SEKHET
SEKHET
BY IRENE MILLER
[Illustration]
LONDON JOHN LANE THE BODLEY HEAD
NEW YORK JOHN LANE COMPANY MCMXII
THE ANCHOR PRESS, LTD., TIPTREE, ESSEX.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. BORN TO BEAUTY 1
II. A FRIEND IN NEED 6
III. A RICH CASKET FOR A RARE JEWEL 12
IV. THE WAY OF A MAN WITH A MAID 18
V. THE WILES OF THE FOWLER 28
VI. A SOUL'S BATTLE 37
VII. ROSES AND RAPTURES 45
VIII. LUCINDA BELMONT 50
IX. HOW EGYPT WAS RUINED FOR EVARNE 53
X. THE SHRINE OF SEKHET 60
XI. A LOSING STRIFE 66
XII. SEKHET, CRUSHER OF HEARTS 73
XIII. OUT OF THE GILDED CAGE 88
XIV. HELPING HANDS 96
XV. THE PROBLEM OF EXISTENCE 1O4
XVI. EVARNE'S FIRST ENGAGEMENT 117
XVII. A STRANGE INTRODUCTION TO THE PROFESSION 124
XVIII. NEW TRIALS AND TROUBLES 131
XIX. NEW FRIENDS 138
XX. REHEARSALS 146
XXI. The CAREER OF "CALEDONIA'S BARD" 153
XXII. POVERTY MAKES ONE ACQUAINTED WITH
STRANGE BEDFELLOWS 163
XXIII. A FRESH TURNING 168
XXIV. "STITCH, STITCH, STITCH!" 173
XXV. HARD LUCK 180
XXVI. EVARNE'S VOCATION 188
XXVII. IN ARTIST-LAND 199
XXVIII. GEOFFREY DANVERS 207
XXIX. SEKHET SMILES 218
XXX. A GREAT RESOLVE 226
XXXI. JOURNEYS END IN LOVERS' MEETINGS 234
XXXII. FRANK'S BRILLIANT IDEA 249
XXXIII. THE SHADOW OF COMING EVENTS 256
XXXIV. SEKHET WHETS HER TEETH 264
XXXV. THE STROKE OF SEKHET 278
XXXVI. A FRESH VOW 286
XXXVII. EVARNE FIGHTS FOR MORE THAN LIFE 297
XXXVIII. CONFIDENCES 318
XXXIX. EVIL, THAT GOOD MAY COME 326
XL. A FRESH COMPLICATION 338
XLI. HOW "LA BELLE DAME" LED JACK ASTRAY 347
XLII. THE COUP DE GRÂCE 357
SEKHET
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ
SEKHET: _The Goddess of Ancient Egypt, who
presided over Love and its Cruelty._
HER TOOLS AND HER VICTIMS.
Morris Kenyon.
Leopold Stornway (_his college friend_).
Evarne (_Stornway's daughter_).
Tony Belmont.
Lucinda "Belmont."
Geoffrey Danvers (_a young artist_).
Jack Hardy }
Frank Pallister } (_Geoff's studio friends_).
Philadelphia Harbert (_an artist's model_).
Maudie Meridith and her Auntie.
Alexander Punter (_manager of the "Scotia's Bard" Touring Co_.)
Mrs. Punter (_authoress of the play_).
John Montgomery (_a printer_). }
Joe Harold (_a commercial traveller_). }
Archie (_a horsey youth_). } (_Members of the_
Harry Douglas (_an ex-prize fighter_). } _"Scotia's Bard"_
Charles Stuart (_a scene-painter_). } _Co._)
Jessie Kennedy (_a little pianist_). }
Madame Cheape (an "actress"). }
Mr. Heathmore (a real actor). }
Mrs. Burling }
Mrs. Sargeant } (_Landladies_).
Miss Brodie }
Mrs. Shiells }
Jean Brodie (_a seamstress_).
_Many minor characters_.
SCENES.
The depth of the country, London, Italy, Paris, Egypt.
SEKHET
CHAPTER I
BORN TO BEAUTY
Evarne Stornway hurried across the fields towards Heatherington at a
speed that deprived her gait of much of that graceful yet somewhat
insolent sway that caused it to be alike the butt and the envy of the
other youthful females of the neighbourhood. Not an hour since she had
first heard beyond a doubt the gentle rustling of the wings of the Angel
of Death within the sick-room of her father, and, goaded by cruel
anxiety, she was--even against the invalid's will--seeking medical aid.
The rapid walk brought brightness to eyes and cheeks, thereby doing much
to restore that subtle air of perfect health and happiness that usually
added so much to the girl's beauty. But always was Evarne fair to
behold; her dark eyes, so large and limpid, were expressive and intense;
her lips, alluring in curves and colour, spoke to the "seeing eye" of
both kindliness and individuality. Yet she could have dispensed with all
the charm given by mental grace, and still riveted attention, for she
possessed loveliness of that type, supreme above all others, that is
independent of expression--the beauty of grace, symmetry of form, and
faultless feature. And for this she had been taught to thank--not
chance, not merely heredity, but the determination of her father.
