, do you know the little chap?\" asked Garth.\n\n\"Yes,\" replied Nurse Rosemary; \"I have stayed with them. Talking to\nDicky is an education; and Baby Blossom is a sweet romp. Here comes\nSimpson. How quickly the evening has flown. Then may I be off on\nThursday?\"\n\n\"I am helpless,\" said Garth. \"I cannot say 'no.' But suppose you do not\ncome back?\"\n\n\"Then you can wire to Dr. Brand.\"\n\n\"I believe you want to leave me,\" said Garth reproachfully.\n\n\"I do, and I don't!\" laughed Nurse Rosemary; and fled from his\noutstretched hands.\n\n * * * * *\n\nWhen Jane had locked the letter-bag earlier that evening, and handed it\nto Simpson, she had slipped in two letters of her own. One was\naddressed to\n\n Georgina, Duchess of Meldrum\n\n Portland Place\n\nThe other, to\n\n Sir Deryck Brand\n\n Wimpole Street\n\nBoth were marked: Urgent. If absent, forward immediately.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXII\n\nAN INTERLUDE\n\n\nTuesday passed uneventfully, to all outward seeming.\n\nThere was nothing to indicate to Garth that his secretary had sat up\nwriting most of the night; only varying that employment by spending\nlong moments in silent contemplation of his pictures, which had found a\ntemporary place of safety, on their way back to the studio, in a deep\ncupboard in her room, of which she had the key.\n\nIf Nurse Rosemary marked, with a pang of tender compunction, the worn\nlook on Garth's face, telling how mental suffering had chased away\nsleep; she made no comment thereupon.\n\nThus Tuesday passed, in uneventful monotony.\n\nTwo telegrams had arrived for Nurse Gray in the course of the morning.\nThe first came while she was reading a Times leader aloud to Garth.\nSimpson brought it in, saying: \"A telegram for you, miss.\"\n\nIt was always a source of gratification to Simpson afterwards, that,\nalmost from the first, he had been led, by what he called his \"unHaided\nHintuHition,\" to drop the \"nurse,\" and address Jane with the\nconventional \"miss.\" In time he almost convinced himself that he had\nalso discerned in her \"a Honourable\"; but this, Margery Graem firmly\nrefused to allow. She herself had had her \"doots,\" and kept them to\nherself; but all Mr. Simpson's surmisings had been freely expressed and\nreiterated in the housekeeper's room; and never a word about any\nhonourable lead passed Mr. Simpson's lips. Therefore Mrs. Graem berated\nhim for being so ready to \"go astray and speak lies.\" But Maggie, the\nhousemaid, had always felt sure Mr. Simpson knew more than he said.\n\"Said more than he knew, you mean,\" prompted old Margery. \"No,\"\nretorted Maggie, \"I know what I said; and I said what I meant.\" \"You\nmay have said what you meant, but you did not mean what you knew,\"\ninsisted Margery; \"and if anybody says another word on the matter, _I_\nshall say grace and dismiss the table,\" continued old Margery,\nexercising the cloture, by virtue of her authority, in a way which\nSimpson and Maggie, who both wished for cheese, afterwards described as\n\"mean.\"\n\nBut this was long after the uneventful Tuesday, when Simpson entered,\nwith a salver; and, finding Jane enveloped in the Times, said: \"A\ntelegram for you, miss.\"\n\nNurse Rosemary took it; apologised for the interruption, and opened it.\nIt was from the duchess, and ran thus:\n\nMOST INCONVENIENT, AS YOU VERY WELL KNOW; BUT AM LEAVING EUSTON\nTO-NIGHT. WILL AWAIT FURTHER ORDERS AT ABERDEEN.\n\nNurse Rosemary smiled, and put the telegram into her pocket. \"No\nanswer, thank you, Simpson.\"\n\n\"Not bad news, I hope?\" asked Garth.\n\n\"No,\" replied Nurse Rosemary; \"but it makes my departure on Thursday\nimperative. It is from an old aunt of mine, who is going to my 'young\nman's' home. I must be with him before she is, or there will be endless\ncomplications.\"\n\n\"I don't believe he will ever let you go again, when once he gets you\nback,\" remarked Garth, moodily.\n\n\"You think not?\" said Nurse Rosemary, with a tender little smile, as\nshe took up the paper, and resumed her reading.\n\nThe second telegram arrived after luncheon. Garth was at the piano,\nthundering Beethoven's Funeral March on the Death of a Hero. The room\nwas being rent asunder by mighty chords; and Simpson's smug face and\nside-whiskers appearing noiselessly in the doorway, were an\ninsupportable anticlimax. Nurse Rosemary laid her finger on her lips;\nadvanced with her firm noiseless tread, and took the telegram. She\nreturned to her seat and waited until the hero's obsequies were over,\nand the last roll of the drums had died away. Then she opened the\norange envelope. And as she opened it, a strange thing happened. Garth\nbegan to play The Rosary. The string of pearls dropped in liquid sound\nfrom his fingers; and Nurse Rosemary read her telegram. It was from the\ndoctor, and said: SPECIAL LICENSE EASILY OBTAINED. FLOWER AND I WILL\nCOME WHENEVER YOU WISH. WIRE AGAIN.\n\nThe Rosary drew to a soft melancholy close.\n\n\"What shall I play next?\" asked Garth, suddenly.\n\n\"Veni, Creator Spiritus,\" said Nurse Rosemary; and bowed her head in\nprayer.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXIII\n\n\"SOMETHING IS GOING TO HAPPEN!\"\n\n\nWednesday dawned; an ideal First of May: Garth was in the garden before\nbreakfast. Jane heard him singing, as he passed beneath her window.\n\n\"It is not mine to sing the stately grace, The great soul beaming in my\nlady's face.\"\n\nShe leaned out.\n\nHe was walking below in the freshest of white flannels; his step so\nlight and elastic; his every movement so lithe and graceful; the only\nsign of his blindness the Malacca cane he held in his hand, with which\nhe occasionally touched the grass border, or the wall of the house. She\ncould only see the top of his dark head. It might have been on the\nterrace at Shenstone, three years before. She longed to call from the\nwindow; \"Darling--my Darling! Good morning! God bless you to-day.\"\n\nAh what would to-day bring forth;--the day when her full confession,\nand explanation, and plea for pardon, would reach him? He was such a\nboy in many ways; so light-hearted, loving, artistic, poetic,\nirrepressible; ever young, in spite of his great affliction. But where\nhis manhood was concerned; his love; his right of choice and of\ndecision; of maintaining a fairly-formed opinion, and setting aside the\nless competent judgment of others; she knew him rigid, inflexible. His\nvery pain seemed to cool him, from the molten lover, to the bar of\nsteel.\n\nAs Jane knelt at her window that morning, she had not the least idea\nwhether the evening would find her travelling to Aberdeen, to take the\nnight mail south; or at home forever in the heaven of Garth's love.\n\nAnd down below he passed again, still singing:\n\n \"But mine it is to follow in her train;\n Do her behests in pleasure or in pain;\n Burn at her altar love's sweet frankincense,\n And worship her in distant reverence.\"\n\n\"Ah, beloved!\" whispered Jane, \"not 'distant.' If you want her, and\ncall her, it will be to the closest closeness love can devise. No more\ndistance between you and me.\"\n\nAnd then, in the curious way in which inspired words will sometimes\noccur to the mind quite apart from their inspired context, and bearing\na totally different meaning from that which they primarily bear, these\nwords came to Jane: \"For He is our peace, Who hath made both one, and\nhath broken down the middle wall of partition between us ... that He\nmight reconcile both ... by the cross.\" \"Ah, dear Christ!\" she\nwhispered. \"If Thy cross could do this for Jew and Gentile, may not my\nboy's heavy cross, so bravely borne, do it for him and for me? So shall\nwe come at last, indeed, to 'kiss the cross.'\"\n\nThe breakfast gong boomed through the house. Simpson loved gongs. He\nconsidered them \"Haristocratic.\" He always gave full measure.\n\nNurse Rosemary went down to breakfast.\n\nGarth came in, through the French window, humming \"The thousand\nbeauties that I know so well.\" He was in his gayest, most inconsequent\nmood. He had picked a golden rosebud in the conservatory and wore it in\nhis buttonhole. He carried a yellow rose in his hand.\n\n\"Good day, Miss Rosemary,\" he said. \"What a May Day! Simpson and I were\nup with the lark; weren't we, Simpson? Poor Simpson felt like a sort of\n'Queen of the May,' when my electric bell trilled in his room, at 5\nA.M. But I couldn't stay in bed. I woke with my\nsomething-is-going-to-happen feeling; and when I was a little chap and\nwoke with that, Margery used to say: 'Get up quickly then, Master\nGarth, and it will happen all the sooner.' You ask her if she didn't,\nSimpson. Miss Gray, did you ever learn: 'If you're waking call me\nearly, call me early, mother dear'? I always hated that young woman! I\nshould think, in her excited state, she would have been waking long\nbefore her poor mother, who must have been worn to a perfect rag,\nmaking all the hussy's May Queen-clothes, overnight.\"\n\nSimpson had waited to guide him to his place at the table. Then he\nremoved the covers, and left the room.\n\nAs soon as he had closed the door behind him, Garth leaned forward, and\nwith unerring accuracy laid the opening rose upon Nurse Rosemary's\nplate.\n\n\"Roses for Rosemary,\" he said. \"Wear it, if you are sure the young man\nwould not object. I have been thinking about him and the aunt. I wish\nyou could ask them both here, instead of going away on Thursday. We\nwould have the 'maddest, merriest time!' I would play with the aunt,\nwhile you had it out with the young man. And I could easily keep the\naunt away from nooks and corners, because my hearing is sharper than\nany aunt's eyes could be, and if you gave a gentle cough, I would\npromptly clutch hold of auntie, and insist upon being guided in the\nopposite direction. And I would take her out in the motor; and you and\nthe young man could have the gig. And then when all was satisfactorily\nsettled, we could pack them off home, and be by ourselves again. Ah,\nMiss Gray, do send for them, instead of leaving me on Thursday.\"\n\n\"Mr. Dalmain,\" said Nurse Rosemary, reprovingly, as she leaned forward\nand touched his right hand with the rim of his saucer, \"this May-Day\nmorning has gone to your head. I shall send for Margery. She may have\nknown the symptoms, of old.\"\n\n\"It is not that,\" said Garth. He leaned forward and spoke\nconfidentially. \"Something is going to happen to-day, little Rosemary.\nWhenever I feel like this, something happens. The first time it\noccurred, about twenty-five years ago, there was a rocking-horse in the\nhall, when I ran downstairs! I have never forgotten my first ride on\nthat rocking-horse. The fearful joy when he went backward; the awful\nplunge when he went forward; and the proud moment when it was possible\nto cease clinging to the leather pommel. I nearly killed the cousin who\npulled out his tail. I thrashed him, then and there, WITH the tail;\nwhich was such a silly thing to do; because, though it damaged the\ncousin, it also spoiled the tail. The next time--ah, but I am boring\nyou!\"\n\n\"Not at all,\" said Nurse Rosemary, politely; \"but I want you to have\nsome breakfast; and the letters will be here in a few minutes.\"\n\nHe looked so brown and radiant, this dear delightful boy, with his\ngold-brown tie, and yellow rose. She was conscious of her pallor, and\noppressive earnestness, as she said: \"The letters will be here.\"\n\n\"Oh, bother the letters!\" cried Garth. \"Let's have a holiday from\nletters on May Day! You shall be Queen of the May; and Margery shall be\nthe old mother. I will be Robin, with the breaking heart, leaning on\nthe bridge beneath the hazel tree; and Simpson can be the 'bolder lad.'\nAnd we will all go and 'gather knots of flowers, and buds, and garlands\ngay.'\"\n\n\"Mr. Dalmain,\" said Nurse Rosemary, laughing, in spite of herself, \"you\nreally must be sensible, or I shall go and consult Margery. I have\nnever seen you in such a mood.