Thus by tacit consent did the whole question of Peter Masters' Fortune
and the Refusal slip into the background of the lives of those mostly
concerned, and only for Christopher did that background colour all the
present and alter the perspective of his outlook.
He told Aymer plainly that it was a bitter thought to him to be
indebted to Peter Masters for even a share of the Patrimondi success.
"According to Saunderson he must have subsidised the Exhibition
people," he said moodily.
"It was a very excellent advertisement."
"It meant he had his own way and left me indebted to him when I had
refused his help."
"Good heavens, what a mercy you two were not flung together earlier in
life!"
Christopher faced him abruptly.
"Am I so like him then?"
"Absurdly so. Your own way and no one else to interfere."
Christopher was silent for a while, but presently he said in a low
voice, "That's not quite true, Cæsar, is it? You can interfere as much
as you like."
"I'd be sorry to try."
Again Christopher was silent, but his face softened. He thought of how
the personality and jealous love of this man to whom he owed so much
had stood between him and Patricia and how he felt no shadow of
resentment at it.
"I think I shall adopt Max when he leaves school," remarked Cæsar
languidly, "he'll let me manage him in my own way till he is an
octogenarian."
"Cæsar, you have no discrimination at all. Once you wanted to adopt
Sam, now Max. Both as pliable as elastic, and as unmalleable."
"I've a great affection for Max."
"So have I. Is Nevil going to give him to Patrimondi?"
"No, to me."
"Honestly?"
Aymer nodded. "He'll have to manage the estate some day, not so far
off, either."
Christopher patted the sofa rug absently.
"When he's at Cambridge he'll have to spend the Long Vacation learning
from his ancient uncle."
Christopher gave an involuntary sigh.
"Jealous again?" demanded Aymer quizzically, but he put his hand on
Christopher's and they both smiled.
Patricia and Christopher were married at Christmas, Charlotte having
given her consent with the remark, it was better than having a horrid
stranger in the family anyway.
They established themselves in a house on the verge of the sea, within
easy motor or train distance of Marden and the Patrimondi works. It
was a relief to all to find how easily Cæsar appeared to take the new
separation, but the quiet peace and unspoken happiness of the united
lives seemed to include him in its all-embracing results. There could
be no room for jealousy in a love that usurped no rights, but only
filled its own place.
The days of doubt which Patricia had feared came and passed in the
autumn weeks preceding the marriage, and Christopher had kept his word
and held her firmly against the weak terrors that assailed her. Once
they were married, however, she seemed to pass out of the shadow of
the fear, and to break from the bondage of her race. In some wonderful
way her husband's clear, perpetual vision of her as separate from the
tyranny of heredity, did actually free her. She too saw herself free,
and in so seeing, the fetters were loosed. If it were a miracle, as
little Renata sometimes thought, it was only one in so far as the Love
which can inspire such faith and vision is yet but a strange unknown
power with us, to which nature seldom rises, and can rarely hold when
grasped.
But these two held it, rising with each other's efforts, sinking with
each other's daily failures; their lives so intricately woven together
that they needed no outward semblance of interests or visible
companionship to bring the knowledge of their Love to their hearts.
Christopher continued his work, journeying far and wide. Sometimes she
accompanied him actually, sometimes she remained in their home on the
cliff edge, alone but not solitary, looking with joy for his return,
but free from aching need. Quite slowly the Woman learnt to recognise
her unseen, unreckoned sway over the Man, to discover how he could
only rise to the full height of his manhood by strength of the
inspiring love she brought him. She was pressed by an uncomprehending
world to fill her leisure hours with many occupations, useful and
useless, but she resisted steadily. She took life as it came to her,
day by day, wasting no strength, but refusing no task, shirking no
responsibility, drinking in every joy, and holding always faithfully
in her heart his true image as he had held hers, knowing that when
perchance the outward man blurred that image for a moment it was but
the outward casing; the inner soul remained true to the likeness in
which it was created.
As the months slipped by Christopher saw that his work continued to
grow, that the good roads of which he had dreamed stretched far and
wide across the country, and he knew he had won for himself a place in
the history of men. Moreover, he loved his work.
It was a never-ceasing pleasure, and when it ended came the greater,
deeper joy of his undivided love. If the aim of man is happiness, he
had achieved that end as far as any human being might do so.
Yet all the while a black thread wove itself into the warp of his
existence. He tried not to see it, for recognition of it would cancel
that white web of life that grew daily beneath his hand. Still it was
there, and the white web became uneven and knotted. He was restless,
even irritable, the white turned to grey, yet still he resisted the
unknown forces that pressed him onward to the dissolution of this
present beautiful life. And Patricia herself, with her unbroken faith
in his readiness to follow the highest when he saw it, fought with the
silent Powers till at length that silence was broken by a cry so
imperious that even his dogged will could refuse sight and hearing no
longer.