The first view of "Greyledge" suggested a stone crazy-quilt, so
multitudinous were its angles, so incongruous its medley of styles; but
examination showed architectural strata superimposed in such trend that
the paradoxical dip had uplifted the oldest to the crest. Three stories,
_echelon_, looked as if they had frozen in dancing a minuet, each
receding yet rising, and when, as a bride, Nina Herriott stepped out of
her carriage, she gayly made three very low bows to the dwelling that
appeared courtesying to welcome her. The long first story was a piazza
or loggia, with wide, round arches upheld by double shafts, closed in
winter by glass doors and storm shutters, in summer noons sheltered from
the glare of sun-smitten water by white and blue awnings. No railing
divided it from the broad stone terrace just below, overhanging the lake
that mirrored its carved and fluted balustrade where vine-fringed vases
glowed with flowers for three months of each year. At the north end of
the arcade, a round tower, rising one hundred and fifty feet, held a
lamp with brilliant reflector that shone far out over the apparently
shoreless lake on moonless and stormy nights, and at the south corner
one of several flights of steps led to an arched and domed pavilion
where boats were moored.
The second floor flowered into bay windows, mullioned and diamond paned;
and the third might have slipped from some Swiss hillside, so full it
seemed of small balconies, sharp gables, dormers, and deep recesses, and
the steep roof that crowned the whole overhung like an Alpine hat the
frivolous impertinence of trefoil and stained glass. Rains had bleached
and snow storms pumiced the stone walls to a smooth, cool grey, silvered
in spots by films of lichen, while on two turreted chimneys ivy had
braved ascent to weave a cloak of glossy green across the sombre smoke
stains garnered during many generations. The most elevated portion of
the composite structure had been built on the side of a rocky hill, at
some distance from the lake edge, and gradually the declivity had been
graded for the later additions that finally advanced until they could
see their own irregular facade reflected in the water spraying their
foundations; consequently the floors were on different levels, and one
went up and down short flights of steps to reach apartments in the same
story.
Herriott tradition claimed that early French pioneers had here destroyed
an Indian fort, and that their rude hunting lodge was succeeded by a
missionary station, where a semi-circular excavation in the rock had
served as oratory; in proof whereof an old wooden cross, partly gilded
with tarnished, tattered gold leaf, still hung in the small stone cave
that once echoed the antiphony of Latin chants, and held forever in its
mossy crannies subtle, spicy survivals of sanctifying incense. Sheltered
on the north by hills, clothed with vineyards along their southern face,
the courtyard and shrubbery nestled close to the rocks, but eastward
stretched wide fields and level meadows bounded by dense woods rising on
steep uplands, blue in the distance; and south lay a garden of olden
time, with primly boxed beds, walks hedged with lilacs, snow-balls,
glistening rhododendrons, and masses of roses that ran riot to the foot
of a high enclosing stone wall, where a shining mantle of ivy climbed to
match its verdure with the velvet of hills that here circled like a
clasping arm, reaching from far-away forests to the lake margin. The
courtyard was so nearly on a level with the rear of the house that only
three shallow steps were needed for entrance, and at this spot the range
of color had been exhausted by masses of lilies, irises, peonies, and
foliage plants--so brilliant that in the summer sunshine benignant
nature seemed to have paved the place with a flawless prism.
On the morning after the arrival of Mr. Herriott's guests, breakfast had
been served on the long, arcaded piazza, where stood three circular
tables, each bright and fragrant from central piles of flowers and
fruit. At the middle one Mr. Herriott sat with Eglah and Judge Kent,
around that on his left were Miss Katrina Manning--an aunt of Noel's
mother--Professor Cleveden, and Eliza Mitchell, and grouped at his right
were Beatrix Roberts, a cousin of Miss Manning's, Dana Stapleton of New
York, and Roger Hull, the young congressman from a northwestern State,
whose devotion to Eglah had long been undisguised.
It was a cloudless summer day, and the crisp wind from the west drove
the crystal water of the great inland sea into ruffles of foamy lace
against the stone face of the terrace. If she had floated down from a
Fragonard panel, or stepped out of a Watteau _clavecin_, Miss Manning
could not have represented more picturesquely a dainty type of the long
by-gone. Low in stature, slight and graceful, this airy old lady, with
silver hair piled high on her head, where jewelled side combs held her
curls close--habitually wore grey silk or velvet, and her bright,
restless round eyes increased her likeness to a bird, hence Noel's pet
name was "Auntie Dove." Her gowns were many years behind the reigning
mode, and she shook her voluminous skirts in indignant scorn of
close-clinging garments then coming rapidly into vogue. When her
favorite young cousin Beatrix plucked up courage to denounce
"antediluvian fashions," the grey old dame seized her by the shoulders
and shook her till her teeth chattered.
"Trix, you are an impertinent minx! My gowns are decent and fit my
morals, and I would as soon change the cover on the Manning family
Bible. You young people have no longer any sense of proportion; your
skirts are so skin-tight you might all be 'artist's models,' and your
manners and your disgraceful slang are about as unlaced as the
bohemians. If your refined grandmother Manning could move in her
portrait frame, she would most certainly turn her back to you and her
shocked countenance to the wall."