\"\n\n\"You have never seen me, on a day when something was going to happen,\"\nsaid Garth; and Nurse Rosemary made no further attempt to repress him.\n\nAfter breakfast, he went to the piano, and played two-steps, and\nrag-time music, so infectiously, that Simpson literally tripped as he\ncleared the table; and Nurse Rosemary, sitting pale and preoccupied,\nwith a pile of letters before her, had hard work to keep her feet still.\n\nSimpson had two-stepped to the door with the cloth, and closed it after\nhim. Nurse Rosemary's remarks about the post-bag, and the letters, had\nremained unanswered. \"Shine little glowworm glimmer\" was pealing gaily\nthrough the room, like silver bells,--when the door opened, and old\nMargery appeared, in a black satin apron, and a blue print sunbonnet.\nShe came straight to the piano, and laid her hand gently on Garth's arm.\n\n\"Master Garthie,\" she said, \"on this lovely May morning, will you take\nold Margery up into the woods?\"\n\nGarth's hands dropped from the keys. \"Of course I will, Margie,\" he\nsaid. \"And, I say Margie, SOMETHING IS GOING TO HAPPEN.\"\n\n\"I know it, laddie,\" said the old woman, tenderly; and the expression\nwith which she looked into the blind face filled Jane's eyes with\ntears. \"I woke with it too, Master Garthie; and now we will go into the\nwoods, and listen to the earth, and trees, and flowers, and they will\ntell us whether it is for joy, or for sorrow. Come, my own laddie.\"\n\nGarth rose, as in a dream. Even in his blindness he looked so young,\nand so beautiful, that Jane's watching heart stood still.\n\nAt the window he paused. \"Where is that secretary person?\" he said,\nvaguely. \"She kept trying to shut me up.\"\n\n\"I know she did, laddie,\" said old Margery, curtseying apologetically\ntowards Jane. \"You see she does not know the\n'something-is-going-to-happen-to-day' awakening.\"\n\n\"Ah, doesn't she?\" thought Jane, as they disappeared through the\nwindow. \"But as my Garth has gone off his dear head, and been taken\naway by his nurse, the thing that is going to happen, can't happen just\nyet.\" And Jane sat down to the piano, and very softly ran through the\naccompaniment of The Rosary. Then,--after shading her eyes on the\nterrace, and making sure that a tall white figure leaning on a short\ndark one, had almost reached the top of the hill,--still more softly,\nshe sang it.\n\nAfterwards she went for a tramp on the moors, and steadied her nerve by\nthe rapid swing of her walk, and the deep inbreathing of that glorious\nair. Once or twice she took a telegram from her pocket, stood still and\nread it; then tramped on, to the wonder of the words: \"Special license\neasily obtained.\" Ah, the license might be easy to obtain; but how\nabout his forgiveness? That must be obtained first. If there were only\nthis darling boy to deal with, in his white flannels and yellow roses,\nwith a May-Day madness in his veins, the license might come at once;\nand all he could wish should happen without delay. But this is a\npassing phase of Garth. What she has to deal with is the white-faced\nman, who calmly said: \"I accept the cross,\" and walked down the village\nchurch leaving her--for all these years. Loving her, as he loved her;\nand yet leaving her,--without word or sign, for three long years. To\nhire, was the confession; his would be the decision; and, somehow, it\ndid not surprise her, when she came down to luncheon, a little late, to\nfind HIM seated at the table.\n\n\"Miss Gray,\" he said gravely, as he heard her enter, \"I must apologise\nfor my behaviour this morning. I was what they call up here 'fey.'\nMargery understands the mood; and together she and I have listened to\nkind Mother Earth, laying our hands on her sympathetic softness, and\nshe has told us her secrets. Then I lay down under the fir trees and\nslept; and awakened calm and sane, and ready for what to-day must\nbring. For it WILL bring something. That is no delusion. It is a day of\ngreat things. That much, Margery knows, too.\"\n\n\"Perhaps,\" suggested Nurse Rosemary, tentatively, \"there may be news of\ninterest in your letters.\"\n\n\"Ah,\" said Garth, \"I forgot. We have not even opened this morning's\nletters. Let us take time for them immediately after lunch. Are there\nmany?\"\n\n\"Quite a pile,\" said Nurse Rosemary.\n\n\"Good. We will work soberly through them.\"\n\nHalf an hour later Garth was seated in his chair, calm and expectant;\nhis face turned towards his secretary. He had handled his letters, and\namongst them he had found one sealed; and the seal was a plumed helmet,\nwith visor closed. Nurse Rosemary saw him pale, as his fingers touched\nit. He made no remark; but, as before, slipped it beneath the rest,\nthat it might come up for reading, last of all.\n\nWhen the others were finished, and Nurse Rosemary took up this letter,\nthe room was very still. They were quite alone. Bees hummed in the\ngarden. The scent of flowers stole in at the window. But no one\ndisturbed their solitude.\n\nNurse Rosemary took up the envelope.\n\n\"Mr. Dalmain, here is a letter, sealed with scarlet wax. The seal is a\nhelmet with visor--\"\n\n\"I know,\" said Garth. \"You need not describe it further. Kindly open\nit.\"\n\nNurse Rosemary opened it. \"It is a very long letter, Mr. Dalmain.\"\n\n\"Indeed? Will you please read it to me, Miss Gray.\"\n\nA tense moment of silence followed. Nurse Rosemary lifted the letter;\nbut her voice suddenly refused to respond to her will. Garth waited\nwithout further word.\n\nThen Nurse Rosemary said: \"Indeed, sir, it seems a most private letter.\nI find it difficult to read it to you.\"\n\nGarth heard the distress in her voice, and turned to her kindly.\n\n\"Never mind, my dear child. It in no way concerns you. It is a private\nletter to me; but my only means of hearing it is through your eyes, and\nfrom your lips. Besides, the lady, whose seal is a plumed helmet, can\nhave nothing of a very private nature to say to me.\"\n\n\"Ah, but she has,\" said Nurse Rosemary, brokenly.\n\nGarth considered this in silence.\n\nThen: \"Turn over the page,\" he said, \"and tell me the signature.\"\n\n\"There are many pages,\" said Nurse Rosemary.\n\n\"Turn over the pages then,\" said Garth, sternly. \"Do not keep me\nwaiting. How is that letter signed?\"\n\n\"YOUR WIFE,\" whispered Nurse Rosemary.\n\nThere was a petrifying quality about the silence which followed. It\nseemed as if those two words, whispered into Garth's darkness, had\nturned him to stone.\n\nAt last he stretched out his hand. \"Will you give me that letter, if\nyou please, Miss Gray? Thank you. I wish to be alone for a quarter of\nan hour. I shall be glad if you will be good enough to sit in the\ndining-room, and stop any one from coming into this room. I must be\nundisturbed. At the end of that time kindly return.\"\n\nHe spoke so quietly that Jane's heart sank within her. Some display of\nagitation would have been reassuring. This was the man who, bowing his\ndark head towards the crucifixion window, said: \"I accept the cross.\"\nThis was the man, whose footsteps never once faltered as he strode down\nthe aisle, and left her. This was the man, who had had the strength,\never since, to treat that episode between her and himself, as\ncompletely closed; no word of entreaty; no sign of remembrance; no hint\nof reproach. And this was the man to whom she had signed herself: \"Your\nwife.\"\n\nIn her whole life, Jane had never known fear. She knew it now.\n\nAs she silently rose and left him, she stole one look at his face. He\nwas sitting perfectly still; the letter in his hand. He had not turned\nhis head toward her as he took it. His profile might have been a\nbeautiful carving in white ivory. There was not the faintest tinge of\ncolour in his face; just that ivory pallor, against the ebony lines of\nhis straight brows, and smooth dark hair.\n\nJane softly left the room, closing the door behind her.\n\nThen followed the longest fifteen minutes she had ever known. She\nrealised what a tremendous conflict was in progress in that quiet room.\nGarth was arriving at his decision without having heard any of her\narguments. By the strange fatality of his own insistence, he had heard\nonly two words of her letter, and those the crucial words; the two\nwords to which the whole letter carefully led up. They must have\nrevealed to him instantly, what the character of the letter would be;\nand what was the attitude of mind towards himself, of the woman who\nwrote them.\n\nJane paced the dining-room in desperation, remembering the hours of\nthought which had gone to the compiling of sentences, cautiously\npreparing his mind to the revelation of the signature.\n\nSuddenly, in the midst of her mental perturbation, there came to her\nthe remembrance of a conversation between Nurse Rosemary and Garth over\nthe pictures. The former had said: \"Is she a wife?\" And Garth had\nanswered: \"Yes.\" Jane had instantly understood what that answer\nrevealed and implied. Because Garth had so felt her his during those\nwonderful moments on the terrace at Shenstone, that he could look up\ninto her face and say, \"My wife\"--not as an interrogation, but as an\nabsolute statement of fact,--he still held her this, as indissolubly as\nif priest, and book, and ring, had gone to the wedding of their union.\nTo him, the union of souls came before all else; and if that had taken\nplace, all that might follow was but the outward indorsement of an\naccomplished fact. Owing to her fear, mistrust, and deception, nothing\nhad followed. Their lives had been sundered; they had gone different\nways. He regarded himself as being no more to her than any other man of\nher acquaintance. During these years he had believed, that her part in\nthat evening's wedding of souls had existed in his imagination, only;\nand had no binding effect upon her. But his remained. Because those\nwords were true to him then, he had said them; and, because he had said\nthem, he would consider her his wife, through life,--and after. It was\nthe intuitive understanding of this, which had emboldened Jane so to\nsign her letter. But how would he reconcile that signature with the\nview of her conduct which he had all along taken, without ever having\nthe slightest conception that there could be any other?\n\nThen Jane remembered, with comfort, the irresistible appeal made by\nTruth to the soul of the artist; truth of line; truth of colour; truth\nof values; and, in the realm of sound, truth of tone, of harmony, of\nrendering, of conception. And when Nurse Rosemary had said of his\npainting of \"The Wife\": \"It is a triumph of art\"; Garth had replied:\n\"It is a triumph of truth.\" And Jane's own verdict on the look he had\nseen and depicted was: \"It is true--yes, it is true!\" Will he not\nrealise now the truth of that signature; and, if he realises it, will\nhe not be glad in his loneliness, that his wife should come to him;\nunless the confessions and admissions of the letter cause him to put\nher away as wholly unworthy?\n\nSuddenly Jane understood the immense advantage of the fact that he\nwould hear every word of the rest of her letter, knowing the\nconclusion, which she herself could not possibly have put first. She\nsaw a Higher Hand in this arrangement; and said, as she watched the\nminutes slowly pass: \"He hath broken down the middle wall of partition\nbetween us\"; and a sense of calm assurance descended, and garrisoned\nher soul with peace.\n\nThe quarter of an hour was over.\n\nJane crossed the hall with firm, though noiseless, step; stood a moment\non the threshold relegating herself completely to the background; then\nopened the door; and Nurse Rosemary re-entered the library.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXIV\n\n\"LOVE NEVER FAILETH\"\n\n\nGarth was standing at the open window, when Nurse Rosemary re-entered\nthe library; and he did not turn, immediately.