The Professor and his protégée spent the whole of that July wandering in
Brittany--going from one old-world spot to another. There had not been
much opposition raised by Mr. and Mrs. Anderton to Halcyone's
accompanying her old master. They themselves were going to Scotland, and
there Mabel had decided she would no longer be kept in the schoolroom,
and intended to come forward as a grown-up girl assisting in the
hospitalities of her father's shooting lodge. And Mrs. Anderton, knowing
her temper, thought a rival of any sort might make difficulties. So, as
far as they were concerned, Halcyone might start at once. They always
left for the north in the middle of the month, and if the Professor
wanted to get away sooner, they did not wish to interfere with his
arrangements. Halcyone must come and pay them another visit later on.
As for the Aunts La Sarthe--their heads appeared to be completely turned
by their sojourn at the seaside! They proposed to remain there all the
summer, and put forward no objection to their niece's excursion with Mr.
Carlyon. The once quiet spot of their youth had developed into a
fashionable Welsh watering place, and Miss Roberta was taking on a new
lease of health and activity from the pleasure of seeing the crowded
parade, while the Aunt Ginevra allowed that the exhilarating breezes and
cerulean waters were certainly most refreshing!
Before the Professor could leave for a lengthy trip abroad, it was
necessary that he should return to the orchard house for a day, and
Halcyone accompanied him, leaving Priscilla in London. Her mission was
to secure the goddess's head--but, as there was no one at La Sarthe
Chase, she decided just to go there and get her treasure and sleep the
night at Cheiron's.
It would be an excursion of much pain to her, to be so near to her still
loved lover and to feel the cruel gulf between them, but she must face
it if she desired Aphrodite to accompany them. The Professor suggested
she might take him through the secret passage and try with his help to
open the heavy box. No such opportunity had ever occurred before or was
likely to occur again, her aunts being absent and even old William
nowhere about. It made the chance one in a thousand. So she agreed, and
determined to force herself to endure the pain which going back would
cause her.
She was perfectly silent all the way from London to Upminster--and Mr.
Carlyon watched her furtively. He knew very well what was passing in her
mind, and admired the will which suppressed the expression of it. She
grew very pale indeed in the station-fly when they passed the gates of
Wendover. It was about half past three in the afternoon--and the
Professor had promised to come to the archway opening of the secret
passage at five.
So Halcyone left him and took her way down the garden and through the
little gate into the park. It seemed like revisiting some scene in a
former life, so deep was the chasm which separated the last time she
walked that way from this day. She passed the oak tree without stopping.
She would not give way to any weakness or the grief which threatened to
overwhelm her. She kept her mind steadily fixed upon the object she had
in view, with a power of concentration which only those who live in
solitude can ever attain to.
Aphrodite was there still in the bag lying on top of the heavy
iron-bound box in the secret passage, and she carried her out into the
sunlight and once more took the wrappings from the perfect face.
"You are coming with us, sweet friend," she whispered, and gazed long
into the goddess's eyes. What she saw there gave her comfort.
"Yes, I know," she went on gently. "I did say that, whatever came, I
would understand that it was life--And I do--and I know this evil pain
is only for the time--and so I will not admit its power. I will wait and
some day joy will return to me, like the swallow from the south. Mother,
I will grieve not."
And all the softest summer zephyrs seemed to caress her in answer, and
there she sat silent and absorbed, looking out to the blue hills for
more than an hour.
Then she saw Cheiron advancing up the beech avenue, and covering up
Aphrodite she went to meet him.
They came back to the second terrace and started upon their quest.
Mr. Carlyon had the greatest difficulty in keeping his old head bent to
get through the very low part of the dark arched place, and he held
Halcyone's hand. But at last they emerged into the one light spot and
there saw the breastplate and the box. But at first it seemed as if they
could not lift it; it had fallen with the lock downward. Cheiron,
although a most robust old man, had passed his seventieth year, and the
thing was of extreme heaviness. But at last they pushed and pulled and
got it upright, and finally, with tremendous exertions with a chisel Mr.
Carlyon had brought, managed to break open the ancient lock.
It gave with a sudden snap, and in breathless excitement they raised the
lid.
Inside was another case of wood. This also was locked, but at its side
lay an old key. The Professor, as well as his chisel, had prudently
brought a small bottle of oil, and eventually was able to make the key
turn in the lock, and they found that the box was in two compartments,
one entirely filled with gold pieces, and the other containing some
smaller heavy object enwound with silk.
They lifted it out and carried it to the light, and then with great
excitement they unrolled the coverings. It proved to be a
gold-and-jeweled crucifix and beneath it lay a parchment with a seal.
Leaving the pieces of gold in the box, they carried the crucifix and the
parchment out on to the terrace, and then the Professor adjusted his
strongest spectacles and prepared to read what he could, while Halcyone
examined the beautiful thing.