To-day she lifted her tortoise-shell lorgnette to examine the rather
unusual pattern of Professor Cleveden's black onyx sleeve buttons, which
represented tarantulas with prominent diamond eyes.
"Noel, are we all permanently arranged in trios? Because, if so, you
have been cruelly unkind in condemning the professor to sit next to an
orthodox old woman who knows no more science than a blind kitten, who is
no bugologist, no apostle to moths, and who bitterly disapproves of
crucifying butterflies on pins."
"Aunt Trina, you will not be allowed to monopolize each other, no matter
how earnestly you both may desire to do so. Shall we change groups once
a day, or at each meal, in order that the collective wit and wisdom may
be impartially distributed?"
"I suggest that all names be deposited in a box and that we draw for
places," said Mr. Stapleton, fearful of losing his neighbor, Miss
Roberts.
"Dana, what a rash challenge to chance! She can be spiteful, that
classic, grinning old jade, and might roll up three women to one table,
leaving a solitary charming belle--presumably myself--to the tender
mercies of five furious men. Fancy the impotent wrath of the beauless
trio robbed of their legitimate prey! Noel, do not risk any such dire
disaster, but try the democratic plan of rotation in office, whereby I
shall afflict each of you for only a few hours of my term. What
delicious apricots! Surely old Amos Lea did not grow them?"
Miss Manning held up a twig on which twin, luscious apricots glowed.
"They were ripened by the hot suns and spiced by Pacific breezes in
lower California, where I have a friend who now and then sends a hamper
from his fruit farm. Beauties, are they not? My old gardener Amos,
jealous of the fame of his own orchard, snorted contemptuously and
assured me they tasted like stale sawdust."
"Does he still employ David, St. Paul, and the prophets as proxies to
curse his enemies?" asked Professor Cleveden, helping himself liberally
to cherries.
Catching sight of Eliza Mitchell's rebuking eyes, Mr. Herriott laughed.
"Yes, he sternly restricts his imprecations to Biblical quotations. When
I was a boy I ruined some very rare tulips by setting mole traps in the
border, and in his rage he called on 'fat bulls of Bashan' to gore me.
Years later I imported a stock of pigeons, and when they literally
devoured his early crop of sweet peas, he seized me by the coat collar,
showed me the havoc, and shouted, 'May the Angel of the Lord chase you
and your devilish English thieves.' He has tyrannized over us all so
long, that his wrath knew no bounds when my amiable young stepmother,
who desired some alterations in the hothouse, defied his arguments and
wishes, and insisted on an annex for orchids that necessitated the
removal of his pet carnations. Whereupon, raising his hand, he shook it
furiously and hissed: 'Madam, you have done me much evil. May the Lord
requite you according to your works!' With tears in her eyes Nina fled
to my father."
"A grumpy curmudgeon is old Amos Lea, but his religious convictions are
so earnest that I would sooner house a swarm of wasps inside my vest
than tread on his Baptist toes. He objects strenuously to my association
with Herriott, having overheard some of our heretical geologic
discussions as we strolled through the gardens, and he eyes me as if I
were the foul fiend at Herriott's heels, prodding him downward with a
pitchfork. I wish that somewhere in the great outside world I had such a
loyal, godly friend to pray for my soul."
"Dear me! I thought you scientists disdained such a superstition, and
that you had reduced souls and minds to mere 'reflex sensory' action,
and 'cerebral sinuosities,' and 'psychoplasm,' and 'inherited
instincts,' and deposits of phosphorus?" interjected Miss Roberts, as
she dipped her jewelled hand into her finger bowl to bruise the lemon
blossoms.
"My dear young lady, pray do not join the multitude in stoning the
prophets. If there be ghosts--blessed are the grammarians who invented a
subjunctive mood--those of martyred students of science will one day
haunt you, more terrible than 'an army with banners.' Herriott is a much
more attractive target than I--younger and handsomer--why not call him
into the witness box and swear him on the case of souls?"
"Trix, there is no need to pester yourself about Noel's soul. Old Amos
Lea made sure of his safety when he baptized him the second time. Noel,
tell her about it. How your poor father laughed that day!"
"Being a rigid Baptist and an elder, Amos scouted my Presbyterian
christening as totally inadequate to neutralize what he considered my
unusually large share of original sin, and as his wife, Susan, was my
nurse, they began to grieve over my reprobateness as soon as I was old
enough to lay claim to moral responsibility. When I was about sixteen I
was out yonder on the lake fishing. Two friends were with me, and we all
swam well, or thought we did. A sudden squall capsized the boat, and I
was caught and held under it in such a way that I could not extricate
myself. The boys hovered around, trying unsuccessfully to help me, but
just then Amos kicked off his boots, plunged in, and swam to the rescue.
He was strong as a whale, raised the end of the boat with his shoulder
and dragged me out. I was slightly stunned, and he swam with me into
shallow water, where he could stand up. Then he lifted me horizontally,
as if I had been a baby in long clothes, and repeating with triumphant
fervor the baptismal formula of his Church, he immersed me so thoroughly
that I regained consciousness, and he turned me over to Susan and hot
blankets, as a 'brand snatched from the burning,' and properly
baptized."
Removing the ice from the yellow heart of his melon, Judge Kent glanced
around the table.