\n\nShe looked anxiously for the letter, and saw it laid ready on her side\nof the table. It bore signs of having been much crumpled; looking\nalmost as a letter might appear which had been crushed into a ball,\nflung into the waste-paper basket, and afterwards retrieved. It had,\nhowever, been carefully smoothed out; and lay ready to her hand.\n\nWhen Garth turned from the window and passed to his chair, his face\nbore the signs of a great struggle. He looked as one who, sightless,\nhas yet been making frantic efforts to see. The ivory pallor was gone.\nHis face was flushed; and his thick hair, which grew in beautiful\ncurves low upon his forehead and temples, and was usually carefully\nbrushed back in short-cropped neatness, was now ruffled and disordered.\nBut his voice was completely under control, as he turned towards his\nsecretary.\n\n\"My dear Miss Gray,\" he said, \"we have a difficult task before us. I\nhave received a letter, which it is essential I should hear. I am\nobliged to ask you to read it to me, because there is absolutely no one\nelse to whom I can prefer such a request. I cannot but know that it\nwill be a difficult and painful task for you, feeling yourself an\nintermediary between two wounded and sundered hearts. May I make it\neasier, my dear little girl, by assuring you that I know of no one in\nthis world from whose lips I could listen to the contents of that\nletter with less pain; and, failing my own, there are no eyes beneath\nwhich I could less grudgingly let it pass, there is no mind I could so\nunquestioningly trust, to judge kindly, both of myself and of the\nwriter; and to forget faithfully, all which was not intended to come\nwithin the knowledge of a third person.\"\n\n\"Thank you, Mr. Dalmain,\" said Nurse Rosemary.\n\nGarth leaned back in his chair, shielding his face with his hand.\n\n\"Now, if you please,\" he said. And, very clearly and quietly, Nurse\nRosemary began to read.\n\n\"DEAR GARTH, As you will not let me come to you, so that I could say,\nbetween you and me alone, that which must be said, I am compelled to\nwrite it. It is your own fault, Dal; and we both pay the penalty. For\nhow can I write to you freely when I know, that as you listen, it will\nseem to you of every word I am writing, that I am dragging a third\nperson into that which ought to be, most sacredly, between you and me\nalone. And yet, I must write freely; and I must make you fully\nunderstand; because the whole of your future life and mine will depend\nupon your reply to this letter. I must write as if you were able to\nhold the letter in your own hands, and read it to yourself. Therefore,\nif you cannot completely trust your secretary, with the private history\nof your heart and mine, bid her give it you back without turning this\nfirst page; and let me come myself, Garth, and tell you all the rest.\"\n\n\"That is the bottom of the page,\" said Nurse Rosemary; and waited.\n\nGarth did not remove his hand. \"I do completely trust; and she must not\ncome,\" he said.\n\nNurse Rosemary turned the page, and went on reading.\n\n\"I want you to remember, Garth, that every word I write, is the simple\nunvarnished truth. If you look back over your remembrance of me, you\nwill admit that I am not naturally an untruthful person, nor did I ever\ntake easily to prevarication. But, Garth, I told you one lie; and that\nfatal exception proves the rule of perfect truthfulness, which has\nalways otherwise held, between you and me; and, please God, always will\nhold. The confession herein contained, concerns that one lie; and I\nneed not ask you to realise how humbling it is to my pride to have to\nforce the hearing of a confession upon the man who has already refused\nto admit me to a visit of friendship. You will remember that I am not\nnaturally humble; and have a considerable amount of proper pride; and,\nperhaps, by the greatness of the effort I have had to make, you will be\nable to gauge the greatness of my love. God help you to do so--my\ndarling; my beloved; my poor desolate boy!\"\n\nNurse Rosemary stopped abruptly; for, at this sudden mention of love,\nand at these words of unexpected tenderness from Jane, Garth had risen\nto his feet, and taken two steps towards the window; as if to escape\nfrom something too immense to be faced. But, in a moment he recovered\nhimself, and sat down again, completely hiding his face with his hand.\n\nNurse Rosemary resumed the reading of the letter.\n\n\"Ah, what a wrong I have done, both to you, and to myself! Dear, you\nremember the evening on the terrace at Shenstone, when you asked me to\nbe--when you called me--when I WAS--YOUR WIFE? Garth, I leave this last\nsentence as it stands, with its two attempts to reach the truth. I will\nnot cross them out, but leave them to be read to you; for, you see\nGarth, I finally arrived! I WAS your wife. I did not understand it\nthen. I was intensely surprised; unbelievably inexperienced in matters\nof feeling; and bewildered by the flood of sensation which swept me off\nmy feet and almost engulfed me. But even then I knew that my soul arose\nand proclaimed you mate and master. And when you held me, and your dear\nhead lay upon my heart, I knew, for the first time the meaning of the\nword ecstasy; and I could have asked no kinder gift of heaven, than to\nprolong those moments into hours.\"\n\nNurse Rosemary's quiet voice broke, suddenly; and the reading ceased.\n\nGarth was leaning forward, his head buried in his hands. A dry sob rose\nin his throat, just at the very moment when Nurse Rosemary's voice gave\nway.\n\nGarth recovered first. Without lifting his head, with a gesture of\nprotective affection and sympathy, he stretched his hand across the\ntable.\n\n\"Poor little girl,\" he said, \"I am so sorry. It is rough on you. If\nonly it had come when Brand was here! I am afraid you MUST go on; but\ntry to read without realising. Leave the realising to me.\"\n\nAnd Nurse Rosemary read on.\n\n\"When you lifted your head in the moonlight and gazed long and\nearnestly at me--Ah, those dear eyes!--your look suddenly made me\nself-conscious. There swept over me a sense of my own exceeding\nplainness, and of how little there was in what those dear eyes saw, to\nprovide reason, for that adoring look. Overwhelmed with a shy shame I\npressed your head back to the place where the eyes would be hidden; and\nI realise now what a different construction you must have put upon that\naction. Garth, I assure you, that when you lifted your head the second\ntime, and said, 'My wife,' it was the first suggestion to my mind that\nthis wonderful thing which was happening meant--marriage. I know it\nmust seem almost incredible, and more like a child of eighteen, than a\nwoman of thirty. But you must remember, all my dealings with men up to\nthat hour had been handshakes, heartiest comradeship, and an occasional\nclap on the shoulder given and received. And don't forget, dear King of\nmy heart, that, until one short week before, you had been amongst the\nboys who called me 'good old Jane,' and addressed me in intimate\nconversation as 'my dear fellow'! Don't forget that I had always looked\nupon you as YEARS younger than myself; and though a strangely sweet tie\nhad grown up between us, since the evening of the concert at Overdene,\nI had never realised it as love. Well--you will remember how I asked\nfor twelve hours to consider my answer; and you yielded, immediately;\n(you were so perfect, all the time, Garth) and left me, when I asked to\nbe alone; left me, with a gesture I have never forgotten. It was a\nrevelation of the way in which the love of a man such as you exalts the\nwoman upon whom it is outpoured. The hem of that gown has been a sacred\nthing to me, ever since. It is always with me, though I never wear\nit.--A detailed account of the hours which followed, I shall hope to\ngive you some day, my dearest. I cannot write it. Let me hurl on to\npaper, in all its crude ugliness, the miserable fact which parted us;\nturning our dawning joy to disillusion and sadness. Garth--it was this.\nI did not believe your love would stand the test of my plainness. I\nknew what a worshipper of beauty you were; how you must have it, in one\nform or another, always around you. I got out my diary in which I had\nrecorded verbatim our conversation about the ugly preacher, whose face\nbecame illumined into beauty, by the inspired glory within. And you\nadded that you never thought him ugly again; but he would always be\nplain. And you said it was not the sort of face one would want to have\nalways before one at meals; but that you were not called upon to\nundergo that discipline, which would be sheer martyrdom to you.\"\n\n\"I was so interested, at the time; and so amused at the unconscious way\nin which you stood and explained this, to quite the plainest woman of\nyour acquaintance, that I recorded it very fully in my journal.--Alas!\nOn that important night, I read the words, over and over, until they\ntook morbid hold upon my brain. Then--such is the self-consciousness\nawakened in a woman by the fact that she is loved and sought--I turned\non all the lights around my mirror, and critically and carefully\nexamined the face you would have to see every day behind your\ncoffee-pot at breakfast, for years and years, if I said 'Yes,' on the\nmorrow. Darling, I did not see myself through your eyes, as, thank God,\nI have done since. And I DID NOT TRUST YOUR LOVE TO STAND THE TEST. It\nseemed to me, I was saving both of us from future disappointment and\nmisery, by bravely putting away present joy, in order to avoid certain\ndisenchantment. My beloved, it will seem to you so coolly calculating,\nand so mean; so unworthy of the great love you were even then lavishing\nupon me. But remember, for years, your remarkable personal grace and\nbeauty had been a source of pleasure to me; and I had pictured you\nwedded to Pauline Lister, for instance, in her dazzling whiteness, and\nsoft radiant youth. So my morbid self-consciousness said: 'What! This\nyoung Apollo, tied to my ponderous plainness; growing handsomer every\nyear, while I grow older and plainer?' Ah, darling! It sounds so\nunworthy, now we know what our love is. But it sounded sensible and\nright that night; and at last, with a bosom that ached, and arms that\nhung heavy at the thought of being emptied of all that joy, I made up\nmy mind to say 'no.' Ah, believe me, I had no idea what it already\nmeant to you. I thought you would pass on at once to another fancy; and\ntransfer your love to one more able to meet your needs, at every point.\nHonestly, Garth, I thought I should be the only one left\ndesolate.--Then came the question: how to refuse you. I knew if I gave\nthe true reason, you would argue it away, and prove me wrong, with\nglowing words, before which I should perforce yield. So--as I really\nmeant not to let you run the risk, and not to run it myself--I lied to\nyou, my beloved. To you, whom my whole being acclaimed King of my\nheart, Master of my will; supreme to me, in love and life,--to YOU I\nsaid: 'I cannot marry a mere boy.' Ah, darling! I do not excuse it. I\ndo not defend it. I merely confess it; trusting to your generosity to\nadmit, that no other answer would have sent you away. Ah, your poor\nJane, left desolate! If you could have seen her in the little church,\ncalling you back; retracting and promising; listening for your\nreturning footsteps, in an agony of longing. But my Garth is not made\nof the stuff which stands waiting on the door-mat of a woman's\nindecision.\"\n\n\"The lonely year which followed so broke my nerve, that Deryck Brand\ntold me I was going all to pieces, and ordered me abroad. I went, as\nyou know; and in other, and more vigorous, surroundings, there came to\nme a saner view of life. In Egypt last March, on the summit of the\nGreat Pyramid, I made up my mind that I could live without you no\nlonger. I did not see myself wrong; but I yearned so for your love, and\nto pour mine upon you, my beloved, that I concluded it was worth the\nrisk. I made up my mind to take the next boat home, and send for you.\nThen--oh, my own boy--I heard. I wrote to you; and you would not let me\ncome.