When Halcyone left the Fortezza she was conscious of no feeling of
depression or grief. Rather a gladness and security filled her heart.
She had seen him with her mortal eyes--her dear lover--and he was in
truth greatly in need of all her care and tender thoughts. Her beliefs
were so intense in those forces of protection with which that God Whom
she worshiped so truly surrounded her, that she never for a moment
doubted but these invisible currents would be directed to the
disentangling of destiny's threads.
She made no speculations as to how this would be--God would find the
way. Her attitude was never one of pious resignation to a divine
chastisement. She did not believe God ever meant to chastise anyone. For
good or ill each circumstance was brought about by the individual's own
action in setting the sequence of events in motion, as the planting of
seed in the early spring produced fair flowers in the summer--or the
bruising of a limb produced pain. And the motion must go on until the
price had been paid or the pleasure obtained. And, when long ago she had
heard Cheiron and John Derringham having abstruse arguments upon Chance,
she used silently to wonder how they could be so dull as not to
understand there was no such thing really as Chance--if people were only
enabled to see clearly enough. If they could only trace events in their
lives to their sources, they would find that they themselves had long
ago--even perhaps in some former existence--put in motion the currents
to draw the events to themselves. What could be called "chance" in the
matter was only another name for ignorance.
And, if people knew about these wonderful forces of nature, they could
connect themselves with only the good ones, and protect themselves from
the bad. Misfortune came through--figuratively--not knowing just where
to put the feet, and through not looking ahead to see what would be the
result of actions.
Only, above and beyond all these forces of nature and these currents of
cause and effect, there was still the great, eternal Source of all
things, who was able to dispel ignorance and to endow one individual
with the power to help another by his prayers and thoughts. This God
could hasten and bring Happiness, if only He were believed in with
absolute faith. But that He would ever stoop to punish was an unheard-of
blasphemy. He was only and entirely concerned with good. Punishments
came as the results of actions. It followed then that John Derringham,
having paid the price of much sorrow for all his mistakes, would now
come into peace--and her prayers, and exceptional advantages in having
been allowed for years to learn the forces of nature, would be permitted
to help him. That he would be obliged to marry Mrs. Cricklander would
seem to be an overexaction, and not just. But they were not the judges,
and must in all cases fulfill their part of honesty and truth, no matter
what might betide.
These were her convictions, and so they caused her to feel only a
God-like calm--as she went away into the purple shadows of the old
streets.
Cheiron and she had been at San Gimignano for half a week, and almost
every child in the place knew and loved her. She had always a gracious
word or a merry smile when they clustered round her, as is their
friendly way with all travelers, when she came from the Cathedral or the
strange old solitary chapel of St. Jacopo.
The Professor was waiting for her on the hotel steps, and he saw by some
extra radiance in her face that something unusual had happened.
"What is it, my child?" he asked, as they went in and up to their dinner
in the big _salle à manger_ upon the first floor, which was then nearly
always empty of guests.
"John Derringham is here, Master," she said--"and we have talked, and
now all shadows are gone--and we must only wait."
"I am glad to hear it," replied Cheiron, and bristled his brows.
This is all that was said between them on the subject, and, immediately
the meal was over, they retired to their rooms. But when alone in hers,
Halcyone took from the silken wrappings the Goddess Aphrodite, and in
the divine eyes read a glad blessing, and, as soon as her head touched
her pillow, she fell into a soft sweet sleep, while the warm night winds
flew in at the wide-opened windows and caressed her hair.
And John Derringham, when the dark had fallen, came down from his high
watch tower, and walked slowly back to the hotel, leaning upon his
stick. He was still filled with the hush of his loved one's serene calm.
Surely, after all, there must be some truth in her beliefs, and he would
trust to them, too, and wait and hope--and above all keep his word, as
she had said, with that honor which is entailed upon a gentleman.
He ordered his motor for dawn the next morning, so as to be away before
the chance of disturbing the two should occur.
The rare and wonderful sight of a motor in those days caused a crowd to
collect whenever one should arrive or depart. It was an unheard-of thing
that two should visit the city at the same time--there had only been
three in the whole year--so Halcyone, when she heard the whizz next
morning, bounded from her bed and rushed to peep between the green
shutters. Some instinct told her that the noise indicated it was he--her
dear lover--about to start, and she had the happiness of gazing down
upon his upturned face unperceived, as his eyes searched the windows,
perhaps in some vague hope of being able to discern which was hers.