"Owning such a paradise as this home, do you not all share my amazement
that Herriott can prefer to shut it up and wander contentedly over the
continent, searching its rough crannies--Labna, Mitla, Casa Grande, and
where not--for what he pedantically calls the 'primeval anthropological
nidus'?"
"Oh, bless you, Senator Kent, it is just in his blood, and he can no
more keep still than a flea can stop hopping. His father was a
surveyor--civil engineer--always roving, and Noel is exactly like him;
which none of you will doubt when I assure you his mother really was an
absolutely beautiful woman. He is a hopeless tramp. He gravitates to the
wildest places of creation, as you and Mr. Hull to the cultivation of
votes, and Dana to Wall Street kites, and this insecticide professor to
picking the lock of God's workshop when He has closed the door and gone
to His seventh day rest."
"Aunt Trina refuses to believe that my ambition to become acquainted
with our prehistoric family relatives is a laudable method of climbing
the genealogical tree. She is not enthusiastic on ancestry."
"That depends, my dear boy, on the 'strain' you are hunting. If the
first hatching of brown skins in that 'primeval nidus' of your dreams
had only been as wise and prudent as modern cattle and horse raisers,
and fixed rules of pure-blooded pedigree, we might not fear to grope
backward lest we find only 'grades' in our family group. Now, climbing a
genuine, decent, civilized ancestral tree is much better sport than
twisting up slippery totem poles with a coyote, or a coon, or a vulture
perched on top, as head of the family."
"And, pray, what of the sacred menagerie of heraldry? The quadrupeds,
birds, flowers of armorial blazonry--all that makes heraldic pomp
picturesque--are but survivals of primeval totem symbols throughout the
world. Auntie Dove, your book-plate and your family seal bear a leopard
couchant, very dear to your orthodox, patrician heart, and some day your
hereditary pet beast may have glared down upon a Tlinkit teepee."
"Marriage is the only cure for Herriott, and it would effectually tether
him," said Mr. Hull, keeping his eyes on Eglah.
"It appears that you have carefully avoided taking your own
prescription," answered his host.
"It is by no means my fault. Though futile, my efforts have been
heroic."
Professor Cleveden leaned forward.
"You good people do not understand how deeply Herriott is imbued with
the conviction that contemporary 'differentiation' is not a synonym for
desirable advancement. The complex, hybridized, neurotic creature he
meets in society does not always impress him as vastly superior to the
primeval female type, and you may all expect that whenever matrimonial
shackles restrict his pasturage, which will not be _in Wyandot lines_,
he will be hobbled by 'some savage woman' whose accomplishments are
limited to the slim schedule set down by that jilted cynic of 'Locksley
Hall.' The 'new woman' incites us to pray fervently for swift reversion
to type. Now, Miss Manning, I am sure you are preparing to tell me
that----"
"That of course in such matters tastes differ, and not one of us feels
disposed to deprive Professor Cleveden of his coveted female simian
companion; but, as Noel never has had a flirtatious 'Cousin Amy' to rub
him the wrong way, he has no provocation to present to me a squaw as my
great niece."
"It is very evident the professor viciously remembers his own 'Amy,'"
said Miss Roberts, who was watching keenly for some manifestation of
consciousness in Noel and Eglah.
"Miss Beatrix, no scapegoat 'Amy' bears away my sins of temper, because,
as a naturalist, I am unalterably opposed to the marriage of cousins. I
never owned but one sweetheart. She took my unfeathered young affections
into her tender hands when she was only ten years old, and so carefully
has she preserved them that after twenty years of married life she
remains my charming sweetheart--my pearl of womanhood--the supreme joy
of my existence. She is the one priceless fossil in my collection,
guarded with jealous watchfulness, because she no more resembles the new
feminine type than a snowy dove a blind, broken-winged, snapping hawk."
"When I marry, my ambition will soar beyond being bottled in alcohol or
boxed in sawdust or cotton wool, like a centipede or a cracked egg of
the great auk. I should imagine that men who spend their work days among
musty, stuffy fossils would rather enjoy the variety of an up-to-date,
cultivated wife who kept in touch with social tides and currents. Now,
Mr. Herriott, you who prowl about laboratories and museums until you
understand their dreary jargon as fully as you do leading a german or
playing polo, ought to be a wiser umpire than this one-sided shut-in
scientist, who prefers dry bones to living pink flesh."
"In the first place, Miss Beatrix, I must, in the absence of Mrs.
Cleveden, protest against her husband's classification of her as a
fossil. She is alive to her finger tips with enthusiasm for his work, in
which she is his ablest assistant, and knowing something of his charming
home life, I consider him the most enviable man of my acquaintance. We
who are not so fortunate in the matter of sweethearts, must content
ourselves with the best available substitute; and you know, 'if one
cannot have what one loves, one must love what one has.'"
"A defence of fickleness quite unworthy of you; and moreover, Noel,
utterly untrue, for of all people in the world you are the very last to
surrender anything you really want."
"Aunt Katrina, would you have me spend my life wailing for the moon?"
"Pooh! You are not so fatuous as to want to drag a surveyor's chain
across its cold chasms and jagged heights; and after a brief study of
your frozen charmer you would turn your telescope on something
accessible and more valuable. Miss Kent, do you consider Noel a fickle
person?"
Eglah looked up, and, meeting the eyes of her host, they both laughed.