\"\n\n\"Now I know perfectly well, that you might say: 'She did not trust me\nwhen I had my sight. Now that I cannot see, she is no longer afraid.'\nGarth, you might, say that; but it would not be true. I have had ample\nproof lately that I was wrong, and ought to have trusted you all\nthrough. What it is, I will tell you later. All I can say now is: that,\nif your dear shining eyes could see, they would see, NOW, a woman who\nis, trustfully and unquestioningly, all your own. If she is doubtful of\nher face and figure, she says quite simply: 'They pleased HIM; and they\nare just HIS. I have no further right to criticise them. If he wants\nthem, they are not mine, but his.' Darling, I cannot tell you now, how\nI have arrived at this assurance. But I have had proofs beyond words of\nyour faithfulness and love.\"\n\n\"The question, therefore, simply resolves itself into this: Can you\nforgive me? If you can forgive me, I can come to you at once. If this\nthing is past forgiveness, I must make up my mind to stay away. But,\noh, my own Dear,--the bosom on which once you laid your head waits for\nyou with the longing ache of lonely years. If you need it, do not\nthrust it from you.\"\n\n\"Write me one word by your own hand: 'Forgiven.' It is all I ask. When\nit reaches me, I will come to you at once. Do not dictate a letter to\nyour secretary. I could not bear it. Just write--if you can truly write\nit--'FORGIVEN'; and send it to 'Your Wife.'\"\n\nThe room was very still, as Nurse Rosemary finished reading; and,\nlaying down the letter, silently waited. She wondered for a moment\nwhether she could get herself a glass of water, without disturbing him;\nbut decided to do without it.\n\nAt last Garth lifted his head.\n\n\"She has asked me to do a thing impossible,\" he said; and a slow smile\nillumined his drawn face.\n\nJane clasped her hands upon her breast.\n\n\"CAN you not write 'forgiven'?\" asked Nurse Rosemary, brokenly.\n\n\"No,\" said Garth. \"I cannot. Little girl, give me a sheet of paper, and\na pencil.\"\n\nNurse Rosemary placed them close to his hand.\n\nGarth took up the pencil. He groped for the paper; felt the edges with\nhis left hand; found the centre with his fingers; and, in large firm\nletters, wrote one word.\n\n\"Is that legible?\" he asked, passing it across to Nurse Rosemary.\n\n\"Quite legible,\" she said; for she answered before it was blotted by\nher tears.\n\nInstead of \"forgiven,\" Garth had written: \"LOVED.\"\n\n\"Can you post it at once?\" Garth asked, in a low, eager voice. \"And she\nwill come--oh, my God, she will come! If we catch to-night's mail, she\nmay be here the day after to-morrow!\"\n\nNurse Rosemary took up the letter; and, by an almost superhuman effort,\nspoke steadily.\n\n\"Mr. Dalmain,\" she said; \"there is a postscript to this letter. It\nsays: 'Write to The Palace Hotel, Aberdeen.'\"\n\nGarth sprang up, his whole face and figure alive with excitement.\n\n\"In Aberdeen?\" he cried. \"Jane, in Aberdeen! Oh, my God! If she gets\nthis paper to-morrow morning, she may be here any time in the day.\nJane! Jane! Dear little Rosemary, do you hear? Jane will come\nto-morrow! Didn't I tell you something was going to happen? You and\nSimpson were too British to understand; but Margery knew; and the woods\ntold us it was Joy coming through Pain. Could that be posted at once,\nMiss Gray?\"\n\nThe May-Day mood was upon him again. His face shone. His figure was\nelectric with expectation. Nurse Rosemary sat at the table watching\nhim; her chin in her hands. A tender smile dawned on her lips, out of\nkeeping with her supposed face and figure; so full was it of the\nglorious expectation of a mature and perfect love.\n\n\"I will go to the post-office myself, Mr. Dalmain,\" she said. \"I shall\nbe glad of the walk; and I can be back by tea-time.\"\n\nAt the post-office she did not post the word in Garth's handwriting.\nThat lay hidden in her bosom. But she sent off two telegrams. The first\nto\n\n The Duchess of Meldyum,\n\n Palace Hotel, Aberdeen.\n\n \"Come here by 5.50 train without fail this evening.\"\n\nThe second to\n\n Sir Deryck Brand,\n\n Wimpole Sheet, London.\n\n \"All is right.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXV\n\nNURSE ROSEMARY HAS HER REWARD\n\n\n\"Mr. Dalmain,\" said Nurse Rosemary, with patient insistence, \"I really\ndo want you to sit down, and give your mind to the tea-table. How can\nyou remember where each thing is placed, if you keep jumping up, and\nmoving your chair into different positions? And last time you pounded\nthe table to attract my attention, which was already anxiously fixed\nupon you, you nearly knocked over your own tea, and sent floods of mine\ninto the saucer. If you cannot behave better, I shall ask Margery for a\npinafore, and sit you up on a high chair!\"\n\nGarth stretched his legs in front of him, and his arms over his head;\nand lay back in his chair, laughing joyously.\n\n\"Then I should have to say: 'Please, Nurse, may I get down?' What a\ncheeky little thing you are becoming! And you used to be quite\noppressively polite. I suppose you would answer: 'If you say your grace\nnicely, Master Garth, you may.' Do you know the story of 'Tommy, you\nshould say Your Grace'?\"\n\n\"You have told it to me twice in the last forty-eight hours,\" said\nNurse Rosemary, patiently.\n\n\"Oh, what a pity! I felt so like telling it now. If you had really been\nthe sort of sympathetic person Sir Deryck described, you would have\nsaid: 'No; and I should so LOVE to hear it!'\"\n\n\"No; and I should so LOVE to hear it!\" said Nurse Rosemary.\n\n\"Too late! That sort of thing, to have any value should be spontaneous.\nIt need not be true; but it MUST be spontaneous. But, talking of a high\nchair,--when you say those chaffy things in a voice like Jane's, and\njust as Jane would have said them--oh, my wig!--Do you know, that is\nthe duchess's only original little swear. All the rest are quotations.\nAnd when she says: 'My wig!' we all try not to look at it. It is\nusually slightly awry. The toucan tweaks it. He is so very LOVING, dear\nbird!\"\n\n\"Now hand me the buttered toast,\" said Nurse Rosemary; \"and don't tell\nme any more naughty stories about the duchess. No! That is the thin\nbread-and-butter. I told you you would lose your bearings. The toast is\nin a warm plate on your right. Now let us make believe I am Miss\nChampion, and hand it to me, as nicely as you will be handing it to\nher, this time to-morrow.\"\n\n\"It is easy to make believe you are Jane, with that voice,\" said Garth;\n\"and yet--I don't know. I have never really associated you with her.\nOne little sentence of old Rob's made all the difference to me. He said\nyou had fluffy floss-silk sort of hair. No one could ever imagine Jane\nwith fluffy floss-silk sort of hair! And I believe that one sentence\nsaved the situation. Otherwise, your voice would have driven me mad,\nthose first days. As it was, I used to wonder sometimes if I could\npossibly bear it. You understand why, now; don't you? And yet, in a\nway, it is NOT like hers. Hers is deeper; and she often speaks with a\ndelicious kind of drawl, and uses heaps of slang; and you are such a\nvery proper little person; and possess what the primers call 'perfectly\ncorrect diction.' What fun it would be to hear you and Jane talk\ntogether! And yet--I don't know. I should be on thorns, all the time.\"\n\n\"Why?\"\n\n\"I should be so awfully afraid lest you should not like one another.\nYou see, YOU have really, in a way, been more to me than any one else\nin the world; and SHE--well, she IS my world,\" said Garth, simply. \"And\nI should be so afraid lest she should not fully appreciate you; and you\nshould not quite understand her. She has a sort of way of standing and\nlooking people up and down, and, women hate it; especially pretty\nfluffy little women. They feel she spots all the things that come off.\"\n\n\"Nothing of mine comes off,\" murmured Nurse Rosemary, \"excepting my\npatient, when he will not stay on his chair.\"\n\n\"Once,\" continued Garth, with the gleeful enjoyment in his voice which\nalways presaged a story in which Jane figured, \"there was a fearfully\nsilly little woman staying at Overdene, when a lot of us were there. We\nnever could make out why she was included in one of the duchess's 'best\nparties,' except that the dear duchess vastly enjoyed taking her off,\nand telling stories about her; and we could not appreciate the\ncleverness of the impersonation, unless we had seen the original. She\nwas rather pretty, in a fussy, curling-tongs, wax-doll sort of way; but\nshe never could let her appearance alone, or allow people to forget it.\nAlmost every sentence she spoke, drew attention to it. We got very sick\nof it, and asked Jane to make her shut up. But Jane said: 'It doesn't\nhurt you, boys; and it pleases her. Let her be.' Jane was always extra\nnice to people, if she suspected they were asked down in order to make\nsport for the duchess afterwards. Jane hated that sort of thing. She\ncouldn't say much to her aunt; but we had to be very careful how we\negged the duchess on, if Jane was within hearing. Well--one evening,\nafter tea, a little group of us were waiting around the fire in the\nlower hall, to talk to Jane. It was Christmas time. The logs looked so\njolly on the hearth. The red velvet curtains were drawn right across,\ncovering the terrace door and the windows on either side. Tommy sat on\nhis perch, in the centre of the group, keeping a keen lookout for\ncigarette ends. Outside, the world was deep in snow; and that wonderful\nsilence reigned; making the talk and laughter within all the more gay\nby contrast--you know, that PENETRATING silence; when trees, and\nfields, and paths, are covered a foot thick in soft sparkling\nwhiteness. I always look forward, just as eagerly, each winter to the\nfirst sight--ah, I forgot! ... Fancy never seeing snow again! ...\nNever mind. It is something to remember HAVING seen it; and I shall\nhear the wonderful snow-silence more clearly than ever. Perhaps before\nother people pull up the blinds, I shall be able to say: 'There's been\na fall of snow in the night.' What was I telling you? Yes, I remember.\nAbout little Mrs. Fussy. Well--all the women had gone up to dress for\ndinner; excepting Jane, who never needed more than half an hour; and\nFussy, who was being sprightly, in a laboured way; and fancied herself\nthe centre of attraction which kept us congregated in the hall. As a\nmatter of fact, we were waiting to tell Jane some private news we had\njust heard about a young chap in the guards, who was in fearful hot\nwater for ragging. His colonel was an old friend of Jane's, and we\nthought she could put in a word, and improve matters for Billy. So Mrs.\nFussy was very much de trop, and didn't know it. Jane was sitting with\nher back to all of us, her feet on the fender, and her skirt turned up\nover her knees. Oh, there was another one, underneath; a handsome silk\nthing, with rows of little frills,--which you would think should have\ngone on outside. But Jane's best things are never paraded; always\nhidden. I don't mean clothes, now; but her splendid self. Well--little\nFussy was 'chatting'--she never talked--about herself and her\nconquests; quite unconscious that we all wished her at Jericho. Jane\nwent on reading the evening paper; but she felt the atmosphere growing\nrestive. Presently--ah, but I must not tell you the rest. I have just\nremembered. Jane made us promise never to repeat it. She thought it\ndetrimental to the other woman. But we just had time for our confab;\nand Jane caught the evening post with the letter which got Billy off\nscot-free; and yet came down punctually to dinner, better dressed than\nany of them. We felt it rather hard luck to have to promise; because we\nhad each counted on being the first to tell the story to the duchess.\nBut, you know, you always have to do as Jane says.\"\n\n\"Why?