John Derringham made a point of slipping away on the Easter Tuesday
afternoon; he determined to drink tea with the Misses La Sarthe. He went
to his room with important letters to write, and then sneaked down again
like a truant schoolboy, and when he got safely out of sight, struck
obliquely across the park to the one vulnerable spot in the haw-haw, and
after fumbling a good deal, from his side, managed to get the spikes out
and to climb down, and repeat the operation upon the other side. There
was no water here, it was on rather higher ground, and he was soon
striding up the beech avenue towards the house.
"It would be an extremely awkward place to get over in the dark," he
thought, and then he was conscious that Halcyone was far in the distance
in front of him, almost entering the house.
So she would be in, then--that was good.
He had never permitted his mind to dwell upon her for an instant, after
the Sunday walk. He made himself tell himself that she was a charming
child whom he felt great pity for, on account of her lonely life. That
he himself took a special interest in her he would not have admitted for
a second to his innermost thought. He had now definitely made up his
mind to propose to Cecilia Cricklander, and was only awaiting a suitable
occasion to put this intention into effect.
Numbers of moments had come--and passed--but he was always able to find
good and sufficient fault with them. And once or twice, when Fate itself
seemed to arrange things for him, he had a sudden sensation as of a
swimmer fighting with the tide, and he had battled to the shore again,
and was still free!
But it must come, of course, and before he left for London at the end of
the week. Private news had reached him that the Government must soon go
out, and he felt this thing must be an accomplished fact before then,
for the hand he meant to play.
But meanwhile it was only Tuesday, and he was nearing the battered and
nail-bestudded front door of La Sarthe Chase. William said the ladies
were at home, and he was shown into the Italian parlor forthwith.
It had not changed in the slightest degree in the seven years since he
had seen it first, nor had the two ancient spinsters themselves. They
were most graciously glad to receive him, and gave him tea out of the
thinnest china cups, and at last Miss Roberta said:
"Our great-niece Halcyone will be coming down in a moment, Mr.
Derringham. She has grown up into a very tall girl. You will hardly
recognize her, I expect."
And at that instant Halcyone opened the door and said a quiet word of
welcome. And if her heart beat rather faster than usual under her simple
serge bodice, nothing of any emotion showed in her tranquil face.
She took her tea and sat down in a chair rather in the shadows and
aloof.
Miss La Sarthe monopolized the conversation. She had no intention of
relinquishing the pleasure of this rare guest, so while Miss Roberta got
in a few sentences, Halcyone hardly spoke a word, and if she had really
been a coquette, calculating her actions, she could not have piqued John
Derringham more.
She looked so very sylph-like as she sat there, bending her graceful
head. Her eyes were all in shadow and seemed to gleam as things of
mystery from under her dark brows, while the pure lines of her temples
and the plaiting of her soft thick hair made him think of some virgin
goddess.
But she never spoke.
At last John Derringham began to grow exasperated, and plunged into
temptation, which he did not admit that he ought to have avoided.
"I am so very much interested in this wonderful old house," he said,
addressing Miss La Sarthe. "That row of bay windows is in a long
gallery, I suppose? Would it be a great impertinence if I asked to see
it?"
"We shall be pleased for you to do so," the old lady returned, without
much warmth. "It is very cold and draughty, my sister and I have not
entered it for many years, but Halcyone, I believe, goes there
sometimes; she will show it to you if you wish."
Halcyone rose, ready at once to obey her aunts, and led the way towards
the door.
"We had better go up the great staircase and along through Sir Timothy's
rooms. The staircase which leads directly to it from the hall is not
quite safe," she said. "Except for me," she added, when they were
outside the door. "Then, I know exactly where to put my feet!"
"I would follow you blindly," said John Derringham, "but we will go
which way you will. Only, you are such a strange, silent little old
friend now--I am afraid of you!"
Halcyone was rather ahead, leading the way, and she turned and paused
while he came up close beside her.
Her eyes were quite startled.
"You afraid of me!" she said.
"Yes--you seem so nymph-like and elusive. I do not know if I am really
looking at an ordinary earth-maiden, or whether you will melt away."
"I am quite real," and she smiled, "but now you must notice these two
rooms a little that we shall pass through. They are very ghostly I
think; they were the Sir Timothy's who went to fetch James I from
Scotland. I am glad they are not mine, but the long gallery I love; it
is my sitting-room--my very own--and in it I keep something which
matters to me more than anything else in the world." Then she went on,
with a divine shyness which thrilled her companion: "And--I do not know
why--but I think I will show it to you."
"Yes, please do that," he responded eagerly, "and do not let us stop to
look at the ghostly apartments--where you sit interests me far more."
So they went rapidly through Sir Timothy's rooms, with the great state
bed where had slept his royal master, so the tale ran, and on down some
uneven steps, and through a small door, and there found themselves in
the long, narrow room, with its bays along the southern side, and one
splendid mullioned casement at the end with coats-of-arms emblazoned
upon each division. And through this, which looked west, there poured
the lowered afternoon sun with a broad shaft of glorious light.