"Certainly not. His life-long devotion to you ought to shield him from
all suspicion of inconstancy."
"Aunt Trina, she is not an impartial umpire. The first time I saw her, a
little girl wearing a snowy muslin with blue ribbon bows on her
shoulders, we entered into a compact, adopted each other as half-brother
and stepsister, and now in supreme trust we form a sort of mutual aid,
mutual defence--on my part, admiration--association. If she saw fifty
fatal flaws in me she would loyally conceal them from you, who are such
a terribly severe censor."
"Herriott ought to go into politics; don't you think so, Miss Manning?"
asked Mr. Hull.
"By no means. I prefer he should keep his hands clean."
"Senator Kent can tell you, madam, that we do not all dabble in mud or
pitch."
Mr. Herriott leaned forward, and spoke more quickly than usual.
"She is afraid I might not swell the class of distinguished exceptions
which you and Senator Kent represent. Aunt Trina, may I trouble you for
a second cup of coffee and an extra lump of sugar?"
Beatrix had completed her inventory of Eglah's points of attraction, and
now, as her eyes rested on the graceful figure daintily gowned in lilac
muslin, the result annoyed her.
"Miss Kent, has your college training fitted you to believe all the
marvellous tales these two wise scholars tell us; as, for instance, that
this lovely spot--this suburb of paradise where we are sitting--was once
buried for ages under ten thousand feet of glacial ice?"
"I am sorry to confess my course of study carried me only far enough to
see the border land of a kingdom I never expect to explore. Unless one
specializes, four years at college make no experts. You might as well
ask a butterfly to classify all the blossoms it hovered over, or measure
the depths of glaciers."
The professor pushed aside his cup, and looked at her.
"And why not? It can teach us infinitely more than its human, club-crazy
sisters. My dear Miss Kent, we who are in bonds to science exact great
accuracy even in the selection of metaphors, and you will pardon me if I
rise to defend the usefulness of butterflies. On top of Mount Washington
survives a colony of butterflies found nowhere else south of Arctic
snows and ice; descendants of a family which retreated with the great
glacier that once overflowed New Hampshire and left only the pinnacle of
Mount Washington uncovered. When the _OEneis_ household moved back to
Labrador and Greenland, these silk-winged stragglers, flirting in
corners, were abandoned by their chaperons, and for thousands of years
their progeny have flitted around that stone crest to show us the depth
of the glacier."
Professor Cleveden adjusted his eye-glasses and moved his chair so as to
look straight at Miss Manning, who at once put up her lorgnette to probe
his gold spectacles.
"Are you an enthusiastic club-woman?"
"Why don't you ask me if I approve of perjury, arson, and poisoning?"
"My dear madam, did I not hear you last evening quoting the sonorous
periods of Mrs. Helen Phaedra Swan Hall, whose mission seems to be the
emancipation of her sex from bondage to God as well as to man?"
"Oh, no, Mr. Cleveden! It was I who asked Mr. Hull to explain the bill
she is trying to have introduced in Congress. Cousin Katrina thinks all
such advanced women should be locked up as lunatics, but she is too
extreme and hopelessly narrow for this generation, while I like to keep
up with the procession. Do tell us about this prophetess."
"Her husband was a mild man, reputed a faithful husband and a devoted
father, but the female comet he was yoked with indignantly spurned such
slavish role as wifehood and maternity involved, and she ranted around
clubdom and through the press, striving to enlighten the world, until,
finally, she determined to break her domestic chains and shake off all
impedimenta of marriage obligations. Having deliberately selected as
successor a friend whose opinions proved quite as lax as her own, she
promoted an intimacy that resulted in accordance with her scheme. Then
she suggested divorce to Hall, who very naturally assented with
alacrity. When he promptly married the woman chosen, Mrs. Helen Phaedra
Swan gladly abandoned all care of her own children to the new wife,
washed her hands of maternal responsibility, and proclaimed herself free
to work for the rights of woman and the enlightenment of the world.
Soaring eagles scorn to perch at one man's hearthstone, and behold the
comical climax of her flight above the laws of decency and good taste.
She has swooped down on a new husband, and, for a season at least will
call herself Mrs. Helen Phaedra Swan Butler. Such, Miss Roberts, is your
'prophetess.' Having heard that the pet theme of her present
lucubrations is the 'ideal education of children,' I suggested to my own
connubial serf, my 'true love,' that the study of the views of this
experienced seeress might assist us in the training of our one ewe lamb,
our old-fashioned little maid, and the reception of my proposition was
of a nature conjugal loyalty forbids me to describe. Mrs. Helen Phaedra
Swan Butler is merely a degenerate imitation of the Amazons, who changed
their husbands annually and deserted their children. A survival of
polyandry, if you please. Formerly women looked sternly and sorrowfully
from their lofty pure plateau upon polygamy and bigamy as the horrible
heinous luxury of wicked, despotic men; now they are stepping down into
the mire, claiming equal rights in sin, and the emancipated new female
clamors for easy divorce and the freedom of polyandry. In other days,
before 'higher education, club-culture, and female rights' had abolished
home life, domestic sanctity, and fireside _lararium_, all good women
held Clytemnestra the infamous archetype of feminine depravity, but the
doctrine of 'equality' lowers the old high standard, and the new code
reads: 'She had as good a right to Aegisthus as Agamemnon to Chryseis.'
