the flaw in the sapphire by charles m. snyder author of "comic history of greece" "runaway robinson" "snap shots" etc. new york the metropolitan press 1909 -----------------------------------------------------------------------copyright, 1909, by the metropolitan press registered at stationers' hall, london (all rights reserved) printed in the united states of america press of wm. g. hewitt 24-26 vandewater st. new york -----------------------------------------------------------------------augustine e. mcbee a friend who stands since "auld lang syne" to all that's fine related; to him, this little book of mine is duly dedicated. --charles m. snyder. new york, september, 1909. -----------------------------------------------------------------------the flaw in the sapphire chapter i not long since there lived, in the city of philadelphia, a young man of singular identity. his only parallel was the comedian who is compelled to take himself seriously and make the most of it, or a tart plum that concludes in a mellow prune. he was the affinity of two celebrated instances to the contrary. to those who enjoy the whimsies of paradox he presented an astonishing resemblance, in countenance, to the late benjamin disraeli, and maintained in speech the unmistakable accent of o'connell, the hebrew statesman's celtic antagonist. for these reasons, until the nature of his business was discovered, he was regarded with interest by that class which is disposed to estimate the contents of a book by the character of the binding, or thinks it can measure a man's ability by the size of his hat. on nearer acquaintance, he was relegated to the dubious distinction of an oddity to whom you would be pleased to introduce your friends if you had only a satisfactory account of his antecedents. he was cheerful, startling, ready and adroit. until betrayed by his brief but effectual familiarities, it was a curious experience to remark the approach of this singular being and wonder at the appraising suggestion in his speculative glance. presently you decided that it was the intention of this young man to address you, and, unconsciously, you accorded him the opportunity, only to be scandalized the moment afterward by the query, altogether incongruous in such a promising aspect: "any old clothes to-day?" and you passed on, chagrined and wondering. for a number of years, while his auditors paused in an attempt to disentangle the semite from the celt, there was scarcely a day in which he had not subjected himself to the more or less pronounced hazards of rebuff incident to his invariable query, and there were few citizens of the sterner sex whom he had not thus addressed. apparently no consideration restrained him. none was too dignified, none sufficiently austere to escape his solicitation; and while, as a rule, he waited until the object of his regard came to a standstill, he had been known to approach diagonally, and, at the point of incidence, presenting his query, pass on with a glance of impassive impersonality when it was evident that his overtures were futile or worse. when successful in his forays, he would convey the results of his efforts to his father, who, after getting the garments thus secured in a condition of fictitious newness, displayed them in front of his establishment, marked with prices which, as he explained to those unwary enough to venture within the radius of his personality, brought him as near to nervous prostration as was possible for the parent of such inconsequent offspring. however, no matter what the rewards of such industry, it must not be imagined that its disabilities did not insist upon due recognition and ugly ravel, and that such shred and fibre did not obtrude their unwelcome appeals for repair upon their central figure. shrewd, intelligent, persistent, he soon discovered that the very qualities which made him successful in his calling rendered him obnoxious to those who were unable to harmonize his promise with his condition. however, like the majority of his countrymen, outside of those who constituted the manhattan police force and provided the country with justices of the peace, this young man was a philosopher. he could always provide a silver lining for a cloud as long as it was plausible to do so, and when he had exhausted his genial resources, he looked at facts squarely. on this basis he decided, finally, that his was a case of "bricks without straw," enthusiasm minus its basis, an unhappy conclusion which was emphasized by his patient attempts to soften his angularities with the advantages provided by a night school. unfortunately, a business man, with an eye to the bizarre, to whom dennis had presented some of his characteristic enterprises, had put the young irishman in the way of securing a biography of the hebrew premier, whom he provided with such an absurd travesty of likeness, and the "ole clo' merchant" was so impressed by the resolution and dexterity of the celebrated statesman, that he became, from that moment, the prey of a consuming ambition whose direction he could not determine. he grew positive daily, however, that, in view of these stimulating aspirations, he could no longer pursue his embarrassing avocation. on the basis, therefore, that the greater the pent the more pronounced the explosion, the young merchant developed a dangerous readiness to embrace the first opportunity that presented herself in the hope that the caress would be returned. presently, the determination to exchange his present humiliations for future uncertainties advanced him to the point where he informed his father of his decision, and the latter immediately succumbed to a collapse which was hebraic in its despair and entirely celtic in its manifestation. when this irate parent realized, at last, that this invaluable arm of his business could not be diverted from its purpose, with cruel celerity he cut off his son from all further consideration and forbade him the premises. with the previous week's salary in his pocket, which, fortunately, had been undisturbed, dennis muldoon, on the day succeeding this unhappy interview with his sire, set out for new york city with his few belongings condensed, with campaigning foresight, in a satchel whose size and appearance would scarcely inspire the confidence man to claim previous acquaintance with its owner in order to investigate its contents later. in this manner protected from the insinuating blandishments of the "buncoes," and guided by his native shrewdness, dennis finally found accommodation for his meager impedimenta in an unassuming lodging-house called the stag. this establishment reflected, in a curious way, the demands of its patrons. almost the entire first floor was occupied by the glittering details of a seductive barroom, through which one was compelled to pass, challenged on every side by alluring labels, before reaching the restaurant immediately in the rear. above, the floors were divided into numerous sleeping-rooms barely large enough to accommodate a bed, washstand and one chair--a sordid ensemble, unrelieved by any other wall decoration than the inevitable announcement: "this way to the fire escape." by a singular coincidence which would have aroused a lively emotion in the moralist, a bible occupied a small shelf directly under the instructions quoted above. dennis, however, was too weary to recognize the grim association, and shortly after his arrival retired for the night to recuperate his energies for the uncertainties of the morrow. awakening at dawn with a sincere hope that his dreams of a succession of disasters were not prophetic, and, despite the appeals of the glitter and the labels in the bar, breakfasting with his customary abstemiousness, dennis issued from the stag with a determination to make the effort of his life to secure employment. he had no definite plans other than a profound determination to resist the invitations of baxter street, a thoroughfare congested from end to end with innumerable shops devoted to the species of merchandizing from which he had so recently escaped. here his talents would have procured for him ready recognition, a condition which deepened his determination to avoid all possible contact with these solicitous sons of shem. beyond a singular desire to enter a large publishing house, dennis had no idea as to the direction of his efforts. aside from the fact that books held an unaccountable fascination for him, he could not explain this predilection, for their influence over him was in the aggregate. he loved to wander, with aimless preoccupation, among closely-packed shelves, and in pursuance of this indirection was familiar with the interior of every library in the city of philadelphia. he appeared to have too much respect for the books to touch them, and was sufficiently in awe of their contents not to attempt to read them. he was impressed by the volume of things, and had, unsuspected by himself, the capacity of the bibliophile to detect and enjoy the subtle aroma which emanates from leaves and binding. in harmony, therefore, with the resolute quality which had secured to him what success he had enjoyed in his abandoned business, dennis decided to exhaust the pleasing possibilities presented by this elevated industry before applying elsewhere. the éclat of possible authorship did not influence him, despite the encouragement afforded him in the surprising efforts of his imagination displayed in achievements such as the following, with which he embellished the front of his father's establishment: this suit was $50 and cheap at that i'll let it go for $20 and so on indefinitely. urged, then, by the advantages which lubricate the lines of least resistance, and stimulated by that clarion phrase in his unfailing campaign document, his copy of beaconsfield: "i have begun many things many times and have finally succeeded," dennis presented himself, about ten o'clock, at one of the well-known publishing houses. with all the alarm which affects the fair débutante at a court presentation, he beheld the confusing labyrinth of counters, department aisles and shelves, which combine in such a depressing suggestion of intellectual plethora and transient futility in this famous edifice. advised by his sensations, dennis was quite ready to assure himself that he had entered at the wrong portal, and, returning to the street, he discovered that the building concluded upon a rearway congested with a disorderly array of drays, cases and porters. encouraged by the assurance of these more familiar surroundings, dennis cast an anxious glance about him to discover one more in authority than the others. his quest was given direction by a familiar accent. "wake up, ye lazy divils! it's dhramin' ye are this marnin'." guided by the sound, dennis beheld a naturally cheerful irishman occupied with the double task of assuming an austere demeanor, and quickening, with brisk orders, the movements of the porters under his direction. his present difficulties mastered, this vivacious master of ceremonies turned to look, with an inquiring glance, upon dennis, who had presented himself to the attention of the former with the unmistakable appeal of the candidate in his demeanor. "i want a job," said dennis simply. "phwat?" inquired the foreman sharply, staring at the mosaic of physiognomy and accent embodied in dennis. "i want a job," repeated dennis. "i nade wurk." there was no mistaking the peculiar burr in the utterance of the last two words, but the foreman continued to regard the speaker with suspicious amazement. "phwat are ye, annyway?" he said with guarded brusqueness. "a poor man, sir; i nade wurk." "oi don't mane that," with less severity at this frank acknowledgment; "but where do yez hail from--limerick or jerusalem?" at this pointed question, which promptly reminded dennis of the singular contradiction he presented, he replied, with a genuine celtic adroitness that had an immediate effect upon his hearer: "nayther; i got off at the midway junction." "ha, ha!" laughed the foreman, as he appreciated this clever explanation of the singular compromise presented by dennis. "shure, that's not bad. by the mug ye wear, i wud advise ye to go to baxther street, but by the sound av ye, oi rickommind th' broadway squad. wurrk, is it? why don't ye presint that face at th' front? i hear they're shy on editors." "shure!" said dennis, who believed that he was progressing; "but the only things i iver wrote were store signs." "ah, ha!" replied the foreman, "so it's handy with th' brush ye are." "yes," answered dennis. "wait a bit," said the foreman, and pointing to a marking-outfit he directed dennis to display his name and address upon a smooth pine board which he provided for that purpose: dennis muldoon, the stag hotel, vesey st., n.y. "ah, ha!" cried the foreman as he contrasted the name with the incongruous face of the young man before him, "ye don't have to play it on a flute, annyway; there's nothin' sheeny about that." then, directing his attention to the character of the work itself, he added: "that's not bad at all, at all. see here," he said abruptly, as he picked up the board which dennis had decorated and fastened it to the warehouse wall with a nail, "oi'll kape that for riferince. oh, oi mane it," he said with gruff assurance, as he noted the disappointment which shadowed the expressive face before him; "an' mebbe ye won't have to wait so long, nayther." "i hope not," said dennis frankly. "well, ye see," said the foreman, "the prisint incoombent has been mixin' too much red wid his paint, an' it don't wurrk." "you mean he drinks?" asked dennis with humorous inquiry. "oi do," replied the foreman; "an' now that we have inthroduced th' subject, excuse a personal quistion: do ye wet yure whistle in business hours?" "no," answered dennis promptly, "nor out of them. father attended to that part of the business." "well," replied the foreman, "oi can't talk longer wid ye this marnin'. come 'round be th' ind of the wake," and dismissing dennis with a nod he withdrew into the warehouse. the main feature of discouragement which presented itself to dennis as he left this locality to ponder over its possibilities, was that the end of the week was five days off. this was serious. his rupture with muldoon, senior, had left him but poorly provided with linen and lucre; and a campaign of assault upon the barricades of prejudice and suspicion, which was involved in the anxious solicitude of the man seeking employment, demanded every possible accessory of personal appearance and a reasonably equipped commissariat. anxious, therefore, to subject his meager resources to the least strain possible, dennis at last succeeded in securing, in one of the more pretentious stores on baxter street, a contrivance for the relief of penury and threadbare gentility known at that time by the name of "dickey." this convenience consisted in a series of three shirt bosoms made of paper to resemble the luxury of linen. when the surface first exposed showed symptoms of soil or wear, its removal revealed a fresh bosom directly under. adjusted to his waistcoat, it was almost impossible to detect the agreeable sham, which, under favorable auspices, could be made to last for a week. thus equipped, dennis proceeded to his hotel, where, after according the cheerful salutation of the industrious barkeeper the acknowledgment of a lively irish nod, in which there was both fellowship and refusal, he proceeded to the rear, to banquet upon whatever offered the most for his money. during the two days succeeding, dennis, true to the apprehensive calculation natural to the unemployed, did not propose to rest upon the assurances of his irish friend in the publishing house. anything untoward might occur. in fact, he was familiar with this seamy side of providence. he had been so often misled by promises that it was only his wholesome celtic faith and prompt capacity to rebound which kept him from becoming entirely blasé. his experience, however, left him alert. so he applied industriously at various establishments for employment, and received his first lessons in the courteous duplicity which ostentatiously files the application for future reference, and the cruel kindness of frank rebuff. on the morning of the third day of this futile foray, dennis noticed that the exposed bosom of his dickey was not altogether presentable. it appeared to have registered the record of his applications and failures, and, as such, was not a good campaign document, so to speak. having progressed in his simple toilet up to the point of embellishment, he proceeded to tear away the soiled surface, and in doing so discovered not only the clean bosom beneath, but that the rear of the one just detached was covered with a block of minute print. drawing the solitary chair close to the window, he read by the light of early dawn the following extraordinary compilation. chapter ii in the city of ---there lived one rodman raikes, unpopularly known as the "fist." the title, however, was not in recognition of personal prowess, for no more cringing, evasive creature ever existed. he was little in mind, little in body, and little in his dealings. if a principle could ever be concrete, raikes was the embodiment of the grasping and the uselessly abstemious. he appeared to shun a generous sentiment as one would avoid an infected locality, and usually walked with head tilted and body bent as if engaged in following a clue or intent upon the search of some stray nickel. he was thoroughly despised by all who knew him, a sentiment which he returned with vicious interest, and never neglected an opportunity of lodging some sneering shaft where it would cause the most irritation. his character was so much in harmony with these generalizations that he had been described as dividing his laughter into chuckles--if the strident rasp which he indulged could be called by that name--in order that it might last the longer; and that he grinned in grudging instalments. his obvious possession was an entire row of brick houses, in the most insignificant of which he dwelt. over this sparse domicile a spinster sister presided, who reflected, on compulsion, in the manner of a sickly moon, the attenuity and shrivel of her brother. a nephew of raikes' completed the circuit. this young man intruded upon this strange household an aspect so curiously at variance with that of his rickety elders that he suggested to the fanciful the grim idea of having exhausted the contents of the larder and compelled the other two to shift for themselves. he was, in the eyes of the disapproving raikes, offensively plump; an example of incredible expenditure applied to personal gratification and gluttonous indulgence. the miser behaved as if he appeared to consider it a mark of studied disrespect to be compelled to contrast his gaunt leanness with the young man's embonpoint, and was propitiated only by the reflection that he contributed in no way to his nephew's physical disproportion, since the latter was able to be at charges for his own welfare from resources derived from steady outside employment. adjoining the house occupied by raikes, and connected with it by a doorway let into the wall, was a series of three dwellings used as a boarding-establishment by a widow who had seen better days and was tireless in alluding to them. these buildings had been remodeled to communicate with each other, a continuity that concluded with the raikes apartments. for some reason this miserable man preferred to occupy the portion just indicated with no other tenants than his gaunt sister and the robust robert. this arrangement was all the more curious from the fact that raikes made no attempt to dispose of, in fact, strangely resented any suggestion of letting, the lower floor of his end of the row. that one of his avaricious disposition could thus forego such a prospect of advantage was the occasion of much speculation. if robert understood he gave no hint; and if the boarders on the other side of the partition indulged in curious comment they refrained from doing so in his presence. the suggestion had been made that raikes secreted something about that portion of the premises he occupied, but since none had the courage to investigate such a possibility, the problems it created were permitted to pass unsolved or serve to tantalize the imagination. regularly, at meal-time, the door leading from the raikes apartment would open, and the mean figure of the miser, after presenting itself for one hesitating, suspicious moment, would slip silently through and subside into a near-by chair at one of the tables. directly after, the spinster would filter through with the mien of an apologetic phantom, and raikes at once established the basis of indulgence by tentative nibbles of this and that, which were almost barmecidian in their meagerness, and the sister, under his sordid supervision, followed his miserable example. with singular perversity, in the midst of reasonable abundance, he forbore to accept the full measure of his privileges. the discipline of denial was essential to the austere economies he practiced in all other directions, and his sister, rather than submit to the hardness of his rebukes, acquiesced with dismal resignation. robert was able to endure the table behavior of his uncle no more than the others, and so occupied a seat in the dining-room surrounded by more agreeable conditions. if this course was intended as a diplomatic frankness to indicate to raikes that his nephew did not expect a legacy to follow the demise of that austere relative, no one could determine. the young man, however, continued to sit in whatever portion of the apartment he pleased and enjoy himself as much as the handicap of his relationship would permit. on this basis, as if to manifest in himself the law of compensation, robert grew vicariously robust, and accepted, with cynical good humor, the irritation of his uncle over his adipose. raikes and his sister had the table at which they sat entirely to themselves. only on the infrequent occasions of congestion had others been known to occupy seats at the same board. it was more than hungry human nature, as embodied in most of the inmates, could stand to witness this exasperating refusal to accept a reasonable measure of what was set before them; a disability to which the scarcely concealed scowls of the exacting miser added the chill finishing touch. one morning, however, a new boarder arrived. accommodations could not be found for him at the other tables, and, as was the custom of the widow under such circumstances, he was intruded upon the society of this morbid duet, after the manner of his predecessors. if the usual rebellion matured at such association on the part of this recent guest, the landlady expected to be assisted by one of those vacancies which occur with such incalculable irregularity, yet reasonable certainty, in establishments of this character. at this a prompt transfer would be effected. this, however, was an unusual boarder. if his presence was obnoxious to raikes, the latter refused to realize it; if the miser had his peculiarities, the newcomer did not see them. he ate his meals in silence, with an abstemiousness that, unknown to himself, recommended him as cordially as any consideration might to his shriveled table companion; made friendly overtures, disguised in perfunctory courtesies, of passing the bread or the butter when either was beyond the nervous reach of the eccentric raikes, and ventured an impassive suggestion or two as to the probable conduct of the weather. in appearance the newcomer was startling. his complexion was a berry-brown; his expression, aside from his eyes, was singularly composed. these were uncommonly black and piercing, and peeped from receding sockets through heavy eyebrows, which hung like an ambush over their dart and gleam. his nose was a decisive aquiline, beneath which his lips, at once firm and sensitive, pressed together changelessly. his figure was tall and spare and usually clad in black, a habit which emphasized his already picturesque countenance. there was an indescribable air about him which suggested event, transpired or about to transpire, which introduced a sort of eerie distinction to the commonplace surroundings in which he found himself, and invited many a glance of curious speculation in his direction. all this was not without its effect upon raikes, and it was remarked, with the astonishment the occasion justified, that the miser, in the ensuing days, emerged from his customary austerity to the extent of reciprocal amenities in the passage of bread and salt. however, this was but the beginning. raikes discovered himself, at last, responding, with a degree of chill urbanity, to the advances of the stranger, and ere the week had concluded had assumed the initiative in conversation on more than one occasion. by this time one of the inevitable vacancies had occurred at another table, and the widow, as usual, offered to translate this latest guest to the unoccupied seat. the latter, however, for some strange reason, indicated a desire to remain in his present surroundings, and when this disposition was understood by raikes, the conquest of the miser was complete. as if to indorse the perverse aspect of inflexible things, it seemed, now that raikes had ventured ever so little beyond his taciturn defenses, he was encouraged to further boldness. the stranger exerted a fascination which, in others, raikes would have considered dangerous and which he would have made his customary instinctive preparations to combat. he could not recall a similar instance in all the years of his recent experience when he was constrained to recognize, nay, surrender to, a diffusive impulse such as this curious stranger awakened in his mind. in yielding to its insinuations, even to the extent already recorded, he was agreeably conscious of a sort of guilty abandon which, at times, stupefies the moral qualities ere delivering them into the hands of a welcome invader. for some time robert, with the others, had enjoyed the entertainment offered by this transformation of satyr to faun, and the inversion advanced to still further degrees their curious regard of the "sepoy," a picturesque description bestowed upon him by the blasé boarders. consequently, one evening, when, at the conclusion of the dinner, the "sepoy," in response to the invitation of raikes, was seen to disappear with the latter through the doorway which led to his apartments, robert's interest in the spectacle changed to genuine alarm, until a moment's reflection upon his uncle's well-known ability to take care of himself reassured him. intruding the door between themselves and all further speculation, the strangely-assorted pair proceeded along a dimly-illumed hallway to a room in which raikes usually secluded himself. as the sepoy advanced, he could see that, with the exception of two sleeping-chambers, revealed by their open doors, the apartment in which he found himself was the only one where any kind of accommodation could be found, as the balance of the house offered unmistakable evidences of being unoccupied. "be seated, sir," croaked raikes, with a voice strangely suggestive of a raven attempting the modulations of some canary it had swallowed. "i do not smoke myself, and, therefore, cannot provide you with that sort of entertainment; still, i have no objection to you enjoying yourself in that way if," with a cynical shrug of the shoulders by way of apology, "you have come prepared." accepting this frank inhospitality in the spirit of its announcement, the stranger, smiling with his curious eyes, produced two cigars, one of which he offered to raikes, and which was consistently and promptly refused. "i can't afford it," expostulated the latter. "i never indulge myself even in temptation; the nearest i will approach to dissipation will be, with your permission, to enjoy the aroma. i do not propose to rebuke myself for that." "as you please," returned the other as he replaced the weed in his pocket. "it is my one indulgence; in other respects i challenge any man to be more abstemious." "i have had none," returned raikes with a rasping lack of emotion, "for the last ten years. it is too late to begin to cultivate a disability now." "you are wrong," replied the sepoy. "one's attitude cannot be rigid at all points; that is bad management. the finest tragedy i ever witnessed was emphasized by the trivialities of the king's jester. "however," he added, as if in support of his theory, "i can, at least, trouble you for a match." while raikes busied himself in an effort to show the hospitality of the service indicated, the sepoy's busy, furtive eyes glanced here and there about the room with quick, inquiring glances. at one end a bedstead stood, which an antiquarian would have accepted gladly as collateral for a loan. near-by a wardrobe, equally remote if more decrepit, leaned against the wall to maintain the balance jeopardized by a missing foot. one chair, in addition to those occupied by raikes and his companion, appeared to extend its worn arms with a weary insistence and dusty disapproval of their emptiness. a table, large enough to accommodate a student's lamp, several account books and a blotting-pad, completed this uninviting galaxy. to the walls, however, the sepoy directed his closest scrutiny. with an incredibly rapid glance he surveyed every possible inch of space, turning his head cautiously to enable his eyes to penetrate into the more distant portions. presently, after an amount of rummaging altogether disproportionate to the nature of his quest, raikes succeeded in finding a lucifer, which flared with a reluctance characteristic of the surroundings. the sepoy, availing himself of its blaze, deposited the remainder of the stick, with elaborate carefulness, upon the table, as if urged by the thought that his companion might convert it to further uses. as raikes resumed his chair, the sepoy, recalling his glances from their mysterious foray, directed them, with curious obliqueness, upon his companion. in no instance that raikes could recall had the sepoy looked upon him directly save in fleeting flashes. at such moments raikes was conscious of a strange tremor, a vanishing fascination, that he vainly sought to duplicate by attracting the other's attention, in order to analyze its peculiar influence. "may i ask," he ventured after a few inhalations of his vicarious smoke, "may i ask the nature of your business?" "surely," replied the other. "i am a collector." "of what?" inquired raikes, dissatisfied with the ambiguity of the answer. "sapphires," said the sepoy. "ah!" cried raikes. "yes," continued the other, regarding the kindling glance of the avaricious raikes with a quick, penetrating look that was not without its effect upon the latter; "yes, and i have had many beautiful specimens in my time." "but where is your establishment?" asked raikes. "wherever i chance to be," was the reply. "still," ventured raikes, astonished at this curious rejoinder, "you have some safe depository for such valuables." "doubtless," replied the other drily; "but i have a few in my room now, and, by the way, they are pretty fair specimens." "ah!" cried raikes. "may i see them?" "why not?" assented the sepoy. "in the meantime," he continued, as he inserted his hand in his waistcoat pocket, "what do you think of this?" and describing a glittering semicircle in the air with some brilliant object he held in his grasp, he deposited upon the table a sapphire of such extraordinary size and beauty, that raikes, able as he was to realize the great value of this gleaming condensation, stared stupidly at it for a moment, and then, with a cry of almost gibbering avarice, caught the gem in his trembling hands and burglarized it with his greedy eyes. as raikes, oblivious of all else, continued to gaze upon the brilliant with repulsive fascination, a peculiar change transformed the face of the sepoy. he directed upon the unconscious countenance of his companion a glance of terrible intensity, moving his hands the while in a weird, sinuous rhythm, until presently, satisfied with the vacant expression which had replaced the eager look of the moment before in the eyes of the tremulous raikes, the sepoy began, with an indescribably easy, somnolent modulation, the following strange recital: (to be continued on dickey no. 2.) * * * * * "thunder and lightning!" cried dennis as he reached the exasperating announcement in italics at the bottom of the dickey back: "continued on dickey no. 2." "what th' div--now, what do you think of that? an' it's me crazy to hear what that meerschaum-colored divil was a-goin' to say. 'dickey no. 2.' why, that's the one i have to wear to-day, an' to think the story's on the back of it." truly was dennis harassed. he had been in many a pickle before, but never in one quite so exasperating. tantalized, in the first place, by the uncertainty surrounding his prospective employment, he was now confronted by a predicament which threatened to jeopardize a vital adjunct to his personal appearance. a native curiosity, to which this outrageous tale appealed so strenuously, prompted him to detach bosom no. 2 regardless. an equally characteristic thrift warned him against such an inconsiderate procedure. finally his good judgment prevailed, and with desperate haste he adjusted the remaining bosoms of the dickey to his waistcoat, plunged into his coat, clapped his hat on his head and rushed from the room. all that day dennis continued to receive his instalments of that bitter instruction in the ways of heedless employers and suspicious subordinates which, eased by a native good humor, conclude in the philosopher, or, unrelieved by this genial mollient, develop the cynic. by evening he was compelled to admit, as he retraced his steps to the stag, that he had not advanced in any way. as he was about to pass under one of the dripping extensions of the elevated, a great splotch of grease detached itself from the ironwork and struck, with unerring precision, directly in the center of dickey no. 2. "ah!" exclaimed dennis as he realized the nature of his mishap, "that settles it; i'll know what the sepoy said to-night." a remark which proved conclusively that the philosophical element was still uppermost in the mind of this young irishman. after a brief exchange of courtesies with his countryman behind the bar, and a dinner so modest in the rear room as to arouse the suspicion and encourage the displeasure of the waiter, dennis hastened up the stairway, divested himself of his upper garments, ripped off dickey bosom no. 2, and began. chapter iii as the sepoy proceeded, raikes leaned forward in an attitude, the discomfort and unbalance of which he seemed to be entirely unaware. his only means of maintaining his rigid poise was in the arm which lay, with tense unrest, upon the table. from his hand, the fingers of which had released their clutch, the stone had rolled and gleamed an unregarded invitation into the eyes of the drawn face above it. the sickly grin of a long-delayed relaxation beguiled the extremities of his mouth, the grim lips had relaxed their ugly partnership, and his entire figure seemed upon the verge of collapse. raikes was listening as never before. the clink of coin, the dry rattle and abrasion of brilliants, the rustle of bank notes could not have fascinated him more than the even, somnolent modulations of the speaker. every word found easy lodgment in his consciousness. there was not a sound or motion to divert, and the tale was a strange one. * * * * * "ram lal," said the sepoy, "was a native merchant, trading between meerut and delhi, who decided to sacrifice the dear considerations of caste for the grosser conditions of gain. "from the performance of mean and illy-rewarded services to his patron, prince otondo, ram lal had developed, with the characteristic patience and dangerous silence of the true oriental, to a figure of some importance, whom it was a satisfaction for the prince to contemplate with a view to future exaction and levy as occasion demanded. "his royal master resided in the kutub, a palace situated not far from delhi on the road to meerut. "this pretentious edifice, which had been established in the thirteenth century and which still presented, in some of its unrepaired portions, curious features of the bizarre architecture of that period, had been the dwelling place of a long line of ancient moghuls. "its present incumbent, however, regarded with indifference the ravages of time and decay, and satisfied himself with the lavish furnishing of that considerable portion of the palace which he occupied with his dusky retainers. "to be at charges for all this the princely revenues had been seriously depleted. "since he could not look to decrepit relatives in delhi for further allowances, and as the british government proved equally obdurate, the prince found it necessary to calculate upon all possible sources of income. "in such speculations, therefore, the unhappy ram lal became an object of logical interest. "up to the present the merchant had been undisturbed in the security of his possessions, which were suspected to be enormous. "his royal patron had contented himself with the avarice of calculation, and, in order that his depredations might be worthy his proposed brigandage, he provided ram lal with every opportunity to develop his hoard to a respectable figure. "the prince, having enjoyed the advantages of association with sundry british officials, was entirely too sagacious and philosophical to discourage the industry of the merchant at the outset; and with the patience which is enabled to foresee the end from the beginning, he awaited developments. "in consequence, the merchant attained to everything but the ostentation of his possessions, and only assumed the dignity of his riches in the less calculating confines of his household. "even here, however, the subsidy of his liege was active, for among the servants of the merchant were those whose appraising eyes followed every movement, and whose mercenary memories recorded every transaction. "with all the concern of a silent partner prince otondo balanced, in his philosophical mind, the various enterprises of ram lal. "if they met with his august approval, the merchant's traffic was singularly free from obstruction; if the element of uncertainty was too pronounced for the apprehensive potentate, the most surprising occasions for the abandonment of his projects were developed for ram lal, whose intelligent mind was inclined to suspect the identity of his providence. "prince otondo did not propose to have his interests jeopardized by precipitation or undue hazard. "but this unhappy merchant, with perverse and unaware industry, advanced still another claim to the covert regard of his calculating highness. "although a widower, there remained, to remind him of his departed blessedness, a daughter, who was, as reported by the mercenaries of the prince, beautiful beyond their limited means of expression. "the unfortunate ram lal, therefore, commending himself to this elevated espionage, first by his 'ducats' and next his 'daughter,' was in the predicament of the missionary whose embonpoint endears him to his savage congregation and whose edibility is convincing enough to arouse the regret that he is not twins. "prince otondo, whose imagination was stimulated by this vicarious contemplation of beauty, did not find it difficult to decide that the transits of ram lal to and from the british barracks were open to suspicion that demanded some biased investigation. "unfortunately, too, the colonel in charge of the british forces at delhi was equally uneasy concerning the integrity of the merchant, a state of mind which had been judiciously aggravated by the emissaries of prince otondo. "the officer in charge knew that the merchant, with his license of exit and entry, was in an exceptional position to acquaint himself with considerable merchandisable information. "ram lal, therefore, in response to the pernicious industry of his evil genius, like an unstable pendulum, was in danger of detention at either extreme. "the prince speculated like a machiavelli upon the advantages of such action on the part of the colonel, and the latter looked to the former to relieve him of the responsibility. "however, diligence, even when baneful, has its rewards, for one day, when ram lal arrived at the british horn of the dilemma, he was arrested upon a charge framed to suit the emergency and subjected to a military court of investigation. "at the end of eight days the merchant was released, acquitted, and on the ninth he directed his course homeward. "the colonel, however, had provided the prince with his opportunity, for when the irritated merchant arrived at his dwelling, he was informed that sundry officials from the palace had searched the premises for evidence of sedition, and, failing in that, had decided to accept all of his portable chattels as a substitute. "this was depressing enough, but still might have been accepted with the customary oriental impassiveness had it not been for the fact that the marauders had added his daughter to the collection. "at any rate, she could not be found, and as she had never ventured from the shelter of the paternal roof without the paternal consent, ram lal felt that his deductions as to her whereabouts were entitled to consideration. "he was unable to get any indorsement of his unhappy logic, for the servants had all disappeared. "he determined, however, to act in accordance with his assumption, and after taking an inventory of whatever had been overlooked in the foray, which was little else than the premises, he seated himself upon a mat beneath a banyan tree in the garden, which concluded the rear of his dwelling, and was presently ells-deep in a profound reflection, which was not only ominous in its outward calm, but curiously prolonged. "the only evidence of mental disquiet which, it was natural to suspect, disturbed him, was a strange light which gleamed from his eyes at intervals with baleful significance. "at the conclusion of two oblivious hours ram lal appeared to have arrived at some definite purpose. "he rose to his feet and strode, with a marked degree of decision, to his dwelling, where he slept in apparent and paradoxical peace until morning. "ere the sky was red, or the dews, in harmony with this unhappy man's dilemma, had been appropriated by the sun from the tiara of dawn, ram lal set out for the palace of the kutub, in which prince otondo was compelled to reside for the present for some very convincing reasons provided by the british government. "in a little while the merchant had traversed the short distance intervening and was admitted through the courtyard gates. "the last of the kings of delhi was a decrepit old man named dahbur dhu, whose sole object in life seemed to be an attempt to reanimate the pomp and pageantry of a dead dynasty. "pensioned by the british government, which permitted him to continue this absurd travesty, if his feeble exasperation over his predicament and his silly ostentations could be called by that name, this realmless potentate occupied his waking hours in futile revilings of the hand that at once smote and sustained him. "while not thus engaged, he would gravitate almost to the extreme of servility in his efforts to exact additional largess from the powers in control, to expend upon this senile attempt to augment the consideration of his pageant throne. "several efforts had already been made to remove the irritating presence of this royal household to bengal, but the time had not yet arrived when the british could regard with indifference the native prejudice which would be aroused by such a procedure. "the infirm moghul, therefore, continued his vaudeville, which was mainly confined within the palace walls at delhi, and persisted in his endeavors to augment his revenues. "however, to mitigate the nuisance as far as possible, the british government consented to recognize his grandson, prince otondo, as the successor to the throne, and yield a degree to the exactions of the moghul if his young kinsman would agree to remove himself permanently from delhi and reside in the kutub. "to this, for a reason which shortly transpired with almost laughable incongruity, dahbur dhu assented, and prince otondo established himself at this royal residence with an outward manifestation of satisfaction, at least. "despite the fact that the merchant was a familiar figure in this enclosure, he believed that he remarked an unusual degree of interest awakened by his presence, and was assured that he detected more than one sinister and smiling glance directed, with covert insinuation, upon his impassive countenance. "an uneasy suggestion of conspiracy met him at every turn. "with that gravid apprehension which creates in advance the very conditions one desires to combat, ram lal prepared himself for a series of events which made him shudder to contemplate. "it seemed to him that the salutes of the swarthy satellites of the prince were a degree less considerate. "he was convinced of a cynical estimation usually accorded to the destitute. "the depression of disaster was upon him. "he could only think in the direction of his forebodings, so when at last he arrived in the familiar ante-chamber and announced himself, his voice reflected his trepidation and his demeanor had lost a palpable degree of its customary assurance. "while the merchant awaited the response to his request for an audience with the prince, he made a sorry attempt to assume a cheerful aspect, with the success of one who is permitted to listen to the details of his own obsequies. "when not thus engaged, he traversed the apartment with intermittent strides--another chryses about to make a paternal plea to this oriental agamemnon. "he had canvassed his demeanor, reviewed his cautious phrases, and had even provided a desperate denunciation, which, when he considered the privileged rascality of his royal auditor, he felt assured would at once conclude the interview and his liberty. "as ram lal was about to end his fifth attempt to apprehend the result of this expected interview, the curtains parted and a stalwart attendant, impassive and silent, appeared. "in response to the eloquent concern betrayed in the glance of the merchant, the other, holding the curtains aside, indicated, by an inclination of his turbaned head and a sweep of his hand, the dignity of which was intended to convey some intimation of the personality of his master and the proportions of the privileges accorded, that the merchant was expected to proceed, which he did with trembling precipitation. "as ram lal entered the room, his alert glance discerned the figure of the prince extended, with unceremonious abandon, upon a divan. "advancing, he made profound obeisance to the reclining potentate, who acknowledged his presence with a spiritless motion of his hand not unsuggestive of the humiliating degree of his condescension. "at this period of his career prince otondo presented, in his personality and surroundings, considerable of the picturesque magnificence with which the native rulers delighted to surround themselves. "his presence, at once dignified and carelessly amiable, was not the least vital accessory to the sumptuous abundance, to which he added the last touch of distinction. "a smiling cynicism, which was one of his most engaging characteristics and an invaluable masquerade for his genuine sentiments, lingered about his thin, patrician lips. "his features balanced with cameo precision, and in his eyes, usually veiled by lashes effeminately long, the whole gamut of a passionate, intolerant nature was expressed. "'well, most ancient and honorable!' said the prince, with an exasperating suggestion in his manner of appreciation of the travesty of his words, as he gazed upon the merchant with a glance whose speculation the latter could not determine. 'well, how speeds thy traffic and thrive thy caravans?' "'not well, my lord,' answered ram lal, 'not well.' "'ah, ha!' exclaimed the prince, with an indescribable insinuation of biased rebuke in the look with which he challenged further revelations from the speaker. 'that touches me nearly; this must not be; an industrious subject may not suffer while there is a remedy at hand.' "''tis on that head i would beseech your majesty!' exclaimed the merchant, seizing the opportunity provided, with such plausible ingenuousness, by the august speaker. "'proceed, ram lal,' urged the prince, with an amiability which the merchant had known to be a dangerous prelude in the past. "'great prince!' replied the merchant with the prompt obedience which contemplates a possible reversal of privilege. "'nine days from home i strayed. "'on my return i find my house despoiled of all its store. "'and with the rest, o prince, the priceless tokens of thy high regard. "'aside from these, i do not mourn my loss, for it may be repaired. "'nor will i question fate, whose ears are dull to hear, whose eyes refuse to see the victims of her spleen. "'but hear, o prince--my one ewe lamb, my sole delight--my daughter greets me not. "'the empty halls no more re-echo to her tread. "'no more sweet mur----' "'enough, ram lal,' interrupted the prince. 