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_NEW SIX SHILLING NOVELS._
THE BLUE LAGOON. By H. DE VERE STACPOOLE.
EVE'S APPLE. By ALPHONSE COURLANDER.
PARADISE COURT. By J. S. FLETCHER.
THE TRAITOR'S WIFE. By W. H. WILLIAMSON.
MAROZIA. By A. G. HALES.
LONDON: T. FISHER UNWIN.
THE WOMAN WHO VOWED
(THE DEMETRIAN)
BY
ELLISON HARDING
[Illustration]
LONDON
T. FISHER UNWIN
ADELPHI TERRACE
MCMVIII
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. A Goddess and a Comic Song 7
II. Harvesting and Harmony 21
III. The Cult of Demeter 37
IV. Anna of Ann 53
V. Irene 63
VI. Neaera 77
VII. A Tragic Denouement 94
VIII. How the Cult was Founded 101
IX. How It Might be Undermined 119
X. An Unexpected Solution 127
XI. The Plot Thickens 135
XII. Neaera's Idea of Diplomacy 144
XIII. Neaera Makes New Arrangements 150
XIV. "I Consented" 162
XV. The High Priest of Demeter 171
XVI. Anna's Secret 183
XVII. Designs on Anna of Ann 190
XVIII. A Dream 200
XIX. The Legislature Meets 207
XX. On Flavors and Finance 219
XXI. The Investigating Committee 226
XXII. "Treasons, Stratagems, and Spoils" 238
XXIII. A Libel 249
XXIV. Neaera Again 259
XXV. The Libel Investigated 266
XXVI. The Election 285
XXVII. The Joint Session 293
XXVIII. Lydia to the Rescue 302
Conclusion 315
THE DEMETRIAN
CHAPTER I
A GODDESS AND A COMIC SONG
I remember awakening with a start, conscious of a face bending over me
that was beautiful and strange.
I was quite unable to account for myself, and my surprise was heightened
by the singular dress of the woman I saw. It was Greek--not of modern
but of ancient Greece.
What had happened? Had I been acting in a Greek play and been stunned by
an accident to the scenery? No; the grass upon which I was lying was
damp, and a sharp twinge between the shoulders told me I had been there
already too long. What, then, was the meaning of this classic dress?
I raised myself on one arm; and the young woman who had been kneeling
beside me arose also. I was dazed, and shaded my eyes from the sun on
the horizon--whether setting or rising I could not tell. I fixed my eyes
upon the feet of my companion; they were curiously shod in soft
leather, for cleanliness rather than for protection; tightly laced from
the toe to the ankle and half way up the leg--half-moccasin and
half-cothurnus. I fixed my eyes upon them and slowly became quite sure
that I was alive and awake, but seemed still dazed and unwilling to look
up. Presently she spoke.
"Are you ill?" she asked.
"I don't think so," answered I, as I lifted my eyes to hers.
When our eyes met I jumped to my feet with an alertness so fresh and
fruitful that I seemed to myself to have risen anew from the Fountain of
Youth. A miracle had happened. I was dead and had come to life
again--and apparently this time in the Olympian world.
"Here!" I exclaimed; "or Athene! Cytherea, or Artemis!"
Then quickly the look of sympathetic concern that I had just seen in her
eyes vanished. A ripple of laughter passed over her face like the first
touch of a breeze on a becalmed sea; for a moment she seemed to restrain
it, but her merriment awakened mine, and on perceiving it she abandoned
all restraint and burst into a laugh that was musical, bewitching, and
contagious. We stood there a full minute, both of us laughing, though I
did not understand why. She soon explained.
"Where on earth do you come from, Xenos, and where--_where_ did you get
_those_ things?" She pointed to my pantaloons as she spoke.
Then I discovered how ridiculous I appeared.
"And why have they cut all the hair off your face and left that ugly
little stubble?"
I put my hand to my chin and felt there a beard of several days' growth.