The writing was still fairly dark and the words were in Latin. It
stated, so the Professor read, that the money and the crucifix were the
property of Timothy La Sarthe, Gentleman to Queen Henrietta Maria, and
that, should aught befall him in his flight to France upon secret
business for Her Majesty, the gold and the crucifix belonged to
whichever of his descendants should find it--or it should be handed to;
that all others were cursed who should touch it, and that it would bring
the owner fortune, as it was the work of one Benvenuto Cellini, an
artist of great renown in Florence before his day, and therefore of
great value. The quaintly phrased deed added that if it were taken to
one Reuben Zana, a Jew in the Jewry at the sign of the Golden Horn, he
would dispose of it for a large sum to the French king. The crucifix had
been brought from Florence in the dower of his wife Donna Vittoria
Tornabuoni, now dead. If his son Timothy should secure it, he was
advised not to keep it, as its possession brought trouble to the family.
"Then it is legally ours and not treasure-trove," said Halcyone. "Oh,
how good! It will make the Aunts La Sarthe quite rich perhaps, and look
how beautiful it is, the jeweled thing."
They examined it minutely. It was a masterpiece of that great craftsman
and artist and of untold value. Cheiron silently thrilled with the
delight of it--but Halcyone spoke.
"I am glad Ancestor Timothy suggested selling it," she said. "I would
never keep a crucifix, the emblem of sorrow and pain. For me, Christ is
always glorified and happy in heaven. Now what must we do, Master? Must
we at once tell the aunts? But I will not consent to anyone knowing of
this staircase. That would destroy something which I could never
recover. We must pretend we have found it in the long gallery; there is
a recess in the paneling which no one knows of but I, and there we can
put it and find it again. It will be quite safe. Shall we leave it
there, Cheiron, until we come back from abroad? How much do you think it
is worth?"
"Anything up to fifty thousand pounds perhaps to a collector," the
Professor said, "since it is an original and unique. Look at the
splendid rubies and emeralds and these two big diamonds at the top, and
there is so little of Benvenuto's work left that is authentic."
"That is an unusual sum of money, is it not?" Halcyone asked. "That
would surely give them anything they want for their lives; perhaps we
ought not to keep them waiting."
And so after much talk it was arranged that Halcyone should make several
journeys, taking the gold to the long gallery and then the crucifix; and
then the box could be lifted and repacked again there. And, when she had
it all stowed away carefully in the recess of the paneling, she and
Cheiron should go openly to the back door and let the caretaker know
they had arrived, and go into the house--and there ostensibly find the
treasure. Then they would write to the Misses La Sarthe about their
discovery, and take the box to Applewood and deposit it in the bank
until their return.
All this took a long time but was duly carried out, and about eight
o'clock Halcyone and the Professor were able to go back, carrying the
crucifix with them, to keep it safe for the night and then to put it
back with the gold and the parchment, before they took the box to the
bank on the morrow.
"It may be worth more still and there is a good deal of gold," the
Professor said, "and their coins would be worth more now. You will be
quite a little heiress some day, dear child."
"I do not care the least about money, Cheiron," she said, "but I shall
be so glad for the aunts."
And when eventually the old ladies received the news of their fortune
there was much rejoicing, and by following Cheiron's advice they were
not defrauded and might look forward to a most comfortable end to their
lives. Miss Roberta even dreamed of a villa at the seaside and a visit
to London Town!
But meanwhile the Professor and Halcyone went back to London and on the
Saturday left for Dieppe.
London, perhaps from her numbed state of misery, had said nothing to
Halcyone. It remained in her memory as a nightmare, the scene of the
confirmation of her winter of the soul. Its inhabitants were ghosts, the
young men--jolly, hearty, young fellows from the Stock Exchange, and
rising Radical politicians whom she had met--went from her record of
things as so many shadows.
The vast buildings seemed as prisons, the rush and flurry as worrying
storms, and even the parks as only feeble reminders of her dear La
Sarthe Chase.
Nothing had made the least real impression upon her except Kensington
Gardens, and they to the end of her life would probably be only a
reminder of pain.
But her first view of the sea!
That was something revivifying!
Her memory of the one occasion when she had gone to Lowestoft with her
mother was too dim to be anything of a reality, and, when they got to
Newhaven, the Professor and Priscilla and she, with a brisk summer wind
blowing the green-blue water into crested wavelets, the first cry of
life and joy escaped her and gladdened Cheiron's heart.
How wonderful the voyage was! She took in every smallest change in the
tones of the sky--she watched the waves from the forepart of the bridge,
and some new essence of life and the certainty that her night forces
would never desert her made themselves felt and cheered her.