'i have heard that a needle thrust into the eye of a bullfinch will make it sing, but i did not know that misery could transform a merchant to a bard. "'disjoint your phrases a degree. you say your daughter greets you not?' "'yes, o prince,' replied ram lal, abashed at this cynical embargo upon the melancholy luxury of his rhythms; 'yes, and it is of her i would speak.' "'speak,' urged his august hearer. "after a moment's reflection, in the manner of the unwelcome envoy who has reached the acute juncture of his recital and is about to disembarrass himself of a dangerous climax, the merchant continued in sordid hindustani: "'as i have said, o prince, my daughter has been taken from me, and i come to you in my extremity.' "'and why to me, ram lal?' demanded the prince, with a gleam in his glance which was directly responsible for the pacific presentation which followed. "'because,' replied the merchant with discerning irreverence, 'if it so please your highness, your providence is practical, and the ways of vishnu are tedious.' "'ah!' exclaimed the prince appreciatively; 'that was not so bad for a merchant; but to the point.' "'little can occur in this cantonment that is not known to your highness, or that cannot be determined if you so desire. "'i ask your august assistance, and i have, as you will see, observed the proprieties in making my request. "'it is a time-honored custom for the suppliant to signalize his appreciation of the importance of the favor he solicits, is it not so?' "'i did not know,' replied the prince, 'that commerce could develop such an oracle; it is a subtle sense of fitness you express. i am interested. proceed.' "'i will, your highness,' responded ram lal, as he inserted his hand in one of the folds of the sash which encircled his waist. 'you recall the stone of sardis?' "'ah!' exclaimed the prince, his cynical listlessness transformed at once into the abandon of eagerness. 'what of it, o merchant?' "'this,' replied the latter as he withdrew his hand from his sash, 'if your highness will deign to examine it,' and the speaker extended toward the incredulous prince a small box of shagreen, which the latter clutched with the grasp of avarice. "'will his highness deign?' repeated ram lal to himself with bitter irony as the prince pressed back the lid and exposed to view a magnificent sapphire, the gleam and the glitter of which affected him like an intoxication. "as the prince, oblivious to all else, fixed his avid glance upon the scintillant stone, an astonishing change transformed the merchant from the suppliant to a being of marked dignity of bearing and carriage. "his eyes, no longer obliquely observant, were directed with baleful purpose upon the half-closed lids of the fascinated potentate. "his hand disengaged itself from the sash, where it had reposed with something of the suggestion of a guardian of the treasury, and was gradually extended with sinuous menace over the declining head of the prince. "his long, lithe figure straightened from its servile stoop, and a palpable degree of the authority which appeared gradually to fade from the fine countenance before him found an equally congenial residence in the expression of the merchant. "there was command in every feature. "as for the prince, his figure appeared to decline in majesty in proportion to the access of dignity which had added its unwonted emphasis to the personality of ram lal. "he leaned inertly forward, one hand resting upon his knee. "in his slowly relaxing clutch the brilliant gleamed. his forehead was moist; his lips dry; his delicate nostrils were indrawn in harmony with the concentrating lines of his brow, and the next moment, as if in response to an insinuating pass of the merchant's hand of cobra-like undulation, the rigid poise recoiled, he settled more easily upon the divan, and with eyes still fascinated by the entrancing bauble he listened, with anomalous impassiveness, to the weird proposal of ram lal. "'hearken, o prince! "'my daughter has been taken from me by whom i shall not venture to inquire. "'if she is returned to me, i shall be satisfied. "'i am here therefore to beseech your highness to see that she is restored to me. "'to-day, as the sun declines, i shall expect her. "'if she does not come to me then, o prince, a heaping handful of the precious stones you hold so dearly will be missing, and in their stead will be as many pebbles from the fountain in the courtyard. "'the sapphire i leave with you as a witness of my plea.' "and slowly the merchant retreated toward the door, his eyes fastened the while upon the prince. "as he reached the threshold he paused, and with a voice that seemed to lodge in the consciousness of his inert auditor like the sigh of auster over the daffodils and buttercups of a dream, he repeated: "'_to-day as the sun declines._' "and the next instant, with an abrupt motion of his hand strangely at variance with the placid gestures just preceding, the merchant disappeared through the curtains which screened the doorway. "and now," said the sepoy abruptly, as he moved his chair with a sharp rasp over the bare floor and transferred his glance at the same time from the drawn countenance of his rapt auditor to the gleaming gem on the table, "and now--is it not a beauty?" "ah, ha!" murmured raikes, disturbed by the abrupt cessation of the sedative tones of the sepoy and the abrasion of the chair, "superb!" and that instant all his keen animation returned. apparently raikes was not aware of any blanks in his scrutiny and resumed his regard of the tantalizing facets with knowing sagacity and an envy that affected him like a hurt. "in all my years," he creaked, as his long, prehensile fingers riveted like a setting to the fascinating bauble, "i have never seen such a gem. "the cutting is exquisite; it is a study in intelligent execution; every facet here cost a pang; how vital it was not to waste an atom of this precious bulk. "what a delicate adjustment of the lines of beauty to the material consideration; the balance is perfect." and with this confusion of frank cupidity and rapacious regard, the miser, with a supreme effort, pushed the stone impatiently toward the sepoy. "ah!" exclaimed the latter, "it is a pleasure to show the gem to one who is able to comprehend it. "it is even finer than you have discerned. the lapidary was subtle; his work sustains closer analysis. have you a stray glass? "no? well, i will send you mine and you can entertain yourself until i see you again." "what!" exclaimed raikes, "you will leave this stone with me?" "why not?" returned the sepoy evenly. "you have a due regard for property. i do not fear that this gem will meet with mishap in your possession. besides, it will be a revelation to you under the glass," and, arising, he stepped to the door, leaving the brilliant upon the table in the grasp of the astonished raikes, who was unable to comprehend such confidence and unconcern. traversing the hallway, the pair reached the door which opened upon the apartments controlled by the widow. as he paused on the threshold to make his adieux to raikes, the sepoy, looking at the former with a marvelously glowing glance, repeated, with an emphasis so eerie as to occasion a thrill of vague uneasiness in his companion, the concluding phrase of the singular tale he had related to raikes: "_to-day as the sun declines._" and the moment after he disappeared, leaving the startled miser to gaze, with greedy contemplation, upon the sapphire which he retained in his grasp. (to be continued on dickey no. 3.) * * * * * "oh, ho!" exclaimed dennis as the exasperating phrase in italics met his glance, "an' it's here you are again. shure, a man would tear his shirt to tatters for a tale like that," and with appreciative meditation over the vexatious quandary presented by the cunning of the bosom-maker in thus adding another ruinous possibility to the inevitable soil and wear, he added: "shure, the man who put that sthory on the dickey-back knew his business. where the dirt laves off the guessin' begins, and betwixt the two it's another dickey i'll be after--ah, ha, an' it's a fine thing to have brains like that." with this discerning tribute, dennis turned the last dickey around and discovered that it was protected in the rear with a sort of oiled paper, through which the story shadowed dimly. here was the pinch of his dilemma. his curiosity was sharpened and his judgment impaired. in a variety of ways literature incapacitates a man for the exigencies of existence. dennis found himself visibly enervated. at last he remembered that the week had advanced only as far as thursday. between that time and the fabian saturday a number of untoward events might occur. a more seasoned applicant might present himself to the foreman upon whom dennis depended, or, equally grievous, the present bibulous incumbent might be alarmed into mending his ways. hitherto dennis had resisted the temptation to present himself to the attention of the foreman in advance of the date appointed. in order, therefore, to master the anxiety which might betray him into some overt importunity, he decided to devote the day to a persistent canvass of the possibilities offered by the various wholesale houses. unknown to himself, dennis had learned that the secret of patience was doing something else in the meantime. however, the practical at last was triumphant, and dennis, with a resolution that demanded prompt execution for its continued existence, adjusted the remaining chapter to his waistcoat in the early morning and descended to the lower floor. on this occasion his solicitous friend behind the bar insisted upon detaining the young irishman, who, urged by his solitary predicament and a degree depressed by the series of rebuffs which by now had developed a malicious habit, proceeded to the counter and, resting one foot upon the rail near the floor with a redeeming unfamiliarity, responded to the inquiry of the barman by admitting that he felt a "wee bit blue." this statement led to the revelation that the barman was similarly affected, and was engaged, at that moment, in the preparation of a famous antidote greatly in demand by sundry newsgatherers and night editors in park row. dennis watched him with interest and remarked that he set out two glasses, after the manner of those who are about to compound an effervescent. such, however, was not the case, and dennis was startled presently to see the barman, after filling both glasses with a decoction which caught the light from a dozen merry angles, push one of them in his direction with the companionable suggestion: "have one with me." only once before had dennis indulged in anything of a stimulating nature, and the effect upon his head the next morning had been sufficient to discourage its repetition, and he informed the barman of this disagreeable feature. "oh!" protested that insinuating mephisto as he held his glass to the light the better to concentrate its hypnotic gleam and sparkle upon the vacillating youth, "there is no headache in this; this is a man's medicine. get it down; it will do you good." persuaded by the example before him, duped by his depressions, and weary of his loneliness, dennis responded to the dubious suggestion with the guilty haste of one who has decided to let down the moral bars for a short but sufficient interval. palliated from its original rawness by the additions of the barman, the draught was without special bite or pungency in its passage down his throat, and dennis was aware of his indiscretion only by an increasing glow in the pit of his stomach and a disposition to credit the barman with a degree of amiability beyond that ordinarily manifested by this functionary. the potation, however, had done its work but partially; there remained the itch of something still to be desired, an elevation yet unattained, and dennis saw no other way up the sheer height than by an appeal to the barman to duplicate his initial effort. when this had joined its fluent fellows in their several midsts, dennis was inexperienced enough to accept, as a matter of course, the genial disposition toward the world in general which replaced the depression of the morning. a native eloquence, long disused, began to urge him to a sort of confused improvisation. his data was no longer morose. "holdin' on cud do annything," he assured the barman. "it isn't a bad wurrld, at all, if wan looks at it through grane glasses. "shure, i'm in a bit av a hole at prisint, but not too dape to crawl out of." then after a pause, to enable himself to "shake hands," so to speak, with the suddenly developed genial aspect of affairs, he informed the barman, with the philosophy of his potations, that "a laugh will always mend a kick, providin' th' kick ain't too hard." this pleased the barman, who responded in his characteristic fashion, and dennis, in acknowledgment, substituted the price of breakfast as fitting return of civilities. however, this was the climax. dennis could advance no farther. his bibulous friend, with apprehensive disapproval, offered a few diplomatic suggestions involving the retirement of the young man to his room, which the latter accepted with an unbalanced gravity that administered its reproof even through the callous epidermis of the barman. arrived at his room, dennis, influenced by his accelerated circulation, was convinced that the apartment was oppressively warm, and divested himself of his coat and waistcoat. in doing so he detached the dickey from his neck, and as it fell to the floor the curious tale contained in its predecessors appealed unmistakably to his enkindled imagination. oblivious of the campaign arranged for the day, heedless of the inner protest, dennis, with all the abandon of his condition, hastened to remove the oil paper from the rear of the dickey, and began a race with his moral lapse in a feverish perusal of the following. chapter iv when raikes returned to his room he seemed to himself like a sunset mocked by the adjacent horizon, with tantalizing suggestions for which it was reflectively responsible. with the proper inspiration, there is a degree of poetry in the worst of us. the knowledge that he would be compelled to restore the gem to its owner in the morning bestirred another comparison. this time his idealism was not so elevated. he likened it to a divorce from a vampire which had already digested his moral qualities. the sapphire exhausted him. the only parallel irritation was one which raikes inflicted upon himself now and then. this was on the occasions when he established himself in some unobtrusive portion of the bank and watched with greedy interest the impassive tellers handle immense sums of money with an impersonality which it was impossible for his avarice to comprehend. the thievery of his thoughts and the ravin of his envy would have provided interesting bases of speculation for the reflective magistrate, since, if, according to the metaphysician, thoughts are things, he committed crimes daily. had the sepoy, by entrusting the gem to the custody of this strange being, intended to harass his shriveled soul, he could not have adopted a more effective plan. the certainty of the sharp bargain which raikes could drive with such a commodity in certain localities, affected him with the exasperation which disturbs the lover who discovers in the eyes of his sweetheart the embrace to which he is welcome but from which he is restrained by the presence of her parent. the many forms of value to which it could be transformed by the alchemy of intelligent barter made distracting appeals. the facets danced their vivid vertigos into his brain. at last, starting to his feet with impatient resolution, he hurried to a button in the wall, which controlled the radiator valves. after a series of complicated movements, he succeeded in swinging aside the entire iron framework beneath it, revealing, directly in the rear, a considerable recess. in the center of this space a knob protruded surrounded by a combination lock, which, under raikes' familiar manipulation, disclosed a further cavity. with an expression not unsuggestive of the mien of the disconsolate relict who has just made her melancholy deposit in the vault, raikes placed the sapphire in this second recess, closed the combination door, replaced the swinging radiator, and prepared to retire for the remainder of the night. when sleep, if that unrestful and populous trance to which he finally succumbed can be so designated, came to him, the disorders of his wakeful hours were emphasized in his dreams. he had been haled to court; convicted without defense; sent headless to charon, and was obliged, on that account, to make a ventriloquial request for a passage across the styx; so that, in the morning, it was with genuine relief he returned the jewel to its owner and resumed his wonted meagerness of visage and useless deprivations. as the sepoy pocketed the gem he looked at raikes with a glance at once searching and derisive as he asked: "was i not right in calling it a marvel?" "aye!" returned raikes sourly, "marvel, indeed; but the miracle of it is that you have it back again. your trust in human nature would be sublime were it not so unsupported; it needs the tonic of loss. i hope this is not habitual?" "i will pay you the tribute of assuring you that it is not," replied the sepoy. "ah, ha!" returned raikes with a mirthless grin. "i am to accept the brief custody of this gem as a recognition of my personal integrity. i see, i see. well, i would appreciate the courtesy more if i could indorse its incaution. however," he added abruptly, "why did you end that extraordinary tale so inconclusively? i could almost suspect you of a design to arouse my curiosity as to what is to follow." "ah, you remember, then?" "why not?" asked raikes. "the narrative is singular enough, god knows, to make an impression, and sufficiently recent to be definite. i would not like to think that i could forget things so easily." "very well," said the sepoy. "come to my room at ten o'clock to-night; i am due elsewhere until then." with a promptness that attested his interest, raikes presented himself at the hour appointed, and his singular host again permitted him to enjoy a delegate smoke. "here!" he exclaimed abruptly, producing a strong magnifying glass, "here's a connoisseur whose revelations you may trust. examine these facets with its help," and again the sepoy placed the sapphire within reach of the covetous raikes, who promptly availed himself of the tantalizing privilege. waiting, apparently, until his auditor became absorbed in his contemplation of the gem, the sepoy at last began with the same even modulations which characterized his narrative at the outset: "no sooner had ram lal disappeared through the curtains than the curious apathy of the prince vanished and was replaced by a demeanor of perplexed concentration in the direction pursued by the merchant. "the prince had listened without comment or interruption during the recital of the narrator, his eyes fixed, the while, upon the brilliant. "he did not know of the weird gestures of the speaker, nor had he seen the wonderful transformation of the man. "consequently he was startled for the moment to contemplate the blank so recently filled by ram lal. "the sapphire, however, remained. that, at least, was real, and replacing it in the box, he proceeded, with a degree of absent preoccupation, to the courtyard, and presently found himself gazing aimlessly in the fountain basin. "curiously enough, it had not occurred to the prince to resent the assured attitude of the merchant, or to speculate upon the insinuating suggestions of complicity which the latter had managed to lodge in the consciousness of his august auditor. "nor did he feel outraged at the intrusion of the dangerous alternative proposed by the audacious ram lal. "he appeared to be seduced by the sapphire and fascinated by the recital. "slowly he retraced the byways of the strange episode until he resumed, with singular precision of memory, the words of the merchant, which explained the presence of the gem: "'i have observed the proprieties in making my request. it is a time-honored custom for the suppliant to signalize his appreciation of the importance of the favor he solicits.' "ah! a sudden illumination pervaded the mind of the prince. "the sapphire was a royal subsidy. "what favor could he grant in proportion to the value of such means of overture? "the question established another point of association; unconsciously he quoted again: "'to-day at sundown i shall expect my daughter. if she does not come to me then, o prince, a heaping handful of the precious stones you hold so dearly will be missing, and in their stead will be as many pebbles from the fountain in the courtyard.' "'pebbles for diamonds!' he repeated, and yet the proposition did not appeal to his cynical humor. there was menace in the suggestion, but his intolerant spirit did not resent it. "in a vague way he was more convinced than alarmed, and did not pause to puzzle over the anomaly, although reassured somewhat as he reflected upon the cunning safeguards to his treasury, whose solitary sesame was known to himself alone. "prince otondo, like other native rulers at this period, frightened at the mercenary reforms of the british in other sections, and instructed by the unhappy comparisons, had concentrated the whole of his fortune and considerable of his current revenues in jewels. "these were portable and could be concealed about his person in any emergency demanding a hasty abdication on his part. "to the shrewd ram lal the prince had entrusted the purchase of nearly all of this costly collection, contenting himself, for the present, with intelligent calculations as to the percentage of profit which had accrued to the merchant in these transactions. "'ah, well!' and with an impatient shrug of the shoulders, that was curiously devoid of its customary insolence, prince otondo dismissed these unfamiliar apprehensions and forbore to wonder at their strange intrusion upon his wonted complacency. "apparently, a more agreeable occasion of reflection presented itself, for a smile, half sinister, half genial, illumined the gloom of his fine countenance. as if in obedience to its suggestion, he turned abruptly from the fountain and re-entered the palace. "arrived at that portion of the structure set aside for his individual use, he hurried, with expectant, lithe agility, through an opening in the wall concealed hitherto by silken hangings, and entered upon a narrow passageway, which terminated in another undulating subterfuge of drapery. "pausing outside, the prince lightly touched a gong suspended from the ceiling and which replied with a solemn chime-like resonance. "in response, the curtains parted, and a native woman, pathetically ugly and servile, appeared and prostrated herself in abject salutation. "following the direction of his hand the cringing creature arose and hurried along the passageway just traversed by the prince, who, satisfied as to her departure, parted the curtains and entered a small ante-chamber, beyond which a sumptuously-appointed apartment extended. "at the extreme end, with a demeanor more suggestive of expectation than alarm or dejection, a young girl reclined upon a divan near the lattice-screened window. "advised of the approach of her distinguished visitor by an advance rendered as obvious as possible by the rustling sweep of the parted curtains and an unwonted emphasis of tread, which avoided the rugs and sought the tesselated floor for this purpose, the supple figure stood erect and in an attitude of questioning deference awaited whatever demonstration might follow this apparently not unexpected advent. "as she stood thus in an unconscious pose of virginal dignity, the girl seemed to express a subtle majesty, in which, at the moment, the prince was manifestly deficient. "a degree taller than her age would warrant, she appeared to the enamored gaze of the prince the ideal of symmetrical slenderness. "her figure, perfectly proportioned, and chastened, by the ardent rigors of the climate, of every fraction of superfluous flesh, appeared to bud and round for the sole purpose of concluding in exquisite tapers. "her eyes, large and luminous and harmoniously fringed with that placid length of lash usually associated with the sensuous, were saved from that suspicion by the innocent question and confiding abandon of her half-parted lips. "her hands, clasped at the moment before her, possessed the indescribable contour of refinement and high breeding, and manifested a degree of the tension of her present privileges by a closer interlace of the fingers than usual. "a robe of white, confined loosely to her waist by a vari-colored sash, which drooped gracefully to catch up the folds in front, clung softly to her figure in sylphid revelation of the matchless proportions it could never conceal. "'lal lu!' exclaimed the prince unevenly, his face reflecting the strife of deference and desire as he disengaged the clasped hands of the maiden and held them closely in his own, 'what is it to be, the vale of cashmere or the snows of himalaya?' "for a moment the girl gazed with disconcerting directness upon her ardent companion, as the warmth of his impulse deepened the dusk of his countenance and threaded the fine white of his eyes with ruddy suffusions. "'o prince!' she replied, veiling her eyes the while with tantalizing lashes and reflecting, with exquisite duplication, a degree of the color which burned in the cheeks of her visitor, 'other answer have i none save that i gave thee yesterday.' "with an impatient exclamation the prince released the hands he held in such vehement grasp, and stood, for a space, with his arms folded, directing upon the trembling beauty the while a gaze of vivid, glowing menace which was scarcely to be endured. "'ah!' he cried in a voice of husky contrast to his usual placid utterance, 'have you reflected, lal lu, how futile thy objections may be if i choose to make them so?' "with surprising calmness and a sweet dignity, which was not without its effect upon the prince, although it sharpened to the refinement of torture the keenness of his infatuation, lal lu replied: "'i have said, my lord.' "at this reply the prince, exasperated beyond further control, with ruthless, fervent abandon, caught the trembling lal lu in his arms and held her, palpitating, reproachful, in his savage embrace. "bewildered at the quickness of his action, lal lu reposed inertly within the passionate restraint of his sinewy arms, but the next instant, transformed into an indignant goddess, struggled, with surprising strength, from his clasp and held the mortified prince in chafing repulse by the chaste challenge of her flaming eyes. "'hear me, prince otondo!' she cried with unmistakable candor and disturbing incisiveness of speech: "'i love not save where i choose. "'of what avail is it to subdue this frail body? what is the joy of such a conquest? where the pleasure in an empty casket?' "abashed, astounded, the prince retreated a space and looked, with savage intentness, upon the beautiful girl, superb in her denunciation, enchanting in the rebellious dishevel of her hair, the indignant rebuke of her eyes. "some reflection of contriteness must have beamed its acknowledgment of the justice of her virtuous outburst in the glance which held her in its ardent fascination, for lal lu resumed, in a voice sensibly modulated and with a demeanor curiously softened: "'long have i known of thee, o prince! "'before all others have i placed thee. "'wonder not, then, that i resent the ignoble assumption that my regard may be compelled. "'my love is as royal as thine. "'i bestow it where i will; unasked, if its object pleaseth me. "'but i make no sign, o prince. "'in such a stress a maiden may not speak her mind.' "'peace, lal lu!' exclaimed the prince, who, during her initial reproaches and her subsequent explanations, had recovered his native dignity of carriage and elevation of demeanor; 'peace! never before have i hearkened to such speech as thine. "'all my life i have had but to ask, and what i craved was mine. "'my wish has been my command. "'hear, then, lal lu: henceforward thou art as safe with me as in thy father's home.' "'aye! what of him?' interrupted the maiden; 'what of my father, o prince?' "'all is well with him,' replied the prince, manifestly chagrined at the incautious introduction of this disturbing name and the filial solicitude it awakened. "'he has been assured of thy safety; of him will i speak later. but now, lal lu---"'i acknowledge thy rebuke. i stand before thee, thy sovereign, thy suppliant. "'see!' he exclaimed, 'what i cannot demand, i entreat'; and with an indescribably fascinating tribute of surrender and yearning, this royal suitor awaited her reply. "leaning for support against a slender stand near-by, to which she communicated the trembling fervor which pulsed so warmly through every fiber of her being, the beautiful lal lu looked upon the fine countenance before her with a light in her eyes that dazzled with its subtle radiance. "'oh, lal lu!' cried the prince as he advanced toward the trembling maiden with eager precipitation. "'one moment, o prince!' exclaimed lal lu, extending a restraining hand. "'i know not what to say to thee; yet will i meet thy candor with equal frankness. yea, prince otondo, i love thee indeed. i feel no shame in the confession. i have loved thee always. i am----' "but the prince, after the fashion of lovers, made further speech impossible; and lal lu, with all the exquisite charm of womanly capitulation, threw her dusky arms about his neck and held his lips to hers in the only kiss beside her father's she had ever known. "for one delirious moment, and then, releasing herself, she stood before the prince, a very blushing majesty of love, and said: "'and now, o prince, i have told thee my secret. be thou equally generous and restore me to my father, and then come to me when thou desirest and i am thine." "concealing his impatience at this last suggestion, the prince, with wily indirection, said: "'it is too late to-day, lal lu. thy father will be here on the morrow; rest thyself until then,' and fearful lest the maiden would penetrate his purpose, he added: "'lal lu, i am compelled to leave thee for a space; i will send thy woman to thee. until to-morrow, then, adieu.' and fixing upon her a glance so ardent that she almost followed him in its fascination, the prince withdrew from her presence with a reluctance which was duplicated in the bosom of the bewildered girl, if not so unmistakably evinced. "as the prince retreated toward his apartments, the alarming alternative proposed by the merchant repeated itself with a sort of wordless insistence: "'unless lal lu shall be returned, a handful of my precious stones shall be missing. "'ah! "'in their place will be as many pebbles! "'impossible!' "and secure in his bedchamber, into which none might venture without ceremonious announcement, the prince hastened to a recess in the wall, where, in response to a pressure applied to a spot known only to himself, a cunningly devised panel shot back, revealing a gleaming, glittering mass of scintillating light and glamor. "'ah, ha!' he gloated, 'no pebbles yet'; and plunging his hands into the costly heap, he withdrew a motley of diamonds, sapphires, rubies and opals, and held them, with grudging avarice, to the regard of the declining sun. "'no pebbles yet,' he repeated, as he challenged the fires of the gems with the fever of his eyes, and sent mimic lightnings hither and thither by communicating the tremble of his hands and the incidence of the sunbeams to the glorious confusion of facet and hue; 'no pebbles yet.' "as prince otondo repeated this obvious reassurance, he replaced the gems, which seemed to quiver with lambent life, within the compartment, and withdrawing the shagreen case from his sash, he discharged the magnificent sapphire it contained upon the apex of the glittering heap, where it rested with a sort of insolent disproportion to the irradiant pyramid of brilliants beneath. "regarding the bewildering ensemble for a few moments of exulting ownership and familiar calculation, the prince closed the panel with the mien of paris making restitution of helen, and, turning aside, prepared to retire for the night. "the ceremony was simple and so promptly observed that ere the radiance had ceased its revel in his mind the prince found himself reclining upon his couch, unusually ready to succumb to the sleep which he had so often sought in vain. "the night was hot and stifling, and yet it seemed to the prince that he had only retired to rise the moment after, so profound had been his slumber and so quickly had daybreak arrived. "for a few moments he lay in that agreeable condition of semi-realization ere the visages of his wonted obligations had assumed the definition of their customary insistence, or the menace of a restrained remorse had reannounced itself, when suddenly, without introduction or sequence, the phrase 'pebbles for diamonds' slipped into his consciousness. "in a second he was alert and awake; the next instant he found himself at the panel, reaching tremulously for the concealed spring. "at last he found it; the panel shot back, and the prince, after one searching glance, stood transfixed and uttered a cry of wondering despair. "'the gleaming hoard still shot its varied lightnings. the royal sapphire still crowned its priceless apex. to his starting eyes his treasure was not a whit diminished, but directly in front, and at the base of the precious heap, lay as many as would make a heaping handful of pebbles." as the sepoy reached this startling climax in his recital, the even modulations of his voice ceased abruptly. raikes, missing the somnolent monotone, looked up quickly. the eyes of the sepoy were fixed upon him with a gleam in his glance not unlike that of the sapphire upon which the miser had been engaged during the whole of this singular narrative. "that is a weird tale," he said at last. "why do you pause at such a point? what is the conclusion?" "that is some distance away yet," replied the sepoy. "if you care to continue, i will resume the thread at this time to-morrow evening." "very well," answered raikes with some impatience, "i will be here. i must, at least, congratulate you upon your observance of the proprieties in tale-telling; you manage to pause at the proper places." "you are curious, then, to hear the rest?" "naturally," replied raikes, with the sour candor which distinguished him. "the situation you describe i can appreciate--the loser confronted with his loss--and i am to conjecture his attitude until to-morrow night. very well, i bid you good evening," and raikes, with a curt inclination of the head, which made a travesty of his intention to be courteous, vanished through the doorway. * * * * * (the continuation of this remarkable story will be found on dickey series b, which may be bought from almost any haberdasher.) * * * * * as dennis reached this announcement his head throbbed violently. he had raced so apace with the movement of the tale that he had not remarked, in his absorption, an unfamiliar congestion about the base of his brain. directly, however, he was convinced of its disagreeable presence when this abrupt conclusion, which he had come to expect at the end of each bosom, materialized to his irritated anticipation. he was no longer inclined to admire the calculating genius of the italicized phrase. a temperance lecture was aching its way through his head. his conscience seemed to have decided to reside in the pit of his stomach, and a sense of surrender and defeat humiliated him. his room looked cell-like. the arrow pointing to the fire-escape seemed full of menace. his face, reflected from the dingy glass, had never appeared so ugly and reproachful. he needed something to restore his confidence, but was happily unaware of the nature of the remedy his system demanded. it was his first offense. he raised the window for a breath of fresh air, and the roaring street called him. there was mockery and invitation in its hubbub. why not? a little exercise would bring him around to his point of moral departure. so, hastily adjusting the third chapter to his waistcoat and donning the balance of his garments, he fitted his hat to his head with thoughtful caution and hurried to the bustling thoroughfare. preoccupied by his gradually lessening disabilities, dennis did not remark that the course pursued by him had the house of the publisher as its terminus, until he stood directly before that august establishment. as the young irishman recognized his surroundings, it did not take him long to persuade himself, with native superstition, as he considered the unaware nature of his arrival, that providence had directed his footsteps thither, and, with the species of courage that can come from such a basis, he proceeded to the rearway, where he beheld the celt in whom his hopes were centered, berating the porters, with a mien which offered anything but encouragement to the anxious young man. however, he came forward tentatively, and found himself, presently, so much within the radius of the foreman's range of vision as to be compelled to accept, with enforced urbanity, the vituperation of the draymen, who objected to the amount of landscape he occupied with his bulk and eager personality. at last, when the foreman had bullied his lusty understudies into a certain degree of sullen system, and the drays began to move away with their mysterious burdens, dennis ventured to address him. greatly to his relief, the perturbed countenance of the latter softened perceptibly as he exclaimed: "ah, ha! an' it's there ye are?" "yes," replied dennis with solicitous abnegation. "well," returned the other, "roll up yer sleeves; yer job's a-waitin' fur ye." with an agility that betrayed the diplomacy of his countenance into ingenuous exultation, dennis followed the foreman into the warehouse, and the latter at once began his instructions as to the system of marking, and dennis mastered its simple mysteries with a quickness that was not only flattering to the discernment of his instructor but an indorsement of celtic adjustability in general. in the course of the morning dennis discovered that his predecessor had put him under obligations by prolonging his debauch, and that his arrival upon the scene had been most opportune in consequence. he was now assured of a position, whose only handicap was the prospect, delicately insinuated by the foreman for his consideration, of the possible state of mind of the previous incumbent when he realized that his niche had been filled, and it did not add to his cheerfulness when the foreman examined his biceps with an expert touch and remarked: "i guess that ye can take care of yerself." there was nothing belligerent about dennis, and he trusted that his predecessor would not regard him from that standpoint. in the meantime saturday arrived, and dennis, in possession of his proportion of the week's pay, hurried to the stag by way of baxter street. in this locality he began a search for series b of the dickies, and was finally successful, after a number of disappointments and a protracted hunt. with the courage of his recently acquired situation, dennis proposed to indulge in a little improvidence. he decided that he would follow the singular recital on the dickey backs and rip off a chapter at a time. after a night of fortifying slumber, dennis arose, breakfasted, and boarded an elevated train, which presently conveyed him to the vicinity of central park. here, after securing a seat to his fancy, he withdrew series b from the wrapper, detached bosom no. 1 and began. chapter v when raikes had parted from the sepoy, a degree of his customary hardness and assurance was evident in his manner. he had been able to comment sagaciously upon the extraordinary narrative, and had appropriated as much of the sapphire as his greedy glance and covetous memory could bear away; but now that he pursued his way along the dimly lighted hallway which led to his apartment, a singularly thoughtful mood oppressed him. this phenomenon, due, in part, to the cessation of the drowsy cadences of the sepoy and the absence of the fascination and gleam of the sapphire, was relegated by raikes to the overtures of approaching drowsiness. and yet the startling episode which confronted prince otondo in the evening's instalment of this oriental complication recurred to his mind again and again. strangely, too, raikes did not comment upon the singular fact of the narrative itself. why should the sepoy take the trouble to relate it to him, and why should he, of all unconcerned and self-centered men, manifest such an unusual interest in a recital which lacked every practical feature and had nothing but the weird to commend it? if he asked himself these questions, it was with the impersonality of lethargy, for they were dismissed as readily as they presented themselves. with such sedative queries, which were gradually diminishing from fabric to ravel, raikes finally reached his room and, securely bolting the door, began to prepare to retire. this was not an elaborate proceeding. his outer garments removed, he had only to seek the seclusion of the bedclothes, clad in the remainder of his attire. in this manner he economized on the cost of a night-robe and the time it would consume to don and doff such a superfluity. at all events, if such was not his sordid reasoning, the promptness with which he fell asleep indicated that he did not propose to squander useless time in wakeful speculation upon the intangible nothings to which his recollection of the narrative began to fade. however, if raikes had succeeded in passing the boundaries of slumber, he had admitted, at the same time, extravagances of which he would never have been guilty in his wakeful hours, for he found himself so engaged in all sorts of uneasy shiftlessness and inconsiderate expenditure that when morning came and he awoke, as usual, with the sunrise, he resumed his customary identity, peevish and unrefreshed. for a moment he sat with his knees huddled to his chin, over which his eyes peered like vermin in the wainscoting, and then, urged by an impulse whose source he could not determine, he leaped with surprising agility to the floor and proceeded to the false radiator. for a short space of inexplicable indecision he stood with his hands resting upon the button which released the fastenings in the rear, an uneasy thoughtfulness converging the ugly wrinkles downward to the root of his nose and contracting his eyebrows with senile apprehension. suddenly his wonted decision asserted itself. he pressed the button and the radiator swung toward him; a few moments later the inner compartments responded to his manipulation, and the last door opened. apparently everything was as he had left it. to his rapid enumeration the quantity of the small bags, containing his beloved coin, remained undisturbed. but, upon nearer regard, one of them--that within easiest reach--seemed to betray, through its canvas sides, a variety of unusually sharp angles and definite lines. with a suffocating sensation of impending disaster, raikes grasped the bag. it pended from his tense grip with a frightful lightness. he caught up its neighbor for further confirmation. it responded with reassuring bulk and weight. but this one from which all specific gravity seemed to have departed--what did it contain? with trembling hands the terrified man unfastened the cord which bound it and inverted the bag over the table. instead of the sharp, musical collision and clink of metal, a sodden succession of thuds smote his ears. with a shriek of utter wonderment and alarm, raikes stood erect and petrified. his hands fell, with inert palsies, to his sides. his eyes seemed about to start from his head, for, looming dully to his aching gaze, in place of the coin he had so confidently hidden away, was a rayless, squalid heap of small, black coals. a moment he stood lean and limp; every particle of the fever which consumed him concentrated in his starting eyes, which turned, with savage inquiry, toward the fastenings of the door. the next instant, with a leap like that of a wild beast, he reached the threshold, examined the bolt with vivid glance and searching fingers, then raised his hand to his forehead with a gesture of utter distraction. nothing had been disturbed. even the check-pin which he had inserted over the bar for additional security was in place. the only other possible means of entrance was by a window at the other extreme of the room. but this was not to be considered, for it opened, with sheer precipitation, upon the unrelieved front of the house. the windows adjacent were removed at a distance which could afford no possible basis from which to reach the one from which raikes glared so grimly. moreover, the shutters had been clasped and the inner sash secured. the conclusion was inevitable. no one had entered the room during the night. it was impossible for a stranger to have access to the apartment during the day unobserved, and the recess behind the radiator was known to himself alone. nevertheless there was the absurd substitution. it was incredible! the secret repository was of his own construction. the room was secure against intrusion. and opposed to all this the incontrovertible proof of his loss, a catastrophe all the more agonizing since the logic of the situation obliged him to eliminate any one from suspicion. raikes had always considered a loss of this character the climax of malignant fate. he had never been able to contemplate it without the mortal shudder which usually communicates its chill to a loving parent confronted with the prospect of the departure of a dear one. the recess in the wall contained all that raikes held dear in the world; every spasm of fear, each contraction of the heart, always began and concluded with the button which moved its protecting bolts. but now a new element added its ugly emphasis; there was something supernatural about the episode. convinced of the impossibility of thievery in any of its ordinary forms, he was bewildered as to the inexplicable means of his present predicament. his sense of security was shaken. he promised himself to stand guard over his belongings jealously that day, and to make assurance doubly sure at night. in the meantime raikes decided to confide his misfortune to no one. there was a meager possibility that the guilty one might be misled by his silence; he had heard of such cases; he had known of the culprit offering condolences to the silent victim on the assumption that the latter had discussed his mishap with others. he would wait, and with raikes to determine was to do. with his obnoxious individuality rendered several degrees more unendurable by his catastrophe, if that was possible, raikes, having assumed that portion of his attire in which he had not slept, double-locked the door of his room from the outside with a brace of keys that, in all likelihood, had not their duplicates in existence, and proceeded to the dining-room, whither he had been preceded by his parchment of a sister. at once he began to rustle his exhausted sensibilities with an added menace, awakened by a manifest desire on the part of the famished woman to satisfy the cravings of an ungratified hunger with an extra help of bread and butter. as he looked upon the attenuated creature, with a morose reflection of his loss, the latter, with a rebellion which she could not control, selected with trembling fortitude a thick slice of bread, which she buttered liberally and began to devour with pathetic haste, despite the rebuking gleam of the rat eyes opposite, an episode which, added to his already perturbed mind, exasperated his brutal temper to the point of snarling remonstrance, which was fortunately denied its utterance by the opportune arrival of the sepoy, who smiled blandly upon the chill acknowledgment of the shriveled raikes. the sepoy, at the conclusion of a hearty repast, which the spinster witnessed with famished envy and raikes considered with ascetic disapproval, looked, with a scarcely concealed disdain, into the furtive, troubled eyes of the miser and said: "i will see you to-night?" "yes," replied raikes promptly. "i will be there." "very well; i will not return until the time appointed," said the sepoy. "i expect to show you a rarity." "another brilliant aggravation?" asked raikes. "ah!" laughed the sepoy, "is that your estimation of the sapphire?" "yes," returned raikes with acid frankness. "to be permitted to appropriate the gleam and the radiance; to comprehend the cunning of the facets; to appraise its magnificent bulk intelligently, and witness the careless possession by another of all these beatitudes, i think that constitutes an aggravation." "it has been known to degenerate into a temptation," continued the sepoy, reflecting the cynical humor of the other. "aye!" admitted raikes, "and has concluded in surrender." with this the strangely assorted trio left the table directly, the sepoy to his problematical business, the spinster to escape the reprimand foreshadowed in the eyes of her brother, and raikes to keep his treasures under malicious surveillance. all that day his diseased mind tortured itself with impossible theories and absurd speculations, until his attempts to explain the curious substitution degenerated into a perfect chaos of despair and bewilderment. with an impatience he could not explain, raikes at last presented himself at the apartment of the sepoy as the hour of ten was striking. he was greeted by the curious individual within with a demeanor which somehow offended raikes with the impression that his prompt eagerness was the subject of amused calculation. his irritation, however, was not permitted to develop, for no sooner had he seated himself in the chair indicated by his host than the latter placed upon the table, within easy reach of his harassed visitor, a small box of leather and directed him to press the spring. anticipating something of the nature of the contents of the case from the material of which it was made, raikes, forgetting for the moment the futility of the day's researches, pressed his bony thumb upon the spring, and at once the lid flew back like a protest, disclosing the most superb diamond it had ever been his misfortune to see and not possess. "ah!" he cried in an ecstasy of tantalized contemplation, "the glass, the glass! anything so precious must have had commensurate treatment. what color, what clarity, what bulk!" and as the unhappy creature yielded to that species of intoxication which even the grace of god seems unable to ameliorate, the sepoy, with the easy poise and balance of intonation and phrase which had served as such facile vehicles for the previous instalments, began: "when the bewildered prince realized the meaning of the worthless