"Well," said Nettie, "women are made much of in my country still, even
by impecunious Englishmen who claim descent from men who did their share
in those days of chivalry. That is, when they have money enough, but
just now I'm not going to be too prickly. You haven't much voice,
Hester, but you sing that little jingly song about the fairies quite
prettily, and the notion it's hung upon gets hold of me. I can feel it
better in Northrop church than anywhere. You know what I mean. There is
very little to keep us out of fairyland. You have but to touch with your
finger tips the ivory gate and golden!"
"If Hester understands your meaning I admit that it's more than I do,"
said Tony.
"Still," said Nettie naively, "I didn't think you would. You have too
many possessions, and, you see, there are limitations in the song. You
might knock a long while at those ivory gates before they let you in."
There was a little laughter, in which Tony joined, and the vicar said,
"Excellent! He deserved it. Please don't stop. Miss Harding."
"That's not necessary," said Hester. "Once Nettie gets started she
generally, as she would express it, goes straight through."
"Yes," said Nettie, "I quite often do. I'm not in the least afraid, like
you, of being thought sentimental. In fact, we are fond of telling
people what we think in my country. Still, I'm not sure about those
limitations. The gates should open to everybody, even business men and
heiresses--but I don't want to go trespassing while the vicar's here."
The vicar nodded. "I claim you as an ally," he said, "The idea you have
taken up is not, however, exactly a novel one."
"Well," said Nettie, "what I feel is this. The old loyal spirit is
living still--because it belongs to all time and can never die. It's with
us now in these days of steam engines and magazine rifles. Those old-
time men wore their labels--the monk's girdle, the red-cross shield, the
palmer's shell, and some, according to the pictures, the nimbus too; but
can't modern men, even those who play poker, which is a game of nerve as
well as chance, and smoke green cigars, be as good as they? Now, I don't
like a man to be ostensibly puritanical and ascetic--unless, of course,
he's a clergyman."
There was a little laughter, and the vicar shook his head. "I'm afraid
they don't all come under that category," he said.
"Still, there are men who never did a mean thing or counted the cost
when they saw what was expected of them. Can't one fancy their passing
the gates of that fairyland the easier because they are stained with the
dust of the strife, and reaching out towards communion with the spirits
of those old loyal folk who went before them--they, and the women they
believe in?"
There was a moment's silence. Nettie's face was a trifle flushed, and a
faint gleam showed in Violet Wayne's gray eyes.
"I think," said the vicar reflectively, "you might go further and say--
with all angels and archangels! We will take it that fairyland is only a
symbol."
Tony, however, laughed indolently. "One would feel tempted to wonder
whether there are many men who never did a mean thing."
A curious anger came upon Nettie. Tony Palliser seemed the embodiment of
all that her simple strenuous nature despised, and he who had everything
had taken from a better man the blameless name which was his one
possession. He sat before her honored and prosperous, while she
remembered Appleby's weariness and rags, and obeyed the impulse that
drove her to unmask him. Her answer was coldly incisive.
"There are. You know one of them," she said.
"No," said Tony, and there was a trace of anxiety in his glance, "I am
not sure that I do, though I have some passable friends."
"Well," said Nettie, "I certainly met one, and he did not wear a label.
In fact, he was a smuggler of rifles and a leader of the Shameless
Legion, but he was very loyal to his comrades, and when he was wounded
and weary with battle he risked and lost a good deal to take care of a
woman who had no claim on him. She had, he felt, been committed to his
trust, and he would have been torn to pieces before he failed in it.
That was why the knight's face reminded me of his--but I have told you
about him already."
Tony's face expressed relief, and Nettie sat silent a moment until the
vicar said, "It was a generous impulse, but it may have been a momentary
one, while in the crusader's case there must have been a sustaining
purpose, and a great abnegation, a leaving of lands and possessions he
might never regain."
Nettie realized that her task must be undertaken now, and wondered that
she felt so quietly and almost mercilessly collected.
