afflicted by apprehensions to which she had long been a stranger. Twice
in as many years she had seen her husband, Luton, and upon each occasion
at a crisis of his life. A wanderer like herself, he lived chiefly upon
the allowance of one thousand a year which she made him, and when that
was exhausted, upon his wits, which were considerable. The latter
occupation was not unattended by danger and the curiosity of the police.
Lily wondered sometimes at her patience.
And now he had followed her to Switzerland, and unquestionably would
visit her at Andana. What shameful story lay behind the pursuit she
could not imagine; but of the existence of such a story she was sure.
Luton Delayne rarely troubled her unless his case were desperate--and
desperate indeed it must be for him to abandon the purlieus of Monte
Carlo at such a season. She resolved, upon her part, to refuse him
audience if that were possible; and if it were not possible, then to
summon all her courage and insist that this interview should be final.
The day for compromise was past.
It had been her promise to the parson, Harry Clavering, that she would
submit to the ordeal of the skis on this morning; and when, with
Kavanagh, she met him on the veranda of the hotel, he reminded her
pleasantly of her obligations.
Unwilling to disappoint, she professed her readiness to face the ordeal,
and skis having been commanded from the hotel porter, the parson upon
one side and Kavanagh upon the other set to work to imprison the
smallest pair of feet in Andana and to tell the owner the news while
they did so.
"You've heard that the ghost has been seen?" asked Clavering, a little
excitedly. She shook her head incredulously.
"Oh, but it's quite true. Miss Nellie Rider saw it from her bedroom
window and so did her sister. Sir Gordon Snagg is another. He declares
it was a man in a flying machine. I shouldn't wonder if he were right."
Kavanagh was of this opinion.
"There are fools in the world who will do anything," he said. "Some
idiot out of Hanwell may have brought his aeroplane here to scare the
natives; and jolly well he's succeeded. I hope he may break his neck,
that's all. He deserves to, that's sure."
He thought that the "little widow" would agree with him as a matter of
course, and her answer rather astonished him.
"Then you think that pioneers are very wicked people?" she remarked;
"you have no sympathy with them, Mr. Kavanagh?"
"Oh, I won't say that--good for science and all that sort of thing.
What I mean is, let's keep the mountains anyway. We don't want
ginger-beer bottles on our heads up here--do we now? I'm sure Mr.
Clavering agrees to that."
The parson dissented altogether.
"I think it would be a brave thing to fly here," he said quietly, "a
very brave thing. And I hope the day when we cannot admire courage is
distant. If there had been no pioneers in the world, I should not be
travelling through the Simplon Tunnel to Bellagio in three weeks' time,
and you would not be smoking that excellent tobacco. If there is an
aeroplane at Andana, it must be owned by one of the men who is about to
fly for the great prize offered by the English daily paper. I hope he
will win it."
"But you wouldn't go up in one yourself?" Kavanagh insisted.
"Not for a thousand sovereigns, poor as I am."
Kavanagh laughed, but found no support from Lily Kennaird. She, grown a
little less pale in the glorious freshness of the morning, was more
concerned with the difficulties of the uncouth implements they had
strapped to her boots than with any question of flight and its
consequences. How awkward she felt! How impossible it seemed to do
anything at all with those great wooden skates, so much taller than she
was, and so exceedingly slippery.
"Now," said the parson, who had fixed his own skis and become a little
more anxious when he had done so, "just shuffle along without lifting
your feet, if you can; it's quite easy to walk up---the coming down is
the difficulty. We'll go to the slopes by the Park Hotel and find a
very gentle one. I'm sure you'll like it when you become accustomed to
the balance. The great thing is not to be afraid."
Kavanagh seconded this, and was in the act of showing her exactly how to
place her feet, when he sat down without warning, and having remained
some moments in an attitude of despair, explained that he had done it to
show the ease with which one can rise when the boots and straps are all
right. This process he repeated at intervals on their way to the Park
Hotel; indeed, he proved a paragon of good nature in the matter.