heap in the recess, and calculated, with familiar appraisement, the immense loss represented by the senseless substitution, he stood for a moment destitute of all dignity and as impotent as the meanest of his household. "his thin, fine lips, which usually held such firm partnership and divided his words with such cynical scission, relaxed separately into the inane lines of superstitious fear, and the luster of his restless eyes seemed to have degenerated into that surrounding dullness of sickly white which would have provided the impressionable lal lu with an easy fortitude to deny the approaches of this semi-potentate. "the next instant, like the doubled blade of toledo steel, the prince recoiled to his lithe stature, and the customary brightness of his eyes returned shadowed with a degree of crafty reflection. "one by one, lest a stray gem might be collected with the worthless débris, like the crew of ulysses clinging to the sheep of the cyclops, prince otondo removed the pebbles which intruded their sordid presence in this scintillant treasure-trove like a motley of base subjects in an assemblage of the nobility. "when the last of these worthless objects had been cleared from the recess, the prince closed the panel, and seating himself before the rayless heap, surrendered himself to moody reflection, like a disabled enthusiast confronted by his disillusions. "how did these pebbles reach this hiding place? "in asking himself the question, the prince had absolute assurance that it was impossible for any one to enter his sleeping-apartment without his knowledge. "the puzzled man also recollected, with a shudder, which he alone could explain, that he had taken radical means of making it impossible for the artisan who had contrived the hidden treasury to reveal its existence. "he was positive, too, when he had retired the night before, that his jewels were undisturbed. "why just this exchange of a handful? "for what reason had not double the quantity been removed? nay, why not all, since it was possible to abstract a portion? "at this question the eerie iteration of the merchant returned to his mind: "'pebbles for diamonds!' "at once the distasteful alternative upon which it was based recurred to him. "a quick radiation illumined his mind, and subsided to darkness as promptly. "ram lal! "it was he who had indicated the substitution. but the merchant could no more enter the room in which the prince was seated at this moment than the most abject menial in the palace. "still, the merchant had been able to predict the disaster. "some sort of association existed, but what it was, considered with the impracticability of unobserved entrance and exit, was beyond his comprehension. "the incredible condition existed. "in the light of its outrageous improbability, and the insuperable obstacles in the way of its accomplishment, the prince found himself compelled to dismiss every hypothesis. "still, he could subject ram lal to an investigation that would, at least, extort a confession as to his ability to allude to the episode in advance. "in the meantime, with true oriental craft, the prince determined to say nothing of his loss, and present an impassive demeanor to those by whom he was surrounded. "with this purpose the prince proceeded to the apartment beyond, and was about to strike the gong to summon the servant charged with the preparation of his morning repast, when his attention was attracted to a slip of folded paper fluttering from the edge of the table-top and held in place by a diminutive bronze buddha. "with the weird certainty that this beckoning paper was another unaccountable feature of the savage perplexity he was compelled to endure, the prince, approaching, grasped the folded sheet with eager, trembling hands and exposed its inner surface to his vivid glance. "'ah!' with a burning sensation about his eyes, a fever of harassed impatience in his brain, and a sense of suffocation and impotent rage, he read: * * * * * "'most illustrious! "'unless lal lu is returned to her father by nightfall, another handful of precious stones will be replaced by as many pebbles. "'and this to warn thee: "'the native troops at meerut are in revolt. "'they have shot the regimental officers, and have put to death every european they could find. "'they are now on their way to delhi to proclaim dahbur dhu, thy grandfather, sovereign of hindustan. "'the moghul is old. "'thou art next in succession.' * * * * * "there was no signature. "none was needed; the prince had preserved several specimens of that chirography at the bottom of various interesting bills of sale. "as this bizarre scion of an incredibly ancient régime read this extraordinary missive, with its exasperating reference to the restitution of lal lu, and considered the prompt realization of the threatened reprisal which had followed his first failure to comply with the request of ram lal, a sense of fear and futility possessed him. "with curious apathy, an unaccountable suggestion of impersonality, almost, he did not pause to consider the absence of the intolerant passion which his loss should have occasioned, or to wonder at his bewildered reception of this implication of further dispossession. "the prince appeared to be moving as in a spell; but as he concluded the remainder of the missive and remembered, at its inspiration, that he was, indeed, the grandson of the moghul and the heir-apparent of this pageant throne of delhi, a sensible degree of his customary cynical assurance returned. "hastening to the ante-room, the prince, with alert reanimation, questioned the stalwart official who stood without. "he indicated to his master that the missive had been left upon the outer sill of the threshold leading from the ante-room to the corridor which opened upon the courtyard. "beyond this nothing could be learned; but other and more absorbing information was conveyed to the prince. "he learned that several bodies of sepoys had already passed the palace, on the highway, in the direction of delhi. "startled at this rapid confirmation of the statement conveyed in the strange communication which he had just read, the prince rapidly reviewed the singular cause of the mutiny. "great britain had just supplied the native soldiery with the enfield rifle. "this weapon was rendered formidable by a new cartridge, which, in order that it might not bind in the barrel bore, was greased in england with the fat of beef or pork. "with incredible indifference to the prejudices of the sepoys, the military authorities at calcutta ordered the low-caste lascars to prepare the cartridges in a similar manner. "to this direct invitation disaster was not slow to respond. "the fat of pigs was sufficient to make a degenerate of a mohammedan; and to devour the flesh of cows converted a hindoo into a mussulman. "in this manner had tippu sultan enforced the faith of islam on hordes of brahmins, and with the abomination of pork had the afghans prevailed upon the hindoo sepoys, captured in the kabul war, to become mohammedans. "exasperated by the unconcealed contempt of the brahmins, the lascars, with an easily understood rancor, managed to convey the startling information to their detested superiors that the cartridges they bit in loading the new rifles were greased with the fat of cows, and that they were, in consequence, defiled, and their boasted caste supremacy was destroyed. "this revelation, so momentous to the hindoo, found its way first to barrackpore by reason of its nearness to calcutta. "at once an indescribable panic ensued, and in a marvelously short time every native regiment in bengal was confronted with the possibility of lost caste, and terrified at the consequent belief that the british government was making an attempt to anglicize them with beef as they had already attempted to do with beer. "the account of the greased cartridges, embellished as it speeded, traveled, with the rapidity which usually expedites evil rumor, along the ganges and jumna to benares, allahabad, agra, delhi and meerut, and the british authorities were confronted with a revolt which was to cost thousands of men and countless treasure. "as the prince reflected upon the fever of events, and calculated their possible consequence to himself, the ambition--often napping, seldom in slumber--which he secretly cherished, awoke to disturbing vividness. "his allowance was ample; his retinue, all things considered, impressive; and the kutub, although in a state of disrepair in certain portions, was still unmistakably a royal residence. but he was thoroughly weary of the massive pile, and increasingly exasperated at the interdict of delhi. "certain salacious possibilities within its walls still made their insidious appeals to him, and he had not forgotten the ceremonious deference accorded him in the household of the moghul. "at the kutub he had to contrive his own dissipations and excesses. "there was no need to be clandestine. "the very frankness of his privileges discouraged his imagination. there was no spice of jeopardy in them; no preludes of intrigue. "to relieve this surfeit, which is the worst of monotonies, eagerly would the prince have joined the revolting troops, detachments of which he could perceive from the walls of the kutub hastening along the sun-scorched highway to delhi. "but his semi-majesty was cautious. "it was characteristic of him that his mature reflections should frequently place his impulse under obligations; a condition that had resulted in many a salutary compromise with some proposed moral abandon. "should he show the slightest countenance to the native troops in the present emergency, the record of such an attitude would constitute anything but a passport to the continued consideration of the british government, upon whose sufferance he not only enjoyed his present magnificent residence, but the acknowledgment of his right of succession as well. "the prince was not yet inclined to believe that the sepoys could make headway against his detested patrons. "however, with his mind stimulated by the hazard of the prospect, this picturesque heir-apparent, who had assured himself, since his perusal of the unaccountably delivered missive, that ram lal had no intention of making his appearance that day, at least, returned to the apartment where his morning repast awaited him, which he dispatched with the preoccupied impersonality of a savant who consults his timepiece in order to determine the temperature. "advised of the fact that he had finished by a disposition to ignore his remaining privileges, the prince, as if to pursue the direction of the unseeing gaze which he projected into space, rose slowly, and with that moody deliberation which is so often the outward manifestation of an ignoble as well as an elevated determination, proceeded to the silken arras and disappeared from view between the folds. "quickly he traversed the passageway leading to the apartments of lal lu; and in response to a light touch upon the gong the same servile apparition emerged and vanished, with cringing obedience, down the passage. "with a gleam in his eyes, which might have caused a magistrate to reflect or a moralist to anticipate, that was both sinister and engaging, eager and speculative, the prince, with a gesture that was not without its impatient majesty and lithe impressiveness, swept aside the curtains which guarded the entrance to the small ante-room and stepped within." * * * * * as the sepoy reached this point of the narrative, arranged, perhaps, with shrewd malice to tantalize his eager listener, an expression of libidinous expectation and depraved absorption deepened upon the countenance of the latter, who, like an animal deprived of its prey, looked up suddenly as the narrator paused, with an exasperation which he made little attempt to conceal. "hell!" he muttered, "why do you pause? it is not late. this is an irritating trick of yours to leave off at the crucial juncture." "ha, ha!" laughed the sepoy mirthlessly. "you have attended me, then? well, i can't admit you with the prince until to-morrow evening. i have much to do ere i retire." "this is my dismissal, i presume," responded raikes sourly as he replaced the gem, from which he seemed unable to remove his thieving eyes. "here, take this damned thing; it has demoralized me," and placing the shagreen case, with its priceless contents, in the hands of the evilly-smiling sepoy, he disappeared through the doorway. arrived at the door which opened upon his room, raikes was assured, by the familiar response of the locks to the pressure of his extraordinary keys, that his precautions of a few hours before had been undisturbed. moreover, his sister, seated in her room in a chair so placed as to command a view of the doorway opposite, and looking more effaced than ever from the weary vigil which her heartless brother had imposed upon her during his absence, advised him of the customary isolation and depression which distinguished this barren household. within, raikes began to make himself secure for the night. he double-locked the door, placed the heavy bar in the iron shoulders, over which he inserted a stout iron pin. a brief investigation convinced him that it was out of the question to open the shutters from without. satisfied upon these points, raikes proceeded to the radiator, which for a trembling space of apprehension he forbore to open. however, since it was certainty he wanted, the valves shortly swung toward him, the inner door responded to the sesame of his touch, and the recess containing the tenets of his religion was exposed to view. with trembling hands, which indicated the latent fear which unnerved him, and eyes aching with anxiety, the wretched man examined bag after bag of his precious coin with the solicitude one sees manifested by parents whose children are rendered doubly dear by the taking away of one of their number. "ah!" with a sigh, the relief of which almost concluded in physical collapse, raikes was able to assure himself that his rapid inventory revealed no further loss. replacing his treasure with the indisposition he usually manifested to leave the vicinity of his hoard, the miser closed the various compartments with more than his accustomed certitude and began to prepare to respond to the lassitude of sleep which, for some unaccountable reason, was unusually insistent. with the easy partition of attire already noted, raikes presently found himself ready to tuck himself away for the night, which he did after rolling his bedstead directly in front of the false radiator. this unusual measure of precaution consummated, raikes, with the first sense of security he had felt for the last twenty-four hours, presently succumbed to a sleep remarkable for its quick approach and its subsequent soundness. until early dawn, with the relaxation which is commonly the reward of innocence, raikes slept away in unconscious travesty. and when at last he opened his eyes he was as alertly awake as he had been profoundly asleep. with a promptness due to his retiring forebodings, his habitual unrest and suspicion returned to him. he was as vitally alive to the disturbing conditions of the day before as if they had been the subjects of an all-night meditation. but the confidence of his bolts and bars, the recollection of his unusual measures of safety, reassured him somewhat. it was, therefore, with a degree of composure he approached the door and satisfied himself that the bar and the locks had been undisturbed. with equal assurance he rolled the bedstead from the radiator and pressed the button which operated the concealed spring, with a deliberation in which no suggestion of uneasiness appeared. a quick revolution or so and the inner recess was revealed. to his rapid accounting the quantity of bags was the same, and their relative positions, which he had so carefully arranged the night before, were undisturbed--but this one, that within easiest reach! what was it caused those sharp suggestions in its accustomed rotundity--those angular points? in a quiver the man was transformed. with a cry such as must have been forced from the jew of old, compelled by the rough levies of his time to part at once with his teeth and his treasure, raikes grasped the bag, which came away in his clutch with the agonizing lightness that had preceded his first loss. quickly he unfastened the mouth of the fateful packet and inverted it over the table. the next instant there rattled to view a soulless, sodden shower of lack-luster, heart-breaking coals. (to be continued on dickey no. 2, series b.) * * * * * "ah, ha!" exclaimed dennis, "an' it's there ye are again," as the familiar phrase at the bottom of bosom no. 1 met his glance. but it did not exasperate him on this occasion, for the young man, true to his determination to be liberal with himself, had still bosoms no. 2 and no. 3 at his disposal. as he was about to separate no. 2 from its duplicate, his eyes, glancing aimlessly about for the moment, caught sight of a trim female figure sitting not far away on a bench diagonally opposite. hovering near her, a man, of a species dennis had not seen before on the street corners of new york, seemed determined to intrude upon her attention. convinced of his purpose, the lady, for such she unmistakably appeared, rose from the seat as the fellow was about to raise his hat as a preliminary to further overtures, and sought another bench directly opposite the one from which dennis had been a witness to her apparent persecution. the intruder, however, refusing evidently to believe that the action of the lady had a personal application, deliberately walked past this new resting place and surveyed its occupant with insolent estimation. a short distance away his pace slackened; he was about to return. with genuine irish impulse, dennis, rising hurriedly, proceeded to the bench occupied by the disturbed lady, and, with a bow that was not deficient in grace and evident good intention, said: "excuse me, but say the wurrd, madam, and i'll see that you are troubled no more with that loafer." for an instant, with an expression of countenance that suggested a fear that the flight from one intrusion was but the introduction to another, the lady looked upon dennis with an astonishment that was partly the result of his picturesque contrasts of voice and visage. then, with fine intuition realizing, in the ingenuous face of the young irishman, the unmistakable evidence of kindly impulse, she said, with a modulation in which dennis was able to detect the accent of good breeding: "i thank you, sir; i am tired; that man annoys me; but i would rather move on than be the cause of a disturbance." "if you will permit me," responded dennis promptly, "i will sit beside you long enough to indicate that you have met a friend; then i think that he will move off." the lady looked at dennis with an uncertain smile, in which there was just enough restraint to urge the young man to add hastily: "an' when he is gone for good, i will go too." "oh, i was not thinking of that, i assure you!" the lady hastened to say. "that would be rather ungrateful on my part. i accept your suggestion. may i ask you to be seated?" and dennis promptly complied. as he had predicted, the fellow, who had witnessed the conversation, was compelled to accept its ostensible suggestion, and departed finally with a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders and a tammany tilt of his hat over his eyebrows. in yielding to his gallant impulse, dennis was unaware of the fact that he held, with not exactly picturesque abandon, bosom no. 1 in his right hand and the other two in his left, which gave him the appearance of having disposed, in some violent way, of the remainder of several shirts. awakened by the puzzled amusement depicted in the curious gaze with which the lady surveyed the various bosoms which he held, and encouraged by the impromptu nature of the entire episode, dennis, as he realized the spectacle which he presented, indulged himself in a frank laugh, in which his companion seemed inclined to join. the next moment he apologized, and, yielding to the obligation enforced by the situation, explained his possession of the dickey bosoms and the curious story which had gone before. as he proceeded with the candor of genuine enthusiasm, and related the incredible narrative in his rich, irish brogue, which affected his hearer, as it did every one else, with such singular sentiments in contrast with his remarkable countenance, all traces of punctilious restraint and artificial reticence vanished, and with the mien of one who proposes to extract all the entertainment possible from an undreamed-of experience, the lady urged dennis to continue. "i can't do that unless i read the balance from the dickey," said dennis. "would you mind?" "i should like it very much," replied the lady with gratifying readiness. "well, then," said dennis, "here goes," and with his musical voice, which was one of his most inviting characteristics, the young man, on the basis of all that had preceded the bosom from which he was about to read, and which he had narrated to his auditor with refreshing _verve_ and an ingenuousness whose vitalizing effect upon her sensibilities he was far from suspecting, began. chapter vi whoever has witnessed kean's superb delineation of the ruthless richard in the scene where, in the illusion of his dying agony, swordless, he continues to lunge and feint, may comprehend the frightful mental overturn which prompted raikes to sink inertly into a chair near the table, and with foam-flecked lips fall to counting, one by one, the miserable coals in the dull heap before him. a silly smile overspread his sharp features like an apologetic sunbeam intruding upon a bleak landscape. a gleam of shrewd transaction shone in his eyes. the clutch of unwonted acquisition contracted his hands. slowly he made partition of the large from the small coals; regretfully he acknowledged the presence of the lesser bits as, with a chuckle of greedy appreciation, he grouped the relative piles. "ha, ha! ha, ha! ha, ha!" what a laugh! what a frightful mockery of mirth! "ha, ha! ha, ha!" and raising both hands above his head he brought them down upon the table with the lax inertia of utter collapse, and fell forward upon his extended arms, his face buried in the squalid heap beneath. for a dreary hour he lay there without the twitch of a muscle, the well of a sigh. like a cyclop's eye the button at the bottom of the concave in the wall seemed to stare with wonder upon this unfamiliar raikes, who could thus permit the radiator to swing open so heedlessly, and the inner recess to expose its golden glut. suddenly there came a sharp rap upon the door, then a pause; but its quick reverberations were unheeded by the prostrate man. again the thuds were administered to the echoing panels, and still no response. "uncle, i say, uncle!" cried a man's voice. "uncle!" and the shout was followed by a vigorous kick upon the woodwork; "uncle! uncle!" at this last appeal raikes stirred uneasily, and as the assault was continued with still greater stress, he managed finally to stagger uncertainly to his feet. as he raised his head to listen to the clamor without, the meanness of his face, emphasized by the smudges of the coal in which it had so recently reposed, presented itself to the scandalized eye in the wall. the miserable creature depicted the last degree of absurdity, and yet the ugly pathos of it all would have moved to pity. "uncle, i say!" and at the sound of the voice, which he recognized as that of his lusty nephew, raikes, with a return of his accustomed intelligence, which had received its kindly repairs at the hands of nature during his brief coma, cried sharply: "well, well!" "ah!" exclaimed the voice outside with an unmistakable accent of relief in its tone as it added, with unlettered eagerness: "it's me--bob!" however, if his reawakened animation had revived his deadened spirit, it also restored the appreciation of his disaster, as, with a glance of vivid comprehension, he looked from the coal heap to the register, toward which he leaped with astonishing agility. in an instant the inner recess was secure; in another the radiator was replaced, and raikes, proceeding to the door, raised the bar, unlocked the catches and exclaimed, "enter!" as the breezy bob crossed the threshold, the question of his eyes was instantly transformed to an expression of utter astonishment as he beheld the extraordinary blend of soil and pallor upon the countenance of his uncle. "for the lord's sake!" he cried, "what ails your face?" and strongly tempted to laugh at the absurd spectacle, and as urgently impelled to restrain himself by the glittering eyes of the raging raikes, he added, by way of apology for his noisy intrusion: "we knew that you were in here, but could not make you hear us. you are almost two hours beyond your usual time." directly in the rear of the young man stood the spinster, who gazed with widened eyes and parted lips upon her brother's soiled visage. "well," snarled raikes, "i am all right, you see; now leave me until i get myself in shape to make an appearance." as the door closed behind the pair, raikes hurried to the mirror, and above the crack which extended, like a spasm, diagonally across its surface he beheld his bloodless cheeks and forehead, and below, the dry slit of his mouth and his chin spattered with black and white. as he witnessed the sorry sight, the unhappy man, unable for the moment to account for his plight, stood aghast, until his gaze, penetrating to the rear of his smudged physiognomy, beheld the reflection of the coal heaps upon the table. at once a savage grin distorted his features into the degree of ugliness not already accomplished by its dusky resting place of the hour previous. a grin that was scarcely human and almost diabolical, as if the miserable creature had caught sight of the shriveled soul peering through the chinks which imprisoned his rat eyes and found a malignant enjoyment in the contemplation of its contemptible littleness. from this debasing inspection raikes turned slowly to the washstand to remove the grime from his face, with an impersonal deliberation that was not only unnatural under the circumstances, but which awakened the eerie suggestion that he was expending his effort upon another than himself. from this moment he became strangely calm; the sharp decision of his lips was never so pronounced. a baleful, unwavering gleam distinguished his glance. he had evidently arrived at some determination, one that levied upon the last limit of his endurance. all that day the unhappy man sat in his room, sullen and pondering. the timid offers of nourishment made by his sister were either ignored or refused with such an ill grace that she finally forbore further overtures and left him to his morose reflections, to improve her opportunities of enjoying, unrebuked, the privileges of the table, until, by nightfall, an indigestion, which she welcomed on account of its occasion, disturbed her with its unfamiliar pangs. in response to his nephew's concern as to his condition raikes replied by saying: "i may have something to tell you by eleven o'clock to-night; will you be on hand?" "sure!" answered bob with breezy goodwill. from time to time raikes glanced at the clock. his last scrutiny had revealed the hour of nine. sixty interminable minutes more remained ere he could see the sepoy. slowly the leaden hands crawled over the indifferent face. at last the half hour struck. a strange impatience possessed him. perhaps the sepoy might begin a little earlier than usual. he could, at least, suggest such a courtesy by his precipitation; it was far better than this unendurable wait. with this anticipation he decided to proceed to the apartment of this singular narrator. after taking his usual precautions, which seemed more or less of a mockery in view of the succession of disasters which had overtaken him, and again establishing the spinster in a position where she could maintain an unobstructed view of the entrance to his room, raikes proceeded hurriedly along the various passageways, which finally concluded in his point of destination. he rapped gently upon the door, which he discovered to be slightly ajar. there was no response. his second attempt to attract attention was pronounced enough to urge the door aside and enable him to make a comprehensive survey of the interior. it was unoccupied; and of his last assault upon the panel the only recognition was a sullen echo in the hallway. about to retire, his glance fell upon the table in the center of the room. at once a sudden trembling seized him. a burning fever surged through his veins; an irresistible impulse overwhelmed; for there, in inconceivable negligence, lay the shagreen case which he had so reluctantly returned to its owner only the night before. and then--the malign agreement of his outward husk with his inner degradation was revealed. his eyes, already criminal, reflected the kaleidoscopic succession of temptation and surrender; desire and thievery. he scanned the passageway without in either direction. no one was in sight. a silence of respectable retirement prevailed that enabled him to hear his heartbeats almost, which surged along his veins to his ears and stifled the final gasp of the still, small voice within. the next instant, with a lithe animal leap of astonishing quickness, raikes, darting into the apartment, grasped the precious case and retreated as rapidly over the threshold. scarcely had the stealthy rogue vanished from the room when the door of a closet in the rear opened softly and revealed the sepoy. upon his face a smile, surely evil, otherwise inscrutable, appeared, as he proceeded to the chair by the table, turned down the light in the lamp a trifle, and abstracted from his waistcoat pocket a small red case, the contents of which he examined with absorbed attention. arrived at his room, raikes was elated to discover that he was not due at the sepoy's apartment until twenty minutes later. "what a providence!" he murmured. he would arrive late; he would make his approach as ostensible as possible; he would apologize for his tardiness. his alibi would be perfect. during these proposed depravities raikes had closed and fastened the door, seated himself at the table, and pressed the spring which detained the lid of the shagreen case. in a dazzling instant it flew open. "ah!" a very riot of irradiation and gleam met his eyes. here was rehabilitation! here was amendment! the diamond was a liberal equivalent for his losses. another glance at the clock revealed to him that he had exhausted ten minutes in his exultation. this left a balance of ten minutes for a compunction or two. apparently he did not realize his opportunity, for half of the remaining time was consumed in the intoxication of the facets and the glamor, the thrill of intelligent valuation; and the other half to a grim calculation as to the usury that might accrue after the account with his losses was balanced. these perjured figures were scarcely arranged to his satisfaction when the clock struck ten. the strokes seemed like as many separate accusations. "bah! what are they to me?" he asked himself. he had been robbed; he had found a way to restitution; a man's providence must measure to his necessities. to arrive at these conclusions put him five minutes in arrears. five more for a leisurely arrival would be ten; enough to apologize for; sufficient for his purposes. he consumed as much time as possible secreting the stone in the recess. that accomplished, raikes emerged from his room and proceeded down the hallway. when he reached the apartment occupied by the sepoy he breathed a sigh of relief. the door was closed. in response to his rap upon the panel, a voice which he recognized as that of the sepoy cried: "come in!" with a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach, where, with him, the only conscience he had was located, raikes complied with these instructions, and, closing the door softly, established himself, in his customary expectant attitude, in the chair indicated by his host. "i have been told," began the latter abruptly, "that there is a flaw in the sapphire." "what!" exclaimed raikes with genuine concern. two things he could comprehend: a loss and the abuse of property. the announcement of the sepoy awakened the same misgiving which commonly affected his mind at a suggestion of defective title. "yes," continued the sepoy; "it was pointed out to me. but i am not convinced, or it may be that i refuse to be. a man often elects to be blind when confronted with a suggestion of disaster. i want to be candid with myself. i require your assistance. while i continue the narrative, kindly see if you can discover any sign of blemish." raikes, only too willing to engage himself upon anything which would assist his attempt at outward poise, seized the glass offered him and began a close inspection of the gem, as the sepoy, with an indescribably insinuating modulation, resumed: * * * * * "as the prince advanced, lal lu, advised of his approach by the hasty exit of the waiting-woman and the soft alarm of the gong in the passageway, stood ready to receive him. "a slight flush suffused her cheeks, a brighter luster beamed from her eyes. "with a fervor which was evidently unembarrassed by any anticipation of denial, the prince approached the trembling lal lu, who seemed to his enamored glance unspeakably bewitching in the graceful attitude, of which she was thoroughly unconscious, which she had naturally assumed, and which gave unmistakable expression to the hope, trepidation and regard awakened by his presence. "and yet his eagerness was not reflected. "there was little in the demeanor of the beautiful girl that was responsive; no indication of the sweet surrender that doubly endears, and which makes such irresistible appeals for protection and sensitive understanding to a man worthy of the name; and what evidences of confusion she betrayed were rather those which commonly prelude the execution of unwelcome resolution; a suggestion of a lurking disposition to readmit the peri into paradise, restrained by a knowledge of conditions unfulfilled. "with the rapid interchange and subtle apprehension characteristic of a passion which has no definite assurances as to its right to monopolize the regard of the object of jealous consideration, the prince was compelled to acknowledge, in these vague suggestions, an intangible but no less real succession of barriers opposed to his ardent advances, and with a scarcely concealed and certainly undiplomatic irritation he paused before lal lu and demanded: "'what is it, lal lu? thou art not glad to see me. i expected a reception other than this.' "'my father?' demanded lal lu, ignoring the question and the yearning intonation of his address, each word of which was like a caress; 'my father, what of him?' "'ah!' muttered the prince with deepening choler at the disturbing conditions introduced by the name, and a gleam strangely suggestive of menace. 'why speak of him now? is not the present enough?' "lal lu gazed upon the speaker with astonishment. how could he so easily forget what he had said the day before? and with a scarcely perceptible tightening of her beautiful lips, she said: "'dost remember thy promise to give me news of him to-day?' "'i do,' replied the prince. 'i received word that he will not be here to-day.' "'who told thee so?' demanded lal lu. "'a writing so informed me.' "'is it with thee?' "'no,' replied the prince. 'it is in my cabinet. is not my word sufficient?' "to this lal lu did not reply, but searched his countenance with a scrutiny which he found it difficult to endure, as he cried with renewed animation: "'oh, lal lu, be not so cold! hearken! the native regiments of meerut are in revolt and on their way to delhi. "'it is their purpose to re-establish dahbur dhu, my grandfather, upon the throne of the moghuls. "'as thou knowest, i am next in succession, and dahbur dhu is feeble and decrepit. "'the british are not in sufficient force to withstand a combined attack. "'see, then, lal lu, what this means for me; what it means for thee.' "'oh!' repeated the girl with curious emphasis, 'what it means for thee, i know; but what it means for me'--and she paused with disconcerting deliberation as she added--'thou hast not said.' "'everything, my own!' exclaimed the prince with generous ardor--'everything! thou hast but to command and thy will is done.' "'everything?' re-echoed lal lu with a questioning stress which the prince could not ignore--'everything?' "'i have said,' replied the prince. "'am i then to be thy queen?' "for a moment, a vital moment, the prince hesitated, but brief as the pause, scarcely the durance of an eye-flash, lal lu saw it, and gazed upon the prince with a disconcerting directness as he added, with the haste we note in the accused who attempt to distract suspicion by the utterance of glib generalities: "'my queen! thou art always that!' "'hold, prince otondo!' exclaimed lal lu as the prince seemed about to surrender to an impulse to clasp her in his arms--'hold! thy answers suit me not. reply, then, to this: thy wife--am i to be thy wedded wife?' "an expression like that of a peevish child tantalized by obstacles intruded to enhance its appreciation of favor withheld brightened his eyes and sent sullen lines converging in his forehead. "his hands clenched and opened; a faint suggestion of disdain curled his thin lips; the amiable inclination of his figure was transformed to an erect intolerance--and lal lu was answered. "when the unfortunate girl could no longer doubt the unlovely evidence provided by the prince, and apprehended the humiliating significance of his hesitation, a majesty surer than his own, a presence superb in its elevation, encompassed her, and she gazed upon the perturbed man with an expression from which every trace of tenderness appeared to have vanished. "with an angry sweep of his arm, as if to banish with a peremptory gesture the kneeling envoys of compunction, manliness and nobility, the prince stepped forward. "'what is that?' at this moment the gong in the passageway responded to three measured strokes. "'confusion!' muttered the prince. 'what does this mean?' and turning abruptly, he hastened to the doorway, swept aside the curtains, and revealed the trembling figure of the wrinkled crone who had quitted the apartment at his entrance. "'what now?' cried the exasperated prince as he fixed his eyes, vivid with rage at the unwelcome interruption, upon the miserable creature. "in reply the woman raised her shriveled hand, with a gesture that was not without its weird impressiveness, and pointed to his apartments. "'speak!' he demanded with a modification of his intensity, which he perceived deprived the waiting-woman of the power of speech. "'a messenger,' she croaked, 'from the palace of the moghul; he must speak with thee at once.' "with one long glance of such concentrated determination that it caused the beautiful girl to tremble anew, the prince vanished through the portal and hastened along the passageway. "scarcely had he departed when the demeanor of the waiting-woman underwent a startling transformation. "an incredible degree of energy quickened in the recoil of her bent form to a disproportionate erectness of stature. "beneath level, unwavering lids, her eyes emitted gleams which had pierced the retreating figure with deadly viciousness had they been poniards. "the servile vanished, the abject; and she stood, the silent embodiment of evil, restrained purpose. "the next instant, with an angry gesture that was vaguely significant of future requital and present impotence, the vindictive creature swept aside the curtains and re-entered the room leading to the apartment occupied by lal lu. "as she approached the disturbed beauty, the tension in her mien relaxed, and she regarded the _distrait_ countenance before her with a glance that was anything but unfriendly, in so far as it was possible to determine the nature of the sentiment in hiding behind that austere visage. "directly she stood by the table which lal lu had interposed as a sort of barricade against advances of her impetuous lover, and with an attempt at a smile, which could as readily find acceptance as a repentant scowl, this singular being inserted her hand in the folds of the tunic which defended her parchment bosom, and produced from that barren demesne a folded missive, which she placed in the hands of the astonished lal lu. "with trembling haste she exposed the inner surface of the paper, and with a glad heart and filial trust read: "'be not afraid; relief is at hand.' "there was no signature; none was needed. "in a moment lal lu recognized her father's familiar chirography, and as she reflected upon his well-known sagacity and resourceful boldness, her hope and courage renewed their belated assurances. "'who gave you this?' she asked. "the waiting-woman, after a brief hesitation, in which inclination and restraint left their disturbing traces, replied: "'that i must not reveal.' "'at least,' insisted lal lu, whose quick glance had detected the irresolution of the instant preceding, 'at least, tell me this: was it my father?' "'no,' replied the other promptly. with a barely perceptible grin of amusement at this ingenuous betrayal of the author of the few words which had awakened such animation, she added: "'one sent by him, it may be.' "'true,' assented the girl. "'and now,' exclaimed the woman with a return of her vindictive aspect, which the harassed beauty, unaware of its inspiration, witnessed with vague misgiving and a futile attempt to associate herself with its ugly manifestation; 'and now, i would ask a question of you.' "'yes?' responded lal lu, perplexed at the baleful emphasis which preceded this announcement. "'well, then,' continued the woman with startling and uncompromising abruptness, 'am i wrong in thinking that you would defend your honor with your life?' "before the astonished lal lu could reply, or encouraged, it may be, by some subtle confirmation in the look which shot from the distended eyes of the young girl, the eccentric speaker, again inserting her hands in the folds of her tunic, withdrew a short, slender poniard, at sight of which lal lu recoiled. "'ha, ha!' laughed the withered creature mirthlessly as she gazed with unsmiling eyes upon the shrinking beauty. 'be not afraid; this weapon is intended for you, but not to your hurt.' "'what, then?' asked lal lu breathlessly, unable to adjust the peaceful assurance of the grim-visaged woman with the menace of the glittering blade. "'listen!' exclaimed the woman impressively: 'i know prince otondo of old; he meditates no good for you. were i in your place, i would receive his detested advances upon the point of this blade. your protestations he will not heed, but this'--and the speaker advanced the dagger with a savage gesture which caused a shudder to pervade the trembling frame of lal lu--'this is an argument he can understand.' "'oh,' cried the terrified girl, 'i could not!' "'you could not?' repeated the other with chilling emphasis. 'ha, ha! you could not! but you will submit to the advances of this monster! "'believe me, you are not the sole object of his regard. "'there have been others caged within these walls who have been less obdurate than you, or whose resistance has availed them nothing.' "'alas!' exclaimed lal lu with an inexpressibly melancholy accent, as she considered the empty pedestal from which her ideal had fallen, and recalled with a shudder the caress which she had permitted and bestowed in that fervid interview with the prince. 'can this be true?' "'aye!' exclaimed the woman with savage affirmation. 'do not doubt it. sooner than submit to the embraces of that wretch i would turn that weapon against myself.' "'oh!' exclaimed lal lu with a superb gesture and the light of unmistakable resolution in her eyes, 'that i can do; but the other----' and the poor girl trembled at the spectacle pictured in her mind. "'well,' exclaimed the woman, 'i will leave this dagger here; do as you will; i have done for you what i could,' and she turned to depart, unmindful, apparently, of lal lu's tremulous 'and i am grateful to you.' * * * * * "when the prince arrived at the apartment in which he accorded his audiences, if the attention he bestowed upon the meager assemblages which presented themselves occasionally can be dignified by that description, he found awaiting him a hindoo, whom he recognized at once, and whose presence invariably preceded the recital of important information. "to the degree that prince otondo had reason to suspect that his grandfather had certain of his servants subsidized at the kutub, he measured secretly by similar secret embassies at the delhi palace. "the egotistical old moghul, with a vanity which even his anomalous situation with the british had not impaired, wished to assure himself that he would be worthily succeeded, and the prince was equally solicitous concerning the advancing senility of the moghul. "in such bloodless intrigues this picturesque pair kept their servants engaged, until this germ of mutual distrust infected every dependent in the two households with that singular propensity to conspire which the studious historian of this mysterious country cannot have failed to record. "on this basis certain shrewd spirits among the british intruders at this period were able to discover more of the character of the people under their unwelcome rule, in a single establishment of native servants, than in the general observations of a hundred english households. "awaiting, therefore, the conclusion of the ceremonies of approach, upon which he always insisted and which were shortly to be rendered so absurd, the prince at last, calling the hindoo by name, demanded the occasion of his presence. "'it is an ill service, o prince,' replied the hindoo, 'which i am about to render you.' "'what, then?' exclaimed the prince. 'to the point, to the point!' "'your grandfather----' "'is dead?' inquired the prince with badly disguised eagerness. "'nay; worse.' "'proceed!' demanded the prince. 'what can be worse?' "'your grandfather,' replied the messenger, in evident haste to conclude a disagreeable task, 'has taken to himself a young wife.' "'ah!' cried the prince, startled into a degrading abandonment of his customary elevation of demeanor. 'the dotard, the imbecile! married? to whom?' "'a daughter of the house of nadis shah, rani rue.' "'i know her!' cried the prince savagely. 'implacable, ambitious, unscrupulous. what will she not attempt with that old driveller?' then, evidently impressed by something shadowed in the expression of his ill-omened mercury, he exclaimed: 'you have more to tell me?' "the hindoo bowed his head in perturbed affirmation. "'quickly, then!' demanded his august listener. "'the british forces have concentrated at the cantonment without the walls of delhi; a detachment is even now on the way to your palace, which they propose to seize and garrison.' "'ah!' murmured the prince, 'the freshet is turning to a deluge. is there more?' "'yes, o prince,' returned the hindoo; 'the british intend to hold you as a hostage for the safety of the english resident, who is a prisoner at the palace in delhi.' "'so!' exclaimed this royal reprobate as he reflected upon the picturesque possibilities to himself, in view of the sanguinary temptation which the helpless resident would present to the ambitious queen rani rue. 'how far in advance of the detachment are you?' "'about one hour's march.' "'this is short reckoning. you have hastened with leaden feet.' "'nay, your highness,' cried the hindoo, 'i came the instant i heard. there is still time to escape, and the way is known to you alone.' "'so be it,' returned the prince as an expression of savage determination compressed his thin lips and ignited baleful fires in his restless eyes. 