After a minute's silence Christian said in a startled voice: “They could
arrest you then!”
Harz laughed.
“If they knew; but it's seven years ago.”
“Why did you come here, when it's so dangerous?”
“I had been working too hard, I wanted to see my country—after seven
years, and when it's forbidden! But I'm ready to go back now.” He looked
down at her, frowning.
“Had you a hard time in London, too?”
“Harder, at first—I couldn't speak the language. In my profession it's
hard work to get recognised, it's hard work to make a living. There are
too many whose interest it is to keep you down—I shan't forget them.”
“But every one is not like that?”
“No; there are fine fellows, too. I shan't forget them either. I can
sell my pictures now; I'm no longer weak, and I promise you I shan't
forget. If in the future I have power, and I shall have power—I shan't
forget.”
A shower of fine gravel came rattling on the wall. Dawney was standing
below them with an amused expression on his upturned face.
“Are you going to stay there all night?” he asked. “Greta and I have
bored each other.”
“We're coming,” called Christian hastily.
On the way back neither spoke a word, but when they reached the Villa,
Harz took her hand, and said: “Fraulein Christian, I can't do any more
with your picture. I shan't touch it again after this.”
She made no answer, but they looked at each other, and both seemed to
ask, to entreat, something more; then her eyes fell. He dropped her
hand, and saying, “Good-night,” ran after Dawney.
In the corridor, Dominique, carrying a dish of fruit, met the sisters;
he informed them that Miss Naylor had retired to bed; that Herr Paul
would not be home to dinner; his master was dining in his room; dinner
would be served for Mrs. Decie and the two young ladies in a quarter
of an hour: “And the fish is good to-night; little trouts! try them,
Signorina!” He moved on quickly, softly, like a cat, the tails of his
dress-coat flapping, and the heels of his white socks gleaming.
Christian ran upstairs. She flew about her room, feeling that if she
once stood still it would all crystallise in hard painful thought, which
motion alone kept away. She washed, changed her dress and shoes, and ran
down to her uncle's room. Mr. Treffry had just finished dinner, pushed
the little table back, and was sitting in his chair, with his glasses
on his nose, reading the Tines. Christian touched his forehead with her
lips.
“Glad to see you, Chris. Your stepfather's out to dinner, and I can't
stand your aunt when she's in one of her talking moods—bit of a humbug,
Chris, between ourselves; eh, isn't she?” His eyes twinkled.
Christian smiled. There was a curious happy restlessness in her that
would not let her keep still.
“Picture finished?” Mr. Treffry asked suddenly, taking up the paper with
a crackle. “Don't go and fall in love with the painter, Chris.”
Christian was still enough now.
'Why not?' she thought. 'What should you know about him? Isn't he good
enough for me?' A gong sounded.
“There's your dinner,” Mr. Treffry remarked.
With sudden contrition she bent and kissed him.
But when she had left the room Mr. Treffry put down the Times and stared
at the door, humming to himself, and thoughtfully fingering his chin.
Christian could not eat; she sat, indifferent to the hoverings of
Dominique, tormented by uneasy fear and longings. She answered Mrs.
Decie at random. Greta kept stealing looks at her from under her lashes.
“Decided characters are charming, don't you think so, Christian?” Mrs.
Decie said, thrusting her chin a little forward, and modelling the
words. “That is why I like Mr. Harz so much; such an immense advantage
for a man to know his mind. You have only to look at that young man to
see that he knows what he wants, and means to have it.”
Christian pushed her plate away. Greta, flushing, said abruptly: “Doctor
Edmund is not a decided character, I think. This afternoon he said:
'Shall I have some beer-yes, I shall—no, I shall not'. then he ordered
the beer, so, when it came, he gave it to the soldiers.”
Mrs. Decie turned her enigmatic smile from one girl to the other.
When dinner was over they went into her room. Greta stole at once to
the piano, where her long hair fell almost to the keys; silently she sat
there fingering the notes, smiling to herself, and looking at her aunt,
who was reading Pater's essays. Christian too had taken up a book, but
soon put it down—of several pages she had not understood a word. She
went into the garden and wandered about the lawn, clasping her hands
behind her head. The air was heavy; very distant thunder trembled among
the mountains, flashes of summer lightning played over the trees; and
two great moths were hovering about a rosebush. Christian watched
their soft uncertain rushes. Going to the little summer-house she flung
herself down on a seat, and pressed her hands to her heart.
There was a strange and sudden aching there. Was he going from her? If
so, what would be left? How little and how narrow seemed the outlook of
her life—with the world waiting for her, the world of beauty, effort,
self-sacrifice, fidelity! It was as though a flash of that summer
lightning had fled by, singeing her, taking from her all powers of
flight, burning off her wings, as off one of those pale hovering moths.
Tears started up, and trickled down her face. 'Blind!' she thought; 'how
could I have been so blind?'
Some one came down the path.
“Who's there?” she cried.
Harz stood in the doorway.
“Why did you come out?” he said. “Ah! why did you come out?” He caught
her hand; Christian tried to draw it from him, and to turn her eyes
away, but she could not. He flung himself down on his knees, and cried:
“I love you!”
In a rapture of soft terror Christian bent her forehead down to his
hand.
“What are you doing?” she heard him say. “Is it possible that you love
me?” and she felt his kisses on her hair.
“My sweet! it will be so hard for you; you are so little, so little, and
so weak.” Clasping his hand closer to her face, she murmured: “I don't
care.”
There was a long, soft silence, that seemed to last for ever. Suddenly
she threw her arms round his neck and kissed him.
“Whatever comes!” she whispered, and gathering her dress, escaped from
him into the darkness.