And she showered upon him blessings of love and tenderness, and called
all the currents of good from the sky and the air, to comfort and
protect him and give him strength to go back and keep his word. And,
just as he was starting, a white pigeon flew down and circled round John
Derringham's head--and he was conscious that at the same moment the sun
must have risen above the horizon, for it suddenly gilded the highest
towers. And he passed out of the dark gate into its glory, and took the
Siena road, a mighty purpose of strength in his heart.
After a few days of wandering, during which he strove not to let grief
or depression master him again, he sent a telegram to Venice to Cecilia
Cricklander. And on that Saturday evening, he walked into her
sitting-room with a pale and composed face.
She was seated upon the sofa and arranged with every care, and was
looking triumphantly beautiful as she smoked a cigarette. Her fine eyes
had in them all the mocking of the fiend as she greeted him lazily.
"How are you, John?" she said casually--and puffed rings of smoke,
curling up her red lips to do so in a manner that, John Derringham was
unpleasantly aware, he would once have found attractive, but that now
only filled him with disgust.
"I am well," he said, "thank you,--better for the change and the sight
of some most interesting things."
"And I, also," she responded with provoking glances from under her lids,
"am better--for the change! I have seen--a man, since which I seem to be
able the better to value your love!"
And she leaned back and laughed with rasping mockery, which galled his
ears--although for some strange reason she could no longer gall his
soul. He felt calm and blandly indifferent to her, like someone acting
in a dream.
"I am glad you were, and are, amused," he said. He had not made the
slightest attempt to kiss her in greeting--and she had not even held out
her hand.
"You are quite rich now, John, aren't you?" after a short silence she
presently asked nonchalantly--"that is, as you English count riches--ten
or twelve thousand a year. I suppose it will keep you in comfort."
He leaned back and smiled one of his old cynical smiles.
"Yes," he said, "it is extremely rich for me; my personal wants are not
great."
"That is splendid, then," she went on, "because I shall not feel I am
really depriving you of anything by doing what I intend to do in
throwing you over--otherwise I should have been glad to settle something
upon you for life!"
As he listened, John Derringham's eyes flashed forth steel, but the pith
of her speech had in it such divine portent, as it fell upon his ears,
that the insult of its wording left him less roused than she hoped he
would have been.
She saw that it was joy, not rage, which lay deep in his eyes, and the
fury of her whole nature blazed up, so that she forgot the years of
polish that she had acquired--forgot her elaborately prepared plan that
for an hour she would torture and play with him, as a cat plays with a
mouse, and, crimsoning with wrath, she hurled forth her displeasure,
cutting things short.
"You are only a paltry fortune-hunter, John Derringham, for all your
fine talk," she said loudly, raising her voice, and allowing it to
regain its original broad accent, "and I have kept you on just to punish
you. But, if you thought I was ever going to marry you now that you are
no better than a cripple, and don't amount to thirty cents in the
opinion of the world--you or your Government either!--you made a great
mistake. I have something much more delightful on hand--so you can take
back your ring and your freedom--and go and find some meeker woman who
will put up with your airs."
And she picked up from a table beside her his diamond gage, which she
had taken from her hand before his entrance, and threw it over to
him--and then leaned back as if exhausted with anger among the cushions.
John Derringham had grown very pale as the insulting words fell from her
lips--and now he rose to his feet, and standing there looked at her with
pitying contempt.
"Then I will say good-by, Cecilia," he said. "The manner of your release
of me cancels the pain it might otherwise have caused me. I can only
wish you all success with any new venture you may make--and assure you
always of my deep respect."
And, calmly putting the ring in his pocket, he turned round and slowly
left the room--when, meeting Arabella upon the stairs, she was startled
to see him shaking with sardonic laughter.
"Good-night, and good-by, dear Miss Clinker," he said; "I am glad to
have had this opportunity of thanking you again and again for your sweet
goodness to me when I was ill; it was something which I shall never
forget."
"Oh, Mr. Derringham!" said Arabella, "you haven't parted from Mrs.
Cricklander, have you?" But she saw from his laughing eyes that he had,
and, before she was aware of it, good, honest soul, she had blurted out:
"Oh, I'm so glad!"