"It must prick dreadfully," she said; and coming up to me she daintily
passed a soft, rosy finger over my cheek. I caught her hand and kissed
it. She jumped away from me like a fawn.
"Take care, young man," she said, reprovingly but not reproachfully;
"though I don't suppose you are very young, for I see some gray in your
hair."
I don't suppose I liked being reminded of my years, but I was altogether
too much absorbed in the richness of her beauty and health to be
concerned about myself. And the subtle combination of freedom and
reserve in her manner conveyed to me an indescribable charm. At one
moment it tempted me to trespass, but at the next I became aware that
such an attempt would meet with humiliating resistance; for she was tall
and strong. Her one rapid movement away from me proved her agility. She
was perfectly able to take care of herself. Her consciousness of this
had enabled her to meet my first advance with unruffled good humor, but
I felt sure that persistence on my part would elicit repulsion and
perhaps scorn.
We stood a moment smiling at each other; then she said:
"Come, you must take off those dreadful things; why, you are wet
through"--and she passed her hand over my back--"and you must tell me
what you are and where you come from. But you are chilled now and need
something warm, so come to the Hall and you can tell me as we go."
As she spoke she swung to her head a basket I had not before observed;
it was heavy, for she straightened herself to support it; and the
weight, until she balanced it, brought out the muscles of her neck. She
put her arms akimbo and showed the way.
"Well," she said, as we walked together side by side, "when are you
going to begin?"
"How and where shall I begin?" answered I. "You forget that I too have
questions to ask; I am bewildered. Who and what are you? In what country
am I? Where did you get that beautiful dress?" I stepped a little away
from her to observe the beauty of her form.
"We try to make all our garments beautiful," she answered, simply; "but
this is the common dress of all--or rather the dress commonly worn in
the country. We dress a little differently in town--but what do you find
peculiar in my attire? What else could I wear out in the fields?"
I looked at the drapery, which did not hang lower than the knee; at the
girdle that barely indicated the waist; at the chiton gathered by a
brooch on one shoulder, leaving bare the whole length of her richly
moulded arm.
"I would not have you wear anything else," said I, restraining my
admiration; "but our women dress differently."
"Tell me about them," said she.
"I will," answered I, "but tell _me_ first where I am and where we are
going?"
"You are near a place called Tyringham," answered she, "and you are
going with me to breakfast at the Hall."
As she spoke we were walking down a grassy slope and came in sight of a
meadow on the left, through which meandered a crystal stream; it flowed
from the right of the hill on which we stood, and just below where it
fell in cascades over successive ledges it was straddled by a mill
smothered in jasmine and purple clematis. The moment the mill came in
sight my companion uttered a loud call that came echoing back to us from
the surrounding hills. Her call was answered by several voices, and soon
there came to meet us a youth as handsome in his way as my own
companion. He, too, wore the Greek dress; he was about eighteen years of
age and so like the girl that I guessed at once he was her brother. He
put me out of countenance by staring at me with open-mouthed wonder and
then bursting into an uncontrolled roar of laughter. But his sister took
him by the arm and shook him.
"Stop laughing," she said. "Don't you see he doesn't like it?"
The boy stopped immediately--for I confess his laughter was not as
agreeable to me as hers--and there came upon him an expression of the
gentlest solicitude.
"I am sorry," he said, with tears of laughter still in his eyes; "I
thought you were playing a joke on us."
I tried to look pleasant.
"I cannot at all account for myself," I said, "or for you; I suppose a
long time has elapsed since I went to sleep; so long that I hardly
remember where it was, though I think it was in Boston--in my bachelor
quarters there."
They both looked puzzled and concerned.
"And what is your name?" asked the girl.
"Henry T. Joyce," answered I.
I could see that my very name amused them though they tried to conceal
it.
"And yours?" asked I of the girl.
"Lydia--Lydia second, or more correctly, Lydia of Lydia."