'await me without; i will join you presently.' "as the hindoo turned to obey, the prince darted, with lithe haste, into the inner room and pressed the spring in the wall. "slowly the panel rolled aside and revealed the glittering pyramid of gems within. "from the depths, just in the rear of the priceless heap, he withdrew a sort of jacket, separated upon its upper edge into a series of openings similar to the partitions of a cartridge-belt. "into these, with a sort of clumsy trepidation, he began to pack the almost elusive portions of the gleaming mass of brilliants from the recess. "at the conclusion of fifteen vital minutes the prince had deposited the last of the gems in the receptacles of this curious jacket, and, if the reports of the hindoo were to be credited, the advancing british were that much nearer the kutub. "with desperate rapidity he disengaged the folds of the delicate cambric which covered the upper portion of his body, inserting the precious jacket beneath, and after adjusting it to his figure, strapped it securely in place and rearranged his attire into non-committal contours. "'and now,' he cried with an expression of savage determination, 'and now for the rarest gem of all!' and darting through the silken hangings which concealed his extreme of the passageway leading to the apartments of lal lu, he hastened along that dingy bypath and presently reached the threshold from which he had issued but a short time before with such little credit to himself. "without pausing to announce himself or consider the impropriety of his abrupt intrusion and its possible influence upon lal lu, the impetuous heir-apparent swept aside the curtains and rushed into the room. "startled at the rattling rings which held the hangings in place, and the impetuous swish of its folds, lal lu sprang to her feet and gazed with indignant rebuke upon the inconsiderate prince. "heedless of the unconcealed disdain of her glance and ignoring the presence of the furtive-eyed waiting-woman, he cried: "'lal lu, the time for further parley is past. the kutub is shortly to be attacked by the british. we must fly--come!' and the speaker advanced with unreflective haste to the side of the palpitating girl. "in an instant, however, his headlong progress was checked as lal lu, with a superb gesture, raised the gleaming dagger above her head and cried, encouraged by the lowering eyes of the evilly-expectant waiting-woman: 'with thee--never! i will die first!' "as the prince recoiled a step at sight of the flashing blade, lal lu, with contemptuous emphasis, exclaimed: 'be not afraid, prince otondo, this is not for thee. advance but a step and it will be but an empty casket that awaits thee!' "never had lal lu appeared so desirable in the eyes of this royal rogue, and never had he been more resolute to possess her. "with misleading quiet, therefore, he gazed upon the upraised hand which menaced the one unattained object of his desire. quickly he measured the distance between them. slowly he removed one foot behind the other. lightly he pressed the slipper's point upon the tessellated floor, and then with a leap of incredible quickness, he darted forward, caught the descending arm of lal lu in his grasp, and, with his disengaged hand, wrenched the dagger from her and threw it away from him into the center of the apartment. "but as rapidly as he had moved, the prince had not been able to prevent the incision which the dagger's point made in his wrist and from which a thin stream of blood issued. "'ah, ha, my beauty!' he cried as he released the struggling girl and retreated a step, the better to enjoy her discomfiture; 'ah, ha! i like thy spirit. i would not have thee mar the lovely casket which contains it. here!' he called to the waiting-woman, who had witnessed the episode and into whose quick eyes, which had detected the slight wound upon the wrist of the prince, there crept a strange, inexplicable expression of leering triumph, 'here, guard this maiden for a space. your life shall pay the penalty if aught befalls her in my absence. "'i shall return presently with the help i need to overcome such elevated objection'; and turning abruptly, the prince hastened toward the doorway, pausing a second to regain possession of the dagger which he had cast from him during the brief struggle. "'alas!' cried the unhappy girl, 'what shall i do? he has gone to get some of his creatures to help him in his evil purposes.' "for a moment a tense silence prevailed. "the next instant, with eerie, jubilant interruption, the waiting-woman made the very air shudder with a laugh of such shrill exultation and riotous abandon that lal lu, for a moment forgetful of her own extremity, gazed with unconcealed amazement and alarm upon the almost hysterical creature. "'ha, ha!' she raved; 'be not afraid, lal lu. this royal pest, this insolent prince, will trouble you no more; you will never see him again.' "'ha!' exclaimed lal lu. 'you seem strangely positive. what do you mean?' "'did you see that scratch which the point of your dagger made upon the wrist of the prince?' "'no,' replied lal lu, shrinking from the picture presented to her mind. "'well,' returned the grim-visaged woman with a return to her customary austerity, 'i did. the wound was slight; only a few easily subdued drops of blood followed; but, believe me, maiden, it will be sufficient.' "'what do you mean?' demanded lal lu. "'this,' returned the weird creature with repulsive, evil joy, which she made no attempt to disguise: 'the point of that dagger was steeped in the most deadly poison known in india. in twenty minutes, ha, ha! it is the prince who will be the empty casket.'" * * * * * as the sepoy reached this point in his narrative he paused with startling abruptness. raikes, no longer under the influence of the seductive cadences, looked up sharply. "well?" inquired the sepoy as he met the inquiring glance of his furtive auditor, "what of the flaw in the sapphire? can you trace the blemish?" "devil seize me!" exclaimed raikes, as he offered, by this apostrophe, an invitation which was certain, at no distant date, to be accepted. "devil seize me if i have thought of the sapphire!" and he began at once an apologetic inspection of the brilliant with the magnifying glass. "ha, ha!" laughed the sepoy. "i must congratulate myself upon my powers of narration." "aye!" replied raikes, as he continued his examination of the flaming bauble, "and also upon your irritating habit of concluding at the anxious moment. but see here," and he held the sapphire up to view; "i can see nothing wrong; possibly the light is bad. the searching glare of day is required to discover a blemish such as you speak of." "suppose you return to-morrow, then, directly after breakfast?" suggested the sepoy. "i want your judgment. i dare not trust my own; my blindness may be voluntary." "very well, then," assented raikes, who, now that he had nothing upon which to fasten his eyes, felt an easily comprehended uneasiness to leave the sepoy. "i will be here at that time"; and with his customary emotionless adieux the guilty creature slipped through the doorway and speeded like a shriveled shadow along the various passages. as he was about to enter his room he was hailed by his nephew. "uncle, you wanted to see me." "true," replied raikes, with a start of recollection, "i do; but suppose we postpone the interview until to-morrow." "very well," replied the young man easily, and raikes, entering his room, fastened the door with his usual elaborate precaution. his first movement was to disclose the interior of the recess containing his coin and his conscience. a rapid examination convinced him that no further depredations had been committed upon the former, and the latter he secreted in the pocket of his waistcoat along with the diamond, which flashed its unregarded rebuke into his eager eyes. at this juncture the singular drowsiness which had overtaken him so persistently in the past few days began to steep his dulling senses. warned by its approach, raikes began to put into execution a newly conceived plan of retiring for the night and effective vigil over his treasure-trove. hastily drawing a chair before the radiator, and placing directly in front of that the table, from which with a savage sweep of the arm he swept the dull heap of coals rattling to the floor, raikes established himself in the seat so provided and, leaning forward, awaited the final blandishments of the drowsiness which was not long in lulling him into that profound degree of slumber which is commonly supposed to be the reward of sound morals and christian resignation. (to be continued on dickey no. 3, series b.) * * * * * during the reading of this impossible helter-skelter of unrestrained imagination and composite style, the expression in the countenance of the listening woman had developed from its original sadness to an unmistakable geniality. the pensive droop of her lips, little by little, nestled away into a smiling seriousness, and when dennis, confronted with the habitual conclusion in italics, looked up with a grimace of recognition, his glance was met by a pair of kindly blue eyes, in which he believed he traced a charming suggestion of unaffected good fellowship. altogether unsuspected by himself, dennis, with his intent, intelligent countenance, and the contrasting vivacity of his rich, irish accent, had awakened an interest in the mind of his companion which months of adroit approach could not have achieved. his genuineness was unquestionable. his entire absorption in the story, his delightful and unconscious elimination of self, supplied this tired woman with elements of mental refreshment and genuine enjoyment which circumstances had compelled her to decide no longer existed. encouraged, therefore, by this unmistakable interest and the amiable attitude of attention which dennis, with characteristic ingenuousness, accepted as a tribute to the narrative, he exclaimed: "an' isn't it great, now? did you ever hear such a tale as that?" "i never did," was the smiling reply. "an' wasn't that raikes a div--a tight one, i mean?" "he was, indeed," assented the lady, as she reviewed this sordid character and the incidents surrounding him, and contrasted the tumult of phrase and situation with her genial addison and her placid irving. "an' would you like to hear the rest?" asked dennis, as he produced the remaining bosom of series b. "yes," replied the lady, "i believe i would. but just a moment before you begin," and regarding this oblivious young man with an expression in which a degree of speculation still lingered to tantalize its suggestion of frank indorsement, she hazarded: "you have not lived in new york long?" wondering at the acuteness of this observation, dennis responded by according to her the exact time of his brief residence. "ah!" exclaimed the lady, "i thought so." "may i ask," inquired dennis, wondering if, like the visitor from the bucolic district, he supplied unconscious data in his appearance for classification, "may i ask how you are able to tell that i'm here for a short time only?" "well," returned his companion with a degree of hesitation exquisitely refined as it shadowed through her fine countenance, and which she presently conquered as she replied to his question with that shade of frankness which, in the well-bred, can never be mistaken for anything else: "it requires about a year's residence in this bedlam to replace the genuine with the artificial; i see no evidence of such an unhappy transformation in you." "oh, i see," responded dennis. "an' you never will, either." "i am almost prepared to believe that," answered the lady with a reassuring cordiality which somehow indicated to this young man that she had already become convinced of more than she was willing to acknowledge. "you may do so entirely," said dennis simply. "now, one question more," continued his companion, "and do not consider me inquisitive, since i may have something to suggest to your advantage if your reply is satisfactory. what is your business?" dennis blushed. "my business?" he repeated with a droll accent and an amusing grimace; and then, encouraged by the friendly invitation and subtle encouragement in the manner of his sweet-faced listener, with a straightforward recital which the lady had expected from him, and which advanced him several leagues in her estimation, dennis recounted his experiences from the time of his arrival up to the present moment. "it isn't much," he concluded apologetically, "not anywhere as interesting as the dickey back; but it's all there is, an' it's true, every word." "it is more than you suspect," dissented his hearer. "you have enabled me to come to a decision, at least, and may help me to solve a vexed problem. in the meantime, let us finish the story. while you are reading my mind will clear; i will make my suggestion when you conclude." wondering, and yet with a prompt confidence which conveyed an agreeable flattery which the cleverest diplomacy could not have achieved, dennis, holding his absurd medium at a level which permitted him to receive the stimulation of a sympathetic glance now and then, began. chapter vii considering the unaccustomed position in which raikes had placed himself in arranging to retire the night before, he awoke with considerable astonishment to the realization that he had passed a night of undisturbed slumber. aside from a slight disposition to stretch his lean limbs unduly, and a feeling of insecurity attending his first efforts to stand, he was not aware of any inconvenience from his singular siesta. at last, after having re-established his creaking equilibrium and resumed his accustomed furtive regard of things, he was suddenly reminded by the shifted position of the furniture of the purpose of this makeshift barricade. at once the shuddering dread which had attended his recent visits to the secret recess returned with numbing chills and sinking spirit. he advanced his bony hand, gnarled and mean with useless abstemiousness and miserable abnegations, and revolved the button in the concave. in response, the false register swung back; in another tense moment the inner space was revealed, and his treasury laid bare. for an instant, in the manner of an apprehensive child who postpones as long as possible some unwelcome confirmation, raikes closed his eyes, and when he opened them again they rested, with unerring precision, upon a bag somewhat detached from the others, which protruded at its sides with those frightful points and angles with which he had become so unhappily familiar of late. with a smothered cry he sprang forward, gripped the bag in a trembling, faltering clutch, and dropped it with a groan to the floor, where it fell with a heart-breaking, distracting lightness, which, nevertheless, smote like a mighty weight upon his bursting heart. "my god!" he cried, "this is incredible!" and the miserable creature stood for a moment with an appalling vacancy shadowing in his countenance, which was illumed for one fitful moment with a ray of hope as he inserted his hand in his waistcoat pocket to assure himself that the diamond which he had placed in that receptacle the night before at least was safe. the diamond--ah, yes! there was still some consolation in that. its value still maintained a close proportion to his loss. if there was no gain there was, at least, a sort of evil restitution. but his exploring fingers found only an empty pocket. in a palsy of fear, and with the demeanor of one who feels the first twinge of a mortal affliction and awaits in fearful silence the grewsome confirmation of another, he stood without sound or motion, his set, staring eyes directed with unseeing intensity upon the vacant air. the next instant, with feverish animation and impotent apprehension, five writhing fingers leaped from their futile search, like scotched reptiles, into the opposite pocket and withdrew the two useless keys with which he fastened his abortive latch on the door. and then, with a frightful glitter in his eyes, an ugly ooze about his bloodless lips, a flickering effort of his shriveled fingers to adjust themselves to some ribald rhythm, raikes began to sing, with the dry rasp and ancient husk of a galvanized sphinx: "and her name it was dinah, scarce sixteen years old; she'd a very large fortune in greenbacks and gold. sing turi-li-luri---ha, ha! ha, ha!" and supporting himself along the wall he made his way slowly to the threshold, unfastened the locks, removed the heavy bar, opened the door, and cried out in a voice that was not human, that shuddered its way along the chill passage through the shrinking air: "robert--robert!" and then, reeling, stumbling toward a near-by chair, he fell ere he could reach it, in utter collapse to the floor, and lay there--shriveled, grotesque, in no way pathetic, in all points contemptible, as his nephew, in response to his uncle's unearthly summons, rushed into the room, followed by the wide-eyed spinster. for three days during the week that followed raikes lay oblivious to the considerations of loss or gain. the utmost of the young medical attendant, who had been selected on the basis of the small charges incident to a beginning practice, had failed to restore the emaciated man to his suspended consciousness, until, toward the morning of the fourth day, the spinster, who sat near-by in weary vigil, was startled to behold the dull eyes of her brother fastened upon her with the faraway, questioning look of one returning from the confines of the nether to the sharp realities of existence. "rodman?" she inquired with anxious interrogation. in response the thin lips of the sufferer moved slowly. approaching the bed, his sister, leaning over the unfortunate raikes, heard him articulate with difficulty "water!" supporting his head with one hand, the spinster supplied his feebly-sighed request, and when the last difficult swallow conveyed the refreshing draught along his fevered throat, she restored his head to the pillow and awaited developments. as she sat at the bedside in an attitude of fearful expectation, it was evident that some transformation, more wholesome than subtle, had manifested itself in the mien and physique of his nurse. a large degree of her pitiful attenuity had vanished; a legible vestige of placid well-being seemed to have replaced the hunger of her eyes; there was a vague, unsubstantial promise of possible comeliness in the restoration of her cheeks. aware of these changes herself, and fearful lest her brother's sharp eyes would discover them, the spinster recalled, with a sort of troubled gratification, the occasion of the improvement. undisturbed by the rebuking glances of the abstemious raikes, and secretly abetted by the amused sepoy, the poor woman had enjoyed the privileges of the table with a relish and surrender which had begun to result in the manner indicated. for several days previous to the catastrophe which had concluded in the prostration of her brother, the spinster had supplied the cravings of her appetite with a gusto that was a revelation to her, and which would have evoked a profound rebuke from the wretched creature on the bed. it was therefore with secret misgiving and a qualified delight she heard her brother at last call feebly: "sarah!" in answer to the exhausted interrogation in his utterance of the name, his sister hastened to recount to him the incident of his collapse and his subsequent unconsciousness. little by little his intelligence began to resume its abandoned functions, and at last he recalled the whole evil situation. "where's robert?" he said. "i want him." "i will send him to you," exclaimed his sister, and she hastened from the room. "well, uncle!" exclaimed robert as he entered with a cheerfulness he was far from feeling as he witnessed that emaciated countenance; "better, i see." "i congratulate you upon your imagination," replied raikes, with a feeble attempt at his customary incivility; "but lock the door and listen to me carefully." these instructions complied with, robert seated himself in the chair just vacated by the spinster, which provided his uncle an unobstructed view of the embonpoint and general aspect of well-being which were so obnoxious to the singular man on the bed. "in the first place," resumed raikes weakly, "move the bed around so that i can see the register in the wall." the wondering robert did as he was ordered. "take hold of the button that moves the valves and pull it toward you." robert followed these instructions minutely, and to his astonishment and the miser's consternation the radiator itself swung away from the wall. "what!" cried the startled invalid as he beheld this confirmation of his fear that he had neglected to spring the catch that held the radiator on the occasion of the mishap which resulted in his confinement to the bed, "look within. is the inner compartment closed?" "no!" replied robert. "my god!" groaned raikes as he realized that his treasury had been thus unguarded during his illness. "tell me how many bags there are." robert removed them one by one, and deposited them on the table. as the miser followed the movements of his nephew with anxious notation, a sigh of unutterable relief welled from the innermost depths of his bosom. the bags had been untouched! there was no further loss, and the clinking weight assured him that his nocturnal visitor had made no more of his gross substitutions. "listen, robert," said raikes with laborious amiability, as his astonished nephew seated himself near the bedside, "it has been my purpose to conceal this hiding place from any living soul, but i find that i have not succeeded. "some one has made three visits to that recess and helped himself to as many bags of coin." robert, remembering his uncle's well-known secrecy and the unusual precautions taken by him to secure his room from intrusion, looked his incredulity, which stimulated raikes into exclaiming: "ah, but you do not know how incredible it is. wait until you hear all. you will wonder what human agency could penetrate these locks, open the doors of this hiding place, extract the plunder, restore the locks to their original condition, and re-issue into the passageway without disturbing the latches or the crossbar. my losses are supernatural. now follow me carefully and confess that you have not heard anything so ghastly, so unreal as what i am about to relate." as raikes proceeded in his narrative, his nephew was at first inclined to receive these weird confidences as features of the unhappy man's condition, but as the latter progressed, with a constantly increasing degree of his customary emotionless lucidity, his sincerity became apparent. "and now," concluded raikes, "what have you to say to all this? is it not worthy of a poe or a maupassant? i tell you, i must have some explanation of this mystery or i shall go mad." during this singular recital the young man's mind, stimulated by the eerie perplexities and the unhappy dénouement, had been busy. it was not difficult to convince himself of the futility of any of his own speculations; the nearness of the calamity affected him, in a degree, as it did the withered invalid. he had a sound brain, nourished by a well sustained body; his intelligence was apt and rapid, but these unheard-of complications demanded a morbid analysis of which he was incapable. on this basis, however, as his uncle had proceeded, robert had been able to develop a suggestion; he could offer that, at least. in reply, therefore, to the feverish questions of his uncle, the young man said: "in so far as i am able to see, your disasters have narrowed your range of discernment. they are too recent; they affect you too nearly. under such conditions we take counsel of our prejudices instead of our judgment. your thoughts are apt to return to the central feature of your loss. it is not natural to expect one to dismiss such a consideration in order to make way for others which might help you in your search. "on my part, the incident is new and stimulating, but the ideas it awakens lead to nothing. however, i should not regard the case as impossible until i had tried at least one means of solution." "what is that?" demanded raikes, diverted, if not convinced, by the sensible observations of his nephew. "you have heard of gratz?" inquired robert. "of the secret service?" "yes." "ah!" cried the old man; "to submit the case to him means another in the secret, with little prospect of advantage." "i am not so sure about that," returned robert. "do you recall the dupont mystery?" raikes nodded. "well," continued robert, "you must also remember the belmont scandal. gratz certainly let daylight into that." "ah," cried raikes, "i do not like your suggestions; they encourage me and alarm me at the same time. think of the cost." irritated at the intrusion of this frugal proviso at this juncture, robert exclaimed with some warmth: "yes, but think, also, how insignificant that would be if he discovered the thief and recovered the money." "if--if----" repeated raikes with impatience. "and i can say this," continued robert: "it is the ambition of gratz to be appointed chief of the bureau to which he belongs. whatever can be placed to his credit in the meantime will serve as an additional reason for his advancement. "i believe that he would be more persuaded to undertake the case with this prospect in view than for a mercenary reason." "but," interrupted raikes, "can you get him?" "i think i can answer for that," replied robert. "i know him very well. if you will consent to leave the matter in my hands, i will attend to gratz." "well," exclaimed raikes, as robert concluded, "have it your own way; anything is better than this killing suspense. i do not believe that i could endure a repetition of the incidents of the last few nights. but return the bags before you go, and shut the radiator; it will lock in closing." when robert at last reached the dining-room he discovered his aunt at the table, seated opposite the sepoy. instructing the spinster to resume her vigil until his return, robert proceeded to his own table, and from that point of observation occupied himself, during the next twenty minutes, partly with his breakfast and partly in regarding this illy-assorted duet. the sepoy was as gravely urbane as ever; his browns and blacks intermingled harmoniously; his eyes were bright; his teeth still suggestive of restrained sarcasm in their dull, red sheaths, as, with grave courtesy, he made himself agreeable to his companion by abetting her newly-awakened appetite with recommendations of the steak and eulogies of the butter. the spinster was no longer ravenous; the advantages she had enjoyed during the absence of her domestic argus had made her cravings more equable, and she accepted the edible suggestions of the sepoy with an approach to placid satisfaction that hinted at the imminence of repletion. this disposition to make the most of her privileges, with what composure she could assume, would have added the basis of a serious relapse on the part of the invalid could he have witnessed the phenomenon. it was remarkable how promptly the poor creature evinced the effects of her nourishment. beginning, as already indicated, with a logical indigestion, she progressed to the point of a possible filling out of the crevices of her countenance, and her eyes certainly had lost the expression of appeal characteristic of the mendicant in the doorway. all this, minutely noted by her watchful nephew, was thoroughly enjoyed with a sort of chuckling collusion and vicarious gratification. on her return to the invalid she was requested by him to provide whatever nourishment was needed, and then to leave him alone for a couple of hours. these instructions fulfilled, the spinster sought the retirement of her room, surrendered herself to the enjoyment of reminiscent digestion, and raikes began to pull himself together. his method was characteristic. on the basis that he could not afford to enjoy himself like any normally constituted being, he assured his mind that he could not submit to the expense of illness. according to his rigid logic, sickness was more the result of indulgence than self-denial. he proposed to have the credit of his abnegations. therefore he directed his perverse will to the contemplation of the rational aspect of his condition, and presently had managed to convince himself that if he did not entertain the belief of suffering, this untoward condition would cease to exist. as this singular being combatted all that was unwelcome to this point of view, the grim lines tightened about the corners of his mouth, the deep fissures in his forehead established a communication with the obstinate wrinkles at the root of his nose, and by noon he was well on his way to the mastery of his indisposition, and by nightfall he scandalized the young medical attendant by standing up to receive him. extending to himself a chuckling tribute of his resolution, he received the incredulity of his nephew as additional indorsement when the latter made his appearance that evening, accompanied by the colorless negation of a man whom he could scarcely persuade himself to believe was the celebrated gratz. however, no more ideal countenance could have been created for the purposes to which it was applied by its owner. pallid, expressionless, vacant, it was as nearly a canvas upon which to delineate almost anything in the range of emotion as it was possible for a visage of flesh and blood to be. as to the details of features, these were altogether subordinate, and as devoid of physiognomical meaning as the dull integument which encompassed them. it had about the same amount of character as a bald baby. one received the impression that a seismic disturbance might awaken some show of emotion, but design--never. and yet, behind that pale disguise, between sleepy, level lids, two points of concentrated fire and ceaseless animation gleamed their startling significance to any one able to comprehend. in stature he was adjusted to his visage. his frame was lean enough to repudiate the incredible agility and recuperative strength it housed, and his carriage was consistently "out of plumb." altogether it was an identity that would have been overlooked in any gathering, and was almost nondescript enough to establish an eligibility to the most exclusive function. this unpromising ensemble, however, was not misleading to raikes, who had looked up quickly at the first appearance of the detective, and had seen the sharp, penetrating glance with which gratz had for an instant surveyed the apartment. moreover, the very leanness of the famous official appealed to him. here, at least, were none of the obnoxious evidences of repletion which he viewed with such disapprobation in his sturdier nephew. the man's attire, too, commended him to the starved graces of his spare host. it was as characterless as it was possible for fabric to be, and considered with his meager physique and vacant physiognomy, was a fitting complement to both; an adjustment of component detail too consistent to have been the needless aspect it was designed to present. with a voice in which the character had been trained away as surely as the charity from the opinions of the social élite, this descendant of lecocq accosted his patron, and with business-like brevity indicated that he was already familiar with the situation as outlined by robert, and if mr. raikes would consent to reply to a few questions it would facilitate matters. his hearer indicated that he was entirely at the disposal of the detective. with characteristic concentration, therefore, gratz began: "do you suspect anybody in particular?" "no." "that is singular," commented gratz. "may i ask why? under such circumstances the mind generally proceeds in some unhappy direction." "not in this instance," returned raikes. "before i suspect any one, i must assign to him supernatural powers, almost. i will have to explain how it is possible for any one to enter this room, penetrate that recess, make the substitution, and retire, leaving the door in the same condition, precisely as left by me the night before." "that is the point," replied gratz. then, after a moment's reflection, he inquired: "am i at liberty to nose around this room?" "help yourself," answered raikes. with this assent, gratz hurried to the window, examined the sash, considered the sheer depths immediately below, its lack of vicinity to other windows, and last, the strong fastenings, to disturb which would involve a degree of rasp and wrench sufficient to disturb the slumbers of a rip van winkle. with a countenance as impassive as ever, he returned to raikes and said: "now for the hiding place." with a grimace of reluctant acquiescence, raikes, closely regarded by the detective, proceeded to the button in the concave, which he moved with slow manipulation for the edification of the alert watcher, who witnessed, without comment, the displacement of the register and the subsequent revelation of the inner compartment. "remove the bags." at the conclusion of this labor, this impenetrable being produced a small rod of steel from one of his pockets, one end of which concluded in a round knob. with this he proceeded to rap the walls of the inner recess, a proceeding of which raikes inquired the purpose. "i want to ascertain," replied gratz, "if there is any vacancy on the other side." "i could have saved you all that trouble," replied raikes. "this is a false radiator, the real flue is on the other side of the room. "the rear of this small safe backs up against nearly two feet of solid brickwork. "exactly behind that is a room occupied by one no more burglarious than a dressmaker's apprentice." "thank you," replied gratz. "your information is helpful, but i am never satisfied to rely upon description when investigation is possible. "whatever deductions i make from this examination i do not want disturbed, so all the doubts they dissipate are not likely to intrude upon my calculations again." after a few further taps, in which raikes could see no better purpose than to retire from an embarrassing position with some show of satisfied motive, gratz directed that the bags be returned. for the next few minutes he busied himself with the locks, upon which he experimented with the extraordinary keys which raikes had given him. he shot the bolts backward and forward; noted the stout bar and the precautions for keeping it in place, and then resumed the seat near the table. after a few moments he said: "tell me what has occurred to you between sunrise and sunset during the last three days." raikes recounted his usual round of petty detail, which had no possible bearing upon the problem. when he had concluded this meager résumé, gratz continued: "now tell me about the nights." raikes complied with a statement of his careful precautions; the watch of his sister upon the doorway during his absence, and his visits to the room of the sepoy. "the sepoy?" inquired gratz. "why do you call him that?" "on account of his swarthy complexion, his bright eyes, and his general alien aspect," replied robert. "describe him to me as carefully as you can," said gratz. when robert had concluded his brief delineation, raikes hastened to inquire: "why do you ask about him so particularly? he could no more enter my room, under the conditions i have described to you, than you could." "i realize that," admitted the detective, "but i gather from what you have just said that you visit this sepoy, as you call him, with some degree of regularity. may i ask if you have business transactions with him?" "i have not," replied raikes. then, in response to the unchanging look of inquiry in the countenance of the detective, he added: "the sepoy has been telling me an extraordinary story. it has been too elaborate to confine to one sitting, and my purpose in re-visiting him was to get at the conclusion. it is most interesting, and apparently interminable." "would you object to relating it to me?" inquired gratz. "heavens!" cried raikes, aghast at the prospect of the extended effort which this would impose upon him. "is it necessary?" "i would not be surprised," replied gratz. "at any rate, if your story is more mysterious than the predicament which confronts us, it must be worth hearing." with an ill grace, after making the elaborate arrangements which usually precede a protracted campaign, raikes hastened to comply with the request of the detective. as he proceeded, he was startled to note, now that he made his first conscious effort to review the weird recital of the sepoy, just how vividly the incidents presented themselves. aside from the phraseology, he recounted, in precise order, the incredible incidents, and by the time he had reached the climax in the first division of his effort his hearers were interested enough to hasten through a light meal, which, at the suggestion of gratz, had been sent to the room they occupied. with something of the calculation of the sepoy, or remembering, perhaps, the effect which his abrupt terminations had upon him, raikes contrived his irritating pauses with remorseless enjoyment and the ostensible purpose of stimulating his sorely taxed energies with draughts of brandy and water. in this way raikes consumed the time until the hour of eleven, which enabled him to develop the narrative to the point at which the sepoy had concluded. "and now," exclaimed raikes with unmistakable relief, as he signified that his hearers were in possession of all he knew, "and now will you kindly tell me what you expect to gain by this tedious task you have imposed upon me?" gratz did not reply at once, but after a few moments of reflection, he asked, apparently ignoring the question of the narrator: "will you give me the keys of this building you occupy, and indicate to me the means of rummaging about the other building on the opposite side of the wall?" "if it is necessary," replied raikes with grudging assent. "why else should i make the request?" suggested gratz with emotionless directness of speech and a momentary gleam of the eyes. "true!" responded raikes. "now," exclaimed gratz, when the various keys were placed in his hand, "you can sleep in peace to-night, and bolt your doors with all the assurance in the world, for i guarantee that your property will be undisturbed." then turning to robert, he said: "i want you to guide me for a short while, and as soon as i get my bearings you can retire." at this the two bade the thoroughly exhausted raikes good-night and departed from the room, which the miser hastily secured with his usual precautions. without, robert soon discovered that his services were no longer required, and at the suggestion of the detective he retired, after indicating to this curious official that when he had concluded his investigations he would find a cot in his room which he was at liberty to occupy. as dawn began to make its appearance on the ensuing morning, robert was disturbed by a curious dream. he appeared to be alone upon a fragile raft in the midst of a destructive sea. bit by bit the hastily joined structure upon which he rode the waters so insecurely began to disintegrate, until but one scarcely sufficing plank remained. to this, however, he clung with rapidly failing strength, shouting at intervals with what vim remained, in an attempt to attract the attention of the keepers of the light, not far away. but with devilish perversity, an immense fog-horn sent forth a heavy blast seaward precisely at the moments he raised his voice. no matter how far apart or how near he planned the intervals, he was bound to coincide with the deafening horn. at last in despair he desisted in his efforts, and the monster horn, with hoarse mockery, continued its grewsome noises at dismal intervals, until one, more stentorian than the others, caused the very tempest to hush, and robert awoke to discover gratz the cause of his fictitious misery, sleeping upon the cot near the foot of his bed, emitting a series of snores which had managed to communicate their odious telepathy to his slumbering consciousness. as this singular being lay there in the relaxation and undisguise to which the most diplomatic must submit at times, his countenance, so impassive in his wakeful hours, depicted singular lines of determination. an expression of tense anxiety contracted his features; resolution held the thin lips in rigid partnership; there was a hint of purpose in the solitary wrinkle which corrugated his forehead; the general aspect was impressive, its suggestion indefatigable. in this paradoxical fashion, the emotions, concealed during the day, revealed themselves at night. what in others would have concluded in a vacant mien and colorless repose, in him expressed all that he was so sedulous to conceal. scarcely had robert placed his feet upon the floor when gratz opened his eyes, awakened partly by the sounds of rising and partly by his tumult of snores, and in an instant the flaccid mask descended over his face, and gratz was his apathetic self again. "well?" inquired robert. "you have said it," replied gratz; "it is well." "you have succeeded, then?" demanded robert breathlessly. "i believe so; but do not question me further just now. i want to see your uncle before i go." a few moments later the two presented themselves before the closed door leading to the apartment occupied by raikes, whom they fancied they could hear stirring about within. in answer to their raps, he opened the door and they entered. "what news?" demanded raikes. "the best, i hope; but i will not communicate it to you until to-morrow morning." "ah!" exclaimed raikes with manifest disappointment. "but," continued gratz, as he noted the expression on the face of the other, "at that time i fancy that i shall not only have solved the mystery but i will also secure the thief." "do you know him, then?" asked raikes. "you are wrong," replied gratz. "unless i am seriously mistaken, there are two." "two!" repeated raikes incredulously. "yes--but listen: i am anxious to hear the conclusion of that remarkable story you began last night." "but," objected raikes, "i have already told you all i know." "i am aware of that," answered the detective, "but your friend, the sepoy, will doubtless oblige you with the balance. arrange with him at breakfast-time for a continuation. i will return either to-night or to-morrow morning to hear it." "but----" began raikes. "do not refuse to do as i ask," urged gratz impressively. "it may be useful; i'm inclined to think it will." "very well," answered raikes. "i will do as you suggest." "and," continued gratz, "i need not assure you that if a living soul learns of my presence here last night, i can do nothing for you." "i understand," said raikes. "and i," added robert. with this gratz departed, and raikes prepared to make his appearance in the dining-room. advised of the intention of her brother to breakfast at the table, the spinster had hastened to precede him, and by the time raikes presented himself she had managed to bestow a couple of furtive biscuits in her pocket, and had devoured another couple, lavishly buttered, accompanied by a fairly liberal cut of beefsteak. consequently, when raikes conveyed his customary intimation that she was at liberty to begin, the spinster obediently proceeded to add a moderate breakfast to the one she had already enjoyed. trembling lest her brother would remark the developing suggestions of well-being which had resulted from her recent regimen, she welcomed with genuine relief the advent of the sepoy, to whom raikes transferred his speculative glance. "well!" exclaimed the sepoy, "you have had quite a siege, i hear." "i have," replied raikes shortly; then added with a sort of grim humor: "my physician has recommended a little diversion, and i have just thought of a simple way of following his advice." "what is that?" asked the sepoy. "i would like to present myself at the usual hour and hear the conclusion of the story, for i judge, from the predicament of prince otondo, that the end is not far off." "ah, you remember?" exclaimed the sepoy. "decidedly!" replied raikes. "very well, then," returned the other. "come at ten and i will gather the tangled threads together." during the balance of that day raikes devoted his powers of concentration to the consummation of the treatment to which he had subjected himself, and this, together with the prospect of the recovery of his property, resulted in a condition which made the visits of the astonished physician no longer necessary. with an eagerness intensified to a childish impatience, almost, by the vague suggestions of gratz that the story would be personally interesting, and exhausting his mind with futile speculations as to the manner of its application to the unnatural conditions which distressed him so, raikes at last concluded his contemplation of the clock, and promptly upon the stroke of ten, hastened from his room and hurried to the apartment occupied by the sepoy. seating himself in the chair indicated by his host, he shortly found that he was unable to avoid recalling his recent guilty appropriation of the diamond, and a degree of confusion, which he could not entirely disguise, manifested itself in his difficulty of adjusting his eyes to the inscrutable gaze of the sepoy. on this occasion the narrator, as hitherto, did not provide his auditor with a brilliant to look upon during the progress of the story--an omission that was radiantly repaired by the two lambent gems in the eyes of the former. upon these the shifting gaze of the restless listener finally fastened itself with a fascination which he found it impossible to resist, and the sepoy, with all the modulated lights and shadows of ardor, animation, lethargy, somnolence, peace, with which he complemented his sedative phrases, began: (_the conclusion of this interesting tale will be found on bosom no. 1, dickey series c_.) as dennis looked up from his reading, a pair of eyes of unclouded blue, vivid with interest and altogether friendly, met his animated glance. with alert intuition his sweet-faced auditor believed that she discovered a shadow of vexation in the ingenuous countenance of the reader. "what is it?" she asked. to dennis, in his absorption, it seemed impossible that the question could refer to anything else than the habitual disability at the end of each chapter, and he answered promptly: "'tis the way the dickey ends--to be concluded in series c--an' it's me here an' series c in baxter street, so i can't read the rest; it's too bad, so it is." "so it is," repeated the lady softly, with a dexterous parody of his concluding words, but with a subtle intimation in her manner that she did not consider the inconvenient termination such a misfortune, after all, and that it somehow suggested an alternative that was not displeasing. "do you want to hear the rest?" asked dennis frankly. "i do, indeed," replied his companion with an adroitly conveyed insinuation of disappointed expectation that seemed to place the responsibility of measuring to this agreeable emergency entirely upon dennis. the same degree of sensitiveness which leaves an irishman so open to offense, enables him, with equal celerity, to comprehend a hint, and dennis, when he realized that the lady understood that the continuation of the tale involved a subsequent reading, exclaimed, with a delicious paraphrase of sancho panza: "god bless the man who first invented '_continued in our next!_'" presently the one certain that her telepathy had not miscarried, and the other equally convinced that his reception of the message was accredited to him, the conversation was given an abrupt direction by an apparently alien question: "do you know anything about flowers?" asked his companion. "only the difference between a rose and a cauliflower," replied dennis with a twinkle in his eye, to which the lady responded with a shade of disappointment. "an' why flowers?" asked dennis. "listen!" answered the lady with a slight return of her original sadness. "eleven months ago i was left a widow. "my husband's estate consisted of a moderate amount of life insurance, a prosperous business, and no debts. "he was a florist. "the establishment is located in the heart of a very fashionable district. "there has scarcely been a function of the élite in this section which my husband has not supplied with floral decorations. "his taste was exquisite, and his taste was his undoing, for he added refinement to refinement until he began to lose sight of the practical side of existence. "by degrees he became as attenuated as some of the tendrils he cultivated with such absorption, and as frail as an orchid. "the intrusion of a pronounced scent was sufficient to induce a serious nervous disturbance, and he could no more endure disproportionate and sharp distinctions of color than a lapidary could tolerate a serious unevenness of facets. "i was compelled to paper his room with a delicate shade of lavender. "the furniture was stained a light buff, and the upholstering was a delicate cretonne livened by exquisite tracings of wisteria. "the carpet was light blue, surrounded by a border of deeper blue, lightly emphasized by suggestions of trailing arbutus. "despite all this," continued the lady sadly as she paused to enjoy an intentness of interest on the part of the bewildered dennis, so profound that the dickey backs had been permitted to fall unregarded to the ground, and their printed extravagances, by contrast with this unusual recital, relegated to the most prosaic of occurrences, "despite all these precautions, the most carefully guarded recesses are not entirely secure. "for one day an elaborately protected package arrived during my absence, and my husband opened it. "at once a pungent, overpowering sweetness filled the air, and the very surfeit of its fragrance threw my husband into a convulsion of delight which ended in a stupor so replete that we were able only to restore the poor man to consciousness by hypodermics of--what was to him a most violent stimulant--cambric tea." dennis looked his astonishment at these accumulating refinements, and in the pause that followed the narration of this last episode he inquired, with the appreciative hesitation of one who is reluctant to advance lest he destroy the dew-gemmed tracery of a fragile spider's web. "an' what kind of flowers did all this?" "cape jessamine," replied the lady; "and we were never able to discover who sent them. "his physicians claimed that his disorder was paralleled by similar disturbances instanced in pathological records, but that the contributing causes were different and that my husband's particular debility was not induced by his devotion to flowers but aggravated by it. "to further complicate matters, the physician assured me that to deprive the invalid of his floral diversions would be to remove his remaining impulse to continued existence. "he went on to say that he had reached the limit of his skill, and that nothing further was to be done than to surround the sufferer with placid considerations and neutral odors, and intimated that he disliked to contemplate the possible result of a second contact with cape jessamine. "in a short time it became evident that i possessed merely the essence of a husband, and one day, as he wafted--that's the word, for his step seemed to be almost devoid of specific gravity--so i repeat, one day, as he wafted to the room in which he usually experimented with his floral attenuations, i happened to be engaged in the dwelling adjoining the conservatory and into which it opened. "presently, my duties concluded, i proceeded in the direction taken by my husband. "as i advanced i grew momently conscious of a ravishing fragrance which seemed to pervade and invite the consciousness to all varieties of agreeable surrender. "ah!