\"\n\n\"Oh, I don't know! I can't explain why. If you knew her, you would not\nneed to ask. Cake, Miss Gray?\"\n\n\"Thank you. Right, this time.\"\n\n\"There! That is exactly as Jane would have said: 'Right, this time.' Is\nit not strange that after having for weeks thought your voice so like\nhers, to-morrow I shall be thinking her voice so like yours?\"\n\n\"Oh, no, you will not,\" said Nurse Rosemary. \"When she is with you, you\nwill have no thoughts for other people.\"\n\n\"Indeed, but I shall!\" cried Garth. \"And, dear little Rosemary, I shall\nmiss you, horribly. No one--not even she--can take your place. And, do\nyou know,\" he leaned forward, and a troubled look clouded the gladness\nof his face, \"I am beginning to feel anxious about it. She has not seen\nme since the accident. I am afraid it will give her a shock. Do you\nthink she will find me much changed?\"\n\nJane looked at the sightless face turned so anxiously toward her. She\nremembered that morning in his room, when he thought himself alone with\nDr. Rob; and, leaving the shelter of the wall, sat up to speak, and she\nsaw his face for the first time. She remembered turning to the\nfireplace, so that Dr. Rob should not see the tears raining down her\ncheeks. She looked again at Garth--now growing conscious, for the first\ntime, of his disfigurement; and then, only for her sake--and an almost\noverwhelming tenderness gripped her heart. She glanced at the clock.\nShe could not hold out much longer.\n\n\"Is it very bad?\" said Garth; and his voice shook.\n\n\"I cannot answer for another woman,\" replied Nurse Rosemary; \"but I\nshould think your face, just as it is, will always be her joy.\"\n\nGarth flushed; pleased and relieved, but slightly surprised. There was\na quality in Nurse Rosemary's voice, for which he could not altogether\naccount.\n\n\"But then, she will not be accustomed to my blind ways,\" he continued.\n\"I am afraid I shall seem so helpless and so blundering. She has not\nbeen in Sightless Land, as you and I have been. She does not know all\nour plans of cords, and notches, and things. Ah, little Rosemary!\nPromise not to leave me to-morrow. I want Her--only God, knows how I\nwant her; but I begin to be half afraid. It will be so wonderful, for\nthe great essentials; but, for the little every-day happenings, which\nare so magnified by the darkness, oh, my kind unseen guide, how I shall\nneed you. At first, I thought it lucky you had settled to go, just when\nshe is coming; but now, just because she is coming, I cannot let you\ngo. Having her will be wonderful beyond words; but it will not be the\nsame as having you.\"\n\nNurse Rosemary was receiving her reward, and she appeared to find it\nrather overwhelming.\n\nAs soon as she could speak, she said, gently: \"Don't excite yourself\nover it, Mr. Dalmain. Believe me, when you have been with her for five\nminutes, you will find it just the same as having me. And how do you\nknow she has not also been in Sightless Land? A nurse would do that\nsort of thing, because she was very keen on her profession, and on\nmaking a success of her case. The woman who loves you would do it for\nlove of you.\"\n\n\"It would be like her,\" said Garth; and leaned back, a look of deep\ncontentment gathering on his face. \"Oh, Jane! Jane! She is coming! She\nis coming!\"\n\nNurse Rosemary looked at the clock.\n\n\"Yes; she is coming,\" she said; and though her voice was steady, her\nhands trembled. \"And, as it is our last evening together under quite\nthe same circumstances as during all these weeks, will you agree to a\nplan of mine? I must go upstairs now, and do some packing, and make a\nfew arrangements. But will you dress early? I will do the same; and if\nyou could be down in the library by half-past six, we might have some\nmusic before dinner.\"\n\n\"Why certainly,\" said Garth. \"It makes no difference to me at what time\nI dress; and I am always ready for music. But, I say: I wish you were\nnot packing, Miss Gray.\"\n\n\"I am not exactly packing up,\" replied Nurse Rosemary. \"I am packing\nthings away.\"\n\n\"It is all the same, if it means leaving. But you have promised not to\ngo until she comes?\"\n\n\"I will not go--until she comes.\"\n\n\"And you will tell her all the things she ought to know?\"\n\n\"She shall know all I know, which could add to your comfort.\"\n\n\"And you will not leave me, until I am really--well, getting on all\nright?\"\n\n\"I will never leave you, while you need me,\" said Nurse Rosemary. And\nagain Garth detected that peculiar quality in her voice. He rose, and\ncame towards where he heard her to be standing.\n\n\"Do you know, you are no end of a brick,\" he said, with emotion. Then\nhe held out both hands towards her. \"Put your hands in mine just for\nonce, little Rosemary. I want to try to thank you.\"\n\nThere was a moment of hesitation. Two strong capable hands--strong and\ncapable, though, just then, they trembled--nearly went home to his; but\nwere withdrawn just in time. Jane's hour was not yet. This was Nurse\nRosemary's moment of triumph and success. It should not be taken from\nher.\n\n\"This evening,\" she said, softly, \"after the music, we will--shake\nhands. Now be careful, sir. You are stranded. Wait. Here is the\ngarden-cord, just to your left. Take a little air on the terrace; and\nsing again the lovely song I heard under my window this morning. And\nnow that you know what it is that is 'going to happen,' this exquisite\nMay-Day evening will fill you with tender expectation. Good-bye,\nsir--for an hour.\"\n\n\"What has come to little Rosemary?\" mused Garth, as he felt for his\ncane, in its corner by the window. \"We could not have gone on\nindefinitely quite as we have been, since she came in from the\npost-office.\"\n\nHe walked on; a troubled look clouding his face: Suddenly it lifted,\nand he stood still, and laughed. \"Duffer!\" he said. \"Oh, what a\nconceited duffer! She is thinking of her 'young man.' She is going to\nhim to-morrow; and her mind is full of him; just as mine is full of\nJane. Dear, good, clever, little Rosemary! I hope he is worthy of her.\nNo; that he cannot be. I hope he knows he is NOT worthy of her. That is\nmore to the point. I hope he will receive her as she expects. Somehow,\nI hate letting her go to him. Oh, hang the fellow!--as Tommy would say.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXVI\n\nTHE REVELATION OF THE ROSARY\n\n\nSimpson was crossing the hall just before half-past six o'clock. He had\nleft his master in the library. He heard a rustle just above him; and,\nlooking up, saw a tall figure descending the wide oak staircase.\n\nSimpson stood transfixed. The soft black evening-gown, with its\ntrailing folds, and old lace at the bosom, did not impress him so much\nas the quiet look of certainty and power on the calm face above them.\n\n\"Simpson,\" said Jane, \"my aunt, the Duchess of Meldrum, and her maid,\nand her footman, and a rather large quantity of luggage, will be\narriving from Aberdeen, at about half-past seven. Mrs. Graem knows\nabout preparing rooms; and I have given James orders for meeting the\ntrain with the brougham, and the luggage-cart. The duchess dislikes\nmotors. When her Grace arrives, you can show her into the library. We\nwill dine in the dining-room at a quarter past eight. Meanwhile, Mr.\nDalmain and myself are particularly engaged just now, and must not be\ndisturbed on any account, until the duchess's arrival. You quite\nunderstand?\"\n\n\"Yes, miss-m'lady,\" stammered Simpson. He had been boot-boy in a ducal\nhousehold early in his career; and he considered duchesses' nieces to\nbe people before whom one should bow down.\n\nJane smiled. \"'Miss' is quite sufficient, Simpson,\" she said; and swept\ntowards the library.\n\nGarth heard her enter, and close the door; and his quick ear caught the\nrustle of a train.\n\n\"Hullo, Miss Gray,\" he said. \"Packed your uniform?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Jane. \"I told you I was packing.\"\n\nShe came slowly across the room, and stood on the hearth-rug looking\ndown at him. He was in full evening-dress; just as at Shenstone on that\nmemorable night; and, as he sat well back in his deep arm-chair, one\nknee crossed over the other, she saw the crimson line of his favourite\nsilk socks.\n\nJane stood looking down upon him. Her hour had come at last. But even\nnow she must, for his sake, be careful and patient.\n\n\"I did not hear the song,\" she said.\n\n\"No,\" replied Garth. \"At first, I forgot. And when I remembered, I had\nbeen thinking of other things, and somehow--ah, Miss Gray! I cannot\nsing to-night. My soul is dumb with longing.\"\n\n\"I know,\" said Jane, gently; \"and I am going to sing to you.\"\n\nA faint look of surprise crossed Garth's face. \"Do you sing?\" he asked.\n\"Then why have you not sung before?\"\n\n\"When I arrived,\" said Jane, \"Dr. Rob asked me whether I played. I\nsaid: 'A little.' Thereupon he concluded I sang a little, too; and he\nforbade me, most peremptorily, either to play a little; or sing a\nlittle, to you. He said he did not want you driven altogether mad.\"\n\nGarth burst out laughing.\n\n\"How like old Robbie,\" he said. \"And, in spite of his injunctions, are\nyou going to take the risk, and 'sing a little,' to me, to-night?\"\n\n\"No,\" said Jane. \"I take no risks. I am going to sing you one song.\nHere is the purple cord, at your right hand. There is nothing between\nyou and the piano; and you are facing towards it. If you want to stop\nme--you can come.\"\n\nShe walked to the instrument, and sat down.\n\nOver the top of the grand piano, she could see him, leaning back in his\nchair; a slightly amused smile playing about his lips. He was evidently\nstill enjoying the humour of Dr. Rob's prohibition.\n\nThe Rosary has but one opening chord. She struck it; her eyes upon his\nface. She saw him sit up, instantly; a look of surprise, expectation,\nbewilderment, gathering there.\n\nThen she began to sing. The deep rich voice, low and vibrant, as the\nsoftest tone of 'cello, thrilled into the startled silence.\n\n \"The hours I spent with thee, dear heart,\n Are as a string of pearls to me;\n I count them over, ev'ry one apart,\n My rosary,--my rosary.\n Each hour a pearl--\"\n\nJane got no further.\n\nGarth had risen. He spoke no word; but he was coming blindly over to\nthe piano. She turned on the music-stool, her arms held out to receive\nhim. Now he had found the woodwork. His hand crashed down upon the\nbass. Now he had found her. He was on his knees, his arms around her.\nHers enveloped him--, yearning, tender, hungry with the repressed\nlonging of all those hard weeks.\n\nHe lifted his sightless face to hers, for one moment. \"You?\" he said.\n\"YOU? You--all the time?\"\n\nThen he hid his face in the soft lace at her breast.\n\n\"Oh, my boy, my darling!\" said Jane, tenderly; holding the dear head\nclose. \"Yes; I, all the time; all the time near him, in his loss and\npain. Could I have stopped away? But, oh, Garth! What it is, at last to\nhold you, and touch you, and feel you here! ... Yes, it is I. Oh, my\nbeloved, are you not quite sure? Who else could hold you thus? ...\nTake care, my darling! Come over to the couch, just here; and sit\nbeside me.\"\n\nGarth rose, and raised her, without loosing her; and she guided herself\nand him to a safer seat close by. But there again he flung himself upon\nhis knees, and held her; his arms around her waist; his face hidden in\nthe shelter of her bosom.\n\n\"Ah,--darling, darling,\" said Jane softly, and her hands stole up\nbehind his head, with a touch of unspeakable protective tenderness; \"it\nhas been so sweet to wait upon my boy; and help him in his darkness;\nand shield him from unnecessary pain; and be always there, to meet his\nevery need. But I could not come myself--until he knew; and understood;\nand had forgiven--no, not 'forgiven'; understood, and yet still LOVED.\nFor he does now understand? And he does forgive? ... Oh, Garth! ...\nOh--hush, my darling! ... You frighten me! ... No, I will never\nleave you; never, never! ... Oh, can't you understand, my beloved? ...