Of John Derringham she thought constantly. He was not buried in that
outer circle of oblivion from which the thoughts unconsciously shy--as
we bury our dead, their going so shrouded in pain that we long to blot
out the memory of them. John Derringham was always with her. She prayed
for his welfare with the fervor and purity of her sweet soul. He was her
spirit lover still. He could never really belong to any other woman, she
knew. And as the days went by a fresh beauty grew in her pale face. The
night sky itself seemed to be melted in her true eyes with the essence
of all its stars.
Cheiron often wondered at her. There was never a word or allusion to the
past. She was extremely quiet, and sometimes the droop of her graceful
head and the sad curves of her tender lips would make the kind old
cynic's heart ache. But she was always cheerful, taking unfeigned
interest in the country and the people, delighting in the simple faith
of the peasants and the glory of some of the old cathedrals.
And Aphrodite traveled everywhere with them. A special case had been
made for her--and Halcyone often took her out to keep them company in
the late evenings or when a rare rain storm kept them indoors.
Mr. Carlyon had not written to John Derringham since his engagement had
been announced. He wished all connection with his former pupil to be
broken off. He had no mercy for his action, he could not even use his
customary lenient common sense towards the failings of mankind.
John Derringham had made his peerless one suffer--and his name was
anathema. As far as Cheiron was concerned he was wiped off the list of
beings who count.
Halcyone's delicate sense of obligation had been put at ease by her
stepfather. He had made over to her a few hundreds a year which he said
had belonged to her mother--the simple creature was too ignorant of all
business to be aware whether this was or was not the case. She had grown
to have a certain liking for James Anderton. There was a hard,
level-headed, shrewd honesty about him, keen to drive a bargain--even
the one about her mother to which Priscilla had alluded and to which
they had never made any further reference--but, when once he had gained
his point, he was generous and kind-hearted.
He could not help it that he was not a gentleman, Halcyone thought, and
he did his best for everybody according to his lights.
Her few hundreds a year seemed untold wealth to her who had never had
even a few sixpences for pocket money! But there was always some
instinctive dislike for the thing itself. It remained to her a rather
unpleasant medium for securing the necessities of life, though she was
glad she now possessed enough not to be a burden upon her aunts, and
could hand what was necessary for her trip over to the Professor.
They wanted to get into Italy as soon as it should be cool enough.
August saw them in an out-of-the-way village in Switzerland.
And the mountains caused Halcyone a yet deeper emotion than the sea had
done. Nature here talked to her in a voice of supreme grandeur, and bade
her never to be cast down but to go on bearing her winter with heroic
calm.
She often stayed out the entire night and watched the stars fade and the
dawn come--Phoebus with his sun chariot! Somehow Switzerland, although
it was not at all the actual background, seemed to bring to her the
atmosphere of her "Heroes." The lower hill near their village could
certainly be Pelion, and one day she felt she had discovered Cheiron's
cave. This was a joy--and that night, when it rained and she and the
Professor sat before their wood fire in the little inn parlor, with
Aphrodite lying near them in her silken folds, she coaxed her old master
into telling her those moving tales of old.
"You are indeed Cheiron, Master," she said--and then her eyes widened
and she looked into the glowing ashes. "And you have one pupil, who,
like Heracles in his fight with the Centaurs, has accidentally wounded
you. But I want you not to let the poison of the arrow grow in your
blood; the wound is not incurable as his was. Master, why do you never
speak to me now of Mr. Derringham?"
Cheiron frowned. One of his eyebrows had grown in later years at least
an inch long and seemed to bristle ready for battle when he was angry.
"I think he has behaved as no gentleman should," he growled, "and I
would rather not mention him."
"You know of things perhaps with which I am not acquainted," said
Halcyone, "but from my point of view, there is nothing to judge him for.
Whatever he may have done in becoming engaged to marry this
lady--because she is rich--we do not know the forces that were
compelling him. It hurts me, Cheiron, that you take so stern a view--it
hurts me, Master."
Mr. Carlyon put out his hand and stroked her soft hair as she sat there
on a low stool looking up at him.
"Oh, my dear," he said, and could articulate no more because a lump grew
in his throat.
"Everything is so simple when we know of it," she went on, "but everyone
has not had the fortune to learn nature and the forces which we must
encourage or guard against. And Mr. Derringham, who had to mix with the
world, ran many dangers which could not come to you and me at La Sarthe
Chase. Ah, Cheiron! Even you do not know of the ugly things which creep
away out of sight in the night--my night that I love! And they could
sting one if one did not know where to put one's feet. And so it must be
with him--he did not always see where just to put his feet, so we must
not judge him, must we?" she pleaded.
"Not if you do not wish," Mr. Carlyon blurted out. And then he began to
puff wreaths of smoke from his long old pipe.