--in a moment i recognized this pungent delight: cape jessamine! "aware of the consequences to him should he inhale anything so transporting, i hastened forward. "the fragrance grew stronger as i hurried on. it seemed to envelop every delicate, fainting scent in the conservatory, and as i placed my hand upon the door-latch leading to the section where i was positive my husband would be found, i knew that i had traced the occasion to its source. "in another second i had opened the door, and there, a few feet away, lay my unfortunate husband. "i hurried to his side. "his countenance, which exhibited that singular placidity which sometimes comes with death, was as serene as a lily, and gave no evidence of the convulsion that must have ensued. "he was dead. "all about him, distributed with devilish malignity and criminal intent, were various clusters of the flowers that had transported him, literally." "my god!" exclaimed dennis. "what a situation!" "wasn't it?" exclaimed the widow. "it almost equals the story on the dickeys." "equals!" exclaimed dennis with profound conviction. "i don't know that i care to read the balance of the story after this. do you know the guilty party?" "i think so," answered the widow; "but you can judge for yourself as i proceed. "now follow me closely." there was no need of this advice, for dennis would not have missed a word for the world, and gazed upon the sweet-faced narrator with a sort of superstitious admiration as she continued: "since his death the patronage is larger than ever. "i now find myself confronted with what is equivalent to an embarrassment of riches on the one hand, and a famine of intelligent help on the other." at this statement dennis attempted not to appear too deeply interested. "i employ a manager, the one we have always had, who desires to become a partner in the business; but his proposition is handicapped by the character of the consideration he is willing to offer for such an interest. "in other words, he considers that a proposal of marriage is an equivalent for any financial objection i may suggest." despite his efforts, dennis looked troubled. the lady smiled and continued: "i received this proposition two months since. its suddenness surprised a plan which i have been perfecting for a long time. "in order to avoid any interruption to my purposes, i permitted the manager to believe that i was impressed with his offer, but desired a little time for consideration." "an' true, now," asked dennis with genuine irish impulse, "an' true, now, were you?" the lady smiled again. "wait," she urged, "you shall see. "i have never trusted this man. he is not only personally obnoxious to me, but i fear that i cannot rely upon his business integrity. "little by little, i have gathered together the threads of the business, and i now have a strong legal grip upon the situation, which enables me to decline this alliance with no possible jeopardy to the property. "but one consideration restrains me: i need a man of enterprise and address to succeed him. and now," she added with a simple, business-like directness, "i have a suggestion to offer: "you ransack baxter street to-morrow for dickey series c, and come with it to this address," and she placed a small card in his hand. "we can reach the end of the story, in which i am exceedingly interested, and when we have set our minds at rest on that point, i will give myself the pleasure of listening to whatever recommendations you may offer as to your fitness to take the place of the retiring management." "oh!" exclaimed dennis as he went through an absurd pantomime of punching himself, "an' is it awake you are, dennis muldoon?" at this the lady, with a cordial smile, indicated that the interview was at an end, and as she turned to depart, said: "you will come, then, to-morrow night?" and dennis, hat in hand, with an unmistakable deference of attitude and demeanor, cheerily responded with a query that required no further answer than a rosy acknowledgment: "will a duck swim?" chapter viii on the succeeding morning it seemed to the foreman of the shipping department of the publishers that his new marker did not manifest the same enthusiasm for his work which had distinguished his earlier efforts. it looked to him as if dennis handled his paint-brush with the mien of one who considered his occupation a diversion rather than a means of livelihood. as the day advanced and dennis located an "e" in the spot designed for an "i," and concluded an address with detroit in place of duluth, the foreman was more than ever convinced that something was wrong, and asked the young man if he was not feeling well. "sure!" exclaimed dennis, a degree too cheerily, the foreman thought, in view of his delinquencies with the brush, "sure; but why do you ask?" "well," returned the foreman, "iv'ry thing's wid you this mornin' but yure head," and he pointed out several blunders which dennis had made. "sure, an' i'm sorry for that," he said with blushing contriteness; "it will not happen again." the foreman, however, had told the truth only in part, for dennis had left not only his head behind him, but a considerable portion of his heart. all day he continued to think about the sweet-faced woman who had listened with such gratifying attention to the story, and more than once, in his agreeable preoccupation, had he noted an impulse to substitute the address she had provided for the one demanded by the shipping invoices. "to-night at eight," he repeated to himself over and over, like the refrain of a popular ballad, invariably concluding, by way of chorus: "oh, i'll be there; oh, i'll be there." therefore, as soon as his day's duties were over, dennis speeded to baxter street in search of dickey series c. after a foray in a half dozen separate establishments, where neckties, collars and all the accessories were offered in place of what he required, he succeeded at last in securing the missing series. at the stag he was so full of emotion and anticipation that there was little room for such a substantial consideration as supper, so, dismissing that he proceeded to his room, and after indulging in the luxury of one of the few genuine shirts which remained to him, he anticipated his appointment a half hour by boarding the elevated, which carried him shortly to a point within three blocks of his destination. in order that he might not appear too anxious or come into a premature collision with social usage, dennis obliged himself to walk slowly in the vicinity indicated by the address. the general aspect of his immediate surroundings looked promising and offered a comfortable assurance that his visit would not introduce him to a disappointment. at last, from the opposite side of the street, he was able to measure, with an approving glance, a prepossessing dwelling of four stories and a mansard. the front was of brown stone and differed but little from its neighbors, but to dennis it seemed that it possessed an identity which was largely the recollection of the lingering presence of its owner. directly alongside, a large conservatory extended rearward an indefinite length. the glittering front was picturesque with clusters of ingeniously disposed electric lights within, which revealed to advantage a mass of varied plants and flowers in prosperous abundance. charmed by the glow and color, and stimulated by the dancing lights, dennis presented himself "on the minute" before the door of the adjacent dwelling. in response to his ring, a trim, bright-eyed maid appeared, who, accepting his name in place of his card with an amiable lack of surprise, instructed him to enter, which he did, with alert, observing eyes. although dennis was not much of a judge of the elaborate surroundings in which he found himself, he figured it out that the business of a florist must be a profitable one, and speculated, with wondering calculation, upon the length of time and the degree of application demanded to enable him to possess similar advantages. acting upon the parting instructions of the widow, dennis had already canvassed his eligible points and was prepared to give an account of himself that was little short of eulogy. at this juncture in his reflections the hangings at the parlor entrance parted with a musical swish that was suggestive of feminine approach, and the widow advanced into the room, with one slender hand extended in cordial informality. if this woman had seemed charming to him in the park, she was certainly bewitching now. the street costume in which she had first appeared was replaced by a gown of some clinging white fabric, which shimmered the light with a thousand blending radiations and fitted to every movement and contour like an embrace conscious of its privileges. a delicate collar of filmy lace surrounded her neck like the intricate etchings of frost upon frost, and this was fastened with a solitary pearl as chaste as the exquisite skin with which it managed to offer only the faintest contrast. her head, crowned with a wavy nimbus of titian auburn, was superbly set upon her fine, symmetrical shoulders. as she flashed upon the vision of this palpitating young man through the parting curtains, like a dramatic climax or the goddess of reward, or denunciation, she seemed to dennis, whose mythology was centralized from that moment, like another aphrodite churned into lovely being by the sea. at the entrance of this beautiful woman dennis had risen to his feet, and stood for a moment, offering, with his helpless silence, a compliment whose genuineness she thoroughly enjoyed. when at last his tongue resumed its function, dennis, like many another with even more self-possession and experience, uttered just the words which were intended for concealment, as he stammered: "an' it's no wonder, at all, at all." the exclamation, however, was barely above a whisper, and it was only by following the motion of his lips and a shrewd intuition as to the rest which enabled the widow to realize what he had uttered, as she asked, smiling to note that the young man had neglected to release her hand: "and what is it that is no wonder?" at this question, dennis, deserted for the moment by his customary adroitness, was unable to do anything else than respond, without evasion or subterfuge: "well, i was thinkin' it's no wonder the manager wanted to go into the business." "ah!" laughed the widow with genuine enjoyment and a sensible realization of the spirit which urged his exclamation and its explanation, "that is irish, i am sure"; and with that dennis began to feel more at home, although still subdued by the accumulation of practical beatitudes. "tell me," he said, when each was agreeably established, dennis upon a comfortable divan and his listener in a chair which supplied its fascinating occupant with a sort of solicitous support, which dennis assured himself would be poetry realized if he could be permitted to share, "tell me, shall i recite my abilities first or read the story?" "suppose," suggested his hearer, "we hear the story first and reserve your catalogue as a climax, like the dessert after the banquet." "all right!" assented dennis, as he produced a circular bundle, from which he extracted his absurd medium. "one moment," suggested his hearer, as she arranged an electric cluster in a manner that enabled her to witness every alternation of expression in that mobile countenance--"now." withdrawing his gaze from the sweet face of his auditor with a reluctance sufficiently marked to advance him several leagues further in her good graces, dennis, directing his attention to the closely-printed dickey, began, with racy irish emphasis, as follows: * * * * * "with a bound the prince swept aside the curtains and reached his room. "advancing to the gong, which was suspended by silken cords near the divan, he struck it sharply several times. "there was no response. "he repeated his summons with the added vigor of his irritation at the delay. "only the sullen echo answered. "with impatient incredulity the prince was about to hasten to the ante-room in which his faithful sepoy had always been found, when a strange trembling seized his limbs. "a confusion obscured his mind; his sight grew dim. "alarmed at this unusual sensation, the prince asserted himself against its depressing influence with all his customary resolution, and was finally able to reach the ante-room. "it was deserted! "he hastened to the passageway outside. "not a soul was visible; an unearthly stillness prevailed. "'ah!' he cried with sudden realization, 'my messenger has been too liberal with his news; they have heard of the british advance.' "thirty vital minutes had passed, and away in the dim distance an animated spot of red and gleam began to emerge. "again that inexplicable numbness and alarming physical weakness. "with trembling hands he supported himself along the walls and finally reached the apartment in which he held his mimic court. "a burning thirst began to parch his lips and throat; he hastened to the carafe in which the water for his use was usually held. "it was empty. "'ah!' the prince groaned aloud; the veins of his forehead knotted; a sharp, strained look appeared in his eyes, and he shivered with a mortal chill. "a stinging, sharp surge attracted his attention to his right wrist. "it was swollen beyond its usual size, and a bluish discoloration surrounded the livid line where the dagger point had penetrated. "he placed his hands together and noted their disproportion, considered the wounded arm, and then--he remembered. "'the dagger!' he gasped, and a new horror charged his bloodshot eyes as he recalled the devilish craft employed by the natives to envenom their weapons. "'poisoned! and by lal lu!' "at this thought the malignant light of a fearful determination illumed his features and revealed their frightful distortion. "'i shall not--go--alone!' he sighed, and repossessing himself of the fatal dagger, which he had cast upon the table on entering the room, he rose from the chair, looked with fearful purpose upon the curtains which disguised the entrance to the secret passageway from which he had emerged but a short time before, took one step forward, and then fell inertly on to the couch from which he had risen in the excitement of his malignant impulse. "'ha!' the faint sound of an alien air smote his ears. "'the bagpipes!' he muttered; 'the scots, the hellish highlanders.' "nearer and nearer the lively air was borne to him. "his raging pulse thrummed through his palpitating veins a rhythmic, mocking accompaniment to the swelling music. "his frame stiffened and stretched as though subjected to the distortion of the ancient rack. "the agony was unendurable. with a final conscious effort he reached for the poisoned weapon to bring his sufferings to a summary conclusion, but his failing will could no longer vitalize his palsied arm, and with a gasp that seemed to rend his tortured body, to the weird orchestration of that refrain which was destined in the near future to herald such joy at lucknow, 'the campbells are coming, hi-ay, hi-ay!' the spirit of prince otondo returned to him who gave it, to be put into what repair was possible for such a proposition. "as the last writhing rigor ceased to convulse his frame, the prince lurched forward, and his body collapsed into an attitude not unlike that of one engaged in some dejecting reflection. "by a singular nervous caprice he had raised his hands to his face, which he had clutched in his agony, and his elbows rested upon the table in grewsome support of his head. "this ghastly calm, however, of which he was the center, was to be interrupted. "a trumpet blast sounded without the gate; a clamor of voices filled the air. "the bagpipes, in anticipation of some show of resistance, had ceased their stirring strains; within, the silence of an ambuscade prevailed. "suddenly, through the unguarded entrance rushed a body of red-coated soldiers; but their advance was unopposed; the courtyard was abandoned. "one danger alone remained--an attack from within. but there was none to receive the detested intruders but the pulseless master, from whom all majesty had departed. "over the grounds they swarmed, through the doors, along the passageways. "abreast of the leading officer appeared the turbaned head and white-robed figure of ram lal. "as the two entered the apartment and gazed upon its silent occupant, with the same impulse both came to a standstill, impressed by the unnatural attitude and the chill undemonstration of the richly-clad figure. "'it is the prince!' cried ram lal. "at once the officer turned to command the curious detachment which had followed them to remain without, and placing a sergeant on guard in the ante-room, he resumed his investigation of the dead man. "he had not seen the quick approach of ram lal, nor the rapid movement of his searching hand. "it was over in an instant, but in that instant ram lal had assured himself of the presence of the precious jacket beneath the cambric folds. "'he is dead!' he cried to the officer, as the latter approached to discover some reason for this shocking sight. "'he is still warm,' exclaimed the other, as he placed his hand, with careless familiarity, upon the cheek of the prince. "'let us see,' he continued, 'if his heart still beats.' "as the officer knelt in order to accommodate his head to the leaning position of the body, ram lal stood as one transfixed. "his hand crept slowly to the dagger upon the table, which he grasped with an expression of desperate determination as the officer placed his ear close to the riches concealed beneath the tunic of the prince. "kneeling thus, with scarcely a hand-breadth between him and wealth such as he had never dared to dream of, with the menacing figure of the merchant directly above him, prepared to strike at the least indication of suspicion of the jacket and its priceless contents, the pair presented a striking tableau of the sardonic jest in which fate sometimes indulges in providing such nearness of opportunity and such a threat to its embrace. "'there is something thick about the body!' exclaimed the kneeling officer. "ram lal crept nearer. "'yes,' he replied with a stifled voice, as he shot a quick glance toward the curtained doorway, on the other side of which the sergeant was posted, 'yes, the prince was of a phthisical tendency. "'he was compelled to protect himself against inequalities of temperature.' "at this instant the quick eye of the merchant detected the livid scratch on the dead man's arm. 'ha!' he cried, with an intonation which caused the officer to forego his examination for the moment and regard the merchant attentively. "'here!' cried the latter, pointing to the discolored and swollen wrist, 'here! there is no need to look for further sign of life; his heart will beat no more. this dagger has been inserted in the poison sac of the cobra--and here is the result!' "as the officer rose to regard the wound, and understood its significance, he shuddered and looked upon the hapless heir-apparent with a sort of bluff compassion, but he made no further attempt to pursue his investigations, and ram lal was spared one sanguinary entry upon the book of his recording angel. "'at least,' said the officer, as if in continuation of some unexpressed idea, 'let us do ourselves the honor of disposing the prince upon his bed'; and ram lal supporting the head and shoulders and the officer grasping the feet, they carried the stiffened form to the bed. "'may i ask the privilege,' said ram lal, 'of composing the features and the body of the prince?' "'surely,' replied the officer, as he bestowed a departing glance upon this last descendant of the long line of moghuls with a degree of deference that was the result of his military training and his own subjection to discipline, 'surely he is sadly in need of such a service.' "for his arms, although disengaged somewhat by their efforts, and the clutch of the distorted fingers, though not so distended, still pointed upward in a sort of eerie, rigid salutation to the subdued watchers. "the eyes, too, which but a short time before had been so vivid with the contentions of restraint and desire, stared with a ghastly lack of speculation. "as the officer turned to leave ram lal undisturbed in the performance of this last duty to the dead, the merchant, presently assured that he would be free from intrusion for a time sufficient for his ostensible purposes, approached the body, tore aside the delicate fabric, which covered the breast, and with surprising dexterity released the fastenings which held the jacket to the body, wrenched it away with desperate haste, and in an incredibly short time had secured this treasure-trove around his own loins beneath the folds of his linen. "then, with a grin of malignant triumph, he murmured: 'this is more speedy, o prince, than pebbles for diamonds--and now for lal lu.' "with this the merchant darted to the hangings from which the prince had issued with such desperate purpose, cast them ruthlessly aside, hurried along the passageway, shouting as he speeded: 'lal lu--lal lu!' "a joyful cry responded. "'here, father, here!' and lal lu, who had recognized her father's call, rushed toward the entrance just as the merchant crossed its threshold, and in a moment she was enfolded in his protecting embrace." * * * * * "is that all?" asked raikes as the sepoy paused. "isn't it enough?" laughed the narrator. "the villain punished, the righteous rewarded, the maiden rescued. it seems to me that all the proprieties are preserved." "true," assented raikes. "you are to be congratulated upon your consistency. but as usual your art is a bit too refined. you still discontinue with a question unsolved." "name it," replied the sepoy; "perhaps i can clear up the difficulty at once." "well," returned raikes, "there is all that wealth concealed about the person of ram lal; i am interested to know if he retained it, to what use he put it. if it is inconsistent in your narrative to reply to these questions, waive your formalities for once." "why not?" laughed the sepoy. "still, i can only approximate to your request. there was a report that ram lal and his daughter disappeared shortly after the raid upon the kutub. "it is also said that a dealer in precious stones opened an establishment on the strand in london, and that his description corresponded in so many points with that of ram lal that it is safe to infer that the twain are identical." "that is better," sighed raikes. "i will assume that the report is correct since it relieves my mind on one point, at any rate. however, there is one question more: can you tell me how that substitution was made?" "pebbles for diamonds?" "yes." "to do so requires another story, which i cannot tell you to-night," replied the sepoy. "how about to-morrow evening?" "if that's the only way?" queried raikes. "it is," the sepoy assured him. "i will be here, then," said raikes, "but i must leave you now; i will see you at breakfast-time." with this raikes departed and made his way along the dim passages to his room. arrived at this point, and taking his customary precautions for the night, raikes prepared to retire. since the process involved such little attention to detail in its almost aboriginal readiness, it was not long before raikes was tucked away in his uneasy rest. possibly a half hour later a series of labored snores announced his successful escape from the disturbing realities of the day and his stentorian entrance upon more fictitious complications. just across the hallway, in the room occupied by his nephew, conditions were more animated, for robert, giving his admiring and somewhat incredulous attention to the alert gratz, sat with his eyes bright with the acknowledgment of the purport of the speaker. just a trace of excitement appeared in the manner of the detective. he had witnessed the return of the sleepy raikes to his room, and was relieved to be able to assure himself that the miser was altogether unaware of his presence. gratz was about to provide himself with the confirmation of a theory which he dared not discuss in advance. the possibilities of failure were numerous enough to provide him with the element of fascination, and its bizarre unfamiliarity piqued his imagination. if he was not mistaken in his calculations, he would be in possession, before morning, of some interesting data which would make a startling addition to the criminal records to which his past activities had contributed. the suggestion which stimulated him was the last which would occur to a wholly sensible man and the first which would be likely to present itself to a genius for speculation and morbid analysis. consequently silence upon these somewhat abstruse reasonings was his safeguard against ridicule in the event of failure. however, he had intimated to robert that events would transpire during the night which would be illuminative, but he could not be persuaded to indicate to the curious youth just what to expect. whatever was to occur, robert was assured that he would witness; in fact, he would be a necessary feature to the mysterious plans of the detective. stimulated, therefore, by these occult hints and the lively prospect they introduced, the young man developed a clandestine emotion of weird anticipation, which he readily accredited to an unsuspected fitness for intrigue. gratz, in the meantime, having primed the young enthusiast, maintained an irritating silence, and when an hour had passed in this spiritless fashion robert was electrified by the solitary word "now!" from the lips of the enigmatical gratz. unable to comprehend the significance of the subdued exclamation, robert nevertheless followed the detective with confiding docility, and the pair hastened down a flight of stairs which conducted them to the main hallway. from this gratz proceeded to a door directly beneath the stairway which they had just traversed, and which opened upon another short series of steps that concluded in the cellar. descending these, the two hastened along the chill floor and presently paused by the main coal-bin in which the widow stored her fuel. with an impressive injunction to silence, gratz indicated the course which robert was expected to pursue, and in the recess created by a flight of disused stairs the two secreted themselves. it was pitch dark. neither of the watchers could see the other, and communication was only maintained by the reassuring pressure of the hand of the detective upon the arm of the excited robert. at last the latter ventured to inquire in a whisper what it was that gratz expected to discover. "the solution of the puzzle," replied the other in the same tone. "the thief?" asked robert. "no, the accessory," was the reply; "but do not ask any further questions; you will be treated to the surprise of your life in a little while, unless i am much mistaken." scarcely had the detective uttered these words when the faint click of a door-latch was borne to their ears from the direction of the stairway they had just descended. the next moment a dim ray of light flickered into the darkness, and a figure vaguely shadowed its grotesque disproportion on the walls just behind as it crept, with cautious lightness, step by step down the stairs. at last it reached the floor and moved in the direction of the bin. the light, which was furnished by a candle, was raised in the air at about the height of a man's face, and directly behind it a man's face appeared. "great heavens!" whispered robert as the strange figure advanced, "it is uncle!" "steady, now!" whispered the detective; "not a word or you will ruin everything." revealed by the weird light, the miserable countenance of the miser had never looked so contemptible. the sputtering flame seemed to have the power to betray all the miserly emotions and mean parsimonies usually concealed behind its starved pallor. the lips had fallen inanely apart with an absurd look of silly wonder. the eyes were wide open and stared directly ahead with the most unnatural expression or lack of it that robert had ever beheld in the visage of mortal man. even the detective, accustomed as he was to all sorts of uncommon spectacles, could not repress a slight disposition to shudder. one bony hand grasped the candlestick, and the other held some sort of round object, to which robert directed his attention. by the sudden motion he made the detective knew that the young man had discovered what this object was, and pressed his arm warningly. _it was one of the canvas bags from the recess in the wall._ just before the opening of the bin his uncle paused, like a speculative phantom, as if to consider its next doleful move. his entire countenance, upon nearer view, like the canvas which the painter has roughly outlined, was suggestive of anything, according to the fancy of the beholder. upon this spiritless blank robert depicted, with a morbid genius and the stimulation of his unnatural surroundings, all that was reminiscent of his uncle's littleness. but this uneasy transit from the room upstairs to the bin below, the vacant, irresponsible ensemble, the inscrutable determination to fulfill some strange obligation, enforced by what influence or moral unrest he could not tell, culminated in the mind of the young man in the only possible explanation: his uncle was engaged in the unaware execution of some fixed idea. he was responding to an uncontrollable, secret impulse, and robert, guiding himself by the touch of his hand in order to locate his lips as close to the ear of the detective as he might, whispered with conviction: "somnambulist!" "no," replied gratz--"worse; be silent." amazed and wondering what could possibly be worse, and rummaging through the garret of all his unusual experiences, robert could find nothing to correspond to this inexplicable phenomenon; and it was with a sort of superstitious distraction that he beheld his uncle discard his transient hesitation and proceed with ghostly purpose to the opening of the bin. advancing, raikes placed the candle upon the bed of coals and began to unfasten the cord which secured the mouth of the bag which he carried. robert had never beheld anything so ghastly as his uncle's eyes, intent but unseeing; nor so frightful as his motions, direct but unintelligent, like those of a midnight marionette controlled by invisible strings. in a few moments his efforts were successful, and the incredulous robert beheld his uncle invert his precious burden and send a clinking, intrinsic shower of coin to the floor. apparently this familiar sound had penetrated in some degree to his inner consciousness. an expression of vague uneasiness, of troubled irresolution, clouded his eyes, but this semi-intellection and its transient phasis subsided to his original apathy as, with a sigh of helpless impersonality, he began to collect, with a silly, childish selection, as if to balance, by the size of the individual coals, the proportion of the discharged gold, handfuls of these dusky diamonds and substitute the sordid heaps in the bag. this weird absurdity concluded, raikes, repossessing himself of the candle, turned wearily and retraced the path of his ghostly journey. in a little while his shuffling footfalls had concluded with the doorway at the top of the cellar stairs, the latch was heard to click into place, and all was still. "now," whispered gratz with concentrated emphasis, "not a word--not a sound from this moment. we have seen the accessory, now for the principal." in reply robert pressed his hand upon the arm of the detective to indicate that his instructions were understood and would be obeyed, and in a silence through which he felt that his heart-throbs must certainly be audible, the watchers awaited developments. the obscurity and silence which prevailed, and the vault-like chill and dampness, harmonized so fully with the unnatural spectacle which he had just witnessed, and the grim expectation of something untoward still to come, that robert was prepared to reconsider his views of the earlier portion of the evening as to his fitness for secret investigation and criminal analysis. he no longer felt the exultation of this association with relentless and cunning pursuit, and began to wonder how any normal human being could adopt a profession which embraced all these cheerless handicaps when there were so many occupations into which a little sunlight and geniality penetrated now and then. he had about decided that such industry was the manifestation of a disease, and that his silent companion was a desperate incurable, when his diagnosis was suddenly interrupted. the detective pressed the shoulders of his companion, communicating a slight impulse toward the opposite end of the cellar, and robert, in obedience to its intimation, turned and beheld an approaching light. it had the unreal appearance of a detached eye of some malignant cyclops, glancing in a ghastly, bodiless way, from object to object, and concentrating itself at last in a definite course along the floor. to witness the approach of this stealthy, gleam, without visible means of support or guidance, caused the young man's flesh to creep and his heart to throb almost to the point of suffocation. if it requires experience to become a successful narrator, robert was certainly in a way to accumulate a budget of startling data. nothing, hitherto, in his life could explain the marvel, but gratz, with trained certainty, knew that he gazed upon the disk of a dark lantern which, exposing all else to view, shielded, with its distracting flash, the object of this midnight quest. with an assurance that indicated a definite purpose, the figure at last stood within the door of the coal bin. at once the searching gleam began to dance hither and thither upon the floor, and finally, with unerring pause, fell directly upon the heap of glittering coin. "ah!" exclaimed a voice. in its concentrated emphasis there was the unmistakable accent of certitude, of expectation gratified. the next instant the light was placed upon the floor with a tilt that sent its rays upon the treasure, and the unknown began to collect the gold with oblivious haste and bestow it in some receptacle near-by. suddenly robert felt his companion move forward noiselessly, at the same time he recognized the intimation of a detaining hand; and then he stood alone. scarcely had he adjusted himself to these startling conditions when he heard a sharp, metallic snap, and beheld a sudden flood of light directed upon the kneeling figure. there was a cry of desperate amazement, the quick clink of scattering coin, and the next instant a wild, rage-distorted face shot into view. "my god!" cried robert. it was the sepoy! "hands up!" commanded a voice which the young man recognized as that of gratz; "hands up, or you are a dead man. there are five bullets in reserve for you if you budge from where you stand." with an imprecation that was charged with malignant venom, the sepoy looked upon the gleaming barrel of a pistol which was advancing into the light, recognized his helplessness, and with snarling obedience elevated his arms in the air. "robert!" called gratz. the young man, trembling, hurried to the opening. "get behind me," directed gratz; "put your hand in my coat pocket; you'll find a pair of bracelets there for our friend here." with shaking hands robert followed these sharply delivered instructions, and withdrew a set of handcuffs, gaping at the fastenings to receive a pair of guilty wrists. "now move around to the rear of this gentleman," continued the relentless gratz, "and snap them on his wrists." somehow robert managed to obey these commands. he reached to the uplifted hands of the sepoy, embraced his wrists with the handcuffs, and closed them with a snap. (to be continued on bosom no. 2, series c.) unknown to himself, dennis, stimulated by the lively succession of incidents, had spurred his enunciation in a racy adjustment to these animated conditions. his eyes appeared to have appropriated the sparkle which had intensified the glance of the sepoy of whom he had just read, and when he arrived at the familiar legend at the bottom of the bosom, his expression, vivid with all these communicated emotions, was duplicated in the sweet, absorbed face of his bewitching listener, who, in order the better to follow his rapid utterance, leaned, with the exquisite intoxication of her presence, in rapt nearness to the reader. consequently, when dennis looked up from his reading, he was transported along the highway of a sympathetic glance into deeps of dazzling blue. for a moment he abandoned himself to the enchanting witchery with the dreamful enjoyment of the voluptuary inhaling the odors of a scented bath. he seemed to be on the best of terms with some well-disposed harlequin. scarcely had the excitement of one series of events developed to its climax when he was whisked to another. his providence was working overtime in his behalf, and being at heart sound and genuine, the weight of his obligations to all these auspices warned him not to be too prodigal with his privileges; so, with an effort, the stress of which communicated some of its rigors to his countenance, he closed his eyes for one ascetic moment and came bravely to earth again. suspecting something of the nature of his confusion, as a lovely woman will, and secretly applauding his undemonstrative deference, which, in the cynical atmosphere to which she was habituated, came to her like a refreshing zephyr, the widow asked him with an engaging smile of encouragement: "of what were you thinking, mr. muldoon?" "mr. muldoon!" he repeated to himself with an endeavor to reflect the intonation of personal distinction which issued so entrancingly from the cupid's bow of a mouth. he had not been so ceremoniously addressed since he knew not when, and never realized that his homely name had such music in it. "oh!" he thought, "if she would only say 'dennis,' it would be like grand opera." "why," replied dennis with simple frankness. "i was thinking, for one thing--for one thing"--but encouraged by her smiling invitation he stammered--"how beautiful you are!" and added to himself, or it looked as though he might express his sentiments that way: "there, you've done it!" "ah!" exclaimed his companion, with a rosy enjoyment of this unstudied situation and frank appreciation, "and what was the other?" "i don't know how to tell you the other," answered dennis. then with an unreflective inspiration: "did you ever read about launcelot and guinevere?" "ye-yes," was the apprehensive answer. "well," continued dennis with a naïve remembrance only of the chivalry of this idyllic indiscretion, "when i look at you i can understand how a knight could battle for a queen." there was silence for a moment, but in the interval the lady did not laugh, though her eyes were bright as she said: "you are a strange boy." "oh!" cried dennis, "tell me, have i offended? i would not do that for the world." "i am sure of that," replied the widow, "and i believe that you mean what you say." "oh, i do, i do!" exclaimed dennis impulsively; then, with a realization of the thin surface over which he was making such rapid strides despite the danger signals of conventionality, and with a diplomacy born of his native good sense, he glided, with cheerful celtic sagacity, to safer footing by asking abruptly: "may i recommend myself"--as if he had not already done so--"for the position you offer?" "ah!" exclaimed the widow, from whom no alternation of his mobile countenance seemed to escape, "it is your turn now; i must not receive all the honors." "well," replied dennis, altogether aware of the graceful courtesy of this exquisite woman, and constituted by nature, if not by past association, to accord it due appreciation, "well, there isn't much to say, but here's my outfit: "i am sorry to have to begin badly. i don't know anything about flowers. i can't tell you, even, the difference between a shamrock and a clover." "all that can be easily remedied," his listener reassured him; "but proceed." "but there's one thing i'm sure about," continued dennis. "you can rely upon me, an' that's better." "it is, indeed," answered the widow. "i am anxious to do the best i can for myself," resumed dennis. "i have just one way of doing it, and that is to do the best i can for others." "that is real business principle," exclaimed his companion, "and very rare. what else?" "i guess that's about all," answered dennis, "an' it don't sound so very much, does it?" "more than you think," answered the widow. "now listen to me: "i need such service as i hope from you very much. would you like to come and help me here?" "oh!" cried dennis. "i am answered," responded his companion, "when can you come?" "at once!" cried dennis--"or no, wait a bit; that wouldn't be fair to my present employer. but i can tell him to look out for somebody else right away; surely he can fill my place within a week. suppose i say next monday?" "very well, that will suit," answered the widow; "but you have not asked me what your salary will be." dennis blushed, and his blush was appreciated. to enjoy the genial inspiration of such an association would be a perquisite which, other things being only approximately even, would repair any possible shortage. "will twenty dollars a week and your board satisfy you for the present?" dennis held his breath and pictured the contrast. his present employment brought him just ten dollars and the association of a barkeeper--would it satisfy him? however, he managed to say, without too great a show of emotion: "it is more than i expected." "well, then, that point is settled," said the widow with a brisk business air, which provided such a sharp contrast to her delightful womanly qualities and caused dennis to wonder at the graceful alternation of the one with the other. "now as to board: in the rear of the conservatory is a suite of rooms as cozy as any young man could wish. at the end of the week i expect to have them vacated. "they are occupied just now by the manager, but he has already been notified through my attorney, and all will be in readiness for you by next monday. "it has been somewhat difficult to make him comprehend my purpose; it is so different from what he expected. he is incautious enough to demand a reason." "there is one," ventured dennis boldly, "if i may venture to suggest it." "surely!" replied the widow, remarking dennis curiously. "well," replied the young man as he recalled the astonishing array of details surrounding the death of the æsthetic proprietor, "just enclose him a note with two words in it." "and those?" queried the widow as dennis paused. "cape jessamine." for a space dennis feared that he had offended. a shade of depression darkened the lovely features before him, but his companion looked into his apprehensive eyes reassuringly as she said: "you have penetration." his momentary embarrassment, however, introduced another perturbation, for in glancing away for an instant to reassemble himself, so to speak, his eyes fell upon the clock, which at that very moment chimed the hour of eleven. this was startling! dennis was familiar enough with social usage, or, at least, had the practical good sense to realize that he had exceeded the limits of good taste by an hour, and began to make disconcerted preparations for departure. perceiving his embarrassment, his companion relieved him with genial tact by asking: "and what about bosom no. 2? i want to hear the rest of that story." "ah!" exclaimed dennis, brightening, "when shall it be?" "how will wednesday evening suit?" suggested the widow. and dennis, with a mien which plainly indicated that he considered the time represented in the space that must elapse between the delightful present and the evening appointed embodied his views of a brief eternity, assured the widow that he would be on hand, and added: "i will not read a line until then." "leave the story here, then, and i will put it away until you make your appearance. i promise, too, that i will not read it in the meantime," and the widow received the remaining bosoms from dennis with an extravagant show of gravity, which caused them both to laugh, in view of its absurd occasion, as she bestowed them in a music rack and turned to conduct him to the entrance. "good-by!" she said, and once more extended her hand, which dennis received with an unmistakable indication of his appreciation of the exceptional favor. "good-by!" he responded as he prepared to descend the steps, "good-by!" and added to himself, with a fervor which conveyed some intimation of his sentiments if it did not suggest his words: "an' may the saints preserve you!" chapter ix when dennis retired for the night at the stag, his transit from his room, which had never seemed so contracted as now, to the land of nod was somewhat delayed by reason of the exhilarating conditions through which he had just passed. toward midnight, however, his pulse had resumed its normal, and the young man, reaching his drowsy destination at last, began a series of the most surprising horticultural experiments until, what with orchids as big as a barrel, and geraniums which could be reached only by a ladder, he had converted the silvery strand of the dreamful domain into a forest of atrocious color and floral monstrosity. awakening on the succeeding morning, dennis, accepting the sense of general lassitude which oppressed him as an indication of the arduous nature of his efforts in his dreams, began to prepare for the activities of the day. on this occasion he was compelled to attire himself in the shirt which he had worn on the occasion of his visit the evening before, since his remaining bosoms, along with his heart, were in the possession of the beautiful widow. but the extravagance of such indulgence did not alarm him now. under the circumstances, what did a shirt more or less matter? was he not about to be admitted into paradise and receive twenty dollars per week besides? "shirt, ha!" he exclaimed with a touch of celtic wit; "it's a robe of white i want." however, he compromised on a new necktie, and almost ventured the length of patent leathers. stimulated by the prospect of all this beatitude, dennis proceeded to the dining-room and revived the spirit of the discouraged waiter by ordering a liberal breakfast. at the conclusion of the meal he further celebrated his disposition to mortgage providence by the bestowal of a gratuity moderate enough to renew the waiter's original unflattering estimation. had his father witnessed this imprudence he would have been prepared to believe that dennis was under the influence of a danseuse, and the proportions of the breakfast could only have indicated a determination to commit suicide by repletion. on his way to the street dennis paused to inform the barman of his intended departure. as an indication of his sentiments at this announcement, the barman, who was engaged in the mixture of a mysterious decoction, said, as he poured an amber-colored fluid into the glass: "this wan is fur grief at the goin', an' this wan"--pouring from another bottle--"is fur good luck when ye git there," and he pushed the mixture toward dennis. but the young irishman, remembering his recent experience, declined with thanks. "no?" queried the barman. "well, an' that's not a bad idea at all. it's the right sthart fur a bad day an' a bad sthart fur a right wan. 