\nThen I must tell you more plainly. Darling,--do be still, and\nlisten. Just for a few days we must be as we have been; only my boy\nwill know it is I who am near him. Aunt 'Gina is coming this evening.\nShe will be here in half an hour. Then, as soon as possible we will get\na special license; and we will be married, Garth; and then--\" Jane\npaused; and the man who knelt beside her, held his breath to\nlisten--\"and then,\" continued Jane in a low tender voice, which\ngathered in depth of sacred mystery, yet did not falter--\"then it will\nbe my highest joy, to be always with my husband, night and day.\"\n\nA long sweet silence. The tempest of emotion in her arms was hushed to\nrest. The eternal voice of perfect love had whispered: \"Peace, be\nstill\"; and there was a great calm.\n\nAt last Garth lifted his head. \"Always? Always together?\" he said. \"Ah,\nthat will be 'perpetual light!'\"\n\n * * * * *\n\nWhen Simpson, pale with importance, flung open the library door, and\nannounced: \"Her Grace, the Duchess of Meldrum,\" Jane was seated at the\npiano, playing soft dreamy chords; and a slim young man, in evening\ndress, advanced with eager hospitality to greet his guest.\n\nThe duchess either did not see, or chose to ignore the guiding cord.\nShe took his outstretched hand warmly in both her own.\n\n\"Goodness gracious, my dear Dal! How you surprise me! I expected to\nfind you blind! And here you are striding about, just your old handsome\nself!\"\n\n\"Dear Duchess,\" said Garth, and stooping, kissed the kind old hands\nstill holding his; \"I cannot see you, I am sorry to say; but I don't\nfeel very blind to-night. My darkness has been lightened by a joy\nbeyond expression.\"\n\n\"Oh ho! So that's the way the land lies! Now which are you going to\nmarry? The nurse,--who, I gather, is a most respectable young person,\nand highly recommended; or that hussy, Jane; who, without the smallest\ncompunction, orders her poor aunt from one end of the kingdom to the\nother, to suit her own convenience?\"\n\nJane came over from the piano, and slipped her hand through her lover's\narm.\n\n\"Dear Aunt 'Gina,\" she said; \"you know you loved coming; because you\nenjoy a mystery, and like being a dear old 'deus ex machina,' at the\nright moment. And he is going to marry them both; because they both\nlove him far too dearly ever to leave him again; and he seems to think\nhe cannot do without either.\"\n\nThe duchess looked at the two radiant faces; one sightless; the other,\nwith glad proud eyes for both; and her own filled with tears.\n\n\"Hoity-toity!\" she said. \"Are we in Salt Lake City? Well, we always\nthought one girl would not do for Dal; he would need the combined\nperfections of several; and he appears to think he has found them. God\nbless you both, you absurdly happy people; and I will bless you, too;\nbut not until I have dined. Now, ring for that very nervous person,\nwith side-whiskers; and tell him I want my maid, and my room, and I\nwant to know where they have put my toucan. I had to bring him, Jane.\nHe is so LOVING, dear bird! I knew you would think him in the way; but\nI really could not leave him behind.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXVII\n\n\"IN THE FACE OF THIS CONGREGATION\"\n\n\nThe society paragraphs would have described it as \"a very quiet\nwedding,\" when Garth and Jane, a few days later, were pronounced \"man\nand wife together,\" in the little Episcopal church among the hills.\n\nPerhaps, to those who were present, it stands out rather as an unusual\nwedding, than as a quiet one.\n\nTo Garth and Jane the essential thing was to be married, and left to\nthemselves, with as little delay as possible. They could not be induced\nto pay any attention to details as to the manner in which this desired\nend was to be attained. Jane left it entirely to the doctor, in one\npractical though casual sentence: \"Just make sure it is valid, Dicky;\nand send us in the bills.\"\n\nThe duchess, being a true conservative, early began mentioning veils,\norange-blossom, and white satin; but Jane said: \"My dear Aunt! Fancy\nme--in orange-blossom! I should look like a Christmas pantomime. And I\nnever wear veils, even in motors; and white satin is a form of clothing\nI have always had the wisdom to avoid.\"\n\n\"Then in what do you intend to be married, unnatural girl?\" inquired\nthe duchess.\n\n\"In whatever I happen to put on, that morning,\" replied Jane, knotting\nthe silk of a soft crimson cord she was knitting; and glancing out of\nthe window, to where Garth sat smoking, on the terrace.\n\n\"Have you a time-table?\" inquired her Grace of Meldrum, with dangerous\ncalmness. \"And can you send me to the station this afternoon?\"\n\n\"We can always send to the station, at a moment's notice,\" said Jane,\nworking in a golden strand, and considering the effect. \"But where are\nyou going, dear Aunt 'Gina? You know Deryck and Flower arrive this\nevening.\"\n\n\"I am washing my hands of you, and going South,\" said the duchess,\nwrathfully.\n\n\"Don't do that, dear,\" said Jane, placidly. \"You have washed your hands\nof me so often; and, like the blood of King Duncan of Scotland, I am\nupon them still. 'All the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this\nlittle hand.'\" Then, raising her voice: \"Garth, if you want to walk,\njust give a call. I am here, talking over my trousseau with Aunt 'Gina.\"\n\n\"What is a trousseau?\" came back in Garth's happy voice.\n\n\"A thing you get into to be married,\" said Jane.\n\n\"Then let's get into it quickly,\" shouted Garth, with enthusiasm.\n\n\"Dear Aunt,\" said Jane, \"let us make a compromise. I have some quite\nnice clothes upstairs, including Redfern tailor-mades, and several\nuniforms. Let your maid look through them, and whatever you select, and\nshe puts out in readiness on my wedding morning, I promise to wear.\"\n\nThis resulted in Jane appearing at the church in a long blue cloth coat\nand skirt, handsomely embroidered with gold, and suiting her large\nfigure to perfection; a deep yellow vest of brocaded silk; and old lace\nruffles at neck and wrists.\n\nGarth was as anxious about his wedding garments, as Jane had been\nindifferent over hers; but he had so often been in requisition as\nbest-man at town weddings, that Simpson had no difficulty in turning\nhim out in the acme of correct bridal attire. And very handsome he\nlooked, as he stood waiting at the chancel steps; not watching for his\nbride; but obviously listening for her; for, as Jane came up the church\non Deryck's arm, Garth slightly turned his head and smiled.\n\nThe duchess--resplendent in purple satin and ermine, with white plumes\nin her bonnet, and many jewelled chains depending from her, which\nrattled and tinkled, in the silence of the church, every time she\nmoved--was in a front pew on the left, ready to give her niece away.\n\nIn a corresponding seat, on the opposite side, as near as possible to\nthe bridegroom, sat Margery Graem, in black silk, with a small quilted\nsatin bonnet, and a white lawn kerchief folded over the faithful old\nheart which had beaten in tenderness for Garth since his babyhood. She\nturned her head anxiously, every time the duchess jingled; but\notherwise kept her eyes fixed on the marriage service, in a large-print\nprayer-book in her lap. Margery was not used to the Episcopal service,\nand she had her \"doots\" as to whether it could possibly be gone through\ncorrectly, by all parties concerned. In fact this anxiety of old\nMargery's increased so painfully when the ceremony actually commenced,\nthat it took audible form; and she repeated all the answers of the\nbridal pair, in an impressive whisper, after them.\n\nDr. Rob, being the only available bachelor, did duty as best-man; Jane\nhaving stipulated that he should not be intrusted with the ring; her\nprevious observations leading her to conclude that he would most\nprobably slip it unconsciously on to his finger, and then search\nthrough all his own pockets and all Garth's; and begin taking up the\nchurch matting, before it occurred to him to look at his hand. Jane\nwould not have minded the diversion, but she did object to any delay.\nSo the ring went to church in Garth's waistcoat pocket, where it had\nlived since Jane brought it out from Aberdeen; and, without any\nfumbling or hesitation, was quietly laid by him upon the open book.\n\nDr. Rob had charge of the fees for clerk, verger, bell-ringers, and\nevery person, connected with the church, who could possibly have a tip\npressed upon them.\n\nGarth was generous in his gladness, and eager to do all things in a\nmanner worthy of the great gift made fully his that day. So Dr. Rob was\nwell provided with the wherewithal; and this he jingled in his pockets\nas soon as the exhortation commenced, and his interest in the\nproceedings resulted in his fatal habit of unconsciousness of his own\nactions. Thus he and the duchess kept up a tinkling duet, each hearing\nthe other, and not their own sounds. So the duchess glared at Dr. Rob;\nand Dr. Rob frowned at the duchess; and old Margery looked tearfully at\nboth.\n\nDeryck Brand, the tallest man in the church, his fine figure showing to\nadvantage in the long frock coat with silk facings, which Lady Brand\nhad pronounced indispensable to the occasion, retired to a seat beside\nhis wife, just behind old Margery, as soon as he had conducted Jane to\nGarth's side. As Jane removed her hand from his arm, she turned and\nsmiled at him; and a long look passed between them. All the memories,\nall the comprehension, all the trust and affection of years, seemed to\nconcentrate in that look; and Lady Brand's eyes dropped to her dainty\nwhite and gold prayer-book. She had never known jealousy; the doctor\nhad never given her any possible reason for acquiring that cruel\nknowledge. His Flower bloomed for him; and her fragrance alone made his\ncontinual joy. All other lovely women were mere botanical specimens, to\nbe examined and classified. But Flower had never quite understood the\ndepth of the friendship between her husband and Jane, founded on the\nassociations and aspirations of childhood and early youth, and a\ncertain similarity of character which would not have wedded well, but\nwhich worked out into a comradeship, providing a source of strength for\nboth. Of late, Flower had earnestly tried to share, even while failing\nto comprehend, it.\n\nPerhaps she, in her pale primrose gown, with daffodils at her waist,\nand sunbeams in her golden hair, was the most truly bridal figure in\nthe church. As the doctor turned from the bride, and sought his place\nbeside her in the pew, he looked at the sweet face, bent so demurely\nover the prayer-book, and thought he had never seen his wife look more\nentrancingly lovely. Unconsciously his hand strayed to the white\nrosebud she had fastened in his coat as they strolled round the\nconservatory together that morning. Flower, glancing up, surprised his\nlook. She did not think it right to smile in church; but a delicate\nwave of colour swept over her face, and her cheek leaned as near the\ndoctor's shoulder, as the size of her hat would allow. Flower felt\nquite certain that was a look the doctor had never given Jane.\n\nThe service commenced. The short-sighted clergyman, very nervous, and\nrather overwhelmed by the unusual facts of a special license, a blind\nbridegroom, and the reported presence of a duchess, began reading very\nfast, in an undertone, which old Margery could not follow, though her\nfinger, imprisoned in unwonted kid, hurried along the lines. Then\nconscious of his mistake, he slowed down, and became too impressive;\nmaking long nerve-straining pauses, fled in by the tinkling of the\nduchess, and the chinking in Dr. Rob's trousers-pockets.