It was Christmas Eve and the Cove lay buried in snow. The sea was grey
like steel, and made no sound as it ebbed and flowed up the little
creek. The sky was grey and snowflakes fell lazily, idly, as though
half afraid to let themselves go; a tiny orange moon glittered over the
chimneys of "The Bended Thumb."
Harry came out of the Inn and stood for a moment to turn up the collar
of his coat. The perfect stillness of the scene pleased him; the world
was like the breathless moment before some great event: the opening of
Pandora's box, the leaping of armed men from the belly of the wooden
horse, the flashing of Excalibur over the mere, the birth of some
little child.
He sighed as he passed down the street. He had read in his morning
paper that the Cove was doomed. The word had gone forth, the Town
Council had decided; the Cove was to be pulled down and a street of
lodging-houses was to take its place. Pendragon would be no longer a
place of contrasts; it would be all of a piece, a completely popular
watering-place.
The vision of its passing hurt him--so much must go with it; and
gradually he saw the beauty and the superstition and the wonder being
driven from the world--the Old World--and a hard Iron and Steel
Materialism relentlessly taking its place.
But he himself had changed; the place had had its influence on him, and
he was beginning to see the beauty of these improvements, these
manufactures, these hard straight lines and gaunt ugly squares.
Progress? Progress? Inevitable?--yes! Useful?--why, yes, too! But
beautiful?--Well, perhaps ... he did not know.
At the top of the hill he turned and saluted the cold grey sky and sea
and moor. The Four Stones were in harmony to-day: white, and
pearl-grey, with hints of purple in their shadows--oh beautiful and
mysterious world!
He went into the Bethels' to call for Mary. Bethel appeared for a
moment at the door of his study and shouted--
"Hullo! Harry, my boy! Frightfully busy cataloguing! Going out for a
run in a minute!"--the door closed.
His daughter's engagement seemed to have made little difference to him.
He was pleased, of course, but Harry wondered sometimes whether he
realised it at all.
Not so Mrs. Bethel. Arrayed in gorgeous colours, she was blissfully
happy. She was at the head of the stairs now.
"Just a minute, Harry--Mary's nearly ready. Oh! my dear, you haven't
been out in that thin waistcoat ... but you'll catch your death--just a
minute, my dear, and let me get something warmer? Oh do! Now you're
an obstinate, bad man! Yes, a bad, bad man"--but at this moment
arrived Mary, and they said good-bye and were away.
During the few weeks that they had been together there had been no
cloud. Pendragon had talked, but they had not listened to it; they had
been perfectly, ideally happy. They seemed to have known each other
completely so long ago--not only their virtues but their faults and
failures.
With her arm in his they passed through the gate and found Robin
waiting for them.
"Hullo! you two! I've just heard from Macfadden. He suggests Catis in
Dover Street for six months and then abroad. He thinks I ought to pass
easily enough in a year's time--and then it will mean Germany!"
His face was lighted with excitement.
"Right you are!" cried Harry. "Anything that Macfadden suggests is
sure to be pretty right. What do you say, Mary?"
"Oh, I don't know anything about men's businesses," she said, laughing.
"Only don't be too long away, Robin."
They passed down the garden, the three of them, together.
In Norfolk a woman sat at her window and watched the snow tumbling
softly against the panes. The garden was a white sea--the hills loomed
whitely beyond--the sky was grey with small white clouds, hanging like
pillows heavily in mid-air.
The snow whirled and tossed and danced.
Clare turned slowly from the windows and drew down the blinds.
THE END
_Printed by_ R. & R. Clark, Limited, _Edinburgh_
BOOKS BY HUGH WALPOLE
_NOVELS_
THE WOODEN HORSE
MR. PERRIN AND MR. TRAILL
THE GREEN MIRROR
THE DARK FOREST
THE SECRET CITY
_ROMANCES_
MARADICK AT FORTY
THE PRELUDE TO ADVENTURE
FORTITUDE
THE DUCHESS OF WREXE
_BOOKS ABOUT CHILDREN_
THE GOLDEN SCARECROW
JEREMY
_BELLES-LETTRES_
JOSEPH CONRAD: A Critical Study