'tis th' divil's own way av showin' wan's sintimints." then, reaching for the glass, he added: "i'll do th' honors fur th' two av us"; and with the singular tendency, so often noted under such circumstances, to swallow with haste that which it required such trouble to prepare, the barman bolted the contents of the glass and looked his appreciation through moist eyes. as dennis neared the establishment of his employer, he recalled his obligation. he must begin the day by informing the foreman of his changed intentions. he disliked the idea of the possible friction involved in the performance of this disagreeable duty, but there seemed to be no other way out of the dilemma. his announcement, however, was to be less embarrassing than he anticipated. his providence was about to take a short nap. as he approached the foreman, he discovered that individual, several degrees less breezy than usual, engaged in an animated conversation with a young man whose prevailing expression was so penitential that dennis, with prompt celtic intuition, decided that he was gazing upon his predecessor in office. he was assured of this by the glance of belligerent appraisement with which the young fellow surveyed him from head to foot, in response to some suggestive indication from the foreman. he seemed, to the apprehensive eyes of dennis, to be calculating his chances in the event of a physical contest. and this recalled what the foreman had said about his biceps. "you want to see me?" queried the latter with an expression in which the sunshine seemed overdue. "yes," answered dennis as his employer stepped aside to hear what he had to say. as dennis proceeded the look of perplexity which he had noted upon the face of his listener seemed to give way to one of unmistakable relief, and when dennis had stated his case he exclaimed: "shure, now, it's an aisy way out av a bad muss, so it is. here, phil!" he shouted, turning to the young fellow in the background, who had witnessed this brief interview with scowling interest, "here, you two can t'row th' gloves down an' shake; muldoon here wants to hand yure job back to ye." at this announcement, the disfavor in the countenance of the other disappeared and was replaced by an expression which indicated that he regarded such liberality as something in the nature of a freak. some evidences of his debauch still clung to him. his eyes were moist and heavy-lidded; his lips dry and tremulous, and the hand which he extended to dennis shook somewhat. "come, now!" exclaimed the foreman, "that's well over"; and addressing the one he called phil he added: "now get to work." dennis looked his astonishment. he had not calculated upon such a prompt acceptance of his resignation. he felt that he presented an absurd appearance, and that the foreman did not appear to his usual bluff advantage. "come this way," said the latter to dennis, who followed him into his office with a strange sinking at heart. "i did not mean to hand over everything right off!" exclaimed dennis. "well," replied the foreman, "phil's wife came here early this mornin' an' put up a few tears, an' phil made all sorts av promises; an' you have no children an' he has, an--oh, the divil!" cried the foreman, weary of the series of explanations in which he was getting involved. "i can't kape th' two av ye, an' phil there is an ould hand at th' paint-pot." "then," cried dennis, "you mean that i must leave at once?" "that's about th' size of it." "why," exclaimed dennis, indignant at this injustice, "i tried to be fair with you, and you haven't----" "here," interrupted the foreman, in evident haste to conclude a disagreeable interview; "there's no use talking about it, it's got to be done"; and turning to a drawer in the desk he extracted monday's pay and placed it in the young man's hand. at that moment a burly porter filled up the doorway. "what is it?" asked the foreman, glad of the interruption, as he hastened, with unnecessary and suspicious promptness, to attend to the wants of the intruder. in a little while dennis realized that he waited in vain for the return of the foreman, and that, in so far as he was concerned, he was out of a job. dennis had been, at various times in his life, subjected to some rugged experiences, but could not recall any treatment quite so heartless as this. it upset all his calculations. he must exist somehow between the unhappy realities of the present and the blissful expectations of the approaching monday. he recalled, with the self-accusation of a repentant prodigal, his needlessly elaborate breakfast, the extravagance of the necktie. his return led him past the cheap amusement district of the bowery. never had their tawdry invitations seemed so alluring. by that singular perversity which opens up every suggestion of riotous expenditure to destitution, the poor fellow felt inclined to indulge himself regardless. an obese nymph pictured in the foam of a beer sign, apparently elaborated with a whitewash brush and finished in the throes of an epileptic fit, solicited a share of his patronage. long rows of slot machines offered all sorts of libidinous suggestions in placards, which proposed to debauch his morals for a penny a sight. and with absurd propriety a vender of shoddy jewels presented the chance of his lifetime in bizarre decoration. but somehow dennis reached broadway at last, and faced the unpleasant prospect of the next few days with despairing calculation. as dennis looked up and down this busy thoroughfare, with its thousands speeding oppositely in preoccupied interest, as if all that was vital and worthy was to be found at either extreme of its splendid distances, he paused for a moment to account his meager finances. he found that he possessed just four one-dollar bills and about eighty cents in small change. since he was compelled to pay a half dollar each night in advance for his lodgings, a little over two dollars would remain to him. with rigid economy and almost miserly abstemiousness this sum would suffice for his meals, unless he developed a mania for delmonico's, and for his carfare, provided he did not venture outside the possibilities of the elevated. as he was about to return his resources to his pocket there was a rattle and clamor up the street, and looking in that direction he beheld a glittering engine, drawn by a splendid team of white horses, speed along with plunging dash and portent rumble. along the sidewalk directly in his rear the usual mob of men and boys who have nothing more to do apparently than to attend fires and scramble with a morbid curiosity to behold the misery of some victim of accident, ran in scuffling uproar. with a pathetic realization of his own idleness, dennis turned to join the speeding throng, when suddenly he became aware of a desperate clutch at his hand, heard the rattle of scattering change at his feet, and felt the bills which he held slip away from his grasp and disappear in the rush. it was over in a second. apparently no one noticed him or his loss. he was as abandoned as the unfortunate marooned by rushing waters; as unheeded as a lame lamb in the multitude of the flock. not a head turned, and by the time he realized precisely what had happened and prepared to give chase to the thief, a score of other men and boys formed an unconscious barricade between the unfortunate boy and the rogue. his suddenly created interest in the fire vanished and was replaced by the despair of his own disaster. the nap of his providence was developing into a sound slumber, and since this deity never gets up before noon dennis had still two hours of despair before him. and what despair! of his pitiful hoard of a few moments since only a few dimes and nickels remained. and just across the street was the third national bank with barrels of them. the whimsies of the contrast almost amused him; but there was not enough of the tapley about him to detect its humor. again he counted his resources. fifty-eight cents! he could lodge to-night, at any rate, and dine on one of those sidewalk pretzels. "the darkest hour is just before the dawn." dennis tried to cheer himself with this reflection, but the only dawn upon which he could calculate was five days off. in vain the poor fellow adjured his brains for some homely suggestion, some meager inspiration. nothing responded but his destitution, like the echo of a groan; and through such mental straits he arrived, at last, at the stag. he decided that he would do nothing radical until the following day. he could afford a night's rest, at least, and that might revive his numbed faculties. as he reached the office he glanced at the proprietor. could he persuade that cynical-visaged individual to trust him until he received his first week's pay? would he be credited if he related his prospects? as a measure in this assurance, would not the proprietor feel justified in calling upon the widow for indorsement of the statement of the young man? this would never do. he could not endure the humiliation of such a revelation. the poor fellow got little encouragement from the face of the proprietor. this was suspicious and hard. it had scarcely the perfunctory smile of the professional boniface. the prospect of having to address that forbidding ensemble was disheartening. suddenly his reflections were interrupted. the proprietor waved a beckoning hand to him. dennis hurried to the desk. "a letter for you," said the proprietor, as he placed in the young man's hand an envelope addressed in a handwriting which he recognized at once. "'dennis muldoon'; yes, that's mine," and hastening to an unoccupied seat in a remote portion of the office, dennis hastily opened the envelope and withdrew a short letter, and--ye gods! was it possible?--a postal order for twenty-five dollars. philadelphia. dear dennis: it's a hard row you have to hoe, i'm a-think-in', and it's a bad spot you have to hoe it in. i know new york of old, and it's a lonesome place for a poor lad. i send you the week's wages due you, and an extry five to come back with in case your dreams don't come true. i've got over my mad, my boy, and i'll be glad to see you. run over annyhow; it's a dull place without you. the mother misses you bad. come saturday if you can; i've got a business proposition i want to make. tell me how you're getting on, annyway. the old man. "oh, ho!" cried dennis. his providence was wide awake now, had made its toilet, and was ready for business. for a long while dennis sat with the letter in his hand, gazing, with unseeing eyes, upon its eccentric chirography. his exultation had not fully materialized. to grope in the valley of despair one moment and skip along the summit of beatitude the next was a little too much for immediate comprehension. somewhat in the manner of the metaphysician, he was inclined to believe, since his misfortune was no longer a reality, that his prosperity might be equally immaterial, and in unaware corroboration he made a minute tear in the edge of the postal order to establish its tangibility. in the evening, influenced perhaps by his comparative weal, dennis decided that he would purchase a ticket to the olympus, and climbing the rear approach to that elevation, found himself seated shortly with the gallery gods, viewing with uncritical contrasts the relative merits of the clown, the harlequin and the columbine. between the acts his roving glance found a sudden destination and his elation went into abrupt decline, for seated in one of the boxes, her glass surveying the house in all sorts of disconcerting directions, sat the beautiful widow. instinctively dennis crouched into his seat. fortunately he was able by thus collapsing within himself, to escape the radius of her vision, which was interrupted by the railing extending around the balcony. it would never do to be discovered in his present situation. the elevation was degrading, and dennis understood the unhappy paradox. it emphasized the social distinctions too much, and caused the distance from where he sat to the placid beauty below to appear immeasurable. but this was not the least of his perturbations. near the widow a gentleman sat, solicitous, engaging, persistent. a certain air of distinction rendered doubly obnoxious the assumption of proprietorship which dennis believed he remarked, and while the young man was able to comfort himself with the discovery that his bewitching companion devoted more attention to the stage and the house than to her escort, still, as dennis contemplated the faultless attire of the gentleman in the box and contrasted it with his own modest apparel, he felt unaccountably depressed. all this was revealed by the furtive glances which the young irishman ventured over the gallery rail. a strange foreboding overwhelmed him. the bewildering tinsel of the stage no longer diverted, and he would have been astonished to analyze the reason why. as the last curtain fell and dennis was no longer able to adjust his gloomy contemplation to incongruous orchestration, he hastened from the theater, scrambled down the precipitate stairs and hastened to the stag. it was midnight before he slept, and scarcely morning when he awoke. he dressed himself like an automaton, and breakfasted like an anchorite. he left the hotel without his personal knowledge, and traversed half the length of broadway without volition. his mind was making the visit in advance of the appointed time, and his torpid body alone observed the social usages. by noon the patent leathers were a reality; by six-thirty he had assumed a clean shirt and his new necktie. when the clock struck seven he hastened to the elevated; a half hour later found him parading the street opposite the conservatory, and at eight he arrived with a promptness which, persistently observed, commends a young man to a junior partnership. when the widow finally presented herself, dennis was more than ever convinced, by the richness of her attire, that the business must be in a flourishing condition. for some unknown reason the beautiful woman was dressed entirely in black with the exception of some exquisite traceries in white about her throat and wrists. had his life depended upon it dennis could never have described the fabric of her gown. he only knew that it was distinguished by a sort of subdued sheen; that it rustled with an entrancing swish and suggestion of femininity as she moved, and that it was adjusted to her shapely figure as though her delightful personality had been moulded into it. a slim wonder of a white hand was extended to him, a bright smile illumed her bewildering eyes and bent the cupid bow of her lips into a curve which sent an intangible arrow into the young man's heart as she said with musical simplicity: "i am glad to see you." to this dennis made no direct reply. his eyes gleamed their idealized eloquence, however; his attitude presented unmistakable shades of deference, and to save himself further revelation he collapsed into the chair indicated by his hostess. apparently the widow extracted the same enjoyment from these ingenuous acknowledgments as ever, for she did not immediately resume the conversation. fortunately, dennis assembled himself, so to speak, and realized his psychological moment. "shure," he said as he became aware of his involuntary self-revelations, "'shure, an' you would know that i am glad to see you if i was deaf and dumb." the widow laughed heartily at this, as she replied: "i'm afraid that you have kissed the blarney stone, mr. muldoon." having no response for this, dennis substituted: "i saw you at the theater last night," and a palpable degree of joy left his countenance at the announcement. "ah!" exclaimed the widow, regarding him curiously. "where were you?" "in th' lobby," replied dennis unblushingly. "what did you think of the performance?" asked his companion after a moment. dennis looked her directly in the eyes with the light of inspiration in his glance as he said: "i did not see it." the widow gazed at the young man for one searching moment, reddened slightly, and, rising, proceeded to the music rack, from which she extracted bosoms nos. 2 and 3. "suppose we read the story," was her reply. as the widow extended the bosoms toward him, dennis could not avoid the thought which had presented itself to him on the day before, that this woman had not only two bosoms of his in her possession, but his heart as well; and a certain degree of the animation of this reflection found its way into his eyes. "well," inquired this observing woman, "what is it?" dennis flushed as he replied: "i'll tell you by-and-by," and added: "will you do me a great favor?" "what is it?" she asked. "why," answered dennis, "i would like to hear you read bosom no. 2." "why?" "well," replied the young man, with a sincerity that was unmistakable, "i think it would sound like a song then." "very well," she assented, "let me have it"; and with a voice that reflected, to this young man's ears, at least, at one moment the rippling of silver brooks, the trill of woodbirds, the sigh of zephyrs scented with daffodils, and the next the full, round resonance of an animated day in june, she read: * * * * * "now!" exclaimed gratz as the familiar click assured him that the handcuffs were in place, "now you can lower your hands and come over here." as the sepoy advanced into the light, gratz instructed robert to pick up the remaining coins and restore them to the bag. during all this time the sepoy had not uttered a word, but his fierce eyes, which stared with savage intentness in the direction of the disk of light, from the rear of which issued that implacable voice, were vital with rage and impotent menace. as he gazed thus with his distorted countenance concentrated into a look of bitter speculation in his futile attempt to discover by whom he was addressed in this tone of insolent authority, there was something frightful in the quest and uncertainty of the disturbed features. an unnatural luster, partly the reflection of his somber eyes and partly from the tawny hue of his saturnine visage, added an inexpressible degree of malignant rancor to his expression. his hands, which he was compelled by the manacles to hold directly in front of him in an absurd travesty of penitential clasp, gripped each other in his consuming resentment until the tendons of his wrist stood out with the tense distinction of whipcords. while robert was engaged in restoring the coins to the bag, the only sound came from the derisive click and fall of the gold-pieces as they chinked their mockery into the ears of the raging prisoner. as the last coin joined its fellows a neighboring clock chimed the hour of two. "good!" exclaimed gratz; "there is time to settle this business before morning"; and turning to the sepoy he added: "i will trouble you to precede me to your room." there was something unreal in the silence which the sepoy still maintained and the enforced apathy with which he proceeded to obey these instructions, and robert, unaccustomed to such episodes as this, in which he was a contributing factor, was more affected than if he had witnessed some violent demonstration or listened to a raging vituperation. the transit of the trio from the cellar to the apartment of the sepoy was effected without attracting further regard, and the balance of the boarders slept away in snoring oblivion and provided another instance of the frail partition which separates the violent from the placid. arrived at the room of their swarthy prisoner, gratz provided the uncomfortable robert with the relief he required by instructing him to hasten to his uncle and summon him to the scene, and to avoid giving him any of the details of what had transpired. glad to escape the depression of the gloomy vicinity, and the unabashed directness of the sepoy's glance, the young man hurried away. if the terrible concentration which the sepoy resumed, with his luminous eyes upon the countenance of the detective, affected the latter, there was certainly no such evidence. it was as dull and lifeless as ever; the eyelids had fallen to their accustomed suggestion of ambush, and it seemed scarcely possible that the sharp directions of a few moments since could issue from such flaccid lips, and so much determination could dominate such an insignificant figure. apparently exasperated by the undemonstration of this negative aspect, the sepoy was near the limit of his repression. the lines about his lips relaxed somewhat, the pupils of his eyes reduced their staring diameter, and his head was inclined forward a trifle. gratz concluded that his companion had decided to speak. he was not mistaken. "can i be spared the humiliation of meeting that old dotard you have sent for?" "i do not see how," replied gratz. "what do you gain by it?" asked the sepoy. "i cannot tell that in advance; possibly nothing," replied gratz. "that is likely," replied the sepoy quietly. "we shall see," exclaimed the detective. "i am working out a theory; i need the assistance of all concerned." "look at me!" exclaimed the sepoy abruptly. "i will credit you with being something of a physiognomist. do you see any evidences of determination in my face?" "and if i do?" queried gratz. "only this," was the reply: "no matter what your object may be, i will oppose it with all the resolution and dexterity at my command, if you conduct your inquiries as you contemplate." in reply gratz offered an exasperating shrug of the shoulders. "there is no mystery to be solved," he said. "i have no further facts to discover; i know that you have managed to secure three separate bags of coin from raikes, and i am aware of your process." "if you know all this," replied the other with curious calmness, "why do you----" the question was interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps. "now!" exclaimed gratz, as if with sudden determination, "i will try to grant your request in part. retire into your bedchamber, leave the door open, and listen. "i will place raikes and his nephew where they cannot see you, but i will sit here where i can note your slightest move." the sepoy arose hastily and entered the bedchamber, seating himself according to the direction of the detective. at that moment there was a knock upon the door. in answer to the salutation of the detective raikes and his nephew entered. seating themselves in the chairs indicated, they awaited with intense curiosity the proceedings of this enigmatical man. noting the alert questioning in the eyes of the young man, and the half-awakened inquiry in the sordid countenance of raikes, gratz, in order to prevent the intrusion of any disturbing remark upon his present purpose, said impressively: "i must ask you both to listen without interruption. when i want you to speak i will question you"; and fastening his strange eyes upon the blinking raikes, he added: "now we will proceed. "you have lost four bags of coin." "three!" corrected raikes, despite his instructions to silence. "pardon me," continued gratz, "and please do not interrupt. i said four--and here is the fourth," and he pointed to the bag upon the table. the miser's jaw dropped helplessly, and he stared at the bag with a superstitious terror. "but," continued gratz, "what seems so incredible to you is merely the logical outcome of a cunningly established sequence," and the speaker shot an incredibly quick glance at the silent figure in the adjoining room. "now attend me closely. "during the last few evenings you have heard some very curious narratives." raikes nodded with gloomy corroboration. "a series of well-arranged events have introduced a startling episode--the substitution of pebbles for diamonds." again raikes nodded. "at this point in the narrative the first instalment concludes. am i right?" "yes," answered raikes. "then," continued gratz, "you went directly to your room; you retired. in the morning you are prompted, with more than your usual eagerness, to open your private safe." "right!" exclaimed raikes in indorsement of this relentless résumé. "you find the locks undisturbed; the contents apparently as you left them on retiring. some difference in the conformity of one of the bags urges a nearer examination. you discover that this indicates a difference in the contents. you grasp it; it comes away in your hands with startling lightness. you discharge its deposit upon the table--a shower of coals follows." "yes, yes!" stammered raikes with impatient eagerness. "well, you are convinced, by an examination of the fastenings of the door, an inspection of the window, that no human being could have effected an entrance from either direction. "the next evening is a repetition of the history of the night before. "the strange indian narrative, another gem to examine--an additional loss on the succeeding morning." raikes nodded savagely. "on the following night the same unhappy series of events occur, followed by the loss of the third bag." "but why all this again?" inquired raikes. "that concerns me," exclaimed the detective with another rapid glance at the undemonstrative figure in the next room. "you must follow my instructions or you will conclude as badly as you have begun. now," continued gratz, "it is incredible to me that, with the astuteness with which you are credited, that having such a good standpoint to begin with, you did not proceed upon that basis." "i?" questioned the astonished raikes. "what standpoint had i?" "elimination," replied gratz. "several puzzling possibilities were retired permanently. "recall the details as we have enumerated them: an impossible door; the window equally out of the question; the substitution of the coals for the coin. "it is very simple. the outside agency unfeasible, we must look within. there is but one conclusion----" "and that?" interrupted raikes. "an accessory." "ah!" cried raikes, "unthinkable!" "not at all," replied gratz; "there was an accessory--yourself!" at this announcement raikes seemed about to collapse into his original helplessness. the facts of his losses were extraordinary enough, but this was too much. but gratz hurried on, explained the unconscious visits of his astounded hearer to the cellar, and all that followed. "then," exclaimed raikes, when he had concluded, "i have been the victim of hypnotic suggestion." "precisely!" replied gratz. "the story was merely the medium of transmission, and through this weird conduit the story-teller conveyed his instructions to your subconsciousness." "but," demanded raikes, "why this substitution of coals? it strikes me that a scheme so clever as all this would scarcely be jeopardized by such an absurdity." "that contingency," answered gratz, "was never intended. in your condition of mind, having discharged the coin upon the floor of the bin, a mental idiosyncrasy of years insisted upon recognition. "in some inexplicable way you retained enough of your mental identity to preserve some manifestation of the law of equivalents. in other words, having parted with something, you demanded something in return. "with as much deliberation, therefore, as you manifested in contributing to your loss, you attempted to reimburse yourself by filling the bag with coal. "in some occult way you assured yourself that you were engaged in a transaction where one commodity took the place of another. "to this freak of mentality the idea of the pebbles in the story being substituted for the diamonds contributed; and what was intended by the narrator as a consistency of detail, to be explained later on, made an unforeseen appeal to your native cupidity and provided me with a very satisfactory clue. "moreover, the narrator assisted himself by allowing you to contemplate some brilliants--a sapphire, a diamond. "in such demonstrations a centralizing object is an almost indispensable adjunct; and putting the two together, the stories, the brilliants, it is not difficult to see that you have received your instructions in the manner indicated, and obeyed them with unexpected consistency." for a moment there was silence, which was sharply disturbed by an unexpected and apparently unsuggested query from gratz. "were you ever," he asked, looking directly at raikes, "in this apartment during the absence of its occupant?" "no!" stammered raikes, apparently very much astonished at the question. "you lie!" raikes and his nephew sprang to their feet, their eyes bulging in the direction of the bedroom. in the doorway stood the sepoy. "you lie!" he repeated, "you miserable husk, you! you were here one evening in my absence, or, at least, what you supposed was my absence," and raising his manacled hands the speaker pointed to the closet. "i was there," he said. "ah--ah!" faltered raikes chokingly. "and now," continued the sepoy, "let us get to the end of this business. it ought to be a simple proceeding. you want three missing bags of gold; they will be forthcoming on one condition." "and what is that?" cried raikes, beginning to withdraw into himself as if he expected a sharp bargain. "that you leave the details of the transaction in the hands of this gentleman," answered the sepoy, pointing to gratz. "you had better consent," he added as he analyzed the hesitation of the startled raikes, "or i shall describe, with photographic minuteness, all that occurred in the few short moments of your visit." raikes regarded gratz helplessly. during all this conversation the detective had been doing some rapid thinking and had decided upon his course, so nodding to raikes, he said: "leave the matter to me; i will restore your coin to you in the morning. see that neither of you leaves the house until then, or speak to a soul before i see you." whatever objections may have been forming in the mind of the miser were quickly dissipated by a look from the sepoy, and without another word raikes and his nephew departed. "well," inquired gratz, when the two were again alone, "what have you to say to me that you do not want raikes to hear?" "you will know shortly," replied the sepoy after a few moments of reflection, with his eyes directed upon the handcuffs. "i do not have to resort to your elaborate reasoning to discover the nature of your profession. these," holding up his hands, "are unmistakable." "yes," answered gratz drily, "they require no trope or metaphor to illustrate their application." "however," continued the sepoy, "i have just listened to the deductions of an unusual acumen for analysis along abstract lines." gratz bowed his acknowledgments. "that is simple," he said, "when there is such a liberal supply of data." "true," responded the sepoy. "that was an oversight on my part. still, your constructive application, too, is no less convincing." "but to what does all this lead?" inquired gratz with a degree of impatience. "suppose we admit that there is an exquisite balance maintained between my analysis and my synthesis, and have done with it. you have some appeal to make to one or both of these faculties." "your penetration is the peer of your reasoning. listen: will you do me the favor of assuming that your comprehensive résumé of a few moments ago is all i care to hear on the subject?" asked the sepoy. "i understand," replied gratz. "very well, then," continued the sepoy. "i will extend to you the courtesy of offering no denial to anything you have said." "that," laughed gratz, "is the height of affability, under the circumstances; but proceed." "good!" responded the sepoy. "i have a suggestion to make. it is understood, in the first place, that raikes is to recover his coin; on that point he will be fully satisfied. but there still remains the recognition of your services to him; you will have more difficulty in convincing him of his obligation than you had in persuading me of your acumen." "ah!" murmured gratz; "it is coming." "are you any judge of brilliants?" inquired the sepoy abruptly. "somewhat," answered gratz; "i have seen a few in my time." "well," continued the sepoy, "kindly put your hand in my right vest pocket and withdraw a small case of shagreen which you will find there." gratz obeyed. "now," continued the sepoy, "press the spring." as gratz complied with this instruction, the lid of the shagreen case flew open and revealed the superb sapphire which had radiated such insidious depravity into the mind of the miser. "what do you think of that?" inquired the sepoy. for a moment or so gratz did not reply. the mastery of its cutting, its magnificent bulk, its unrivaled purity overwhelmed him. "i have never seen one like it," he said finally, "if it is genuine." "oh, you need not doubt it!" exclaimed the sepoy, "or, if you do, you can assure yourself on that point. now follow me. six bags of raikes' coin could not buy that." "you set its value high," suggested gratz. "naturally; its like does not exist. money has never been able to purchase it. there is just one consideration i can accept for it." "and that?" inquired gratz as the sepoy paused. "a lapse of memory," replied the sepoy. "a lapse of memory!" repeated gratz. "yes. unlock these handcuffs and forget that you have done so." a sudden irradiation seemed to shoot from the gem. it was the impulse communicated by the trembling hand of the detective, who, either to conceal the flush that was gradually transforming his pallid face, or from his reluctance to remove his gaze, continued to hold the brilliant in much the same oblivious regard as that bestowed upon it by the unhappy raikes. gratz was having the struggle of his life. the veins fretted through his temples with frightful distinction; his forehead was moist with a profuse perspiration; his breath labored with intermittent entrance and egress. his well-known apathy, his exasperating negation of demeanor, where were they now? gradually, however, in the manner of disheartened stragglers whipped again into the firing line, there shadowed in his expression evidences of moral recovery which the sepoy did not like. the professional instincts of the detective, reinspired by his better nature, were making some very obvious appeals. the éclat of this singular case beckoned. he seemed to brace himself morally and physically as he leaned back in his chair and again looked at his desperate companion. at once the sepoy, upon whom no vestige of this mental tumult was lost, again restored the ebbing temptation to its flood by exclaiming: "here is a more convincing reason still," and raising his hands to his breast, in order to give the detective easier access to the point designated beneath his arms, he said: "reach into the pocket on the left." for a moment gratz hesitated. if he had found the first subsidy difficult to refuse, how might he resist the second, or, he added to himself, with a sort of usurious exaltation, the depravity of the two combined? curiosity, too, without which no detective is truly fit for his calling, moved him, so with the impatient impulse we so often witness when rectitude is about to subject itself to the persuasions of the evil one for the ostensible purpose of combating them and the private determination to yield, gratz extended a trembling hand toward the sepoy, who had drawn himself to the extreme limit of his sinewy height, the better to accommodate his figure to the intent search of the detective, and then---just as gratz managed to insert his trembling fingers over the edge of the pocket rim, a pair of tense, sinewy hands shot upward and with incredible dexterity encircled the throat of the detective. the surprise was complete. the hands of the unfortunate man flew out wildly, grasping at nothing, and the next instant closed upon the wrists of the sepoy. but the recoil was too late. the frightful grasp concentrated its deadly pressure. the livid face of the detective grew purple. his eyes seemed about to bulge from their sockets. his grip relaxed from the wrists of his antagonist, and then all vigor seemed to vanish from his body, and he sank inertly to the floor. as the malignant sepoy bestowed the stiffening body upon the carpet, he released his horrible clutch upon the detective's throat, and, despite his manacles, began with desperate agility to search the silent man's waistcoat pockets. from one futile quest his implacable hands leaped to another, the length of chain which held the two handcuffs together rattling an eerie accompaniment to his eagerness. at last he withdrew a tiny key. grasping the precious bit of steel in his right hand the sepoy inserted it in the latch-hole of the left manacle; a quick turn, and the steel clasp relaxed its obnoxious embrace. it was but the work of a second to repeat these operations on his right arm, and the sepoy was free. "ha!" the breath seemed to whistle from his lungs with one sharp, exulting impulse. he stretched his superb figure to its utmost, and with the smile of a re-embodied lucifer restored the sapphire to its case. for a brief space he gazed upon the man extended upon the floor, and then, urged by some devilish impulse, if one might judge from the expression of his countenance, he knelt by the prostrate body and placed his ear to the pulseless breast. the next instant, stimulated, apparently, by some unexpected endorsement of a vague possibility, he was upon his feet and had darted to a small cabinet near-by. his hasty foray among its drawers was rewarded with a small bottle, the stopper of which he removed. with a quick motion of the head to escape the full force of the pungent odor of ammonia which issued, the sepoy returned to the unfortunate gratz, and wetting the tip of his handkerchief with a few drops from the vial, he passed it gently to and fro under the nostrils of the detective. repeating these maneuvers several times, the sepoy believed that he remarked a faint twitching of the eyelids. at this manifestation he seized a sheet of paper and directed a mimic breeze upon the drawn face. again he attempted an enforced inhalation of the strong odor, this time from the bottle itself. the result was startling. there was a scarcely perceptible attempt to turn the head; a spasmodic throb in the throat. renewing his efforts with the paper, the sepoy, encouraged by what he saw, placed his arms beneath the body and lifted it to a semi-reclining attitude, so that it rested, with a tilt forward, against a chair-arm. from the table the evilly-smiling man took the handcuffs, and grasping the unresisting arms of the unfortunate gratz, bent them with cruel force until the hands met behind the gradually stiffening back. there was a sharp click, and the next instant the manacles embraced the wrists of the detective. again the sepoy placed the bottle so that a concentration of the stinging odor, which by now permeated the atmosphere of the entire room, could attack the sensitive nasal membranes more directly, and unmistakable evidences of imminent reanimation quickened the twitching features. again he lifted the uneasy figure and placed it upon the reclining chair, into which it collapsed helplessly with a nerveless huddle. a few minutes more of alternate fan and bottle resulted in the opening of the eyes and the utterance of a choking gasp. assured now, the sepoy rushed to the bedroom, threw aside the coverlets and possessed himself of one of the sheets. with the aid of his pocket-knife he ripped this into several lengths, with which he returned to the rapidly reviving gratz. in his grim struggle for reanimation the firm lines about the mouth of the unfortunate man had finally relaxed, and into this ugly opening the sepoy inserted a strip of the sheet and secured it in a rigid knot behind the neck of his victim. with a few dexterous turns and knots he bound the body to the chair with the remaining lengths of linen, and hastening to the washstand grasped a water pitcher and deluged the face of the now thoroughly awakened gratz. from the look in his eyes it was evident that his senses had not only fully returned, but that he was perfectly aware of the changed conditions and their relative humiliations. for a moment an expression vaguely suggestive of admiration shadowed through the slightly flushed countenance, and the next instant it returned to its customary apathy, from which it was not again disturbed during the bitter ordeal to which the helpless gratz was subjected. "and now," exclaimed the sepoy with a frightful grin of malice, "i trust that your senses are sufficiently restored to receive a farewell suggestion or two. you will notice," he went on with evil emphasis, "that i say 'farewell suggestions,' for i assure you that you will never set eyes on me again. "a little previous to the change which resulted in your present predicament, i extended to you the courtesy of all sorts of tribute to your acumen. "now--note my liberality--i do not insist upon a reciprocal indorsement of my dexterity, since i see"--pointing to the gag which he had inserted in the mouth of the detective--"since i see, with deep regret, that you have an impediment in your speech. "i excuse you in advance. "still, i cannot resist the temptation of chiding your indifference to such a brilliant argument as this," and the sepoy caused the sapphire to scintillate its mocking rebuke into the eyes of the wretched gratz. "i must also improve the occasion by calling your attention to the reprimand offered by your plight to your curiosity, for you see to what a pass it has brought you. "however, since it would be a malice of which i am incapable not to gratify it, i will show you what it was i had in reserve," and the sepoy produced the small shagreen case with which raikes had been on such questionable terms of familiarity, and pressing back the lid revealed the splendid diamond to the still impassive gratz. with a continuation of his elaborate courtesy and his purposely stilted phrasing, the sepoy said: "if the sapphire was argument, this was certainly conviction. the moral barrier which could withstand the assault of the first, must, unquestionably, have yielded to the insidious attack of the second. "but since you have managed to place yourself beyond the reach of such considerations, i will be compelled to discontinue my futile eloquence and leave you to your more mature reflections. "observe!" he continued, as he replaced the sapphire in the case and restored the latter to the right-hand pocket of his waistcoat, "i place the argument in this repository"; and treating the diamond in like manner, he deposited that in the left-hand pocket and added: "and place the conviction on this side. "it is not often that one is the embodiment of _belles-lettres_, having such details of logic so easily within reach." during all this travesty of demeanor and phrase, with its tantalizing mockery and its crafty insinuation, gratz had betrayed no emotion whatever, nor did his eyes lose one whit of their usual placidity as he beheld the sepoy, with a sort of lithe, animal rapidity, produce a small traveling-case from the wardrobe and return with it to the bag of coin on the table. "you see," continued the sepoy as he was about to deposit the bag in the case, "i have left room for this. i anticipated its addition to my paraphernalia and made preparations accordingly. "notice how neatly it fits in. and now i offer you my sympathy for the miscarriage of your plans. "this, to a man of sentiment and enterprise, is always obnoxious. i feel myself indebted to you for some exceedingly intelligent mental processes, and, believe me, i part with you with a feeling so nearly resembling regret that i will not do you the discourtesy of doubting that the sentiment is genuine. "i leave you to make explanations to your clients in whatsoever way you may see fit. i salute you!" and the next instant the sepoy had slipped through the doorway into the hall, along which he hurried until he reached the main entrance of the house. to make his way through this into the vestibule and thence into the street was the work of the next few moments, and with a grin of malicious triumph he descended the steps which led to the pave. scarcely had his feet touched the ground when a man from either side of the stone balustrade stepped out, and each grasped an arm of the scowling sepoy. "a moment, please!" exclaimed one of the men, as he snapped back the shield of a small lantern he carried and directed its searching light into the distorted countenance. "ah!" exclaimed his captor to the fellow on the other side of the prisoner, "this is the chap, tom." "now, mister, you can walk back. not a word; you may be all right and we may be all wrong; it can soon be settled in there." "one question, please," begged the sepoy. "who are you? by what right do you detain me?" "one at a time, mister," replied the man with the lantern. "there's a man inside who can answer these questions for you." a sudden light penetrated the mind of the sepoy. "ah!" he exclaimed, "i understand." "that's good, mister; it will save a deal of explanation." "these men, then," muttered the sepoy to himself, "are the subordinates of the detective within." at that moment the moon slipped out from behind a mask of cloud and silhouetted the three. by its light the prisoner examined the grim countenances before him. "surely," he decided, "there is nothing in these features to indicate a strenuous moral objection to the bribery of the contents of my traveling-case," and at the thought of the absurd discrepancy between his present predicament and the cynical altitudes of a short time since, and as he considered the humiliation awaiting him when he was compelled once more to face the detective, he decided to venture on another attempt to purchase his freedom. with this thought he was about to place the case he carried on the ground, when one of the men, remarking his movement and mistaking its purpose, cried: "here; none of that!" "but," expostulated the sepoy, "you do not----" "shut up!" replied the fellow coarsely. "come inside and show us where you have left the chief. you here, the boss in there--something's wrong." with a muttered curse, and urged by no ceremonious hands, the sepoy reascended the steps. having in his haste to escape neglected to latch the doors, the raging sepoy had no difficulty in conducting his captors along the hallway to his room. in a few moments this strangely assorted trio reached the apartment in which the sepoy had but a short time before disported himself, so to speak, with such waspish reprisal, and delivered such a farrago of ridicule and cynicism upon the defenseless head of the silent figure bound to the chair. at sight of this extraordinary spectacle the two understrappers came to a standstill and looked upon the sepoy with a species of respect. never before had they beheld their chief in such a predicament; the means of its accomplishment must have been amazingly clever, and the agent himself somewhat of a marvel. however, while one of the men stood guard over the sepoy, with a renewal of his watchfulness awakened by what he saw, the other proceeded to unfasten the gag and remove the strips which bound the unfortunate gratz. after a pause of inscrutable regard of the sepoy, who, despite the embarrassing dénouement, managed to maintain a fair degree of composure, gratz, addressing the man who had released him, said: "you will find the key of these handcuffs on the table yonder." obedient to the direction of the detective's glance, the man proceeded to the table, found the object of his quest, and inserting it in the handcuffs detached them from the hands of the still impassive gratz. "now," continued the latter calmly, "i will transfer these ornaments to that gentleman. secure him precisely as you found me, with the exception of the gag." presently this was done. at this, turning to his subordinates, the detective said: "leave me with this gentleman for a while; i will call you in case of need." as the pair passed through the doorway, gratz, with no intimation of triumph or exultation in his manner, addressed the unhappy sepoy, with an emphasis, however, which implied that he had not forgotten the experience to which he had been subjected. "and _now_ what have you to say?" the sepoy looked his questioner directly in the eyes, with a glance that was subtle in its insinuation and eloquent of collusive suggestion, and replied: "the sapphire is still in my right waistcoat pocket, and the diamond in the left." the end as the beautiful reader reached this singular conclusion, which came with an abruptness that indicated the decrepit imagination of the author and his overworked vocabulary, she looked up from the absurd vehicle of all this hectic style and incident and beheld in the eyes of her auditor a suggestion of the light that is indigenous to neither land nor sea. to dennis, who had in his composition the material of a poet, if not the finish, the melodious intonations of the widow had seemed like the incongruous orchestration of birds in the treetops to some minor tragedy among the denizens of the underbrush. her elocution was exquisite and provided the bizarre narrative with a refinement which contrasted with its crudities, like valenciennes lace on a background of calico. "well," she said smilingly, after she had subjected his ingenuous glance to the rapid analysis of her intuition, with a satisfaction which it startled her to recognize, "what do you think of it?" "is that the end?" asked dennis. "yes, it is the end." with a shade of emphasis, intended by dennis to indicate that the words of the reply of the widow were suggestive of other finalities which he did not like to consider, he said: "that is no end; it looks to me as though the author has struck his limits." "no," objected the widow, "i fancy that he has left the subject open so that the reader can solve the riddle in his own way." "there is no riddle!" exclaimed dennis. "no?" inquired the widow; "and that splendid sapphire, that magnificent diamond to tempt the detective?" "they will not tempt him," said dennis with simple conviction and a degree of feeling that might lead one to suppose that he was an indispensable element in the situation. "he will recollect his professional pride; he will remember that he is a man." "oh!" exclaimed the widow with an indescribable intonation. "don't you think that i am right?" asked dennis. "yes," replied his companion with a pronounced emphasis on the personal pronoun which followed, "yes, _you_ are right"; and as she considered the frank revelation of character in his reply and contrasted it with the possible disclosures of similar situations among the majority of men she knew, she added: "i am glad that we have read the story." what a man wills, by mrs george de horne vaizey. ________________________________________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________________ what a man wills, by mrs george de horne vaizey. chapter one. at the dying of the year. the new year festivities were over; in the hall of the old country manor the guests had danced and sung, had stood hand in hand in a widening circle, listening to the clanging of bells in the church-tower near by. now, with much hooting and snorting of motors, the visitors from afar had departed to their homes, and the members of the house-party had settled themselves by the log fire for the enjoyment of a last chat. there were eleven people left around the fire, counting the host and hostess, four men, and five girls, all young, as youth is counted in these days, the women averaging about twenty-four or five, the men a few years older, and in the mellow light of the fire, and of the massed candles in the old brass sconces on the walls, they looked a goodly company. they belonged, it was easy to see, to the cultured classes; whatever might be their means or present position, these people had been born of gentlefolks, had been educated according to the traditions of their kind, and were equipped with the weapons of courtesy and self-control, which had descended to them as a heritage from those passed and gone. mentally, they might be guilty of anger and impatience; mentally, they might rage and storm--that was their own business, and concerned no one but themselves; in the presence of their fellow-creatures they could be trusted to present a smiling front. there are occasions, however, when the most reserved natures are tempted to unclose, and of these the opening of the new year is surely the most seductive. when the guests have departed, and the laughter is stilled, when for a last half-hour men and women sit quietly over the fire, there arises in the mind a consciousness of severance with the past, a sense of newness, which is not untouched with awe. a new year has opened--what will it bring? what gifts, what losses, lie awaiting in its lap? when its last hour trembles away on the striking of a deep twelfth chime, what will happen to me? where shall i be? in the language, the consciousness of earth--_shall i be at all_? the tall dark girl, who had borne herself so proudly during the dance, shivered and bent forward to warm her hands at the fire. "whew! it's eerie!" she cried. "how i hate new years, and birthdays, and anniversaries that make one think! what's the use of them, anyway? one ambles along quite contentedly in the daily rut--it's only when one's eyes are opened to see that it is a rut..." "and that there are a solid three hundred and sixty-five days of it ahead!" chimed in the man with the firm chin and the tired eyes. "exactly! then one pants to get out." "and bowl triumphantly along the road in a c-spring carriage, or the very latest divinity in motor-cars!" laughed the beauty who sat