As if the gods failed to overtake both in their sins."
Miss Manning rang a silver bell, and, rising, tapped the professor's arm
with her lorgnette.
"Yet you have the audacity to ask me if I condone creatures whose real
aim is to reverse God's decree of the sexes? Trix thinks I should like
them locked up in insane asylums? By no means. I should prefer to see
all such 'removed' by the methods you men employ when brutes become
afflicted with rabies and glanders. I am an old woman, Mr. Cleveden, but
I do object to the way in which you 'scientists' dispense with
conventional verbal draperies in discussing some questions. After all is
said, I presume that 'truth' you are worshipping must wear clothes, and
there is no need to confiscate her garments. Moreover, you are not to
believe for one instant that Miss Roberts means half of the idiotic
rubbish she talks. Girls nowadays think it _chic_ to affect fads, but
Trix is no more a 'new woman' than I am a winged saint. Noel, what is
the order of the morning?"
"The senator and the professor wish to fish; Stapleton and I are bound
to the stable and kennel, and later to the billiard table to settle an
old debt; Mr. Hull, Eglah, and Miss Beatrix will go out on the launch,
and the phaeton and your ponies will take you and Mrs. Mitchell to see
the finest views of the lake and hills."
"I much prefer to see your dogs and watch your billiard game, if I may,"
said Miss Roberts, picking from the table vase some scarlet poppies that
she fastened in her belt.
"Miss Manning, do come with us on the lake; the day is so lovely." Eglah
laid an appealing hand on the grey silk sleeve, and Miss Katrina's keen
eyes softened.
"You are very good to want a crusty old woman as ballast, but I am not
fond of the water. The wind is no respecter of grey hairs, takes such
impertinent liberties with my maidenly curls, and, beside, if an
accident should occur I can swim only as far as a cannon ball might, and
of course in an emergency Mr. Hull would devote himself exclusively to
saving me, hence you would probably drown. Thank you, Miss Kent, but
Mrs. Mitchell and I shall do our best to strangle time till luncheon."
During that long drive Eliza was kept constantly on guard, parrying
questions that betrayed an earnest curiosity relative to Mr. Herriott's
standing in the senator's family; and she readily divined that Eglah was
considered a formidable obstacle to a marriage long desired between
their host and Beatrix Roberts, the youngest of several unmarried
daughters whose father was Miss Manning's second cousin.
"And why do you think Noel will never marry?"
"Of course, madam, I can only conjecture; but from what I have seen of
Mr. Herriott, I think he is very happy as he is, and if he desired or
intended to wed any one, he would scarcely be so eager to renew his
travels in distant lands."
"And Miss Kent? Lovely, refined-looking woman, but cold as a frozen mill
pond. We hear she has had some fine offers. The world wonders for whom
she is waiting."
"As far as I know, she is absolutely indifferent. For her father she has
a peculiarly strong and tender affection, and I shall be very much
surprised if she ever marries."
When she returned to her own room, she felt that she had stepped down
from the witness stand after an adroit cross-examination, in which she
had maintained her non-committal role. As the pleasant days passed, she
and Judge Kent watched their host, hoping for some manifestation of
tenderness, or pique, or consciousness of past suitor-claims that might
portend possibility of renewal. No faintest evidence of other than calm,
friendly, hospitable interest rewarded their scrutiny. If it were indeed
complete surrender of hopes once cherished, would there not have been
traces of disappointment, some bitterness, some cloud on face and
manner?
Although she was unusually free from coquetry, Eglah was too familiar
with the moods of rejected lovers not to observe the exceptional
demeanor of the master of Greyledge, and his cool _insouciance_ would
have perplexed her had she not recollected his assurance that no word of
his should ever recall the painful interview in the carriage. She
noticed that he never touched her arm or hand if it could be avoided,
and, if he really cared for her society, why did he invite Roger Hull to
his house and afford him every opportunity to monopolize her? The
weather continued favorable; the guests could not fail to regret the
approaching end of their visit, and Mr. Herriott seemed unusually happy,
yet he had abstained from being alone with Eglah.
On the last day, at the close of dinner, the host proposed that coffee
and cigars should be served on the terrace overhanging the water. The
afternoon had been hot and sultry, and the full moon rose out of a tawny
haze that smouldered at the horizon but silvered and glistened as the
light swam through. Eliza stole away to pack the trunks, and Senator
Kent, the professor, and Mr. Hull strolled up and down smoking, while
Miss Roberts and Mr. Stapleton followed Mr. Herriott to the pavilion,
where he unlocked a boat and fitted the oars. Miss Manning's favorite
anisette had accomplished its mission, and her white head was bowed on
the billowy lace fichu that covered her neck. Noiselessly Eglah slipped
into the loggia, down the steps leading to the garden beyond the
courtyard, and ran along a walk, dark under dense overhanging boughs.
For a little while she must be alone to ponder the first really stern
words her father had ever spoken to her. They were writing letters in
the library that morning, when Senator Kent turned to her.
"My daughter, I must tell you that I am watching very impatiently for
the announcement of your acceptance of Herriott."
"Father, you will never hear it."
"I distinctly refuse to believe you will persist in defying my wishes.