The place was almost empty, but for a chest or two and a table near this
window with writing materials and books. And upon a rough set of shelves
close at hand many more volumes reposed.
"So it is here you live and work, you wise, lonely, little Pallas
Athené," he said.
"You must not call me that--I am not at all like her," Halcyone answered
softly. "She was very clever and very noble--but a little hard, I think.
Wait until I have shown you my own goddess. I would rather have her soul
than any other of the Olympian gods."
John Derringham took a step nearer to her.
"Do you remember the night at dinner here when you told me Pallas
Athené's words to Perseus?" he said. "I have thought of them often, and
they have helped me sometimes, I think."
"I am so glad," said Halcyone simply, while she moved towards her
treasure chest.
He watched her with satisfied eyes--every action of hers was full of
grace, and the interest he felt in her personally obscured any for the
moment in what she was going to show him, but at last he became aware
that she had unlocked a cupboard drawer, and was taking from it a bundle
of blue silk.
His curiosity was aroused, and he went over as near as he could.
"Come!" whispered Halcyone, and walked to the high window-sill of the
middle section, and then put down her burden upon the old faded velvet
seat.
"See, I will take off her veil gradually," she said, "and you must tell
me of what she makes you think."
John Derringham was growing interested by now, but had no idea in the
world of the marvel he was going to see. He started more perceptibly
than even Mr. Carlyon had done seven years before, when he had realized
the superlative beauty of the Greek head.
Halcyone uncovered it reverently, and then took a step back, and waited
silently for him to speak.
He looked long into the marvelous face, and then he said as though he
were dreaming:
"Aphrodite herself!"
"Ah! I felt you would know and recognize her at once--Yes, that is her
name. Oh, I am glad!" and Halcyone clapped her hands. "She is my mother,
and so, you see, I am never alone here, for she speaks always to me of
love."
John Derringham looked at her sharply as she said this, and in her eyes
he saw two wells of purity, each with an evening star melted into its
depths.
And he suddenly was conscious of something which his whole life had
missed--for he knew he did not know what real love meant, not even that
which his mother might have given him, if she had lived.
He did not speak for a moment; he gazed into Halcyone's face. It seemed
as if a curtain had lifted for one instant and given him a momentary
glimpse into some heaven, and then dropped again, leaving a haunting
memory of sweetness, the more beautiful because indistinct.
"Love--" he said, still dreamily. "Surely there is yet another and a
deeper kind of love."
Halcyone raised her head, while a strange look grew in her wide eyes,
almost of fear. It was as though he had put into words some unspoken,
unadmitted thought.
"Yes," she said very softly, "I feel there is--but that is not all
peace; that must be gloriously terrible, because it would mean life."
He looked at her fully now; there was not an atom of coquetry or
challenge; her face was pale and exquisite in its simple intentness. He
turned to the goddess again, and almost chaunted:
"Oh! Aphrodite of the divine lips and soulful eyes, what mystery do you
hold for us mortals? What do you promise us? What do you make us pay? Is
the good worth the anguish? Is the fulfillment a cup worth
draining--without counting the cost?"
"What does she answer you?" whispered Halcyone. "Does she say that to
live and fulfill destiny as the beautiful year does is the only good? It
is wiser not to question and weigh the worth, for even though we would
not drink, perhaps we cannot escape--since there is Fate."
John Derringham pulled himself together with an effort. He felt he was
drifting into wonderland, where the paths were too tenderly sweet and
flowered for him to dare to linger, for there he might find and quaff of
the poison cup. So he said in a voice which he strove to bring back to
earth:
"Where did you get the beautiful thing? She is of untold value, of
course you know?"
Halcyone took the marble into her hands lovingly.
"She came to me out of the night," she said. "Some day I might tell you
how--but not to-day. I must put her back again. No one knows but Cheiron
and me--and now--you--that she is in existence, and no one else must
ever know."
He did not speak; he watched her while she wrapped the head in its folds
of silk.
"Aphrodite never had so true a priestess, nor one so pure," he thought,
and a strange feeling of sadness came over him, and he thanked her
rather abruptly for showing him her treasure, and they went silently
back through Sir Timothy's rooms, and down the stair; and in the Italian
parlor he said good-by at once, and left.
The wind had got up and blew freshly in his face. There would be a gale
before morning. It suited his mood. He struck across the park, but
instead of making for the haw-haw, he turned into Cheiron's little gate.
He wanted understanding company, he wanted to talk cynical philosophy,
and he wanted the stimulus of his old master's biting wit.
But when he got there, he found Cheiron very taciturn--contributing
little more than a growl now and then, while he smoked his long pipe and
played with his beard. So at last he got up to go.
"I have made up my mind to marry Mrs. Cricklander, Master," he said.
"I supposed so," the Professor replied dryly. "A man always has to
convince himself he is doing a fine thing when he gives himself up to be
hanged."