in the corner of the oak settle, agreeably conscious that the background was all that could be desired as a foil to her red-gold hair, and that the dim light shed a kindly illusion over a well-worn frock. "i object to ruts of every kind and persuasion. they disagree with me, and make me cross, and i'm so nice when i'm pleased! the parsons say that prosperity makes people hard and selfish, but it is just the other way about with me. when there's not enough to go round--well, naturally, i keep it all for myself; but so long as i have everything i want, i _like_ other people to be happy. i really do! i'd give them everything that was over." she looked around with a challenging smile, and the others obediently laughed and applauded. it was fashionable to have a new role, and it was claudia's role to be honest, and quite blatantly selfish. she was pretty enough to carry it off, and clever enough to realise that her plain speaking served as a blind. no one believed for a moment that she was speaking the truth, whereas, if she had not distracted attention by waving this red flag, they must certainly have discovered the truth for themselves. claudia's god was self; she would have seen her best friend cut up into mincemeat, to provide herself with a needed _hors d'oeuvre_. the tall man with the large head and the sharp, hawklike features, sprang to his feet, and stood in the centre of the circle, aflush with excitement. "ruts!" he repeated loudly. "what's the matter with us all is we're _content_ with ruts! the thing which depresses me most at the beginning of a year is to look back and realise the futility, the weakness, the lack of progress. great heavens! how much longer are we to be content with ruts? our youth is passing; in a short time it will have gone. what have we done with our years? if we had been worthy the name, we should have been done with ruts by now, they would have been paved over with a smooth white path--the path to fortune! we should have walked along it--our own road, a private road, forbidden to trespassers!" a girl seated on an oak stool, in the shadow of the settle, raised her quiet eyes, and watched him while he spoke. she was a slim, frail thing, with hair parted in the centre and coiled flatly round her head. she had taken the lowest seat, and had drawn it into the shadow, but now she leaned forward, and the firelight searched her face. she was not beautiful, she was not even pretty, she was small and insignificant, she had made no effort to join in the conversation, and now, as john malham finished speaking, she shrank back into her corner, and became once more a frail, shadowy shape; nevertheless, a beholder who had been vouchsafed that one glimpse would have found himself turning once and again to that shaded corner. he would have wanted to see that girl again; he would have been conscious of a strange attraction towards her; he would have asked himself curiously was it liking, or--hate? the girl said nothing, but a man by her side punctuated the pause by a laugh. he was a handsome fellow, with a bright, quizzical face and a pair of audacious blue eyes. "oh, be hanged to fortune!" he cried loudly. "be hanged to flagged paths! they're the deepest ruts of all, if you could but see it. what's wrong with us all is lethargy, slackness, the inability to move of our own accord. what we get matters nothing, it's the _getting_ that counts! why, when i think of the whole wide world lying open, waiting, beckoning, and of fellows like myself pacing every day of our lives in a square mile cage in the city, i--i--" (he snapped his fingers in a frenzy of impatience) "i wonder how long i can carry my chains! they'll snap some day, and i'll be off, and it will be a long good-bye to the civilised world." the girl in the blue dress looked at him with wistful eyes, but she laughed more gaily than ever, and cried: "wait, please, till after the dance on the tenth, and when you _do_ go, send home things to us, won't you? shawls and cashmeres, and embroideries. and pearls! i've always longed to know a real live pearl-fisher. he ought to remember us, oughtn't he, everybody--because we've been so kind and patient with his vagaries? we all deserve something, but bags me the pearls!" "oh, you shall have your pearls right enough," said the handsome man, but there was a careless tone in his voice which made the promise seem worthless as sand, and he never glanced in the direction of the girl in the blue dress. pretty, wistful little norah boyce looked up quickly as if she were about to speak; thought better of it, and turned back to stare into the fire. the girl seated on the oak stool leaned forward once again, and looked straight into the face of the handsome man. one white hand rested against her throat, a slim column of a throat, bare of ornament. her fingers moved as though in imagination they were fingering a rope of pearls. buried in the depth of a great arm-chair lay the form of a giant of a man who had listened to the conversation with a sleepy smile. at this point a yawn overcame him; he struggled with it, only to find himself entangled in a second. "i say," he drawled lazily, "what about bed? doesn't that strike you as about the most sensible proposition for the moment? i know this dissatisfied feeling. no new year's gathering is complete without it. best thing to get to sleep as soon as possible, and start afresh next day. things look better after coffee and bacon. what's the use of grizzling? if we can't have what we want, let us like what we can get. eh? it's pretty certain we'll never get what we want." "are you so sure of that?" asked a quiet voice. the hostess sat erect in her seat, her graceful head with its silvering hair silhouetted against the wall. she looked round the circle of her guests, and smiled, a fine, delicate smile. "when you make that statement, frank, you are contradicting flatly all the premises of modern thought. the time has passed for sitting still and lamenting the impossible. the time is past for calling anything impossible. the thing that a man strives for--deeply, strongly, persistently--_that thing he can hovel_ that is the theory held by many great thinkers of to-day. and it is _true_." there was silence for a moment, while everyone looked questioningly at the figure of the speaker. the man with the tired eyes asked a question: "i suppose that applies to women as well as to men! have _you_ proved it, mrs ingram?" "i have proved it," answered the quiet voice. the host leaned forward, and knocked the ash of his cigarette into the grate. his face was hidden from view. mrs ingram looked round with a sudden, challenging smile. "_why don't you all prove it_?" she cried. "why don't you all start forth on this year with an aim in view? i don't say you will gain it in one year, or in two, or possibly in a dozen; but if you care enough to go on trying, it _will_ be gained! it's a question of one big aim instead of a dozen. the lesser things must go; you must become a man, a woman, of one idea. there are other things which are good and pleasant and alluring, but they must be set aside as weights which would hamper the chase. you cannot have the one big thing--and everything else! therefore it is well to ask oneself seriously at the beginning--_is it worth while_?" once more the guests were silent, staring into the heart of the fire. that last question, uttered in a deep, grave tone, had called to the bar those inner voices which had so long breathed envy and discontent. each listener examined his own motives, and knew a chill of doubt, but the chill passed, and the conviction remained. each one felt convinced that life held no good outside the coveted goal. the silence gave assent, as mrs ingram realised without need of further words. "suppose," she said gently, "you make me your father confessor to-night, and confess your various aims and ambitions? it is the sort of confession appropriate to a new year's dawn, and perhaps the very putting into words will vitalise your dreams and take them the first step towards becoming realities. you must _all_ confess, remember! there must be no holding back; if one begins the rest must follow, and after the confessions have been made, we must pledge ourselves to help each other towards our separate goals, if not by material aids, by reinforcing his will with our own!" the girl in blue laughed lightly, and cried: "oh, let's! let's all confess, and then, years afterwards, when we are old, and wear transformations, we'll meet again, at the dying of the year, and sit round the yule log, and tell the stories of our lives. and if we have failed, we will weep salt tears of disappointment; and if we have succeeded, we'll weep more, because it's all hollow and stuffed with bran, and we'll make pious reflections, and sigh: `oh, me! oh, my!' and preach sermons to the youngsters, and they won't believe a word. and so it will all begin over again. juliet, you set the ball rolling, by speaking of ruts. you ought to be the first to confess. what is the secret longing of your heart?" the dark girl showed no sign of embarrassment at being chosen to lead the way. there was no sign of shrinking or hesitation upon her face; on the contrary, at the sound of that penetrating question, the careless smile died away, and her features seemed suddenly to glow with life. "_adventure_!" she cried quickly. "give me that, and, for good or ill, i shall be satisfied. fate made me with a vagrant's heart shut up in a woman's body, and for twenty-four years it's been fed on monotony in a country parish. since i left the schoolroom i've never had a real experience of my own. i've had trivial pleasures, never one real big joy; never"--she looked slowly, thoughtfully, from face to face--"_never a grief_! there's something here"--she laid her hand on her heart--"fighting to get out! the ordinary, quiet, comfortable life would not content it. it wants more. it wants happenings, changes, excitement--it wants the big world, and i am a prisoner in the castle of convention. mrs ingram, how does your prophecy apply to me? how am i to get out?" "no prison is so strong that it cannot be pulled down, juliet. the walls of jericho fell at the sound of the trumpet. but you must discover your own trumpet, and the walls won't fall at the first flourish," said mrs ingram, and then suddenly and incontinently she added: "poor child!" "just so! miss juliet will certainly be one of those who will sigh: `woe's me!' at our future merry meeting," cried the tall man with the hawklike features, "and it's rough on her, too, for she's so touchingly modest in her desire. doesn't care a pin apparently whether she comes out better or worse! now, for my own part, that's all i do care for. success! success! that's my mania: forging ahead, gaining on my opponents, winning the lead. adventure doesn't count. i'd sit at an office desk for fourteen hours out of the twenty-four, for fourteen years at a stretch, if it ensured success at the end--a big success, a success which left me head and shoulders above the ruck. i'd walk the world barefooted from one end to the other to gain a secret that was worth while. success is my god. to gain it i would sacrifice everything else." "then, of a certainty, it can be yours," said mrs ingram quietly, and she looked at him with such a gentle glance that he asked her a laughing question: "are you going to call me `poor child!' too?" "not yet," she said quietly. then she turned to the big man, and laid a hand on his arm. "you next, frank?" "oh, well!" he laughed good-humouredly yet with a tinge of embarrassment. "i didn't bargain for this confession business, but since it's the rule, i must follow suit, i suppose. i'm a commonplace beggar! i'm pretty well content with things as they come. i'm not keen on any adventures that i know of; if i can have enough to be comfortable, that's all i want. i'd like a nice wife, and a house with a bit of garden; and a youngster or two, and a runabout car, don't you know, and the usual accessories! that's about all i fancy. `man wants but little here below.'" "frank plumps for comfort," said mrs ingram, smiling. "his programme sounds distinctly restful, for a change. take care of your figure, frank! i should suggest mowing the garden as a helpful recreation. next, please! claudia!" "oh, money, please!" cried claudia eagerly. "_lots_ of money, and a safe full of jewels. do you know, i dress on forty pounds a year all told, and a rich cousin sends me cast-offs! i take them hungrily, but i hate her for it, and when i'm a millionaire i'll cut her dead. a german jew stock-broker, dear, or a maharajah of `something-core,' or a soap-boiler without h's--anyone will do if he has enough money! i'd rather not, of course, but it's the only way! dear people, will you _all_ come to my wedding?" "claudia, you are impossible! you ought to be ashamed!" "yes, i should, but i'm not! isn't it horrid of me? if i blow _very_ loudly, do you think i shall go off this season?" "claudia speaks in her usual highly coloured fashion, but there's no doubt about her aim. she wants money, and, incidentally, all that it can buy.--adventure. success. comfort. money. we are getting plenty of variety! rupert, what are you going to give us?" the man with the tired eyes and the firm chin leaned forward in his seat, with his elbows resting on his knees and his chin supported in the hollow of his hands. the firelight showed the delicate network of lines round eyes and mouth, the modelling of the long curved lips. "i--want--love!" he said quietly, and a stir of amazement passed round the circle of listeners. he looked round and smiled, a slow, amused smile. "surprised, aren't you? didn't expect that from me; but it isn't as simple as it sounds. i'm not thinking of frank's `nice' wife, and a house in the suburbs, the usual midsummer madness followed by settling down to live--stodgily!--ever after. i'm speaking of something big, primal, overwhelming; something that _lasts_. love comes to most men in the course of their lives, a modicum of love. the dullest dog has his day, a day uplifted, glorified, when he walks like a god. afterwards he looks back upon it from his padded arm-chair, and smiles-a smug smile. it was a moment of madness; now he is sane, that's _his_ point of view; but mine happens to be precisely the opposite! to me those moments are life, the only life worth living. the rest is a sleep. if i could have what i wish, i'd choose to love, to _be_ loved, like the great masters in the art, the lovers _par excellence_ of the ages. i'd be willing, if needs be, to sacrifice everything else, and count the world well lost. it would be a love not only of the senses, but of the mind, of the soul, and so it would live on, undimmed by the passing of youth. that is my dream, you understand! as regards expectation, i don't share mrs ingram's optimism. it's not only myself who is involved, you see. it is another person, and my desires are so absurdly in excess of my deserts. who am i that i should expect the extraordinary?" he ceased, and again the silence fell. the girl in blue bit hard on her under lip and shrank back into the shadow; the girl who had wished for adventure drew a quick gasp of excitement; the woman who had lived, and gained her desire, drew a quivering sigh. silent, immovable, in the shadow of the settle, sat the girl in white. "oh, dear!" cried claudia suddenly. "if he _only_ had money! i'd adore beyond all things to be worshipped on a pedestal! rupert, if an old aunt dies, and leaves you her millions,--would i do?" that was the best of claudia, her prattle bridged so many awkward gaps! in an instant the tension had eased, and a general laugh broke the silence. rupert laughed with the rest, no whit embarrassed by the question. "not at all, beauty," he said calmly. "i need a great passion in return, and you are incapable of it. most women are! i doubt if in the whole course of my life i have met one who could rise to it," and he cast a quick glance round the group until his eyes met those of his hostess. "very few men would understand what you are talking about, or, if they did, would desire so demanding a romance," mrs ingram told him. "the man who _does_ will find his mate, but--he must pay the price! so we have come to love at last! i thought it would have taken an earlier place." "mrs ingram," cried claudia boldly, "was _that_ what you wished for yourself? you told us you had proved your own theories. did _you_ wish for love?" "no!" said the hostess quietly. "it was not love." she glanced across the hearth as she spoke, and her eyes and her husband's met, and exchanged a message. the man with the magnetic eyes burst hastily into the conversation, as if anxious to divert attention to himself. "i suppose i come next? i've been questioning myself while you've all been talking. it's difficult to condense one's ambitions into just one word, but i've got it at last--or the one which most nearly expresses what i mean. _danger_! that's it. that's what i want. i'm fed up with monotony, and convention, and civilisation, but i go a step farther than miss juliet, for i demand, so to speak, the superlative of adventure. risk, uncertainty, the thrill, the fear! i want to take my life in my hands, to get out into the open of life, and come face to face with the unknown. put me down as `danger,' mrs ingram, and when you think over all the wishes, mine really seems the easiest of fulfilment. there's plenty of trouble knocking around, and a man need not have far to search. i think, on the whole, i'll absolve my friends from that promise to help! it might land them in disagreeable consequences!" "but are we expected to wish you good luck? it really _is_ an invidious position!" cried the girl in blue. she sighed, and twisted her fingers together in her lap. "it's coming to my turn," she continued, "and i'm so horribly embarrassed, for my confession sounds the most selfish of all: i want just to be happy! that's all! but it means so much, and it's such a difficult thing to accomplish. don't anyone _dare_ to tell me that it's in my own power, and must be manufactured inside, because i've heard it so often, and it's not true! i need _outside_ things, and i can't be happy till i get them. but i only want them so that i can be happy, and i'd give them up in a minute if _other_ things would have the same effect. don't i express myself lucidly and well? i'm a sweet, tender-hearted little girl, dear friends, and i ask for so little! kind contributions gratefully received. mrs ingram dear, you won't preach, will you?" "not for the world," cried mrs ingram laughing. "why shouldn't you be happy, meriel dear? i am sure we all wish you a short quest, and a rich harvest! and what does norah want?" mrs ingram's voice was a trifle apologetic as she looked towards where norah boyce sat, turning her head from side to side to listen to the pronouncements of her fellow guests, sometimes serious, sometimes smiling, but always with that little wistful pucker of the brows which of late had become a settled expression. it seemed at the moment as if it would be more sensible to inquire what norah did _not_ want, for a very harvest of last straws had combined to break her back within the last two years. she was an orphan, but having been possessed of a moderate, but comfortable income (five hundred a year to wit), had contrived to lead a sufficiently full and agreeable life during the half-dozen years which had elapsed since she had left school. she paid visits, she travelled abroad with congenial friends, she had a room at a ladies' club, and stayed frequently as paying guest with such of her friends as were not overburdened with this world's wealth. everyone was pleased to entertain a pretty, particularly sweet-tempered girl, and to receive five pounds a week for the privilege, for there was no meanness about norah, she looked upon money simply as a means to an end, spent lavishly, and was as ignorant as a doll as to the investments from which her income arose. she knew by reference to her bank-book that a cheque for about a hundred pounds was due in december, and was convenient for christmas gifts, and that another--about fifty--arrived in time for the july sales. she knew that her receipts varied, but that, of course, was the result of a liberal government, and would come right with its fall from power! on one occasion a cheque never came at all, and it appeared that something had gone wrong in america, and that it never would come any more. norah felt very indignant with her trustee, and was convinced that the loss was entirely his fault. she asked pathetically what was the _use_ of having a trustee, and felt very christian and forbearing, because she was quite civil to him when they next met,--from all which it will be gathered that norah boyce was a survival of the old-fashioned, unworldly, more or less helpless young women of a past generation. she had not been trained either to work, or to think for herself; her education had not specialised on any one subject; her value in the wage-earning market was exactly nil, and before the end of her twenty-fifth year her income had fallen to nearly the same point. it had been a year of calamity. everything went wrong. a european war sent down the prices of stocks and shares. a railway strike at home swallowed up dividends; a bank failed; water leaked into an oil well, and dried up on a rubber plantation. norah had no time to recover from one disaster before another burst upon her; while she was still sorrowfully digesting the fact that a summer remittance was not to hand, intelligence arrived that as regarded autumn payments, the trustee regretfully pronounced no dividends. in short, fortune, having smiled upon the young woman for twenty-five years, had now turned her back with a vengeance, until eventually she was face to face with the fact that in future her work must be to earn, rather than to spend. mrs ingram had played her usual part of confidante and consoler during the year of upheaval, and the invitation had been given with the intention of allowing "the poor little dear time to think." it would not be tactful to exclude her from the general questioning that had sprung out of new year confidences, but in her heart the hostess shrank from putting the question. "and what do _you_ want, norah? i think it's your turn!" contrary to expectation norah did not look at all perturbed. she shrugged her shoulders, and cried instantly, "oh, work, of course! plenty of work. at once. with a handsome remuneration, paid quarterly in advance! it sounds very moral and praiseworthy, but it isn't a bit. i'm not fond of work; i'd a great deal sooner go on amusing myself in my own way. i've never had one scrap of longing to be a bachelor girl, and live on my own, and cook sketchy meals on a greasy stove. i detest food in the raw, and should never be able to eat it, after contending with it in its earliest stages. i'd live on tea and nuts. but it's a got-to! i _must_ earn money, so i must work. the trouble is to discover what i can do... i can think of thousands of things that i _can't_... i can-with care--make five shillings go about as far as an ordinary person's half-crown, so i'm not exactly suited to be a housekeeper. i couldn't trim a hat to save my life, but i can alter one quite well. i'm clever at it. it's generally accomplished by first sitting on it, and then putting it on in the dark. you wouldn't believe how smart it can look! do you think there'd be any chance of selling the patent? or could i advertise in a fashion paper--`lady remodels hats to latest mode. send orders for two and six to n.b.'? ... i can't write a book, or paint a picture, or teach a child over three, or nurse, or massage, or type, or keep a beauty parlour--or--or--or anything that working women _do_ do! i might offer myself to the educational society, as a horrible example of how a girl ought _not_ to be brought up, and be exhibited on the platform at lectures. the work would be light, and i could wear pretty clothes, but i don't think it would be respectful to my parents. i think i must be a `nice old-fashioned girl,' but there's no demand for old-fashioned girls to-day. nobody wants them!" "i don't agree with you there, norah. i think there's a big demand," mrs ingram said quickly, and from the men present came a deep murmur of agreement. no one present was in love with norah boyce herself, but all were in love with her type. she would make a charming wife, a delightful mother. to the end of her life she would probably have difficulties with cheques, and remain hopelessly mixed on political questions, but she would be a genius in the making of a home! "you'll find your right niche, dear, i've no doubt of that. you mustn't allow yourself to despair before you begin your search." mrs ingram continued smiling. "your ambition, at any rate, is a thing in which we can all help. please everybody remember norah, and let her know at once if you hear of a suitable post! i think we must make a strong point of her disposition. such a very sweet temper ought to be priced above rubies." "i'll sell it cheap at three pounds a week!" said norah ruefully, and there was a merry outburst of laughter. it died quickly, however, and a general expectation made itself felt, the echo of which sounded in mrs ingram's voice. "only one more confession, and we have gone through our list. lilith is hiding, as usual, but she shall not escape. come out of your corner, you silent sprite, and tell us what gift you would ask of the fates to-night!" "a white moss rose!" drawled claudia mockingly, but the ripple of laughter which usually followed her words was this time feeble and unreal. every eye was turned towards that darkened corner; the very fire, as though following the general example, threw up a long blue flame which flickered strangely over lilith's face. she moved forward with a noiseless deliberation; first, two tiny, white-shod feet gleamed upon the oak floor, then two small hands clasped on folds of satin; last of all, the small head with the tightly swathed hair, the small, straight features, and the curious light-rimmed eyes. for a long, silent moment she sat gazing before her. her voice when she spoke had an unexpected depth and richness. "i want," said lilith slowly--"power!" mrs ingram disapproved of anachronisms, and set her face sternly against electric lighting in her ancestral home. to-night, as every night, the retiring guests helped themselves to one of a row of silver candlesticks on a table near the staircase, and lit it with a match before beginning the ascent. lilith was the last of the ladies to receive her candle; the last to receive the salutations of the four men. she raised her face to each in turn, and gazed deep in his eyes, while their hands met and parted, and to three men out of the four came, at that moment, a vision and a dream. the man who had wished for love, thrilled at the thought of a woman's eyes looking out of an unknown face, which yet would share some magical quality with those now looking into his own. john malham saw in a vision an icy peak, sharp and white, and beautiful with a deadly beauty. the touch of her hand in his was cold and light as a snowflake. val lessing looked at the white column of her throat, and beheld round it ropes of pearls--lustrous, shimmering pearls for which a man might venture his life; but francis, the giant, had no illusions--he was sleepy, and he thought of bed. -----------------------------------------------------------------------alone in the great hall, husband and wife stood over the dying logs. "well, wonderful woman!" he said, "you have given us a wonderful evening, and now we must stand by, and watch those nine strugglers in the maelstrom. it will be interesting; it will be awful. how many of them do you suppose will win through to their goal?" mrs ingram did not answer his question; she asked another of her own accord: "did you notice," she said softly, "that no one, not one of them--" "wished your wish?" he finished for her. "yes! i noticed!" he laid his hands on her shoulders, and they stood together, gazing deeply into each other's eyes. "but," she sighed softly, "it is the best!" chapter two. the girl who wished for money. claudia berrington prided herself that if she had many faults, she had at least one supreme virtue--she was honest! she condescended to no subterfuges, no half-truths, no beatings about the bush. the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth fell from her coral lips with a nakedness which astonished her hearers, and this despite the fact that few people had less consideration for honesty for honesty's sake. there was no "i can, because i ought" in claudia berrington's composition; her outspokenness was simply a means to an end. very early in life her sharp wits had mastered the fact that honesty was the best policy, and that to speak the truth was at once to disarm criticism and to avoid the danger of pitfalls. to claudia's supreme delight, she discovered that her adopted virtue was quite an asset in society. it was so uncommon, so arresting to meet a girl who _really_ said what she meant, that it made quite a sensation, when found. people said to one another: "have you heard claudia's latest?" and hung upon her lips in delighted anticipation of shocks. and claudia duly shocked them, and enjoyed the process. openly, at the new year's party, claudia had confessed that the one overwhelming ambition of her heart was to be rich, and as there seemed only one way in which a helpless young woman could obtain a limitless command of money, had declared herself ready to marry the highest bidder in the market. "a german jew stock-broker, or a maharajah of `something-core,' or a soap-boiler bereft of h's. anyone will do!" she had cried, "if he can only give me enough." and in a _tete-a-tete_ with a girl friend over her bedroom fire the same night, she had repeated and defended the same statement. "ashamed?" she cried, "why should i be ashamed? i'm not a bit! how can i help my own nature? most girls put love before everything else. well, so do i; but it's love for _myself_. i love myself better than any stupid young man, and i mean to make myself happy. i couldn't be happy without money, therefore money i must have, and if i find a man who is ready and willing to give it to me, why on earth should i refuse?" the friend looked at the fair, delicately cut face with a pang of envy. "you are so lovely, claudia; you'll find him fast enough, and he'll worship you, and think you a paragon of virtue. it _is_ unfair! a plain-looking girl who would have loved him back, and been amiable and devoted, would have no chance, whereas you will carry all before you. it _is_ unfair!" "oh, i'll be quite sweet to him. i'll have to be, to keep him in a good temper. i'll be wickedly extravagant, you see, like all _nouveaux riches_, and i detest rows! don't you worry about the man, dear. he'll be happy enough. so long as i get all i want, i'm quite easy to live with!" "no one gets all one wants in life, claudia," said the friend tritely. "all the money in the world can't protect you from the troubles which enter every life!" "perhaps not; but it can gild them! if i'm bound to have troubles, let me have them _de luxe_. a million or two can make anything picturesque. all the difference between sables and bombazine. shouldn't i look sweet, meriel, as a widow, with a marie stuart bonnet and a cloak of priceless sables? he might die, you know! you never can tell!" then meriel had arisen and swept scornfully from the room, and claudia had laughed, and yawned, and gone to bed. several men proposed to claudia during the next two years, only to be rejected with a finality which left no ground for appeal, and then, soon after the celebration of her twenty-fifth birthday, john biggs appeared upon the scene. he was neither a maharajah nor a german jew, and he knew nothing whatever about soap-boiling. probably in early years he had hardly been better acquainted with soap itself! he was an australian by birth; a man of the people, who by a series of lucky chances had first discovered a gold reef, and then secured it for his own. a born fighter, he had experienced a delight in every step on the road to success, which was strangely lacking when the summit was reached. he was a multi-millionaire; he owned more money than he could spend. the battle had been fought and won, and henceforth life stretched before him barren of interest. he made his way to london, as millionaires have a habit of doing, was eagerly welcomed by a certain section of society, and in the course of a few weeks met miss berrington at a musical "at home." "who's the ogre?" asked claudia of her companion as she watched the entrance of the big, lumbering man, who still carried his dress clothes with an air of discomfort. she shuddered daintily. "he looks like, `the better to eat you, my dear.' such teeth oughtn't to be _allowed_! _has_ he any eyes? they are so buried in fat that one can't see. it's very inconsiderate of lady rollo to give us such shocks! if he comes over here, i shall scream!" "that's biggs, the australian millionaire, the third richest man in the world, so they say. he _is_ an ugly beggar, and as glum as he's ugly. doesn't appear to get much fun out of his pile! there's no need to be introduced to him, miss berrington, if you'd rather not. shall we go and hide in the conservatory?" the speaker was a recent acquaintance, sufficiently under the spell of claudia's dimples to believe her everything that was disinterested and simple. her reply gave him a shock. "a millionaire, is he? that covers a multitude of--teeth! i shan't scream, after all. no; i don't want to hide. i've a penchant for millionaires! i'll sit here and look pretty! how long do you give him, mr bruce, before he asks for an introduction?" mr bruce gave him ten minutes, but, as a matter of fact, it was only seven and a half by the clock before the ogre was bowing before the beauty's sofa, and being smilingly welcomed to a seat by her side. he was portentously ugly! claudia, regarding him with her long green eyes, thought she had never before beheld so unattractive a man. "flabby dabby" was her not inappropriate mental definition, but the small grey eyes looking out of the vast mass of flesh were disconcertingly keen and alert. claudia realised that her description did not apply to the man's _mind_, however aptly it might fit his body. as for john biggs, no words could describe his admiration of this wonderful new specimen of womanhood. never in all his life had he beheld anyone so fair, so exquisite, so ethereal. her hair was like threads of gold. the exquisite fineness and beauty of her complexion was like that of a child. it seemed a miracle in the eyes of the big, rough man that a grown-up woman should preserve such delicacy of charm. yet as they exchanged the first commonplaces of conversation there was something in the expression of those sunken eyes which was not wholly approving. they seemed to claudia like small steel gimlets, piercing into her soul! as he bade her good-bye that evening, john biggs announced coolly: "i shall see you again on thursday, as arranged!" and when claudia exclaimed, he waved aside her protests with a sarcastic laugh. "you have been at pains to tell me exactly what you are to be doing every day of this week! didn't you _intend_ me to meet you?" claudia shrugged her shoulders, and took refuge in her usual honesty. "well--i _did_! but you might have pretended that i didn't. it's rather unkind to show that you see through my poor little machinations with such ease." "i never pretend," said john biggs. his eyes rested on the string of imitation pearls encircling the slender neck, and he spoke again, roughly, insolently: "why do you deck yourself with sham beads?" "because i have nothing better, of course. what a stupid question to ask!" "you ought to wear emeralds," he said. "they are the stones for you, with your complexion and eyes. you ought to wear emeralds. ropes of emeralds." "i intend to!" answered claudia calmly. their eyes met, and they stared at one another; a cold and challenging stare. during the next fortnight society watched with interest the progress of the affair between "beauty and the beast," and speculation was rife as to its outcome. would he propose; and, if so, would she--_could_ she accept? it seemed impossible to her friends that even claudia, the mercenary, could sell herself to this ogre-like man. but claudia herself had no hesitation. on the fifteenth day after their introduction, the couple sat together under a tree at one of the outdoor functions of the year, and john biggs asked a sudden question: "what did you think of me," he asked, "when you first saw me that evening at the rollos'?" claudia smiled at him with the sweetness of an angel. "i thought," she said, "you were the ugliest man i had ever seen!" "and yet," he said sneering, "you made eyes at me across the room. you willed me to come and be introduced!" "yes, i did. but that," said claudia serenely, "was because you were rich." the gimlet-like eyes stared long and straight at the lovely face, beneath the rose-crowned hat. "i think," john biggs said deliberately, "you are the most soulless human creature on earth! that lovely body of yours is a shell--a beautiful shell with nothing inside. you have no soul!" "i don't want one, thank you. they're such a bother. why are you so cross with me all of a sudden?" cried claudia, making a delightful little _moue_ of childlike injury and distress. "i've been so nice to you all this time, and it's mean to ask questions, and then get cross when i tell you the truth." "you are false!" he replied coldly. "your honesty is a blind to hide the falseness beneath. there is nothing true, nor straight, nor honest about you." and then bending nearer, so that his huge brown face almost touched her own, he hissed a question into her ear: "claudia--will you marry me?" claudia gave a trill of birdlike laughter. "yes, please!" she cried gaily. "but what a funny proposal! you don't `lead up' a bit well. they are generally so flattering and nice, and you were horrible. why do you want to marry me, if you disapprove of me so much?" "why do you want to marry _me_?" he asked in return. there was no lover-like ardour in his voice; the sunken eyes gleamed with a mocking light; every tooth in his head seemed to show as he bent over her. "is it because you love me, claudia?" "n-ot exactly," said claudia, with a gulp. his nearness gave her a momentary feeling of suffocation, but she braced herself to bear it without shrinking. "n-ot exactly; but i love the things you can give me! it's a fair exchange, isn't it? you want a hostess; i want a home. you don't pretend to love me, either!" then suddenly his eyes blazed upon her. "not you, perhaps, but your beauty! i worship your beauty," he cried. "your beauty has driven me mad! make no mistake, my girl, you don't deceive me--you are not worth loving, not even worth buying, though you are so ready to sell your dainty pink and white self, but i am going to buy you all the same. i've worked hard for my money, and i can afford to indulge myself in worthless trifles if it suits my fancy. it is, as you say, a fair exchange. you want my money, i want your beauty. i have worked among grim sights; now, for a change, i shall look upon-you!" he stretched out his great hand, and laid it beside hers. "hide and satin! who would believe that we belonged to the same species! you're a dainty morsel, my dear. we shall make a pretty pair." claudia looked at him, and felt a shrinking of heart. "you'll be good to me?" she asked him. "you'll promise not to quarrel, or be stingy? you won't make me marry you, and then put me on an allowance, or fuss about bills? you'll promise faithfully!" "you shall have as much money as you can spend. you're an object _de luxe_, my dear, and shall be shielded carefully in your glass case. i'm not a fool to buy a curio, and not look after its preservation. take care of your beauty! deck it up! it's mine! i've bought it--_see that i get my price_!" he lifted his hand and stroked the exquisite cheek. seen close at hand, the fineness and smoothness of the skin was even more wonderful than from afar. he gripped the chin between finger and thumb, and turned her face to his, staring greedily at each curve and line. in appearance, as in manner, claudia went in for honesty. there was no artificiality about her beauty, not even a brush of powder upon the skin. the man who had just settled his terms regarded his purchase with kindling eyes. "i'll buy you your emeralds, my beauty, the finest emeralds i can find," he cried. "everyone shall talk of you; everyone shall envy you. the queen of beauty, mrs john biggs!" -----------------------------------------------------------------------claudia biggs had been married for two years, and had flourished like the proverbial bay-tree. her wedding had been one of the smartest functions of the season, her honeymoon had been spent in a lordly castle "lent for the occasion" by its titled owner. as mrs john biggs, she had made her presentation curtsey to her sovereign in a gown whose magnificence was the talk of the town; every house that was worth visiting threw open its doors to the millionaire and his wife, and society flocked to the entertainments given by them in their turn. there had been those who had prophesied disaster from the marriage, who had felt convinced that claudia would not be able to endure so close a companionship with her ogre, but as time passed on they were obliged to confess their mistake, for claudia bloomed into an amazing, an almost incredible, beauty. she had always been lovely, but the loveliness of claudia the maid was as nothing compared with that of claudia the wife. what had been, as it were, a flower of the wayside, had become the most rare and costly of exotics, tended with every extravagance of care. the most exquisite garments, the most costly gems, were showered upon her by a husband who took no account of money spent on the adornment of the beauty for which he had paid so high a price; but if he were generous in the fulfilment of his promise, he insisted that claudia should do her own share. she must be sparing in food and drink, she must take regular exercise; she must keep early hours, and retire to the country for specified periods of rest. john commanded, and, after one memorable attempt at rebellion, claudia had silently obeyed. she never voluntarily recalled that occasion, but from time to time it visited her in dreams, and then she awoke screaming, as from a nightmare. at the end of two years, the girl friend who had lectured claudia on the night of her confession that she wanted money came to pay a visit to the mayfair mansion, afire with eagerness to see with her own eyes this strangely matched pair. claudia was lazy about correspondence, and on the rare occasions when she did exert herself to write, her letters were stiff and artificial. she was aware of her own lack of epistolary skill, and was in the habit of referring her friends to the society papers for news of her doings. "they'll tell you all about my dresses," she would say serenely, and following her advice her friends read accounts of wonderful brocades embroidered with real jewels, of trains composed of cloth of gold, and cobweb creations of lace, whose value ran high in four figures, and they laughed to themselves as they read, recalling the old days and the rich cousin's "cast-offs." certainly claudia could now claim to be one of the most gorgeously dressed women in society, but--was she happy? meriel, who was of a romantic and sensitive temperament, recalled the appearance of john biggs as he had appeared at the wedding ceremony: the gross bulk of the man, the projecting teeth, the small eyes glowing like points of light, the large coarse face; remembering, she shuddered at the remembrance, and for the hundredth time repeated the question--was it possible that claudia could know happiness with such a mate? meriel arrived at the mayfair mansion late one march afternoon, and was escorted up a magnificent staircase into an equally magnificent drawing-room on the first floor. everything on which the eyes rested was costly and beautiful, but, looking around with dazzled eyes, meriel realised that this was but a show-room, an enlarged curio case, in which were exhibited isolated objects of value. there was no harmony about the whole, no skilful blending of effect; the loving touch which turns a house into a home was missing here. the perfect specimens stood stiffly in their places, there was no sign of occupation, not so much as a book lying upon a chair. the first impression was undoubtedly disappointing, but presently the door opened, and claudia herself appeared on the threshold, and ran forward, impulsive, loving, and unaffected as in the days of her obscurity. "meriel! oh, meriel! it _is_ ripping to see you again, you dear, nice old thing! i'm ever so pleased you could come. i don't often have visitors. i'm bored with visitors, but i wanted you. and you look just the same; not a bit older. i always did say you had the sweetest eyes in the world--_and_ the ugliest hats! meriel darling, i shall take you at once to my milliner's." "no good, my dear, i've no money to spend. besides, what's the use of worrying about clothes while i'm with you? i'm bound to look the veriest frump in comparison, so why worry any more? we are not all the wives of millionaires." "no! isn't it a pity? i do wish you were. sit down, dear, and we'll have tea." claudia touched the electric bell and seated herself on a sofa a little to the left of her friend's chair, looking towards her with a smile in which complacency was tinged with a touch of anxiety. "how do i look?" meriel looked, laughed, and waved her hands in the air with a gesture meant to convey the inadequacy of words. "a vision! a dream. snow white. rose red. a fairy princess. a diamond queen. quite unnecessarily and selfishly beautiful, my dear, and as sleek as a well-stroked cat! really, claudia, you've eclipsed yourself!" "oh, have i? you think so really? honestly, you think so? meriel, you _are_ a dear; i do love you!" cried claudia, and meriel noticed with amazement that there was unfeigned relief in her voice. it was a new development for claudia to show any uncertainty concerning her own charms! throughout the meal which followed meriel was absorbed in admiration of the beautiful creature who sat beside her; her unaccustomed eyes dwelt with something like awe upon the costly intricacies of her attire, the limpid purity of the gems which glittered on the white hands. claudia's clothing expressed the last word in smartness, but she had not been infected by the modern craze for powder and rouge. the beauty of her face and hair were due to nature alone, but, despite the warmth, of her friend's admiration, she herself seemed to feel some uncertainty as to their effect. from time to time she craned her head to study herself in a mirror which hung upon the wall, and at each glance her forehead wrinkled. meriel pushed her chair slightly to the left so that she also might see that reflection, and discovered with amusement that the cause of this perturbation was a slight pink flush which rose above the lace collar, and touched the base of the cheek; she bit her lips to restrain a smile, realising with increased amusement that ever since she had entered the room claudia had skilfully manoeuvred to hide this trifling disfigurement from observation. what a bore to be a society belle who was obliged to worry seriously about a trifle which would probably disappear in the course of a few hours! the two friends were talking merrily together when the door opened, and john biggs entered the room. he was slightly thinner, a thought more presentable than of yore, but the small eyes had lost none of their sunken gleam. meriel had to keep a strong control over herself to hide her shuddering dislike as his hand touched hers, but she acknowledged that he was a gracious host, and that she had no cause to find fault with the manner in which he gave her welcome. the greetings over, she discovered that claudia had taken advantage of the breathing space to move her chair to the opposite side of the small tea-table, so that her husband from his arm-chair should see her to the best advantage, and the disfigurement of that slight rash should be inflicted upon the guest rather than upon himself. it struck meriel as a pretty, almost a touching action, and she watched eagerly to discover if it were possible that the miracle of love had united this husband and wife. first for the husband--his conversation was addressed as in duty bound mainly to his guest, but ever and anon his eyes returned to his wife, and dwelt upon her, fascinated, absorbed, as though of all the treasures which the room contained she was in his sight the most priceless of all. then for the wife--a slight but very perceptible change had come over claudia's manner since the moment of his entrance. her affectation of candour disappeared, an air of caution and reserve enveloped her like a mist. she gave the altogether new impression of considering her words, of shaping them continually to please the ears of her audience. yet she had shown her old outspokenness during the first few minutes of the interview, had for instance had no hesitation in condemning the ugliness of mend's hat. obviously then it was her husband whom she was considering, not her guest. once more meriel commended the attitude; once more hope raised her head. she addressed herself to her host in quite a cordial and friendly manner. "i have been telling claudia that she has eclipsed all her former records! she is looking younger, and more brilliant than i have ever seen her." john biggs looked at his wife, and his eyes gleamed. what did that gleam mean? did it mean love, the love which a man might naturally be supposed to cherish for a wife so young and lovely? it was meriel's nature to believe in her fellow creatures, and she told herself that