Leopold Stornway had a passionate adoration for physical beauty,
regarding it as almost the first of virtues. And more, he was proud of
the vast importance he placed on bodily perfection, for was it not a
reverence characteristic of classic Greece? There it was--in the records
of the never-to-be-forgotten days of antiquity--that Leo found all his
chief interests. Egypt, Mesopotamia, Rome, and, above all, Greece--each
in turn had been the lands of his adoption. Pericles and Cæsar, Cyrus
and Rameses, Shalmanesur and Hiram, were the gods of his idolatry. He
knew and cared more concerning the triumphant fortunes of Semiramis; the
proceedings of Antigone or of Theseus; the adventures of Agamemnon or
Achilles, of Hector or the pious Æneas at the Siege of Troy, than he did
of the doings of those who sat in the seats of the mighty in his own
century.
The happiest time of his life had been his three years at Oxford. Almost
immediately on leaving college he married--simply because she was
beautiful as any Greek statue--a young woman considerably beneath him in
station, and possessed of an unconquerably violent temper. He knew right
well, even during the period of his deepest infatuation, that he had
found no mate for his soul. He was sadly conscious that that part of his
mind--of his spirit--that he cared for most deeply, never would--never
could--unveil itself to the scrutiny of his chosen life-long companion.
To feed his intellectual affections, he relied on the continuance of his
college friendship with the brilliant and vivacious Morris Kenyon. But
herein he was doomed to disappointment. After a brief spell of vain
struggling for literary recognition in London, Leo settled down,
contentedly enough, to obscurity in the depth of the country. There he
spent peaceful days occupied in highly intellectual yet miserably paid
writings. Each year he became more of a recluse--more out of touch with
the times. Morris Kenyon likewise altered. Plunged into the vortex of
town life, seeing and doing everything, going everywhere, courted and
flattered and popular, not only on account of his great wealth but for
his more personal attractions--every year he drifted farther from being
the Morris of yore. The change in both men was but gradual, and through
varying stages of disillusion and disappointment, their ardent
friendship was long in dying. But the time came when all ended--even
correspondence ceased.
Leo's marriage was more successful. His wife made strenuous efforts to
rise to his heights, while his admiration of her stately loveliness
never waned. Their first child was a boy, who died in infancy, but ere
long little Evarne came as consoler. Leo had wished for a daughter, and
had always spoken of the expected baby by the Greek name he had already
chosen for her--Evarne.
He had strong theories on pre-natal influence, and put them into
practice. He read and discussed with his wife poetry and the noblest
prose works. Everywhere she turned her eyes in her home she beheld
representations of female beauty--magnificent or placid. On the wall of
her bed-chamber was a barbaric, richly-hued painting of a Babylonian
slave-market. It showed a group of women decking themselves before
entering the Market Square, which could be seen through an opening of
the tent. They were of many nationalities, but each in her own way
represented physically perfect womanhood.
Near to this hung a contrasting picture--a delicate symphony in blue and
gold and snowy white. It was the Catholic's Madonna, with placid lips
and large uplifted eyes that told of thoughts beyond this world--chaste,
calm and pure.
In the corner of the room by the window stood a large cast of a famous
antique nude statue of Venus. So perfect was it--the glorious muscles of
the body dimpling so gently, so graciously--that even Leo's
unimaginative wife could find and feel something of what is soothing and
peace-giving in such beauty. Sometimes of an early morning a narrow beam
of light would creep into the darkened room between the drawn curtains
and illuminate just this statue. Then the young wife, lying wakeful,
would fix her eyes on the form of the Goddess of Beauty, drinking in its
divine influence, remembering her husband's assurance that its
contemplation would go far towards making the little daughter that was
to come likewise strong and beautiful.
And Leo's words proved not untrue--a more lovely baby never saw the
light. But Evarne's birth cost the mother her life, and after five years
of happy marriage, Leo was once again lonely.
Since the child's upbringing was thus left to her father, with his fads
and fancies, it was naturally of a unique nature. Mrs. Jarman--the
worthy matron whom he engaged to act as nurse to his child, and
cook-housekeeper to himself--was wont to declare, both to her gentleman
in person and to the village in general, that she was sure Providence
had seen fit to appoint a special angel to guard that blessed motherless
mite; otherwise no mortal woman could possibly have succeeded in rearing
it.
Mr. Stornway _would_ interfere in what Mrs. Jarman held to be no concern
of any man--not even of a father. First of all he had been divided in
opinion as to whether the infant should be wrapped in swaddling-clothes
in true classical style, or should remain in equally classical nudity.
The baby had arrived in the summer-time, so the latter idea prevailed,
and to Mrs. Jarman's dismay the little one passed the first few months
of its existence clad in very little more than its own silky skin. All
the experienced dame's traditional ideas of long robes, binders,
shortening-clothes, teething-rings, etc., were swept aside as _modern_.
Thus they were unworthy of a Greek reincarnation, named after the
fairest of the Nereides, and destined to show an altogether degenerate
world what beauty had been in the glorious days of old. With the
approaching chill of winter even Mr. Stornway agreed to the little form
being warmly clad, but his aversion to modern fashions never could be
uprooted.
Thus, though Evarne, as she now hastened to summon the doctor to her
father's dying bed, was nigh seventeen, she had never owned a pair of
corsets, or worn a dress more tight-fitting than could be managed by
shaping the material into the waist by gauging or smocking. Indoors, she
invariably cast aside her shoes and stockings. She could carry burdens
on her head, could run, jump, and swim with the ease and lightness of a
young Amazon. She slept soundly on a bed hard as wood, and had never
been indulged to the extent of a pillow in her life. Of her own accord
she would never have chosen such a harsh _régime_. But at sixteen she
knew but this one mode of existence, and habit rendered it congenial
enough.