Constancy's college career ended, as had always been anticipated, with
credit, and even with a share of renown. She helped to prove the power
of her sex to compete for laurels formerly reserved for the other, and
she was made much of accordingly. She was very much pleased, and not
greatly surprised, for the kind of power that she possessed is rarely
unconscious. It was not through the sense of intellectual failure that
the gospel was to come to her. She was not even tired with the hard
work, only ready for a holiday, and Kitty and Violet Staunton were glad
enough to share it with her.
So off they went, prepared for every sort of exercise and adventure.
After about a fortnight of successful sight-seeing the three ladies
found themselves in a charming little settlement in a broad mountain
valley, which we will here call Zwei-brucken, where cool green rivers
rushed through green fields and flowed from the heart of dark,
snow-tipped mountains. There were large fawn-coloured oxen and little
fawn-coloured goats, houses surprisingly like toy Swiss cottages, and a
new hotel in the same style, with the usual variety of tourists. It was
a centre for mountain ascents and for excursions, and Constancy and
Violet sat under a wide verandah, on the afternoon of their arrival, and
watched the groups of travellers.
"Don't you remember," said Constancy, "talking about the feeling of
London? What's the feeling of this? It's green, it's cool, it's windy,
it's rushing and fresh."
"When Guy Waynflete came in in the middle, and we settled about
Moorhead," said Violet, "I was provoked with him this year for not going
abroad when he promised, for Cuthbert simply buried himself in the
British Museum, and said all the sources of culture were to be found
there."
Constancy did not answer; she had fallen into a dream. She leant her
chin on her hand, and looked over the wide valley, while into her open
eyes there came the same look with which Florella "saw" the picture in
her flowers. At such moments there was a promise for the future in
Constancy's young face of which, with all her successes, the present had
shown no performance. Suddenly her intent look brightened.
"The mountain nymph, sweet Liberty," she exclaimed. "You can't get
`back of that.' Free, free, free! That's the feeling of it! The
river, the wind, the sky--every one out on a holiday, and--the curate
there in his flannels, how he enjoys them. It makes one a little mad--
Why, Vi! Good gracious!"
For Violet, in startling confirmation of the last words, had suddenly
rushed forward and launched herself on the neck of a young man in brown
tweed, who was coming up the steps of the verandah.
"Cuth, Cuth! Oh, how lovely! Oh, did you know we were here?"
"I have known long enough to mitigate my alarm at your greeting. Your
letters were at the post-office. Yes--here we are. How do you do, Miss
Vyner?"
"I shall believe in brain-waves in future," said Constancy, as she gave
him her hand. "I had just recalled a conversation with you and Mr
Waynflete, and I see you coming. Is he with you?"
"Yes, at last. His brother thought him overworked, and very sensibly
wrote to me to come and carry him off. There he is."
Constancy had not seen Guy for more than nine months, her last
remembrance of him was among the dancers at the Kirkton Hall
garden-party, and she realised at once, as he came along the verandah,
that the slight youth with his pathetic eyes had grown into a very
remarkable person.
"Why--he looks like a mystic, or a martyr!" she thought. "No wonder
people turn and look at him. It's a startling face."
Guy's greeting was, however, simple enough. He was cordial, but he
smiled his little reserved smile as he said--
"Yes, it was very good of Staunton to wait for me. I couldn't get away
before. When I go back, I hope Godfrey will go to Scotland and get some
shooting."
"And Rawdie? Is he thriving? And have you seen my aunt and Florella?
Are they quite settled at Waynflete?"
Guy answered appropriately, and presently took his letters, and went
away to study them.
He was still sitting in a quiet corner of the verandah, when Staunton,
who had remained to exchange news and plans with his sisters, came in
search of him.
"The girls are getting coffee," he said, "and then they are going to
stroll out and see the bridges. Will you come?"
"Better not. I walk so slowly. I'll come and meet you."
"Come now," said Cuthbert. "This trip isn't quite answering for you.
What is it? You must tell me just what you like."
"Well--new places and so many changing people worry me. _He_--it looks
uncommonly grim and grotesque in new combinations. It spoils the look
of the world. It's a little queer, you know, and tiring. I'm much
stronger, really; I can do what I've got to do. But I expect that's
about all. It's months since the real trouble touched me; but I think
there's something more to come--some day."
"Suppose we find some more out-of-the-way place, and stay there quietly.
What you really want is rest."
"No. I like this place, and everything is really going on well with us.
Godfrey shall get out of his hole yet. Oh no, I'm not beaten. We're
not going to the dogs ourselves, nor is Waynflete. And as for other
things--well--the world goes wrong with others."