The fine weather of the previous day favoured them again, and the famous
slopes were merry with the gambols of the players. Here there is a
great basin of the snow with a lake at its depths and the white
mountains towering high above it. The banks themselves are often gentle
and rarely difficult; and hither go the inexperienced to be tutored by
kindly masters, who are themselves but children at the game. On every
side you hear the injunction not to be afraid--so pompously uttered, so
difficult to obey. Elderly gentlemen, who would be more at home upon a
rocking-horse, glide down gentle declivities and are proud of the
success which follows them to the bottom. Spinsters, of far from mature
aspect, sit down upon less than no provocation at all, and declare it to
be glorious. The great white kindergarten is the merriest place in all
the world--and the world is far distant from it.
Parson Clavering had an excellent eye for an easy slope, and he chose
one just suited to his own capacities. It was about three hundred yards
from the chalet which Benny had hired, and that excellent fellow,
looking out of the window and blaming his hard luck, forgot the latter
employment when he espied the "little widow." How he envied the cheery
parson, who was holding her arm; how he detested that gilded popinjay
(Benny had got the expression from a novel) who stood by her side and
smoked a cigarette as though he had hired the parson to do the manual
work of which he himself would reap the fruit. But Benny carried his
arm in a sling to-day, and even his zeal prompted no thought of skis.
He was lucky to be alive.
Meanwhile he could watch the lesson--and instructive it was. First
Clavering would show his pupil exactly how to stand, with one leg
slightly before the other and the arms, which carried the trailing
sticks, held well behind the body. Then the amiable little man would
proceed to slide down the slope himself, perhaps sitting hurriedly at
the foot of it, or arriving triumphantly at his goal as a man who has
achieved greatness. When his pupil essayed to do the same and sank
immediately into the soft snow, he assured her that such a proceeding
was correct, and that by tribulation only would perfection be attained.
"They tell boys who hunt that they must fall forty times before they can
ride--anyone who skis must fall four hundred times," he said
reassuringly. "Now don't be afraid--we are all in the same boat, and we
sink together. You are not hurt, I hope?"
She told him that she was not hurt at all--though, as a fact, she had
dashed a little wildly down the slope and fallen heavily upon her side
at the bottom. A fine effort to save her upon Kavanagh's part resulted
in that lordly person falling headlong and in such a position that his
skis held him immobile, and he had to cry for help. When he was rescued
and had brushed the snow from his immaculate collar, he asked her if she
did not find it "rather rotten"; but being answered in the negative, he
retired to the path again and watched her a little jealously. That
"infernal parson" was having the time of his life--really it was too
ridiculous.
In plain truth, Lily had begun already to enjoy herself exceedingly.
The keenness of the air, the glorious sunshine, the delight of this new
exercise drove all other thoughts from her head; and for the time being
she was a child again with all a child's ardour. This ski-ing must be
the most fascinating thing on earth, she thought, while she watched
those experts, Bob Otway and Keith Rivers, sailing down the
mountain-side with a dexterity which amazed her. Patience would teach
her to imitate them, and then the heights would be open to her. A vain
desire whispered that the mountains might be her safe refuge after all,
and that they would harbour her--an altitude of dreams upon which Bob
Otway's hard voice intruded painfully: "I say, Kavanagh," he roared,
"come up and jump. Miss Rivers wants to see you do it; you aren't going
to disappoint her?"
Kavanagh retorted by fixing his glass in his eye and turning upon that
wild youth a glance which deserved the attribute "stony."
"I am not an acrobat," he snapped severely. "If you will tell me how
much you require to begin, I will put something into your hat."
Bob Otway turned away with a laugh.
"By Jove, old chap, it would want a precious big hat to make you start,"
and with that for a shot he began to climb up the mountain-side toward
the chalet where Nellie Rivers was waiting for him.
"Otway's a fine jumper," said the parson, "I believe he learned in
Norway. It's quite impossible to do what he does unless you are caught
young. Shall we watch him come down? It is really a fine thing to
see."