"That means," said the boy, "that her mother's name was Lydia; and so I
call myself Cleon of Lydia, because, my mother's name was Lydia. She,"
he added, pointing to the girl, "is my sister."
He was dressed, like her, in a simple tunic coming to the knees, and was
shod like her also; but the tunic was not pinned up on one shoulder: it
had sleeves like our jacket.
We were walking down the hill and came now in sight of a group of
buildings entirely of wood, of a beauty that made them a delight to
behold. One much larger than the others reminded me of what Westminster
Hall would be if separated from the more recent Houses of Parliament. It
was lighted by large Gothic windows that started from above a covered
veranda; the veranda offered countless opportunities for surprises in
the way of carved pillars, twisting staircases, and subsidiary
balconies, every corner being smothered in vines and bursting into
blossoms of varied hue. Clearly the upper part of the building was a
large hall, and the lower part split up into smaller rooms. Near this
Hall and connected with it by covered ways were numerous other
buildings, all different, but conforming to the lay of the land on
either side of a torrent, upon one level reach of which stood the mill
in the same quaint style.
"Our power house," said Cleon, pointing to it.
I thought of the hideous masonry that ruined the valley of the Inn
between San Moritz and Celerina in the old days, and I wondered. But my
eyes were too much bent on the beautiful lines of Lydia's form to linger
long on the mill or its adjacent buildings. I had fallen behind her in
order to be able to take better account of her. The weight of the basket
on her head brought out the strength of her shoulders and the rhythmic
movement of her body. Every time she turned to speak to us her hands
left the waist in an unconscious effort to maintain her balance, thus
throwing into relief the rounded outline of her arm and the delicacy of
her wrist. "Alma venus genitrix," thought I, "hominum divumque
voluptas."
Cleon kept talking all the way, interrupted occasionally by Lydia. He
explained all the buildings to me and their respective uses. As we
approached the Hall we met several other young men and women who joined
us, for all were going in the same direction. Each expressed the same
surprise and amusement on beholding me; they joined Lydia, who with an
air of importance repeated her story to every one. I felt more
comfortable between Lydia and Cleon and had therefore joined the brother
and sister, so as to have the protection of one of them on either side.
When we reached the Hall, Cleon suggested that I must feel uncomfortable
in my damp clothes and took me to the men's quarters. He provided me
with all that was necessary for a complete toilet. A large swimming tank
occupied the basement of the building, and into it I was glad to plunge.
After I had shaved--for a razor was provided--I assumed the simple
garment of my neighbors and for the first time felt ashamed of the
whiteness of my skin. By the side of the swarthy limbs about me my arms
and legs looked naked and pitiful. I was extremely hungry, however, and
my appetite overcame my reluctance at facing the crowd that I felt was
awaiting me at the Hall. As we approached it we heard echoes of song
and laughter.
"They have finished breakfast," said Cleon, pushing me through the open
doorway.
Our entrance was unobserved, for they were all engaged in singing; the
words I heard in chorus were "The Lightning Calculator!" They all
stamped at each alternate syllable and I noticed that Lydia was the
centre of observation. She was flushed, half with vexation and half with
merriment, and was being held by a crowd of girls who prevented her from
interfering with the soloist, who, standing on a chair with a guitar,
was improvising.
I could not hear the words distinctly from where I stood but caught
something about a certain Chairo, at the mention of whose name there was
a laugh, and the stanza closed, as had the last, with "The Lightning
Calculator," whereupon all laughed again and stamped as they repeated in
chorus "The Light-ning Cal-cu-la-tor."
"That's my sister," said Cleon to me in a whisper. "She's the Lightning
Calculator."
In the next stanza, which was quite unintelligible to me, I noticed an
allusion to Demeter, at which the women looked shocked and the men
delighted. I was wondering at the significance of this when Lydia
discovered me, and, delighted to divert attention from herself by
directing it toward me, she said to the tormentors who were holding her:
"There he is!"--and she nodded in my direction.