Hitherto you have very sweetly yielded to my guidance in all matters of
importance, but if you obstinately and foolishly thwart a cherished plan
that concerns me more deeply than you know, you will forfeit my
forgiveness."
"I will never marry a man I do not love----"
"No silly rodomontade, if you please, my dear. You quite understand my
wishes."
"Father, even if my own feelings had changed sufficiently to induce me
to give him a different answer, I am absolutely sure Mr. Noel will never
renew his offer; and this fact is most welcome, because it removes all
possibility of my obeying you. You must see that he is now simply my
friend."
"Then you have only a short time in which to recall him. Women whistle
lovers back as easily as traps catch mice. It depends solely on you, and
I warn you now of bitter consequences unless you comply with----"
Miss Roberts and Mr. Stapleton entered the library, and Eglah retreated
to her own room. During dinner Eliza and Mr. Herriott noticed the
unusual flush on her cheeks, the strained, restless expression of her
eyes; but neither had opportunity for questioning, and, shielded by
general conversation, she escaped comment. Sitting opposite at table,
her father had once looked steadily at her.
"Eglah, you chance to have the fruit I covet close to your hand. Will
you peel me a peach?"
The garden walk she had followed divided, and into a narrow path she
plunged, finding a resting place on a miniature rockery covered with
fern and periwinkle. The night was so still she could hear the dip of
oars as the boat left shore, and far away the throbbing of a steamer
whose lights flashed across the foam as it sped onward. With her face in
her hands, Eglah recalled Eliza's exasperating question: "Why was
Senator Kent afraid of Mr. Herriott?" Was he? What could be the nature
of the trouble concealed? If Noel were cognizant of impending misfortune
she felt absolutely sure he would never consent to precipitate it.
Because she could share her perplexity with no one, her habitual repose
of manner forsook her. In the unexpected rift between her father and
herself she dispassionately canvassed the possibility of an available
bridge, and, feeling confident no second proposal would be made by Mr.
Herriott, she rejoiced in the belief that his silence would effectually
bar compliance with a command she entertained no thought of obeying. She
saw that he had deliberately surrendered her, and, unlike most women,
she was profoundly glad. Now and then, when he looked unusually handsome
in his yachting suit, and again in full evening dress, presiding with
ease and dignity at his table, Eglah compared her host with his guests,
with some brilliant men she had met in Washington and New York, and
always he seemed aloof and superior as an ivory image among terra-cotta
figurines. Conscious that his serene self-poise sprang in no degree from
personal vanity or pride of wealth, she admired his physical perfection,
and wondered why all his excellences had no more power to stir her heart
than a stained-glass saint in a cathedral window, or a flawless head of
Hylas. At such moments she decided God had designed her to be only a
daughter, and wifehood had no alluring charms, no rosy glamour.
Out of the dense shadow behind the mound of periwinkle came a sudden
rushing sound, a sharp bark, and the large collie Pilot sprang over a
stone wall and bounded up to the rockery. A moment later Mr. Herriott
whistled, vaulted over the same wall, and stood peering into the clumps
of shrubbery. Eglah patted the dog, hushed him in a whisper, and shrank
closer to the ground.
"Eglah! Where are you? Eglah!"
The dog barked, and his master came forward.
"How could you suspect I was here?"
"I have a Turk's nose for perfume. I am partial to prussic acid odors,
and no heliotrope blooms on this side of the garden. Who dared send you
to Coventry? For what are you doing penance, here in the dark?"
"Simply enjoying the delicious, perfect peace that surrounds this
special nook like a velvet mantle. Were you hunting for me?"
"No. I supposed you were in the loggia. I went for a few minutes to the
small house beyond the wall, where Amos and Susan live. She has been
sick several days, and nothing appeases her wrath if I neglect to say
good night to her. One of her childish whims is that I shall crack her
almonds and filberts, and yesterday when I demurred and turned the
nut-crackers over to Amos she shed tears, declaring his hands were not
always above suspicion, and that as she had performed this service for
me before I was promoted to trousers and vests, I owed it to her now
since she has lost her teeth. By jumping the fence, this is the short
cut from her house to the courtyard."
"Susan was your nurse?"
"Yes, since I was a year old, and she has been very faithful to my
family."
"I should like to see her."
"Then you shall make her a little visit to-morrow morning, but she can
never see you; she is entirely blind. Eglah, come out of this damp
corner. The moonlight is brilliant, and there is a beach-walk I wish to
show you."
As she rose and shook her draperies, he walked in advance, saying over
his shoulder:
"You would not accept my arm, for I am sure you need both hands to guard
your lace and silk frills from thorns and twigs. Here is the garden
boundary. Take care not to trip crossing this stile; come on, only three
steps. Now look at that sickle of the beach, with its long row of silver
poplars outlining a frieze around the land side of the curve. Once in a
furious gale that drove a steamer ashore--just beyond the point--I
watched those distracted trees toss their whitening leaves, as though
hands in prayer, and they lean always inward, shivering with prevision
of wrecks."
Over the burnished lake a full moon shone, and here and there a sinuous
ripple flashed like a fiery serpent as it glided to land, then slipped
back, while across the waste of water floated the tinkling of Beatrix's
mandolin and the tenor voice of her escort. Mr. Herriott took off his
hat, and when he turned suddenly to his companion she noticed a
brilliant smile on his face.