She assented willingly, and they watched the "happy pair," who were now
far up the slope by the Park Hotel and preparing to take the jump which
has been fashioned about half-way down the valley. This was nothing more
nor less than a kind of diving board of snow, from which the runners
would take off as they dashed down the steep. "A clever performer,"
said the parson, "would jump ninety or a hundred feet before his skis
touched ground again"; but the proceeding was hazardous, and some
wonderful falls resulted. However, he had no fears about Bob Otway, and
when that young gentleman started with a flourish, he followed him with
expectant eyes. Alas for his hopes! Master Bob flew high into the air,
missed his footing as he landed, and rolled over and over as though he
would never stop. Then he sat motionless for many minutes--the
situation required some thinking about, and Bob was rapidly becoming a
philosopher.
Nellie Rivers was more successful. A graceful performer at Alpine
games, there was no prettier figure upon skis then in the mountains.
And her jumping was, as Bob would tell you, divine. Hardly seeming to
leave the track, she shot through the air at a tremendous pace, and
landed so evenly and with such perfect balance that the run was resumed
as though it had never been interrupted. Then she skimmed by the
parson, and raising one foot suddenly and bringing the other round, she
"telemarked" most gracefully and stood laughingly before him.
"Bob always falls when I am coming down," she said, "I suppose it's to
make a soft place for me. Mr. Kavanagh would not be so obliging--I can
see it in his eye."
Kavanagh said that he would prefer to dig a hole with a spade; but he
admitted that Master Bob was an obliging fellow enough.
"If nobody cut capers, this would be a rotten place. It's a man's duty
to do something of the sort," he said, "but, of course--um--er--mere
youth has the responsibility!"
"And the glory," said Clavering, who thought that the lesson might well
be resumed upon so inspiring an example and immediately turned a
somersault to demonstrate his aptitude as a pupil. The little man was
wonderfully active from this time forth, and when half-past twelve came
and they heard the bell calling them back to the Palace for lunch, he
resolutely refused to go indoors. Had he not brought baskets packed
with chicken and the mysterious sausage in which "Chic," the cook,
delighted? They would bivouac up there in the woods--perhaps that
generous person, Mr. Benjamin Benson, would permit them to use the table
in the garden of his chalet--a suggestion which annoyed Kavanagh, but
made an instantaneous appeal to Madame Lily. Yes, she would like it,
she said, and having said it, repented immediately of the admission.
What right had she to think with pleasure of any friendship of the kind?
Nevertheless, they went up to the chalet and received the warm welcome
they expected. Benny himself, his arm in a sling and his sallow face
paler than ordinary, busied about the place with amazing ardour directly
he heard that Mrs. Kennaird was of the party. His brother, apologising
for the black-handled knives and the forks which matched them, declared
that the kitchen fire was at their service; but he did so rather
knavishly and with a glance aside at the beautiful woman who had
intruded upon their privacy. It remained for the Abbe Villari to join
the party, and he cut the oddest figure of all, for his cassock was
girdled high about his waist while the sleeves of it were tucked up to
his elbow. Moreover, he was exceedingly black, and when Benny explained
with a very red face that the abbe had a penchant for amateur mechanics,
it was easy to believe him.
"The gospel of the hammer, I suppose," said Kavanagh, staring fixedly at
them as he spoke.
Benny replied that some heads were very thick and that a corkscrew was
the only implement to let a joke into them--a correct rendering of the
great doctor's _bon mot_, which made but a poor appeal to his enemy.
Then they all sat down to lunch, and a merrier meal was not known that
day at Andana.
Lily could hardly believe in this sense of contentment which now came
upon her. The magic power of the mountains as an antidote to ill had
never been wholly understood by her before; she realised it as she sat
there in the glowing sunshine and looked up to a sky infinitely blue.
The great fields of the dazzling snow, the beauty of the woods, the
grandeur of the prospect spoke of peace and rest as no other scene she
could remember. And with it there came the idea that one man's good
will contributed not a little to this gift of self-deception, and that
in the humanity and good nature of such a personality as Benny the true
secret was to be found. Much had the great world of artificiality and
of false ideals taught her in her youth, but here was something
different, something to be learned with gratitude, and being learned,
not to be forgotten.
Benny, for his part, hovered about her as a shadow, and when she
inquired with a woman's gentleness of his hurt, he blushed like any
schoolgirl.
"It was nothing--nothing at all," he said--but his brother Jack muttered
that it was everything--and as he said it, he glanced at the "little
widow" and wondered what evil fortune had sent her to Andana.
