During the train journey Hal kept his face well hidden behind a
newspaper. It wasn’t that he was interested in its contents, for he had
turned only one page in half an hour. Teddy glanced at him occasionally.
Funny! Why was it? Grown people seemed to enjoy themselves by being sad.
The train halted in a quiet station. An old farmer with screwed-up,
merry eyes, white whiskers like a horse-collar about his neck, and
creaking leather gaiters, approached them.
“Mornin’, mister. I was on the lookout for ’ee. I’ve brought the
wagonette; it’s waitin’ outside. Jump in, while I get the luggage.” When
he came back carrying the bags, his eyes winked meaningly both together
at Teddy: “The little missie, she war that excited, I could scarce
persuade her from comin’.”
He lumbered to his seat and tugged at the reins. The horse whisked its
tail and set off at a jog-trot through the sleepy town. Houses grew
fewer; the country swam up, spreading out between trees like a green
swollen river.
As they passed by gates and over bridges, it was as though doors flew
open on stealthy stretches of distance where shadows crouched like
fantastic cattle.
Hal was speaking. He turned to him. “I was saying that we rather tricked
you, Vashti and I. What did you think of us? We often wondered.”
Teddy laughed. “I was little then. I was angry. You see, I believed
everything; and she said so positively that we were going to be married.
I must have been a queer kid to have believed a thing like that.”
The old horse jogged on, whisking his tail. The farmer sat hunched, with
the reins sagging. Hal felt for his case and drew out a cigarette. As
he stooped to light it, he asked casually, “Do you ever think about
her--ever wonder what’s become of her?”
The boy flushed. It was Vashti, always Vashti, when Hal spoke to him.
“I think of her only as a faery story. It’s silly of me. I don’t think
about her more often than I can help.”
“Than you can help!” Hal leant forward with a strained expression. “You
can’t help. You always remember. That’s the curse of it. The doors of
the past won’t keep shut; they slam and they slam. They wake you up in
the night; you can’t rest. You’re always creeping down the stairs and
finding yourself in the rooms of old memories. Would you know her again
if you saw her?”
Teddy looked up at the question. “I’d know her voice anywhere.” Then,
with an excitement which he could not fathom, “Am I going to----?”
Hal shook his head. “I asked you because, if you do see her, you must
send me word.”
They turned in at a gate off the highroad. It was scarcely more than
a field-track that they followed. Ahead a wood grew up, which they
entered. On the other side of it, remote from everything, lay a red
farmhouse. A big yard was in front of it, with stacks standing yellow in
the sun and horses wandering aimlessly about. Cocks were crowing and on
the thatch, like flakes of snow, white fan-tails fluttered. At the sound
of wheels, an old lady, in a large sunbonnet, came out and shaded her
eyes, peering through her spectacles.
“Hulloa, Sarie!” cried the farmer. “Where’s the missie? We’ve brought
’er a young man.”
Sarie folded her hands beneath her apron. “She’s in the garden, as she
always is, Joseph.”
Teddy entered the cool farmhouse, with its low rafters and spotlessness.
Everything was old-fashioned, even the vague perfume of roses which hung
about it.
Hal touched him on the arm. “Let’s go to her. She’ll be shy with you at
first Even though we called, she wouldn’t come.”
He led the way through a passage into a garden at the back. It lay
like a deep green well, wall-surrounded and content in the shade of
fruit-trees. The trees were so twisted that they had to be held up
like cripples on crutches. Paths, red-tiled and moss-grown, ran off in
various directions. The borders of box had grown so high that they gave
to the whole a mazelike aspect.
“She’s here somewhere,” Hal whispered, with suppressed excitement. “Step
gently and don’t pretend you’re looking.”
They sauntered to and fro, halting now and then to listen. They came to
a little brook that dived beneath the wall and ran through the garden
chattering. Hal was beginning to look worried. “I wish she wouldn’t be
like this. Perhaps she’s crept round us and got into the house without
our knowing.”
At that moment, quite near them, they heard a sound of laughter. It was
soft and elfin, and was followed by the clear voice of a child.
“You’re a darling. You’re more beautiful than any one in the world.”
A turn in the path brought them within sight of a ruined fountain. In
the center, on a pedestal, stood the statue of a boy, emptying an urn
from which nothing fell. In the gray stone basin that went about the
pedestal was a pool of water, lying glassy and untroubled. Through a
hole in the trees sunlight slanted. Kneeling beside the edge of the
basin was a little girl, stooping to kiss her own reflection.
“Desire.”
She started to her feet with the swiftness of a wild thing. She would
have escaped if Hal had not caught her. Across his shoulder she gazed
indignantly at Teddy.
“He saw me do that,” she said slowly.
Teddy gazed back at her and smiled. He wanted to laugh, but he was
stayed by her immense seriousness.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“You’re not one bit,” she retorted.
She struggled down from Hal’s arms. “You may shake hands with me if you
like.”
Very formally he shook hands with the little girl.
In the old garden Hal lost his sadness. It was late in the afternoon,
when he was leaving, that she asked the question that brought it back,
“When is mother coming?”
“Presently. Presently,” he said quickly.
As he climbed into the wagonette, he signed to Teddy.
Bending down he whispered: “If you should see her----You know whom I
mean? I’ll be stopping at Orchid Lodge; you can reach me there.”