"Dana is very happy to-night, and I am glad to carry away the pleasant
consciousness that I have done everything possible in smoothing the path
to his heart's goal."
"You believe he will win her?"
"I certainly hope success for him. Her heart is already his, and, if he
can only be patient, she must ultimately yield."
"You think that in such matters persistency is invincible?"
"On the contrary, many Jacobs never win their Rachels; and my prediction
fits only the lovers out yonder. Aunt Trina will wail and invoke all the
Manning family ghosts, but the pretty hand of Miss Beatrix will follow
her heart."
Looking up at him, she admitted that in personal charm he surpassed all
men she had ever met, but into this verdict entered no emotional element
sufficiently strong to shiver the crystal calm of her heart, and she
found it difficult to identify this handsome, placid, smiling
countenance with a white, drawn, twitching face whose keen pain had
recently wrung tears from her in Washington.
The unusual flush had faded, leaving her cheeks cool and stainless as
the petals of a white rose, and the restless spark in her eyes had been
extinguished by drops that were never allowed to fall. Mr. Herriott had
studied her face too many years not to detect the new strained
expression, the compression of lips that would quiver, and all his
jealous surmises focussed on one dread--Father Temple.
"Shall we walk on slowly? Not far off is a seat. I have been wishing for
a quiet, uninterrupted talk before we say good-bye for an indefinite
period, and this is my last opportunity. Eglah, when did you hear from
Vernon Temple?"
"I cannot recall the exact date, but it was several weeks ago. We do not
really correspond, and his occasional notes are so impersonal that in
replying I sometimes feel as if I were addressing an abstraction. At
first he interested me extremely, but one cannot easily maintain his
mystical elevation of spirit."
"I thought you were really fond of him."
"Knowing as you do that I have absolutely no faculty for growing fond of
people, I am surprised you should have made the mistake. He enlisted my
interest in some of his benevolent schemes, especially a 'sisterhood'
for care of infirm indigents; but father has no sympathy with Vernon or
his vocation, and, therefore, I have been less impressed."
"At one time you were extravagant in praise of his 'saintly, magnetic
face.'"
"So I possibly am, or have been, about several fine pictures of
handsome, bleeding flagellants and tormented martyrs, but I should
prefer not to hang them permanently in my dining-room."
"Do you know anything of your cousin's early life, or of the reasons
that induced him to join his 'Order'?"
"Nothing whatever, except that while at college he was ill, and one of
father's sisters had him removed to her farmhouse, where he remained for
months before he could discard crutches."
Mr. Herriott stopped and turned towards her. Holding his hat behind him,
he leaned forward and scanned her closely.
"Vernon is a married man, and his wife is living."
"Is it possible! If any one else had told me, I should doubt it. I am
sure father knows nothing of the wife. Where is she? _Cherchez la femme_
is rarely a satire."
In the flood of moonlight her fair face--expressive only of
surprise--showed no vestige of emotion that could disquiet him, and so
intense was his relief that for a moment he dared not trust his voice;
then he put on his hat and whistled to his dog. As they walked slowly
along the margin of the lake, he told her briefly the history of Father
Temple and the recent discovery of his wife and child.
"Thank you for telling me such pleasant news. I am very glad poor Vernon
will have that angelic boy to comfort him--but 'Juno'? So beautiful, so
hard, so bitter! How can any meek priest ever hope to manage her?"
They had reached the point of the sickle, and looking back the swelling
curves of wooded hills, masses of glossy shrubbery, the irregular
profile of the house, outlined by its twinkling lights, and the vast
shimmering mirror of the great lake, all lay bathed in liquid gold.
Somewhere in a neighboring copse a bird, disturbed by the dog or misled
by the splendor of the night, twittered, and then, to reassure his
brooding mate near by, broke into a rapture of song. Clasping her hands
behind her head, Eglah lifted her face to listen, and Mr. Herriott
watched the moisture glisten on her lashes.
"Sweet as any aubade of the olden time, under olive and ilex, is it
not?"
For a moment she did not reply, then, with a sweep of her arm toward the
house on the rocks, she said:
"So beautiful, so full of peace--of such profound repose--how can
you--why will you leave it?"
"Because I do not forget '_le repos est une bonne chose, mais l'ennui
est son frere_.' I love and enjoy my home, but I prefer not to stagnate.
Garnering the bright and charming memories of the past few days, it can
never again seem quite as lonely as I have sometimes found it. I am glad
you have met Professor Cleveden, who is one of my best friends. His
domestic relations are so happy, and so perfect in their adjustments,
that no forlorn bachelor, once admitted to his home, could escape pangs
of envy. His wife is literally partner in his joys, sorrows, studies,
and diversions, and their only child--the 'little maid' Violet--is
spelling in the alphabet of science. Cleveden swears she shall be locked
up in his laboratory, safe from the social microbes that he fancies
infest the atmosphere of female clubs and 'emancipated women.' Some day
I hope you will meet Mrs. Cleveden. She is very beautiful and gracious,
though he assures me he has one grievance against his 'sweetheart,' and
Patmore expressed it:
"'Her manners, when they call me lord,
Remind me 'tis by courtesy;
Not with her least consent of will.'"
"Father distrusts the professor, and cautioned me not to discuss any
religious questions, because he considers him a brilliant casuist."