\n\nThus they arrived at the demand upon the congregation, if they could\nshow any just cause why these two persons might not lawfully be joined\ntogether, NOW to speak--and the pause here was so long, and so\nover-powering, that old Margery said \"nay\"; and then gave a nervous\nsob. The bridegroom turned and smiled in the direction of the voice;\nand the doctor, leaning forward, laid his hand on the trembling\nshoulder, and whispered: \"Steady, old friend. It is all right.\"\n\nThere was no pause whatever after the solemn charge to the couple; so\nif Garth and Jane had any secrets to disclose, they had perforce to\nkeep them for after discussion.\n\nThen Jane found her right hand firmly clasped in Garth's; and no\ninadequacy of the Church's mouth-piece could destroy the exquisite\nbeauty of the Church's words, in which Garth was asked if he would take\nher to be his own.\n\nTo this, Garth, and old Margery, said they would; with considerable\ndisplay of emotion.\n\nThen the all-comprehensive question was put to Jane; the Church seeming\nto remind her gently, that she took him in his blindness, with all\nwhich that might entail.\n\nJane said: \"I will\"; and the deep, tender voice, was the voice of The\nRosary.\n\nWhen the words were uttered, Garth lifted the hand he held, and\nreverently kissed it.\n\nThis was not in the rubric, and proved disconcerting to the clergyman.\nHe threw up his head suddenly, and inquired: \"Who giveth this woman to\nbe married to this man?\" And as, for the moment, there was no response,\nhe repeated, the question wildly; gazing into distant corners of the\nchurch.\n\nThen the duchess, who up to that time had been feeling a little bored,\nrealised that her moment had come, and rejoiced. She sailed out of her\npew, and advanced to the chancel step. \"My dear good man,\" she said;\n\"_I_ give my niece away; having come north at considerable\ninconvenience for that express purpose. Now, go on. What do we do next?\"\n\nDr. Rob broke into an uncontrollable chuckle. The duchess lifted her\nlorgnette, and surveyed him. Margery searched her prayer-book in vain\nfor the duchess's response. It did not appear to be there.\n\nFlower looked in distressed appeal at the doctor. But the doctor was\nstudying, with grave intentness, a stencilled pattern on the chancel\nroof; and paid no attention to Flower's nudge.\n\nThe only people completely unconscious of anything unusual in the order\nof proceedings appeared to be the bride and bridegroom. They were\ntaking each other \"in the sight of God, and in the face of this\ncongregation.\" They were altogether absorbed in each other, standing\ntogether in the sight of God; and the deportment of \"this congregation\"\nwas a matter they scarcely noticed. \"People always behave grotesquely\nat weddings,\" Jane had said to Garth, beforehand; \"and ours will be no\nexception to the general rule. But we can close our eyes, and stand\ntogether in Sightless Land; and Deryck will take care it is valid.\"\n\n\"Not in Sightless Land, my beloved,\" said Garth; \"but in the Land where\nthey need no candle neither light of the sun. However, and wherever, I\ntake YOU as my wife, I shall be standing on the summit of God's heaven.\"\n\nSo they stood; and in their calmness the church hushed to silence. The\nservice proceeded; and the minister, who had not known how to keep them\nfrom clasping hands when the rubric did not require it, found no\ndifficulty in inducing them to do so again.\n\nSo they took each other--these two, who were so deeply each other's\nalready--solemnly, reverently, tenderly, in the sight of God, they took\neach other, according to God's holy ordinance; and the wedding ring,\ntype of that eternal love which has neither beginning nor ending,\npassed from Garth's pocket, over the Holy Book, on to Jane's finger.\n\nWhen it was over, she took his arm; and leaning upon it, so that he\ncould feel she leaned, guided him to the vestry.\n\nAfterwards, in the brougham, for those few precious minutes, when\nhusband and wife find themselves alone for the first time, Garth turned\nto Jane with an eager naturalness, which thrilled her heart as no\nstudied speech could have done. He did not say: \"My wife.\" That unique\nmoment had been theirs, three years before.\n\n\"Dearest,\" he said, \"how soon will they all go? How soon shall we be\nquite alone? Oh, why couldn't they drive to the station from the\nchurch?\"\n\nJane looked at her watch. \"Because we must lunch them, dear,\" she said.\n\"Think how good they have all been. And we could not start our married\nlife by being inhospitable. It is just one o'clock; and we ordered\nluncheon at half-past. Their train leaves the station at half-past\nfour. In three hours, Garth, we shall be alone.\"\n\n\"Shall I be able to behave nicely for three hours?\" exclaimed Garth,\nboyishly.\n\n\"You must,\" said Jane, \"or I shall fetch Nurse Rosemary.\"\n\n\"Oh hush!\" he said. \"All that is too precious, to-day, for chaff.\nJane\"--he turned suddenly, and laid his hand on hers--\"Jane! Do you\nunderstand that you are now--actually--my wife?\"\n\nJane took his hand, and held it against her heart, just where she so\noften had pressed her own, when she feared he would hear it throbbing.\n\n\"My darling,\" she said, \"I do not understand it. But I know--ah, thank\nGod!--I know it to be true.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXVIII\n\nPERPETUAL LIGHT\n\n\nMoonlight on the terrace--silvery, white, serene. Garth and Jane had\nstepped out into the brightness; and, finding the night so warm and\nstill, and the nightingales filling the woods and hills with\nsoft-throated music, they moved their usual fireside chairs close to\nthe parapet, and sat there in restful comfort, listening to the sweet\nsounds of the quiet night.\n\nThe solitude was so perfect; the restfulness so complete. Garth had\nremoved the cushion seat from his chair, and placed it on the gravel;\nand sat at his wife's feet leaning against her knees. She stroked his\nhair and brow softly, as they talked; and every now and then he put up\nhis hand, drew hers to his lips, and kissed the ring he had never seen.\n\nLong tender silences fell between them. Now that they were at last\nalone, thoughts too deep, joys too sacred for words, trembled about\nthem; and silence seemed to express more than speech. Only, Garth could\nnot bear Jane to be for a moment out of reach of his hand. What to\nanother would have been: \"I cannot let her out of my sight,\" was, to\nhim, \"I cannot let her be beyond my touch.\" And Jane fully understood\nthis; and let him feel her every moment within reach. And the bliss of\nthis was hers as well as his; for sometimes it had seemed to her as if\nthe hunger in her heart, caused by those long weeks of waiting, when\nher arms ached for him, and yet she dared not even touch his hand,\nwould never be appeased.\n\n\"Sweet, sweet, sweet--thrill,\" sang a nightingale in the wood. And\nGarth whistled an exact imitation.\n\n\"Oh, darling,\" said Jane, \"that reminds me; there is something I do so\nwant you to sing to me. I don't know what it is; but I think you will\nremember. It was on that Monday evening, after I had seen the pictures,\nand Nurse Rosemary had described them to you. Both our poor hearts were\non the rack; and I went up early in order to begin my letter of\nconfession; but you told Simpson not to come for you until eleven.\nWhile I was writing in the room above, I could hear you playing in the\nlibrary. You played many things I knew--music we had done together,\nlong ago. And then a theme I had never heard crept in, and caught my\near at once, because it was quite new to me, and so marvellously sweet.\nI put down my pen and listened. You played it several times, with\nslight variations, as if trying to recall it. And then, to my joy, you\nbegan to sing. I crossed the room; softly opened my window, and leaned\nout. I could hear some of the words; but not all. Two lines, however,\nreached me distinctly, with such penetrating, tender sadness, that I\nlaid my head against the window-frame, feeling as if I could write no\nmore, and wait no longer, but must go straight to you at once.\"\n\nGarth drew down the dear hand which had held the pen that night; turned\nit over, and softly kissed the palm.\n\n\"What were they, Jane?\" he said.\n\n \"'Lead us, O Christ, when all is gone,\n Safe home at last.'\"\n\n\"And oh, my darling, the pathos of those words, 'when all is gone'!\nWhoever wrote that music, had been through suffering such as ours. Then\ncame a theme of such inspiring hopefulness and joy, that I arose, armed\nwith fresh courage; took up my pen, and went on with my letter. Again\ntwo lines had reached me:\"\n\n \"'Where Thou, Eternal Light of Light,\n Art Lord of All.'\"\n\n\"What is it, Garth? And whose? And where did you hear it? And will you\nsing it to me now, darling? I have a sudden wish that you should sing\nit, here and now; and I can't wait!\"\n\nGarth sat up, and laughed--a short happy laugh, in which all sorts of\nemotions were mingled.\n\n\"Jane! I like to hear you say you can't wait. It isn't like you;\nbecause you are so strong and patient. And yet it is so deliciously\nlike you, if you FEEL it, to SAY it. I found the words in the\nAnthem-book at Worcester Cathedral, this time last year, at even-song.\nI copied them into my pocket-book, during the reading of the first\nlesson, I am ashamed to say; but it was all about what Balak said unto\nBalaam, and Balaam said unto Balak,--so I hope I may be forgiven! They\nseemed to me some of the most beautiful words I had ever read; and,\nfortunately, I committed them to memory. Of course, I will sing them to\nyou, if you wish, here and now. But I am afraid the air will sound\nrather poor without the accompaniment. However, not for worlds would I\nmove from here, at this moment.\"\n\nSo sitting up; in the moonlight, with his back to Jane, his face\nuplifted, and his hands clasped around one knee, Garth sang. Much\npractice had added greatly to the sweetness and flexibility of his\nvoice; and he rendered perfectly the exquisite melody to which the\nwords were set.\n\nJane listened with an overflowing heart.\n\n \"The radiant morn hath passed away,\n And spent too soon her golden store;\n The shadows of departing day\n Creep on once more.\n \"Our life is but a fading dawn,\n Its glorious noon, how quickly past!\n Lead us, O Christ, when all is gone,\n Safe home at last.\n \"Where saints are clothed in spotless white,\n And evening shadows never fall;\n where Thou, Eternal Light of Light,\n Art Lord of All.\"\n\nThe triumphant worship of the last line rang out into the night, and\ndied away. Garth loosed his hands, and leaned back, with a sigh of vast\ncontent, against his wife's knees.\n\n\"Beautiful!\" she said. \"Beautiful! Garthie--perhaps it is because YOU\nsang it; and to-night;--but it seems to me the most beautiful thing I\never heard. Ah, and how appropriate for us; on this day, of all days.\"\n\n\"Oh, I don't know,\" said Garth, stretching his legs in front of him,\nand crossing his feet the one over the other. \"I certainly feel 'Safe\nhome at last'--not because 'all is gone'; but because I HAVE all, in\nhaving you, Jane.\"\n\nJane bent, and laid her cheek upon his head. \"My own boy,\" she said,\n\"you have all I have to give--all, ALL. But, darling, in those dark\ndays which are past, all seemed gone, for us both. 'Lead us, O\nChrist'--It was He who led us safely through the darkness, and has\nbrought us to this. And Garth, I love to know that He is Lord of\nAll--Lord of our joy; Lord of our love; Lord of our lives--our wedded\nlives, my husband. We could not be so safely, so blissfully, each\nother's, were we not ONE, IN HIM. Is this true for you also, Garth?\"\n\nGarth felt for her left hand, drew it down, and laid his cheek against\nit; then gently twisted the wedding ring that he might kiss it all\nround.\n\n\"Yes, my wife,\" he said. \"I thank God, that I can say in all things:\n'Thou, Eternal Light of Light, art Lord of All.'\"\n\nA long sweet silence. Then Jane said, suddenly: \"Oh, but the music,\nGarthie! That exquisite setting. Whose is it? And where did you hear\nit?