*CHAPTER VII*
*AN ULTIMATUM*
It had just grown dark when Lily returned to the Palace Hotel, and the
hall was quite full of muffled folk, whose arguments upon the events of
the day waxed hot and eloquent. Some of these turned their heads as the
"pretty little woman" went by; but the many were too interested in their
narration of particular exploits to notice her. Upstairs, she found her
sitting-room in darkness, but she knew, even before she had switched on
the electric light, that it was not untenanted, and presently she
discovered her husband, Luton, sitting by the window and smiling a
little sardonically while he waited for her to speak.
Eight months had passed since they had met, and time had not been kind
to him. He looked very old, she thought, and his red hair was sown with
grey. A fine man physically, he had lost flesh, and his clothes bagged
upon his arms and chest. One characteristic remained--the evil of a
face which had expressed little but evil since his childhood.
"Well," he said--and he had never been famous for his eloquence--"well,
Lil, you didn't expect to see me, I suppose. Rather an unpleasant
surprise for you, isn't it?"
She took off her furs and laid them upon a chair. The room had become
insufferably hot, and she would have opened the window had he not barred
the way. But all her instinct forbade her to approach him, and she had
need of her courage that he might not see her trembling.
"What do you want of me?" she rejoined in a cold voice--and then: "Why
do you come here?"
He liked the idea of it, and leaning back in the chair, laughed as
though it were the drollest of notions.
"A man comes to see his wife, and she doesn't offer him the tips of her
beautiful fingers! 'Pon my word, Lil, you look splendid when you stand
like that--and since you press me, I will take a whisky-and-soda and a
cigar just for luck."
She ignored the request and advancing a little nearer to him, repeated
the question:
"Why do you come to me? Was it not understood that you should not come;
was not that part of the bargain?"
He shrugged his shoulders, but his face flushed none the less.
"Bargain be d----d! I'm in a hole--nine thousand four hundred pounds
with Bothand and Co.--you remember them? I bought your emeralds there.
Well, they talk of fraud and all that sort of stuff. I'll have to pay
them, Lil--it's jail if I don't."
She knew that it would be some story of this kind, and was relieved, it
may be, to find it no worse. His exaggerations had ceased to alarm her,
and she believed little of what he told her.
"You have had five thousand pounds from me in two years," she said
quietly. "I am now making you an allowance of a thousand a year. If
there is a duty in the matter, God knows I have done it. More I will
not, whatsoever the consequences--you know that I cannot; it is quite
impossible."
He nodded his head, and, failing the cigar, took a cigarette from his
case and lighted it.
"Why don't you ask the old man?" he retorted. "I tell you, Lil, this is
business, and if I don't pay in ten days' time, there'll be mischief.
You don't mean to say you'd send me to prison for nine thousand
pounds--your beautiful father wouldn't disgrace his daughter for a
trifle like that? I've been pretty considerate, I must say. It's
nearly a year since I came to you, and then for twopence-halfpenny which
I had to beg on my knees. By ----, you're becoming a Jew, my dear, a
devilish pretty little Jew--that's what it is."
She turned from him with contempt.
"You have my answer," she said. "I will continue to pay you a thousand
a year while you leave me as I am. But I will not pay more, whatever
the consequences. That is final and irrevocable. If you come to me at
this hotel again, you shall never receive another penny. The
understanding was made, and I will have it kept. Have I not suffered
enough at your hands; is there to be no end to a woman's patience? You
have ceased to be anything to me but a name--take care that I do not
forbid you even that right."
He smiled provokingly.
"You dare not do it, my dear; the old man wouldn't have it. Devilish
proud old boy, Sir Frederick Kennaird, eh? His hair would turn grey if
you talked about the courts--he told me so himself. He'll have to pay
Bothand and look pleased. I shall write to him myself if you don't;
tell him you're sailing under false colours here, and the men dancing at
your heels. Eh, what, wouldn't that be the truth? Why, I saw you on the
snow with two of them this morning, and I laughed. This paragon of
virtue nods sometimes, eh? Well, I don't complain; I'm meek as a lamb.