"Cleveden has one apostle whom he follows at all hazards--simple, stern,
scientifically established truth--and to him the natural laws are as
sacred as those Moses brought directly from the same God who framed them
all. For mere dogma in science or religion he has no tolerance, and I
shall never forget the profound emotion with which, in a lecture, he
quoted: 'These sciences are the real steps in the great world's
altar-stairs that slope through darkness up to God.' Revealed religion
lets down a ladder from heaven; natural sciences are the solid rungs by
which men like Cleveden build and climb. Side by side these ladders
rise, never crossing at sharp angles, both ending, resting at the feet
of God. Up one spiritual faith runs easily; along the other some souls
of different mould toilsomely ascend, each and all seeking and finding
the same goal--the eternal Ruler of the universe. Cleveden scoffs at
nothing but shallow shams, and we have heard him repeat passages from
Job and David, then declaim from the Iliad, and declare that as between
the thunder roll of Hebrew and Greek, the latter was as the rustle of
rushes in a summer wind to the pounding of Atlantic surf on rock-walled
shores."
"Nevertheless, father regrets that you cling to such an unsafe guide."
"He is worthy of my trust. Conscientiously hunting only for truth, he
admonishes his students:
"'Hath man no second life?
Pitch this one high!'
"To a young man groping in the mist of agnosticism, he repeated the
declaration of one of the most subtle scientific thinkers of this
century: 'That he had scrutinized every agnostic hypothesis he knew of,
and found that they one and all needed a God to make them workable.'
"I wish I could respect myself as I respect and honor my friend. Eglah,
knowing your reticent nature, I am perhaps presumptuous in taking a rash
step. There is some trouble that annoys you. Before I go away for such a
long, uncertain absence, will you trust me? I may not be able to remove
the burden, but I should be glad to share it. Can you tell me what
distresses you?"
She looked at him steadily, then away at the brooding water, where
voices of the night had begun to croon.
"Mr. Noel, let us go back; the boat is at the terrace."
When they reached the stone stile, she said:
"Do you know why father resigned the senatorship?"
"He has not confided his reasons to me."
"Having known him so long, should you think that his state of health
demanded such a step?"
"His appearance at present does not indicate any cause for alarm, and
you ought not to conjure a spectre with which to frighten yourself."
"His physician did the conjuring."
She sat down on the stile, and in her strained, sad gaze he measured the
depth of her disquietude.
"Mr. Noel, if you know any outside circumstances that appear to
necessitate or warrant this sudden abandonment of a brilliant senatorial
career, I beg you will be once more your old, kind, candid self and tell
me. If I understood I could bear it better."
"You think your father is perfectly well?"
"I cannot see the change he insists has overtaken him of late; can you?"
"Yes. Within the year his nervousness and want of equipoise have been
apparent, and when the newspapers stated that his 'medical adviser' had
recommended rest and Aix-les-Bains I was rejoiced. The atmosphere of
Washington is the worst possible for him. When do you sail?"
"On the twenty-fifth."
"Mrs. Mitchell accompanies you?"
"Of course. You scarcely understand what all this means to me. I have no
life outside of father's. His political future is my sole horizon. To
help, follow close, watch his ascent, was my world. This sudden,
inexplicable surrender, this stepping down and back into obscurity and
inaction leave me no foothold on coming years, and I feel adrift. Mr.
Noel, would it be unreasonable for me to hope that when father returns
in vigorous health a Cabinet seat or a foreign mission might be offered
him by the Republican party he has served so long, so faithfully?"
The wistful pathos of uplifted eyes that searched his stirred all the
tenderness of his nature, but he allowed himself no manifestation.
"If you anticipate such reward for your father, and then lose it,
disappointment would intensify the annoyance. By dismissing the
expectation, the charm of surprise will be added to the value of
promotion. You have passed the age of soap bubbles, and ought to know
that upon political preferment no man can depend with certainty,
especially in a republican country."
"I shall not, will not, accept defeat. I must be patient until next
year, and then, somehow--in some way--we shall recover our kingdom. I am
so proud of father--ah, so proud!"
She rose, and he put out his hand to assist her, but she crossed the
stile without touching his fingers, and they silently approached the
courtyard.
At a late hour, when the party dispersed, Judge Kent was the first
person who reached his own room. Soon after, Eglah tapped at his door.
As he opened it, a flood of light streamed over her cold, proud face,
and his keen gaze seemed to probe her soul.
"Well?"
She shook her head and stretched her arms towards him.
"Father----"
He laid a finger heavily on her trembling lips, then turned her around,
pushed her gently but firmly back from the threshold, and locked the
door on the inside.
The remaining hours of the night Mr. Herriott spent pacing slowly the
beach-walk, realizing anew the hopelessness of any change in conditions
that barred him from his heart's desire, and the wisdom of his
determination to travel as far as possible. The moon, magnified by mist
into a vast sphere of silver, swam in the west, tipping each wavelet
with a glittering fringe, and now and then crooning whispers of the
great expanse of water seemed to swell and fill the echoing hollows of
the brooding night.
The intense bitterness of Mr. Herriott's reflections crept into his
voice.
"Loyal soul! Nobody can help her now. Rude winds have blown wide the
guarded gate of her temple, and she will spend her life on her knees,
trying to regild the clay feet of her one image."