"Indeed, I do not wish, Cheiron," she said. "Perhaps he is very unhappy
now--we do not know--so we should only send him good thoughts to cheer
him. I dream of him often," she went on in a far-off voice, as though
she had almost forgotten the Professor's presence, "and he cries to me
in pain. And I could not bear it that you should be thinking badly of
him, and so I had to speak because thoughts can help or injure
people--and now he wants all the gentle currents we can send him to take
him through this time."
The Professor coughed violently; his spectacles had grown dim.
Then Halcyone rubbed her soft cheek against his old withered hand.
"You knew it, of course, Master," she said very softly. "I loved him
always and I love him still--and, if I have forgiven any hurt which he
brought me, surely it need not stand against him with you. To-night--oh,
he is suffering so! I cannot bear that there should be one shadow going
to him that I can take away. Cheiron, promise me you won't think hardly
ever any more--promise me, Cheiron, dear!"
The Professor's voice was almost the growl of a bear--but Halcyone knew
he meant to acquiesce.
"Cheiron," she whispered, while she caressed his stiff fingers, "the
winter of our souls is almost past. I feel and know the spring is near
at hand."
"I hope to God it is," Mr. Carlyon said, very low.
Next day they moved on into Italy, crossing the frontier and stopping
the night at Turin where they proposed to hire a motor. From thence they
intended to get down to Genoa to continue their pilgrimage. It was not
such an easy matter, in those few years ago, as it is now to hire a
motor, but one was promised to them at last--and off they started.
Halcyone took the greatest interest in everything in that quaint and
grand old town. Her keen judgment and that faculty she possessed of
always seeing everything from the simplest standpoint of truth made her
an ideal companion to wander with on this journey of cultured ease.
"How strong a place this seems, Cheiron," she said, after two days of
their sight-seeing. "All the spirits at the zenith of Genoa's greatness
were strong--nothing weak or ascetic. They must have been filled with
gratitude to God for giving them this beautiful life, those old patrons
of decoration. There is nothing cheap or hurried; it is all an
appreciation of the magnificence due to their noble station and their
pride of race. For the _Guelphist_ of them seems to have been an
aristocrat and an autocrat in his personal _ménage_. Is it not so,
Master?"
"I dare say," agreed Cheiron. He was watching with deep interest for her
verdict upon things.
"It gives me the impression of solid riches," she went on, "the
encouragement of looms of costly stuffs, the encouragement for workers
in marble, in bronze, in frescoes, all the material gorgeous, tangible
pleasures of sight and touch. It is not poetic; it inspires admiration
for great deeds, victorious navies, triumphs--banquets--I have no sense
of music here except the music of feasting. I have no sense of poetry
except of odes to famous admirals or party leaders, and yet it is a
great joy in its way and a noble monument to the proud manhood of the
past." And she looked down from the balcony of the Palazzo Reale, where
they were standing, into the town below.
Her thoughts had gone as ever to the man she loved. He had this haughty
spirit--he could have lived in those days--and she saw him a Doria, a
Brignole-Sale or a Pallavicini, gorgeous, masterful and magnificent.
England in the present day was surely a _supplice_ for such an arrogant
spirit as that of John Derringham.
The prosperous mercantile part of Genoa said nothing to her--she wanted
always to wander where she could weave romances into the things round.
She had never seen any fine pictures before. The Anderton family were
not lovers of art and, while in London, Halcyone had been too unhappy to
care or even ask to be taken to galleries--and Cheiron had not suggested
doing so; he was a good deal occupied himself. But now it was a great
pleasure to him to watch and see what impression they would make upon a
perfectly fresh eye. The immense cultivation of her mind would guide her
taste probably--but it would be an interesting experiment.
She stopped instantly in front of a Van Dyck, but she did not speak. In
fact she made no observations at all about the pictures until they were
back in their hotel. It was still very hot, although September had come,
and they had their dinner upon an open terrace.
And then her thoughts came out.
"I like the Guido Renis, Cheiron," she said; "his Magdalen in the Reale
Palazzo is exquisite--she is pure and good. But I do not like the saints
and martyrs in the throes of their agony, they say nothing to me, I have
no sympathy for them. I adore the Madonna and the Child; they touch
me--here," and she laid her hand upon her heart. "The Sassoferarto
Virgin in the Reale Palazzo is like Miss Lutworth, she is full of
kindness and youth. The early masters' works, which are badly drawn and
beautifully colored, I have to take apart--and it is unsatisfying.
Because, while I am trying not to see the wrong shape, I have only half
my faculties to appreciate the exquisite colors, and so a third
influence has to come in--the meaning of the artist who painted them and
perhaps put into them his soul. But that is altruistic--I could as well
admire something of very bad art for the same reason. For me a picture
should satisfy each of these points of view to be perfect and lift me
into heights. That is why perhaps I shall prefer sculpture on the whole,
when I shall have seen it, to painting."
And Mr. Carlyon felt that, learned in art and old as he was, Halcyone
might give him a new point of view.
Next day they left for Pisa.