Then they shook hands heartily, to hide her dreadful confusion, and John
Derringham went on to his rooms at the Britannia, where he was staying,
with nothing but a mad, wild joy in his heart.
What did Cecilia Cricklander's insults matter? What did anything on
earth matter? He was free to go and seek his beloved one--and have every
sorrow healed as he held her to his heart. The only necessary thing now
was to find her immediately, which would require some thinking out. It
was too late to get an answer to any telegrams to England--he must wait
until the morning. Mrs. Porrit would know where Cheiron's next address
would be. Yes, he could hope to come up with the wanderers perhaps not
later than the day after tomorrow.
But when Arabella entered her employer's sitting-room after wishing him
good-by, she found Mrs. Cricklander in violent hysterics, and she had to
have the doctor and a sleeping draught before she could be calmed.
The hatefulness, the impossible arrogance and insolence of the man, she
had thought! and the humiliation to herself of knowing full well that,
instead of making this dismissal a scene of subtle superlative
cleverness, so that through all his torture he would be obliged to
admire and respect her skill--she had let her temper get the better of
her, and had shown him a side of herself that, she was well aware, was
most unrefined, so that he had been able to leave her, not as a humbled,
beaten cur, as she had intended, but feeling what she knew to be
unfeigned contempt.
No wonder she had hysterics! It was galling beyond compare, and not all
Mr. Hanbury-Green's devotion or flattery next day could heal the bitter
hurt.
"Oh, how I will help you, Percy!" she said, "to pull them all down from
their pedestals, and drag them to the guillotine!"
And Mr. Hanbury-Green had laughed, and said it gratified him greatly to
feel her sympathy and coöperation would be with him, but he feared they
would never have the humorous pleasure of getting as far as that!
And, it being a Sunday, Arabella Clinker wrote to her mother to apprise
her of these events.
The engagement is over [Mrs. Clinker was told]--the advent of Mr.
Hanbury-Green (a very unpleasant personality, afraid of being polite
to me in case I should fancy myself his equal) seemed to clinch
matters in M. E.'s mind. I suppose he was able to give her some
definite assurance of the future of the Government. In any case, I
could see, when they returned from their excursion in the gondola
yesterday, that things were upon a very familiar footing between
them. Mr. H.G. has none of Mr. Derringham's restraint or refinement,
and, after M. E. had seen Mr. Derringham and, I presume, returned him
his freedom, she had a terrible fit of hysterics, only calmed when
Mr. Hanbury-Green entered the room and suggested emptying the water
jug over her. It appears he has a sister who is subject to these
attacks, and this is the only method which has any effect upon her. I
suppose in his circle they would have a number of crude remedies
which we are unaccustomed to, but it seemed to be the right one for
M. E., who pulled herself together at once.
They told me privately that they are engaged, but do not intend to
announce it yet, and I believe they are really suited to each other.
I had thought at one time that Mr. Derringham might be equally a mate
for her, because of his selfishness, but, after I grew to know him
when he was ill, I saw that he was infinitely above her, and not
really more selfish than other men--and, as you know, I have extended
to him my pity and commiseration ever since. Your liking of him
confirmed my good opinion. I am to stay on with M. E. as long as I
will, because Mr. Hanbury-Green, she says, is not cultivated either,
and I may be of use to them both, she thinks, in the future, although
she has not imparted this to him. I do not believe I shall like
having to render his speeches erudite, because my political
convictions are all upon the other side. But something else may turn
up, and it is a comfort to know things are settled for the present.
Mr. Derringham looked so joyous as he came from her sitting-room,
after his dismissal, that I am sure he will go off at once to that
person I have often given you a hint about,--and his restoration to
health may consequently be looked upon as a certainty. I fear the
influences we shall have to live under now will not encourage that
high tone which endeavoring to keep up with Mr. Derringham and his
party entailed, and it may grow more than I can bear. The inference
to be drawn from M. E.'s defection to the other side is not
felicitous, and gives me cause for the most gloomy foreboding as to
the future of the country, because she would never have done it if
she had not received from Mr. Hanbury-Green absolute guarantees that
with him she will occupy the highest position. Everything
Conservative is _vieux jeu_ now, she says, and she must go with the
tide.
And from this the letter wandered on to personal matters.
Meanwhile John Derringham had received Mrs. Porrit's answer and had
ascertained the Professor's probable address, and was joyously speeding
his way on to Rome.