"Still," she said, "the man I mentioned did as much--not to win fame or a
pardon for his sins, but to save a comrade who was not worthy of the
sacrifice. You would like me to tell you about it?"
Hester smiled in languid approbation, and the vicar's face showed his
interest; but Tony sat very still, with the fingers of one hand
quivering a little, and Violet's eyes seemed curiously grave as she
fixed them upon the girl.
"Then," said Nettie, "I will try, though it isn't exactly a pleasant
story. There was a man in England who involved himself with a girl whom,
because of your notions in this country, he could not marry. It was only
a flirtation, but the girl's father made the most of it, and raised
trouble for the man when he wanted to marry a woman of his own degree.
He had done nothing wrong as yet, but he was weak--so he sent his friend
to bluff off the man who had been squeezing money out of him."
Tony made a little abrupt movement, and a tinge of gray showed in his
cheek, but it passed unnoticed by all save Nettie Harding. The vicar was
watching her with a curious intentness, and there was apprehension in
Violet's face, while Hester gazed steadily at Nettie with growing
astonishment.
"It was at night the friend met the blackmailer," she said. "There was
an altercation, and then a struggle. Still, the blackmailer was not
seriously hurt, and the other man saw him walk away. It was not until
next day they found he had fallen into a river from the bridge."
She stopped a moment, and Violet turned to her, very white in face, with
a great horror in her eyes.
"You venture to tell me this?" she said.
"Yes," said Nettie, glancing at Tony. "It hurts me, but it's necessary.
If you do not believe me ask the man who sent his friend to meet the man
he dared not face."
There was a sound that suggested a gasp, and a dress rustled softly as
Violet, moving a little, closed one hand, while Tony's face showed gray
and drawn as he leaned forward in his chair. It was, however, the vicar
who broke the tense silence.
"Since you have told us so much, Miss Harding, I must ask you to go on,"
he said.
"Then," said Nettie, "the friend gave up everything, and took the blame
that his comrade might marry the woman he loved, He went to America--and
when he comes back there from Cuba we will find room for him."
"I think," said the vicar very slowly, "in order to make quite sure one
of us should ask you for his name."
Nettie glanced at Violet, who made a little sign.
"It was Bernard Appleby," she said.
Then Violet turned to Tony, and her voice, which was low and strained,
sent a little thrill through the listeners.
"Speak!" she said. "Tony, you can, you must, controvert it!"
Tony rose very slowly to his feet, and the courage of desperation was
his. "I can't. Miss Harding is quite correct," he said. "I must ask the
rest to leave us. This affair is ours--mine and Violet's only, you see."
"He is right," said the vicar, rising. "I will ask you to let the story
go no further in the meanwhile, Miss Harding. There is, I think, only
one thing Mr. Palliser can do, but the responsibility is his."
The others went away with him, and for a moment or two Violet and Tony
stood face to face. Then when the man would have spoken the girl turned
from him with a little gesture of repulsion.
"No," she said faintly. "It is too horrible. I can bear nothing further
now."
She swept away from him, and Tony, standing rigidly still with hands
clenched, let her go. Then he turned and strode with bent head across
the lawn.
Five minutes later Hester Earle, entering one of the rooms quietly with
the vicar, found Nettie lying in a chair and apparently shivering. She
looked up when she saw them, and then turned her head away.
"Oh, I know you don't want to talk to me!" she said. "Still, though I
feel most horribly mean, I did it because I had to."
"Yes," said the vicar gently, "I think I understand. It must have cost
you a good deal--and I fancy you were warranted."
"Then go away, both of you, and leave me alone," said Nettie faintly.
They turned away, and met Violet Wayne in the hall. She made a little
gesture when she saw their faces, as though to warn them from any
expression of sympathy.
"You will excuse me, Hester," she said very quietly. "I think I would
sooner walk home alone. I will not ask you to remember that what you
heard concerns only Tony and me."
Then she turned and left them, walking slowly, and holding herself very
straight with an effort.