\"\n\nGarth laughed again; a laugh of half-shy pleasure.\n\n\"I am glad you like it, Jane,\" he said, \"because I must plead guilty to\nthe fact that it is my own. You see, I knew no music for it; the\nAnthem-book gave the words only. And on that awful night, when little\nRosemary had mercilessly rubbed it in, about 'the lady portrayed'; and\nwhat her love MUST have been, and WOULD have been, and COULD have been;\nand had made me SEE 'The Wife' again, and 'The--' the other picture; I\nfelt so bruised, and sore, and lonely. And then those words came to my\nmind: 'Lead us, O Christ, when all is gone, safe home at last.' All\nseemed gone indeed; and there seemed no home to hope for, in this\nworld.\" He raised himself a little, and then leaned back again; so that\nhis head rested against her bosom. \"Safe home at last,\" he said, and\nstayed quite still for a moment, in utter content. Then remembered what\nhe was telling her, and went on eagerly.\n\n\"So those words came back to me; and to get away from despairing\nthoughts, I began reciting them, to an accompaniment of chords.\"\n\n \"'The radiant morn hath passed away,\n And spent too soon her golden store;\n The shadows of departing day--'\"\n\n\"And then--suddenly, Jane--I SAW it, pictured in sound! Just as I used\nto SEE a sunset, in light and shadow, and then transfer it to my canvas\nin shade and colour,-so I heard a SUNSET in harmony, and I felt the\nsame kind of tingle in my fingers as I used to feel when inspiration\ncame, and I could catch up my brushes and palette. So I played the\nsunset. And then I got the theme for life fading, and what one feels\nwhen the glorious noon is suddenly plunged into darkness; and then the\nprayer. And then, I HEARD a vision of heaven, where evening shadows\nnever fall: And after that came the end; just certainty, and worship,\nand peace. You see the eventual theme, worked out of all this. It was\nlike making studies for a picture. That was why you heard it over and\nover. I wasn't trying to remember. I was gathering it into final form.\nI am awfully glad you like it, Jane; because if I show you how the\nharmonies go, perhaps you could write it down. And it would mean such a\nlot to me, if you thought it worth singing. I could play the\naccompaniment--Hullo! Is it beginning to rain? I felt a drop on my\ncheek, and another on my hand.\"\n\nNo answer. Then he felt the heave, with which Jane caught her breath;\nand realised that she was weeping.\n\nIn a moment he was on his knees in front of her. \"Jane! Why, what is\nthe matter; Sweet? What on earth--? Have I said anything to trouble\nyou? Jane, what is it? O God, why can't I see her!\"\n\nJane mastered her emotion; controlling her voice, with an immense\neffort. Then drew him down beside her.\n\n\"Hush, darling, hush! It is only a great joy--a wonderful surprise.\nLean against me again, and I will try to tell you. Do you know that you\nhave composed some of the most beautiful music in the world? Do you\nknow, my own boy, that not only your proud and happy wife, but ALL\nwomen who can sing, will want to sing your music? Garthie, do you\nrealise what it means? The creative faculty is so strong in you, that\nwhen one outlet was denied it, it burst forth through another. When you\nhad your sight, you created by the hand and EYE. Now, you will create\nby the hand and EAR. The power is the same. It merely works through\nanother channel. But oh, think what it means! Think! The world lies\nbefore you once more!\"\n\nGarth laughed, and put up his hand to the dear face, still wet with\nthankful tears.\n\n\"Oh, bother the world!\" he said. \"I don't want the world. I only want\nmy wife.\"\n\nJane put her arms around him. Ah, what a boy he was in some ways! How\nfull of light-hearted, irrepressible, essential youth. Just then she\nfelt so much older than he; but how little that mattered. The better\ncould she wrap him round with the greatness of her tenderness; shield\nhim from every jar or disillusion; and help him to make the most of his\ngreat gifts.\n\n\"I know, darling,\" she said. \"And you have her. She is just ALL YOURS.\nBut think of the wonderful future. Thank God, I know enough of the\ntechnical part, to write the scores of your compositions. And,\nGarth,--fancy going together to noble cathedrals, and hearing your\nanthems sung; and to concerts where the most perfect voices in the\nworld will be doing their utmost adequately to render your songs. Fancy\nthrilling hearts with pure harmony, stirring souls with tone-pictures;\njust as before you used to awaken in us all, by your wonderful\npaintings, an appreciation and comprehension of beauty.\"\n\nGarth raised his head. \"Is it really as good as that, Jane?\" he said.\n\n\"Dear,\" answered Jane, earnestly, \"I can only tell you, that when you\nsang it first, and I had not the faintest idea it was yours, I said to\nmyself: 'It is the most beautiful thing I ever heard.'\"\n\n\"I am glad,\" said Garth, simply. \"And now, let's talk of something\nelse. Oh, I say, Jane! The present is too wonderful, to leave any\npossible room for thoughts about the future. Do talk about the present.\"\n\nJane smiled; and it was the smile of \"The Wife\"--mysterious;\ncompassionate; tender; self-surrendering. She leaned over him, and\nrested her cheek upon his head.\n\n\"Yes, darling. We will talk of this very moment, if you wish. You\nbegin.\"\n\n\"Look at the house, and describe it to me, as you see it in the\nmoonlight.\"\n\n\"Very grey, and calm, and restful-looking. And so home-like, Garthie.\"\n\n\"Are there lights in the windows?\"\n\n\"Yes. The library lights are just as we left them. The French window is\nstanding wide open. The pedestal lamp, under a crimson silk shade,\nlooks very pretty from here, shedding a warm glow over the interior.\nThen, I can see one candle in the dining-room. I think Simpson is\nputting away silver.\"\n\n\"Any others, Jane?\"\n\n\"Yes, darling. There is a light in the Oriel chamber. I can see Margery\nmoving to and fro. She seems to be arranging my things, and giving\nfinal touches. There is also a light in your room, next door. Ah, now\nshe has gone through. I see her standing and looking round to make sure\nall is right. Dear faithful old heart! Garth, how sweet it is to be at\nhome to-day; served and tended by those who really love us.\"\n\n\"I am so glad you feel that,\" said Garth. \"I half feared you might\nregret not having an ordinary honeymoon--And yet, no! I wasn't really\nafraid of that, or of anything. Just, together at last, was all we\nwanted. Wasn't it, my wife?\"\n\n\"All.\"\n\nA clock in the house struck nine.\n\n\"Dear old clock,\" said Garth, softly. \"I used to hear it strike nine,\nwhen I was a little chap in my crib, trying to keep awake until my\nmother rustled past; and went into her room. The door between her room\nand mine used to stand ajar, and I could see her candle appear in a\nlong streak upon my ceiling. When I saw that streak, I fell asleep\nimmediately. It was such a comfort to know she was there; and would not\ngo down again. Jane, do you like the Oriel chamber?\"\n\n\"Yes, dear. It is a lovely room; and very sacred because it was hers.\nDo you know, Aunt Georgina insisted upon seeing it, Garth; and said it\nought to be whitened and papered. But I would not hear of that; because\nthe beautiful old ceiling is hand-painted, and so are the walls; and I\nwas certain you had loved those paintings, as a little boy; and would\nremember them now.\"\n\n\"Ah, yes,\" said Garth, eagerly. \"A French artist stayed here, and did\nthem. Water and rushes, and the most lovely flamingoes; those on the\nwalls standing with their feet in the water; and those on the ceiling,\nflying with wings outspread, into a pale green sky, all over white\nbillowy clouds. Jane, I believe I could walk round that room,\nblindfold--no! I mean, as I am now; and point out the exact spot where\neach flamingo stands.\"\n\n\"You shall,\" said Jane, tenderly. These slips when he talked,\nmomentarily forgetting his blindness, always wrung her heart. \"By\ndegrees you must tell me all the things you specially did and loved, as\na little boy. I like to know them. Had you always that room, next door\nto your mother's?\"\n\n\"Ever since I can remember,\" said Garth. \"And the door between was\nalways open. After my mother's death, I kept it locked. But the night\nbefore my birthday, I used to open it; and when I woke early and saw it\najar, I would spring up, and go quickly in; and it seemed as if her\ndear presence was there to greet me, just on that one morning. But I\nhad to go quickly, and immediately I wakened; just as you must go out\nearly to catch the rosy glow of sunrise on the fleeting clouds; or to\nsee the gossamer webs on the gorse, outlined in diamonds, by the\nsparkling summer dew. But, somehow, Margery found out about it; and the\nthird year there was a sheet of writing-paper firmly stuck to the\npincushion by a large black-headed pin, saying, in Margery's careful\ncaligraphy: 'Many happy returns of the day, Master Garthie.' It was\nvery touching, because it was meant to be so comforting and tactful.\nBut it destroyed the illusion! Since then the door has been kept\nclosed.\"\n\nAnother long sweet silence. Two nightingales, in distant trees, sang\nalternately; answering one another in liquid streams of melody.\n\nAgain Garth turned the wedding ring; then spoke, with his lips against\nit.\n\n\"You said Margery had 'gone through.' Is it open to-night?\" he asked.\n\nJane clasped both hands behind his head--strong, capable hands, though\nnow they trembled a little--and pressed his face against her, as she\nhad done on the terrace at Shenstone, three years before.\n\n\"Yes, my own boy,\" she said; \"it is.\"\n\n\"Jane! Oh, Jane--\" He released himself from the pressure of those\nrestraining hands, and lifted his adoring face to hers.\n\nThen, suddenly, Jane broke down. \"Ah, darling,\" she said, \"take me away\nfrom this horrible white moonlight! I cannot bear it. It reminds me of\nShenstone. It reminds me of the wrong I did you. It seems a separating\nthing between you and me--this cruel brightness which you cannot share.\"\n\nHer tears fell on his upturned fate.\n\nThen Garth sprang to his feet. The sense of manhood and mastery; the\nright of control, the joy of possession, arose within him. Even in his\nblindness, he was the stronger. Even in his helplessness, for the great\nessentials, Jane must lean on him. He raised her gently, put his arms\nabout her, and stood there, glorified by his great love.\n\n\"Hush, sweetest wife,\" he said. \"Neither light nor darkness can\nseparate between you and me: This quiet moonlight cannot take you from\nme; but in the still, sweet darkness you will feel more completely my\nown, because it will hold nothing we cannot share. Come with me to the\nlibrary, and we will send away the lamps, and close the curtains; and\nyou shall sit on the couch near the piano, where you sat, on that\nwonderful evening when I found you, and when I almost frightened my\nbrave Jane. But she will not be frightened now, because she is so my\nown; and I may say what I like; and do what I will; and she must not\nthreaten me with Nurse Rosemary; because it is Jane I want--Jane, Jane;\njust ONLY Jane! Come in, beloved; and I, who see as clearly in the dark\nas in the light, will sit and play THE ROSARY for you; and then Veni,\nCreator Spiritus; and I will sing you the verse which has been the\nsecret source of peace, and the sustaining power of my whole inner\nlife, through the long, hard years, apart.\"\n\n\"Now,\" whispered Jane. \"Now, as we go.\"\n\nSo Garth drew her hand through his arm; and, as they walked, sang\nsoftly:\n\n \"Enable with perpetual light,\n The dulness of our blinded sight;\n Anoint and cheer our soiled face\n With the abundance of Thy grace.\n Keep far our foes; give peace at home;\n Where Thou art Guide, no ill can come.\"\n\nThus, leaning on her husband; yet guiding him as she leaned; Jane\npassed to the perfect happiness of her wedded home."