Immediately all eyes were turned toward me and I became painfully
conscious of my bare white legs. The young man with the guitar stepped
down from his chair and came to me.
"Welcome to Tyringham," said he. "We don't know how you got here or
where you come from, but we are ready to answer questions and willing to
ask none."
I stammered something in answer and was led to a table where two places
had been left for us. Cleon and I sat down and food was brought. Lydia
asked me a few conventional questions to put me at my ease; but hardly
succeeded, for seemingly some hundreds were engaged in staring at me. At
last some one pushed the soloist by the arm. "One more verse, Ariston,"
said he, and Ariston jumped on the chair again, and, twanging his
guitar, resumed:
"Of swarthy skins she tires soon
To her new things must cater,
So now she's found a pantaloon--
The Lightning Calculator."
My legs were well under the table so I could join in the laugh, secretly
satisfied to be associated with her even in the jingling nonsense of a
comic song.
"Boobies!" exclaimed Lydia, "and Babies!" she added. "Boobies and
Babies!" She ran to the door and they all followed her, boisterously
laughing, and leaving me alone with Cleon.
"I didn't understand much of it," said I. "Who is Chairo?"
"Chairo is a great man; one of our great men; the youngest of them; he
may become anything; but he is not popular because he is so
dictatorial."
"And he is in love with Lydia?"
"Frightfully in love."
"And Lydia?"
"Ah! no one knows; she's very sly, Lydia"; and Cleon chuckled to
himself.
"And why did everybody look at one another when Ariston sang about
Demeter?"
"Well, the women don't like to have it talked about."
I was puzzled.
"Do tell me about it," I said, "for I know nothing about Demeter except
what I have read in my classics."
"Well, Demeter, you see"--but he blushed and stammered--"I really never
had it altogether explained to me; the women never talk of it, and yet
the Cult, as they call it, 'the Cult of Demeter,' is the most important
thing to them in the world."
I went on eating my breakfast and trying to guess what Cleon was driving
at, but altogether failed.
"What does this Cult of Demeter have to do with your sister?" I asked at
last.
"Why," answered Cleon, looking round cautiously and lowering his voice,
"Lydia is a Demetrian."
"What does that mean--'Demetrian'?"
"It means that she has been selected by Demeter."
"Do try to remember," I said a little impatiently, "that I know nothing
about your Demeter and can make neither head nor tail of what you are
saying."
The irritation I felt made me aware that I was jealous of Chairo,
jealous of Demeter, and infatuated with Lydia. Cleon's half explanations
seemed to be putting Lydia out of my reach, and I was exasperated at not
being able to understand just how far.
"Well," answered Cleon, "I don't know whether I ought to tell you, but
it's this way: Lydia is awfully clever at figures. She can square any
ten of them; add any number of columns; multiply any number by any
number all in a flash. And so she's been selected by Demeter; that is to
say, I suppose, they are going to marry her to some great
mathematician."
"What!" exclaimed I, indignantly. "They are going to sacrifice her to a
mathematician?"
"Sacrifice!" retorted Cleon with open eyes. "Why, it isn't a sacrifice!
It is the greatest honor a woman can have!"
"And what does Lydia say to it?"
"She hasn't made up her mind."
"Oh, then, she has to be consulted," said I, relieved. "She cannot be
compelled."
"Oh, no," answered Cleon, "she is selected--that is to say, the honor is
offered to her; she may not accept it if she does not like; but a girl
seldom refuses. She is no more likely to refuse the mission of Demeter
than Chairo would be to refuse the Presidency. It is very hard work
being President--very wearing; in fact, I should think it would be an
awful bore; but nobody ever refuses it, because of the honor. I suppose
it is the same thing with the mission of Demeter."
I was more and more puzzled, but despaired of getting satisfaction from
Cleon.