And I'm going to have nine thousand four hundred inside ten days, or
there'll be a story at the New Bailey and you'll figure in it, my
dear--for, you see, I used your name and they're not the kind of people
to forget it. No, by gad, we'll sink or swim together--so help me
Heaven!"
Her anger had been growing while he spoke and now quite mastered her.
The gentle lady had become the proud woman, full of courage and
resolution.
"You are one of the worst of men," she said in a low voice. "I thought
and believed that you had gone from my life; I now see how much I was
mistaken. But I shall live now for nothing else. If you come here
again, I will appeal to the people of the hotel for protection. You
tell me that you have been guilty of fraud, and I can quite believe it.
But understand: I will write no letter to my father, take no steps
whatever to save you, and if you are punished, I will be the first to
rejoice. Go now, and let that be my answer."
He was not at all alarmed.
"Oh," he said, rising jauntily, "I'm going all right; but I'm up at
Vermala if you want me. Remember it's nine thousand four hundred, and
the old man can pay Bothand and Co. direct if he likes. I pawned the
stuff in your name, and they say it's fraud. Well, we shall have the
'tecs out here in a day or two and there'll be some fun. They can
extradite the pair of us, and you'd have to go back with me. I say,
Lil, that would make the old man sit up, wouldn't it? There'd be a
harvest home at Kennaird Court, now wouldn't there? I'd write to him,
if I were you--there's a day or two yet; but the game will be up if they
get a warrant. Think it over, my sweet love, take the advice of the
little bounder in black, who was holding you so tight this morning, if
you like. He'll tell you what to do better than I can. A man will know
that I wouldn't take it so lightly if the money were coming to me; no,
by the Lord, I'd be singing another tune then, and one you'd understand.
But these d----d jewellers must have their bit--there's no help for it."
He laughed again at the idea; and repeating the intimation that he was
staying at the hotel at Vermala under the name of Faikes, who had been
an old valet of his, he held out his hand to her; and when she would not
take it, he laughed loudly at the rebuff. But he did not remain with
her, and when he had passed out of the hotel, he stood a little while
looking up at her window, and his face became grave and wistful. What a
beautiful woman she was, and what a mess he had made of his own life!
Perchance his hatred against her welled up because of that great gulf
between them; the gulf of a woman's will and character, of her pity and
patience bestowed upon him once as a priceless gift, but now forever
withdrawn. His own future lay in the chasms; he would tread the high
paths no more.
Lily, his wife, stood meanwhile just where he had left her. This new
story of shame rang in her ears as a knell. No longer doubtful, she
knew that it was true, and she believed him when he said that he would
drag her also to the abyss. Her father remained their last hope; but
what would Sir Frederick Kennaird say to such a letter as she must now
write him? What would his answer be?
Assuredly the old baronet would declare that the arrangement entered
into with his daughter had been final and that Luton Delayne must answer
for his own dishonesty. She believed it would be so; and it seemed to
her, as her tears fell upon the page, that the sins of the man lay heavy
upon her, and that she must make atonement.
*CHAPTER VIII*
*BENNY BECOMES AN OPTIMIST*
There were two men who recognised Luton Delayne when he left the Palace
Hotel, and one was that master of all the courtiers, Dr. Orange. The
other was Benny, who met the baronet at the turn of the road and
understood in a flash why he had come to Andana.
"Luton Delayne, by all that's unholy!" said he to himself, and turning,
he watched the stooping figure of the man until the little wood of pines
hid the apparition from his sight.
Dr. Orange treated the matter a little more cavalierly. He had Bess
Bethune by his side, and she had been in the act of giving him a
definition of beauty--which he had just declared that even Aristotle
could not define--when the baronet passed him in the hall, and he
uttered a sharp exclamation.
"Do you know who that is?" he said to Bess. She replied that she
neither knew nor cared.
"Oh, but we shall all care if he comes here," the doctor ran on; "that's
the greatest scoundrel in Switzerland at the present moment, Luton
Delayne, who used to live at Holmswell. Surely, the hotel people
know--"
Bess laughed.
"I wonder you didn't introduce me. My uncle says that the study of
crime is necessary to virtue; but, of course, I know you, and that's
something. Are you coming upstairs to play 'hearings,' or are you not?
Really, Dr. Orange, you are getting very difficult."