of course it meant love. what else could it be? it was imagination only which had read into that glance something cold and cruel, a triumph of possession more malignant than tender. when claudia rose to escort her friend to her room, there came the first note of discord, for her husband rose too, and as she would have passed by stretched out one great hand to detain her, while with the other he held her chin, turning her face so that the pink rash was deliberately exposed to his gaze. a moment before it had been hardly noticeable, but at that touch the pink flush faded from claudia's cheek, leaving her so pallid that the disfigurement was increased by contrast. "still there, i notice!" he said shortly, and then with a certain brutality of emphasis: "get rid of that!" he cried deeply. "get rid of it. _and quickly_. do you hear?" "yes, john," claudia said, and there was a breathless catch in her voice, as though his words filled her with fear. meriel marvelled still more! -----------------------------------------------------------------------later on that evening, meriel repaired to her friend's room to indulge in one of those hair-brushing _tete-a-tetes_ dear to the feminine soul. "well, claudia," she began, a touch of something approaching envy sounding in her voice, "you at least have gained what you wished for! you plumped for money, and you have more than you can spend. do you find the experience as satisfactory as you expected?" claudia smiled, and leaned back luxuriously against her cushions. "oh, _quite_!" she cried emphatically. "after two years' experience, i am still of the opinion that it is the only thing that matters. it's wonderful what money can do, meriel; it's magical! good people talk of greater gifts that you may get if you are good and self-denying, and have a dull time, but they are all in the clouds, and money is so delightfully, so tangibly real!" she glanced round the beautiful room, then down to the little ringed hand stretched out to the fire; she moved her fingers to and fro, so that the flames might wake the sparkle of gems, and heaved a sigh of luxurious content. "i used to long for things that i could not have; now i never need to long, for they are mine as soon as i think of them! how can one help being happy, when one has everything one wants?" "there are some things that money cannot buy." once more meriel could not resist echoing the truism of centuries, but claudia shook her head with laughing contradiction. "rubbish! don't you believe it! anyway, money can buy such good imitations that you can't tell them from real! it can do more than that. it--" she paused, with a sudden intake of breath, and her voice sank to a deeper note: "_it can cover things up_!" meriel's eyes shot a curious glance. through the evening she had studied the husband and wife with a puzzled scrutiny, and now, at the end of it, she felt as far as ever from solving the mystery which she sensed as lying beneath the surface. claudia's manner to her husband was gay and charming, but in the midst of her lightest badinage the friend of her youth had discerned an effort, a strain, an almost painful endeavour to win his approval. and he? nothing could be more marked than the man's care for his beautiful wife. why was it that through all his elaborate attentions there lurked a cold, a sinister effect? "but what can you have that you wish to cover, claudia?" meriel inquired. "by your own confession, you have only to wish and it is yours, and you have a devoted husband who looks after you as if you were the most fragile of hothouse flowers. it's absurd, you know, for you were always as strong as a horse! that transparent look of yours is a delusion; but how upset he seemed, poor man, because your cheek was just a little inflamed to-night." claudia straightened herself; an involuntary shiver shook her slight form. her voice had a nervous ring: "it's nothing--it's nothing!" she cried. "just spring, and these horrid east winds. but it won't go! i've tried a dozen things; and he hates it--he hates any fuss or illness! i must never be ill, or have anything that spoils. there's this ball coming on next week, and i am to be the ice queen. i _must_ get my face better before then! i've got the most wonderful dress. he planned it for me. he is determined there shall be nothing to touch it in the room. goodness knows the amount he has spent upon it! i simply daren't look anything but my best!" "my dear claudia!" meriel's voice was full of protest. "what nonsense you talk! you are very beautiful, my dear, but you can't expect an eternal perfection! you must have your ups and downs like other people, and grow old in your turn, and lose your hair and complexion, and grow withered and toothless!" claudia leaped to her feet with a gesture which was almost fierce in its intensity. "be quiet!" she cried. "be quiet! don't dare to speak of it. i'm young still; not twenty-seven. i've ages and ages ahead before i need think of growing old. and women don't lose their beauty nowadays. they know how to keep it. they _have_ to keep it! and i--i more than anyone!" she crossed the room to her dressing-table, and, switching on an extra electric light, bent low to examine her face in the glass. "it's only a slight rash, meriel; _but it won't go_! i--i don't know what to do about it. i'm worried to death. do help me. do advise. do tell me what to do." it was the first time that claudia's friend had ever heard her appeal for help, and there was a thrill in her voice which could not be denied. "my dear girl," she said quickly, "i'm no good at cosmetics. my complexion has to take its chance, and nobody cares whether it's good or bad. but if you are specially anxious to look your best at this ball, why waste time in experiments? a few guineas more or less is nothing to you. go to-morrow to consult the first skin specialist in london." claudia looked at her, a long, thoughtful look. she began to speak and checked herself, subduing as it were a bidden fear. then she nodded slowly, once and again. "i will!" she said firmly. "i will. it's folly putting it off. i'll telephone at once, and make an appointment." the examination was over. a longer and more exhaustive examination than seemed necessary for so slight a cause. the specialist stood hesitating, his face puckered in thought. claudia smiled at him with her most dazzling smile. "you think you can make me quite better for the ball?" he looked at her swiftly, and as swiftly looked away. "that is a very short time. i am afraid i can hardly promise that." "how soon can you make me better?" "these skin troubles are sometimes lengthy affairs. it will be necessary for you to have a course of treatment. i should like to see mr--er--your husband, and talk the matter over with him." but at that claudia swept forward with a commanding air. "it is impossible! i forbid it! he does not know that i am here to-day. he must not know! if there is anything to be done, i must do it without his knowledge! i cannot tell him. i dare not tell him: what is it that is wrong with my face? it is only a little rash. _why do you look at me like that_? for god's sake say that it won't take long, that it won't get worse; that i shall be able to--_to hide_ it from him; to keep my beauty! _what is the matter_? why don't you speak? you must tell me. if you know! whatever it is i _must_ bear it alone! i daren't tell him--he must never know!" the great doctor turned away his face. his lips moved, once and again, before at last the dread word echoed through the room: "_lupus_!" chapter three. the girl who wished for adventure. the girl who had wished for adventure journeyed back to her native village two days after the new year's party, and spent the following eighteen months in tramping monotonously along a well-worn rut. the only difference made by that oft-remembered conference was in her point of view. before that date she had sighed for the unattainable; after it, the unattainable became the possible. some day, if she but waited, opportunity would come; some day the end of a thread would float downward towards her hand, and grasping it, she would be led into a new world! to the best of her power, she cultivated this attitude, and each monotonous month, as it dragged past, added strength to her determination to snatch the first opportunity that came her way. at the end of eighteen months the girl packed up her trunk, and left home to pay a dull visit to a great-aunt. "don't expect me to write letters," she said to her family at parting, and the family groaned in chorus, and cried: "please, don't! it's quite enough for one of us to be victimised. spare us the echoes of aunt eliza! just send a postcard when you're coming back." great-aunt eliza was a daunting old lady who prided herself upon speaking the truth. "goodness! how you have gone off," was the first remark which she hurled at her great-niece's head, after the conventional greetings had been exchanged. she poured out a cup of strong, stewed tea, and offered a slice of leathery muffin. "and you used to be quite nice looking!" juliet smiled with the laboured brightness of a wallflower in a ballroom, and said, but did not for a moment mean: "i'm growing old, aunt eliza." "you are, my dear," agreed aunt eliza. "twenty-eight, is it, or twenty-nine? and three other girls at home. pity you haven't married! your father will have precious little to leave." juliet, who was twenty-six, and had never had a real definite proposal, smiled more laboriously than before, but the muffin tasted bitter as gall. on the third day of the visit, aunt eliza read a letter at the breakfast-table, and said suavely: "i shall have to curtail your visit, my dear! cousin maria phillips writes that she is in the neighbourhood, and wishes to come over to see me. i can't refuse to receive maria, but two guests would upset the servants. you must come again later on. perhaps there are some other friends you would like to visit?" juliet replied haughtily that there were many other friends. when would aunt eliza wish-"oh, there's no hurry. perhaps to-morrow," said the old lady calmly. "this afternoon, my dear, i want you to go to the hospital for me. i distribute flowers in the mary wright ward every thursday, but i have a slight cold to-day, and daren't venture out. be ready by three, and the brougham will take you there. you can walk home." at half-past three o'clock, therefore, juliet entered the long bare stretch of the mary wright ward, dedicated to female surgical cases, and passed from bed to bed, distributing little bunches of drooping flowers affixed to little white cards inscribed with texts. the patients accorded but a lukewarm welcome to these offerings, but were unaffectedly pleased to welcome the handsome girl whose coming made a break in the monotonous day. some of the patients were sitting upright against their pillows, progressed so far towards convalescence as to be able to enjoy a chat; others could only give a wan smile of acknowledgment; at the extreme end of the ward the sight of a screened-off bed told its own sad tale. the woman in the nearest occupied bed related the story in a stage aside. "accident case, brought in this morning. dying, they think! run over by a motor in the street. and only a bit of a girl like yourself! mumbles a bit at times, delirious-like--nothing you can understand. there! she's beginning again!" the sound of the thin, strained voice sent a shiver down juliet's spine, for there was in it a note which even her unaccustomed ears recognised. she turned to depart, with the natural shrinking of the young and healthy, but her haste made her careless, and the remaining bunches of flowers tilted out of her basket and rolled along the polished floor. those that had fallen the farthest were almost touching the screen, and as juliet bent to pick them up the mumbled voice seemed suddenly to grow into distinctness. it was a number that the voice was mumbling; number whispered over and over. "eighty-one! ... eighty-one! ... grosvenor. are you there? ... eighty-one, are--you--there?" the mumbling died away, rose again, was lost in groans. despite the weakness and the haste, the listener realised a quality in the voice which differentiated it from those of the other occupants of the ward. it was the voice of a woman of education and refinement, a woman belonging to her own class. juliet shivered, and, clutching her flowers, walked quickly down the ward. half-way down its length she met the sister, and put a tentative question, to which was vouchsafed a cool, professional reply: "yes. very sad! internal injuries. sinking rapidly. evidently a girl in good circumstances." "do you know her name--anything about her?" the sister shrugged slightly. "her clothes are marked `alice white,' and she had some american addresses and steamship tickets in her purse. the _lusitania_ landed her passengers this morning. she has said nothing coherent, and, of course, cannot be questioned. the matron is making inquiries--" at that moment the quiet of the ward was broken by a sound of a cry of terrible import. juliet quailed before it, and the sister, darting forward, disappeared behind the screen. alas for alice white, who but a few hours ago had been young and strong, and heedless of disaster! juliet descended the staircase of the hospital thrilling with horror at the remembrance of that cry, her mind seething with agitated questions. who was alice, and who--a thrill of excitement ran through her veins--who was eighty-one, grosvenor, with whom the dying girl's thoughts had sought communion? grosvenor? that meant london. alice white, then, had friends in london. would it not be better to communicate with them, rather than with mere officials in an office? at the door of the great building, juliet hesitated and turned from the street as if to retrace her steps. should she go back to the mary wright ward, tell the sister what she had overheard, and suggest telephoning forthwith? for a moment the suggestion found favour, then, with her foot outstretched to remount the first step, she drew back and walked rapidly away. in the flash of a moment it had darted into her brain as a crystallised resolution to give her information into no second hand, but to go herself to the nearest call office and ring up eighty-one grosvenor. the woman in the nearest bed had spoken of mutterings. the sister had caught no coherent words. if death had immediately followed her own interview, it seemed probable that no one but herself had overheard the number. juliet's eyes brightened, and a flush of colour showed in her cheeks. the information received might be of the driest; the sequel of reporting it to the hospital authorities promised but small excitement; nevertheless, in her uneventful life, small things counted as great, and the touch of uncertainty fired her blood. she seated herself in the little boxed-off room, and at the end of ten minutes' wait received an affirmative answer to the oft-repeated question. "yes. this is eighty-one, grosvenor. who is speaking?" though she had waited so long, juliet was still pondering how to word her inquiries. it seemed useless to mention an unknown name, so on the impulse of the moment she decided to give a simple account of the accident. "alice white--" she was about to add--"has been mortally injured," or some such statement, when, cutting swiftly across her words, came a cry of relief from the other end of the wire: "alice white! _at last_! we've been expecting to hear from you all day. it's urgent. why didn't you wire?" "i--i--" juliet stammered in confusion, and the voice, a woman's voice, interrupted again, in a sharp, businesslike accent: "never mind now. you can explain later. are you alone?" "yes." "that's right! then listen to me, and give your answers in monosyllables. i will spell any names you miss, if you ask me to repeat. don't attempt to pronounce them yourself, but write them down in a note-book. there must be no mistake. are you ready?" "one moment." juliet had no note-book, but a search in her bag found a pencil and the blank page of a letter. "ready!" "you are ready to write instructions? i have been keeping over a case until your arrival, as it seemed in your line. it is urgent. nice people. comfortable surroundings. you would stay in the house as a guest. can you go on first thing to-morrow?" for one second, barely a second, juliet hesitated; then the answer came, short and sharp: "i can!" "that's good! go to the station to-day, and look up your route. there will be several changes. have you your pencil? write down `maplestone--antony maplestone.' have you got it? `the low house.' l-o-w. `nunkton.' n-u-n-k-t-o-n. `great morley.' `maplestone, the low house, nunkton, great morley.' have you got that? go on to-morrow by the first train. i will wire to mr maplestone to expect you. he will explain the case. are you all right for money? take your best clothes, as for a country visit. report to me in the course of a week. do your best. good chance for you. (yes, i've nearly finished. i've not had my three minutes.) you understand, miss white? you quite understand?" "i quite understand," said juliet, and sat down heavily on the chair beside the receiver. how had it happened? how much was she to blame? from the moment of that first interruption it seemed as if she had had no chance to explain. without any preconceived intention of taking the injured girl's place, she had done so, as it were, without volition of her own. the spirit of adventure, so long nourished, had grasped at the opportunity, before the slower brain had had time to decide on its action. juliet drew a deep breath, and stared with dilated eyes at the opposite wall. "how _could_ i?" she asked herself, breathlessly. "how _dared_ i? how _can_ i?" and then, with a bursting laugh, "_but i will_!" she cried, and leaped nimbly to her feet. "urgent! nice people! good chance! a guest in the house!" her lips moved in repetition of the different phrases as she walked rapidly back in the direction of the hospital. she knitted her brows in the effort to understand, to reconcile contradictions. what was this alice white, and on what mission had she crossed the ocean? and who was eighty-one, grosvenor, who issued orders as to a subordinate, and gave instructions as to reports? only one thing seemed certain, and that was that it would be many a long day, if ever, before poor alice white was fit to take up any work, however interesting. remembering that last choking cry, it seemed probable that even now--juliet resolutely stifled further questionings until once more she stood within the portals of the hospital, and made her inquiries of the porter. he retired, and returned, after a few minutes' absence, with a face appropriately lengthened. "gone, miss! directly you left. went off in a moment." juliet nodded, and turned back to the street. what exactly had she intended to do had alice white still been alive? honestly, she did not know! it seemed as though she would never be able to answer that question. she waved it impatiently aside. why trouble about might-have-beens? the girl was dead! the only question of importance which now remained was, _what was she herself going to do_? juliet thought of the long years of boredom and waiting which had made up her life; she thought of her dull, comfortable home; of her dull, comfortable visits, and longingly, daringly, she thought of the interesting "case" which was "urgent," and a "good chance." she recalled with a tingling of excitement her aunt's morning announcement, which necessitated her own departure on the morrow. "i could go over to nunkton, and see what it meant. if there was anything i didn't like i could move on at once to the blakes. no one need know; no one need guess. even if i stayed for a few days, it could be arranged!" she stopped short in the middle of the pavement, and drew a deep breath of excitement. "it's my chance!" she cried to herself. "the chance i've been waiting for! whatever happens, whatever comes of it--_i shall go_!" the next day juliet set forth on her voyage of adventure, with the mingling of elation and nervousness inevitable under the circumstances. remindful of telephone instructions, she attired herself with especial care, and was agreeably conscious that she looked her best. a travelling costume as smart as it was simple, a trig little hat, with just one dash of colour at the side to give the needed _cachet_ and emphasise the tints of the face beneath. "really quite a creditable face!" she told herself, smiling back at a reflection of grey eyes thickly fringed with black lashes, curling, humorous lips, and the prettiest flush of pink--genuine, washable pink--upon the cheeks. "if i were happy, if i were interested, i might be almost--beautiful," she told herself with a sigh. "every woman grows plain when she is superfluous and alone." seated in the train, drawing near to her destination, juliet found herself repeating the words over and over, like a child rehearsing a lesson. "alice white," cried the mental voice, "alice white," and again, "alice white. it's my name! i must answer to it. i must give it when asked. i am alice white, professional _something_--i don't know what. i am obeying a telephone summons meant for someone else, and, if i don't want to be discovered within five minutes of my arrival, i must keep my wits about me, and think seventeen times at least before i utter a word. i'm to be met at the station and treated as one of the family, and to remember that appearance is a strong point, and wear my best clothes..." she knitted her brows, and for the hundredth time endeavoured to reach a solution of the mystery. "i can't be a sick-nurse; the clothes settle that. if it had been that, i should have had to confess at once. but in other capacities i'm intelligent, i'm experienced, i'm willing. i'm _more_ than willing--i'm _eager_! there's no reason why i should not do as well as the real alice. after all, it's quite a usual thing to take up work under a professional name. writers do it, artists, actors; there can be no harm in using the poor girl's name, if i do my best with her work." the train drew up at the station, a small, flowery country station, and, opening the door, juliet stepped lightly to the ground. her carriage had been at the end of the train, and the length of platform stretched before her. a glance showed a solitary porter approaching the luggage van; one commanding figure of an unusually big man, in a tweed knickerbocker suit; and, farther off still, by the door of the booking-office, two ladies in navy-blue costumes, apparently awaiting the arrival of friends. at the extreme end of the train another door opened, and an elderly man carrying a bag made a heavy descent to the platform. the ladies stood motionless; the man in tweeds hurried towards where juliet stood. she looked at him anxiously, met the glance of a pair of level brown eyes, and was instantly conscious of two things concerning his state of mind. he was embarrassed; he was also agreeably relieved. the next moment he was facing her, and was holding out his hand. "miss white?" "yes." "i am antony maplestone." "oh!" juliet was conscious that her own sensations exactly duplicated those of her companion. she was embarrassed; she was also agreeably relieved, for if adventure were to be her portion, no girl could have wished for a more attractive stage manager to initiate her into her part. she stood blushing and smiling, wondering what to say next, subconsciously aware the while that, by placing his tall form between her and the end of the platform, maplestone was designedly screening her from the scrutiny of the blue-robed dames. "i have a dog-cart waiting," he said hastily. "i'm going to drive you home, and explain things _en route_; my man will look after your boxes. er--there's just one thing--" the air of embarrassment grew more marked; a flush showed in his cheeks. "it's a nuisance; there are two women over there--neighbours; i'm afraid i'll be obliged to introduce you. do you think, for a few minutes, until we can escape, you could manage to look a little--_intimate_?" his voice, his look, were so full of apology at the suggestion, that juliet's surprise gave way to amusement. she laughed, a bright girlish laugh, and said, "certainly!" in crisp, matter-of-fact tones which were evidently a vast relief to her companion. he stepped quickly to one side, as if anxious that her smiling face should be seen by others besides himself, and led the way down the platform, inclining his head towards her with an air of deepest solicitude. "you have had a comfortable journey?" "oh, yes," juliet nodded gaily, responding readily to his cue. he wished her to talk, he wished the watching women to believe that this was no first meeting, but a reunion of friends. for some unknown reason it was necessary to his interests that they should receive this impression. very well, then, it should be done. "alice white" was not going to fail in the first call upon her. "oh, yes, quite comfy. i had a tea basket. _china_ tea. did you know you could get _china_ tea in baskets? and a ducky little pot of jam, all to myself. isn't this station pretty? such sweet flowers!" they were close to the ticket office by this time. the man's eyes flashed a look of gratitude and appreciation. he laid a light touch on her arm, and brought her to a stand before the waiting women. "here she is! i'm not disappointed, you see. i want to introduce you to each other while i have a chance. miss clare lawson, lady lorrima, miss bridges." juliet bowed and smiled, her senses momentarily stunned by the responsibility of yet another cognomen. now she would have to begin all over again and train herself to be "clare." the eyes of the two women were keenly critical; their words were cordial, if somewhat mysterious. "_so_ pleased to meet you! quite an honour to be the first to welcome you. the squire _will_ be delighted!" "i shall be delighted to see him," juliet declared smiling. she disliked the attitude of these women as much as she was attracted by that of the man by her side. despite their assurances, she had a conviction that they were _not_ pleased at her arrival; that it was a disappointment to them to find her appearance beyond criticism. the big man stood silent by her side; she divined also that he was nervous and troubled, momentarily dreading a slip on her part. she was determined to make no slip. already she had ranked herself on his side, and felt the stirring of the true actor's joy in making the best of his part. the younger of the two women gave a difficult, unmirthful laugh. she was a thin, elegant-looking creature, rather over thirty, whose good looks were marred by an expression of discontent. "really, you know," she cried in affected tones, "we were beginning to think that your name was harris, and that antony had invented you for his own convenience. it seemed so strange that he had never spoken of you before." juliet's little laugh of response was quite sweet and unruffled. "oh, i'm very real, i assure you. a most substantial person. i'm so glad he didn't bore you with descriptions; they lead to so much disappointment." she held out her hand with a charming assurance. "good-bye! perhaps we may meet again." the next moment they were passing through the office, out of view of the curious eyes, and a low-toned "bravo!" acclaimed the success of her effort. juliet laughed in involuntary self-congratulation, and maplestone laughed in sympathy. the two women, catching a sight of the dog-cart as it wheeled down the lane, saw the two laughing faces turned towards each other in mutual enjoyment, and the sight was not good in their eyes. "it's true, then; an absolute fact. and quite presentable, too. well, honoria, i'm sorry!" meanwhile juliet was putting her first question to her companion. "please--why am i clare lawson?" his face fell. amusement gave place to embarrassment. "do you object? i'm sorry to have sprung it upon you so suddenly, but--well, you had to have some name, hadn't you? i suppose one is as good as another." "perhaps so, but it's just a trifle confusing, because--" juliet drew herself up on the verge of an incriminating confession. "as you say, it doesn't really matter, but i am naturally interested. who _is_ clare lawson?" "er--as a matter of fact, there is no such person. i invented a fictitious girl, then, suddenly, was called upon for her name, so had to christen her on the spur of the moment. clare happened to be the name of the heroine in a novel i'd just finished reading, and lawson was the first surname which came to my mind. it's not such a _bad_ name, is it?" juliet made an expressive little grimace. "considered as an artistic effort, i can't say much for it. you might have done so much better. clare! i'm not a bit like a clare. and who is clare _supposed_ to be?" he looked at her with a keen, comprehensive glance. juliet had an impression that what he saw increased his embarrassment, from the very reason of his admiration. what he had to say would evidently have been easier if she had been less attractive, had not so obviously belonged to his own class. the flush mounted once more to his cheeks. "miss lawson, i should like to begin with a word of self-defence. i have the reputation of being straight in my dealings and i think i may say that it is deserved, yet at this moment, owing to an--impulse, to-er--the folly of a moment, i find myself stranded, implicated--how shall i express it? i'm in the dickens of a hole, anyway, and for the moment can't imagine how i am ever to get out." "and if you only knew it, _so am i_!" was juliet's mental reflection. aloud, she said sententiously, "such things _do_ happen. i've heard of them. please tell me about it. perhaps i can help." "that's ripping of you! you see, obviously, there _had_ to be a girl, and, obviously also, i couldn't ask a friend. there was nothing for it but to get someone from outside. i searched the newspapers and spotted your office. they said they employed ladies, and being trained to detec--to inquiry work, i thought it would come easy to act a part." in after years juliet never quite understood how she retained her balance at that moment, and did not topple sideways, fall out of the high cart, and find a solution of her troubles. the sudden realisation that she was masquerading as nothing more or less than a lady detective, was so stunning in its unexpectedness and chagrin, that even the tactful softening of the term to that of inquiry agent failed to restore her equanimity. now, indeed, there was nothing before her but confession, for her whole nature revolted from the position of a "spy" in the household. it required a strong effort to speak in a natural voice. "wouldn't it be better if you began at the beginning and told me the whole story?" "that's what i am trying to do, but it's so difficult... the squire, mr maplestone, is my uncle. he and his wife have been like parents to me. i am in the army--indian regiment--home on a year's leave. they have no children, and i am their heir. naturally, under the circumstances, they are anxious that i should--er--" "marry!" "quite so. well!" in a tone of aggrieved self-vindication, "i _mean_ to marry. every fellow does when he gets past thirty. i came home this time with the determination to get engaged at the first opportunity, but--er--the time has passed by, and--it hasn't come off. i've met lots of girls, charming girls. i can't honestly say that i haven't had the _opportunity_, but when it came to the point"--he shrugged again--"i simply didn't want them, and that was the end of the matter. the dickens of it is, my leave is up in two months from now, and the old man is at the end of his patience. last week he had an attack of gout, a bad one too, and that brought matters to a crisis. he declared he'd cut me off there and then if i did not get engaged at once. i was sorry for the old fellow; he was in horrible pain; the doctor said he must be soothed at all costs, so--er--er--on the spur of the moment i invented clare. i said i was engaged to clare, but that clare was afraid of the indian climate, and refused to marry me till the regiment returned home, two years from now. i hardly realised what i was saying. i was between the devil and the deep sea. but he swallowed it whole, went off to sleep, and woke up as bright as a button. i was inclined to congratulate myself on having done a clever thing, for as i told you, i _intend_ to marry. i am only waiting for the right girl to turn up. i may very likely meet her on the voyage out. many men do. but, retribution fell upon me. he demanded to see clare. i prevaricated. he grew suspicious. there was another scene, another relapse; it was a case of confessing all, at goodness knows what risk, or of finding clare, and producing her for inspection. so--you see--" juliet sat silent; petrified, aflame. while he had been speaking, maplestone had kept his eyes rigorously averted from her face; he continued to do so now, and they drove along the quiet lane in a silence which could be _felt_--a throbbing, palpitating, scorching silence, which grew momentarily more unendurable. juliet told herself fiercely that she was a fool to feel embarrassed. alice white would not have been embarrassed. alice white would have accepted the position as a pure matter of business. as alice white's substitute, she must pull herself together and discuss the matter in a cool, rational fashion. if only her cheeks were not quite so hot! "it's--er--rather an unusual proposition, isn't it? it is, as you say, somewhat difficult to discuss. suppose," she cried desperately, "we treat it with a sense of humour! _don't_ let us be serious. let us laugh over it, and then it will become quite easy." "oh, thank you, yes. how ripping of you!" his eyes flashed relief. "i can promise you that it won't be nearly as trying as it sounds. the old people will be all that is kind, and--er--you understand that he is an invalid, and his wife is his nurse. they are engrossed with their own affairs, and won't worry you with questions. it is only in your supposed connection with me that you will--er--enter into their lives. as to myself, i have the reputation of being reserved to a fault. they won't expect me to--er--er--" juliet forced a determined smile. "precisely so! we'll be a model of all that an engaged couple--ought to be. but i had better not make myself too agreeable, in case the subsequent breaking off should prejudice the old people against you. i conclude i am to break it off?" "yes, please, if you don't mind--when i meet the real girl. but please do me credit _pro tem_. the great thing is to demonstrate to the old man that i seriously think of marriage, and those two years give plenty of time. you understand that you have an insuperable objection to the indian climate?" "certainly; that's easy. i've always longed to go, so i shall just turn my arguments upside down. and--er--where did we meet?" "oh, yes, of course, we must have some mutual coaching. there's not much time now, but after tea they'll expect us to have a _tete-a-tete_; we'll go over it then. i was introduced to you at henley. you're the sister of phil lawson, an old school friend. it--er--it was a case at first sight. we got engaged on the third day." "most unwise!" said juliet primly, and they laughed together with the heartiness born of relief from a painful situation. really, this sense-of-humour attitude was an admirable solution. antony slackened the reins and, fumbling in a pocket, drew out a small box. "may i--just for the next few days--beg your acceptance of this bauble?" "oh, thank you." juliet drew off her gloves and held up a well-shaped hand, on the third finger of which sparkled a row of diamonds. "it's not necessary. i can put this one on my left hand. it has quite an engagementy look about it, and i'd rather--" "i'm sorry, but i'm afraid it won't do. this is a family heirloom. the old man would consider it a slight if it were not used. just for one week." he opened the box, and showed a great square-cut emerald set in a border of diamonds--an antique jewel, evidently of considerable value--lifted it between finger and thumb, and held it out with calm expectancy. quite calmly also, juliet extended her left hand; but at the mutual touch, it was impossible to resist a thrill of embarrassment, a lightning realisation of what the moment might have meant had the action been real instead of masquerade. juliet hastily drew on her gloves; antony became engrossed in driving. they drove in silence up a long drive, and saw before them an old stone mansion, covered with clustering ivy. -----------------------------------------------------------------------the butler stared, the footman stared. raising her eyes as she passed under the great well of the staircase, juliet caught the flash of a white cap hurriedly withdrawn. a baize door, obviously leading into the servants' quarters, creaked eloquently upon its hinges. the back of antony's neck grew ever redder and redder as he led the way onwards; finally the drawing-room door was flung open, and across a space of chintz, and tapestry, and massed-up roses, juliet beheld two figures rise hurriedly in welcome. the aunt's thin locks were parted in the middle, and surmounted by a lace cap with a lavender bow. she wore a douce black silk dress, with a douce lace collar. she looked victorian, and downtrodden, and meek, and juliet dismissed her in half a dozen words. "she'll swallow anything!" the squire had a short neck, a red face, steel blue eyes, and a white waistcoat. he stood about five feet four in his boots and bore himself with the air of a giant. "he'll swallow _nothing_!" was juliet's second diagnosis, and she braced herself for the fray. the introduction was simple in the extreme. "this is clare!" said antony, whereupon mrs maplestone said hurriedly: "how d'you do. so pleased! you must have tea!" and the squire said nothing at all, but cleared his throat, and pulled forward a chair. then they all sat down, and mrs maplestone busied herself over the tea-tray, while her husband took his turn to stare. he began at juliet's feet, and considered them judiciously. large, but well shaped, wore a good boot. next he studied her hands, cocking a jealous eye at the emerald ring. large again, but white; good fingers; manicured nails. thirdly he considered her figure, and was pleased to approve. pine girl, some flesh on her bones, none of your modern skeletons. last of all he looked at her face. "humph! not so bad. points; distinctly points! antony was not such a fool as he looked!" in five minutes' time the squire could have passed an examination on the subject of juliet's appearance, and she realised as much, and felt correspondingly elated when the hard eyes softened, and an offer of hot scones was prefaced by, "my dear." my dear had been examined and found correct. my dear was approved. by the time that cups were filled for the second time, the squire had thawed to the point of jocularity. "well, miss clare, and what tales has this fine fellow been telling you about me? wicked uncle, eh? cruel ogre. gouty old tartar, who insists upon having his own way, and bullies his unfortunate nephew till he is obliged to give in for the sake of peace? that's it, eh? that's what he told you." juliet looked across at antony, discovered him flushed, frowning, supremely uncomfortable, and tilted her head with a charming audacity. "does that mean that he was bullied into having me? it wouldn't be exactly `peaceful' for him, if i believed that! he certainly would not dare to tell me anything so unflattering." the squire hastened to eat his words. the girl was a nice girl; frank, friendly, with a touch of the devil which was entirely to his taste. not for the world would he prejudice her against the boy. "no, no; not at all, not at all. precious little notice he took of my wishes, until it suited himself to follow my advice. obstinate fellow, you know; obstinate as a mule. wouldn't think it to see him sitting there, looking as if he couldn't say boo to a goose; but it's a fact. you'll find it out another day!" "i like a man to have a strong will," juliet said with the air of a meek, gentle, little fiancee, and the squire laughed loudly, and made a characteristic change of front. "glad to hear it! glad you don't go in for any of this fashionable nonsense about independence and equality. you obey your husband, my dear, and stay quietly in your home, and content yourself with your house duties, as your mother did before you. what has _she_ got to say about this precious engagement?" "mother thinks of me. she is glad of anything that makes me happy," juliet said, and flattered herself that she had rounded the corner rather neatly. antony looked at her quickly, and as quickly looked away. little mrs maplestone gave a soft murmur of approval. "she must be, dear! i am sure she must be and i'm sure she'll like antony when she knows him better. i hope we shall soon meet your parents. it was through your brother that you met, was it not? an old school friend. at henley?" "yes, henley. yes, phil! please don't ask me about it! the whole thing was such a rush. only three days! it seems like a dream. i--i forget everything but the one great fact!" cried juliet, taking refuge in truth, and thereby winning smiles of approval from her old-fashioned hearers, who considered such confusion suitable and becoming. they beamed upon her, and juliet began to feel the dawnings of pride in her own diplomacy. she was getting on well; surprisingly well! she allowed herself to believe that alice white could have done no better. "three days, eh?" repeated the squire complacently. "bowled him over in three days, did you, after being bullet-proof all these years! how in the world did you manage to do it?" "i can't think!" declared juliet, truthfully again, but she smiled as she spoke, and showed a dimple, and dropped her eyelids, so that the dark lashes rested on the pink of her cheeks, whereat the young man looked more embarrassed than ever, and the old one laughed till he choked, and offered her more cake, and called her "my dear" twice over in a single sentence, and delivered himself of the opinion that antony was a lucky dog. "doesn't deserve it, after all his slackness and procrastination! let's hope he'll appreciate his good luck. but what's this nonsense about waiting two years? what's this nonsense about not going back with him at once?" juliet looked as she felt, flustered, and taken aback. "it's so--sudden!" she pleaded, and blushed as she said the word. "i--i don't approve of marrying in a rush. only two months before he sails. suppose he regretted it? s-suppose he changed his mind?" "it's for him to answer that question! speak up, antony! are you likely to change your mind? do you feel any inclination to give up miss clare now that you have got her to promise to take you for better for worse?" "i'm not given to changing my mind, sir," antony said, discreetly answering the last question but one. he rose hastily as he spoke, evidently afraid lest his turn of cross-questioning was about to begin, and said hurriedly: "clare is tired, uncle. she'll answer all your questions later on. i'm going to take her into the garden for a little fresh air, and then send her upstairs to rest." so for the next half-hour antony maplestone and juliet, alias alice, clare, sat in a rose-shaded arbour, and discussed the plan of attack. there was so much to be settled. it was like making up a play, and coaching each other in the leading parts. juliet was inclined to give herself airs on the success of her first scene, and discovered with surprise that her companion vouchsafed only a mitigated admiration. "you must be very _used_ to it!" he said grudgingly whereupon juliet bridled, and declared: "i'm not! it's the very first case i've had, when--all my experiences so far, have been strictly business-like. i think you might give me _some_ encouragement. i thought i was so clever!" "you were, you were! uncommonly clever, and i felt all sorts of a fool. i'm not used to playing a part, and it comes harder than i expected. it's a comfort to escape and feel that we can talk openly together!" he stretched his arms, and drew a big sigh of relief. juliet sighed too, but not for the same reason. "i think it might be a wise precaution," she said presently, "if i sent my parents abroad to travel for several months! mrs maplestone spoke of wishing to see them, and it would be awkward to produce a suitable pair at a moment's notice. and dangerous! think of the pitfalls that would yawn before us over reminiscences of childhood? perhaps they'd better go for health! that would explain their leaving home just at this time. we must send them to a foreign spa for a six-weeks' course. where shall they go?" "marienbad," antony said promptly, whereon juliet drew herself up haughtily, and put on an air of offence. "no aspersions, if you please. _my_ parents are thin! it shall be rheumatism, i think. that's quite ordinary and eminently respectable. they might _both_ have it, if it comes to that." but antony objected. "no. not both! that's too drastic. my uncle would certainly object that you would inherit a tendency. only your father! a recent attack..." "just so; and they are anxious to take it in time. mother goes with him, as they are a devoted couple and couldn't endure to be parted for six weeks. mud baths, i think. there's such a sound of verisimilitude about mud baths! i think we must really decide on mud baths." "poor beggar, yes! i'm afraid there's no help for him. where are they, by the way? i've no idea. have you?" "oh, yes. they are in germany somewhere. or is it italy? somewhere about that part of the world," juliet said vaguely, whereupon antony took out his pocket-book and wrote down a memorandum. "a dutiful daughter ought to have her parents' address! i'll find that out before dinner. as a matter of fact, i don't think my uncle will trouble his head about your relations. there would have been the dickens to pay if he had not approved of you, but he was quite unusually amiable, took to you at first sight, and the aunt too. it went off far better than i expected." "just let me be quite clear on one point," juliet demanded. "am i nice, and amiable, and meek, or am i dashing and sportive?" "neither one nor the other, a useful blend. don't worry about that. you are perfectly all right as you are." "and--just as a guide for moments of expansion--_might_ it be `tony'?" "tony it must be. most decidedly tony." his voice was brisk with decision. the brown eyes brightened in anticipation. "perhaps even occasionally, `dear.'" "oh, no!" juliet shook her head obstinately. "no `dears'! i've been strictly brought up. i'm shy. _no_ demonstrations in public. i've no brothers, you see, and have led a secluded life." "yes, yes, there's phil; you must remember phil. it was your brother phil who introduced us at henley. you were staying with friends." "i _have_ friends near henley. their name is jones. can you remember jones? mr jones, solicitor; mrs jones; miss jones; miss florence jones; mr reginald jones, son, junior partner." "just so. reginald, of course, is philip's friend. phil is, like myself, home on leave. that simplifies things for you. by the by, he is in china, in the customs." "poor dear philip; with all these horrid riots. i _do_ feel anxious about him!" sighed naughty juliet in response; then, suddenly, "i wonder," she had cried soberly, "if i _ought_! i hate to deceive people, even for their own good. i wonder if i ought to go on." "but surely"--he stared at her in amazement--"it's your _profession_! it would be impossible to do inquiry work if people knew from the beginning what you were about. why did you--excuse me--choose such a profession if your conscience is so tender?" "i--i didn't realise. it was arranged in a hurry. i don't think i shall take any more cases." "no, don't!" antony cried eagerly. "it's all right this time, for you have fallen among people who will treat you properly, but it might be so different. haven't you a home where you can live safely and comfortably?" "very comfortably indeed, but i happen to be one of the horde of superfluous women who need something more than comfort." antony looked at her curiously at that, but he had asked no questions. juliet was thankful for his silence; for the absence of obvious compliments. the situation would be intolerable with a man of another type. with maplestone one had a comfortable feeling of security--a very comfortable feeling. juliet fell asleep that night with a smile on her lips. -----------------------------------------------------------------------for three days all went well, the squire approving, his wife motherly, antony chivalrous and attentive. whatever the real experience might be, juliet was satisfied that pretending to be engaged was an agreeable sensation. morning and afternoon antony drove her abroad, sat with her in the rose garden, or escorted her on long walks over the countryside, and soon, wonderfully soon, there was no further need of coaching between them, for the lives of each, and the experiences thereof, the hopes, aspirations, and rebuffs, had been spread as in an opened book before the eyes of the other, with just one reservation on juliet's side, the disclosure of her own identity! "i have had an adventurous life. the one thing i have not had to complain of is monotony," said antony. "and i have had nothing else. until recently i have gone on, year after year, existing, not living, in the same little rut." "no wonder you broke loose. a girl like you was never made for stagnation. you ought to travel: to see the world. i never met a woman with so keen an appreciation of beauty. gad! how you would enjoy india, and the scenery we have over there. last year we were stationed in the north, above darjeeling. i'd like to blindfold you, and take you to a spot i know, and then take off the bandage, and show you--the snows! that would be a moment worth living for." "ah, yes. unfortunately, however, the climate of india is prejudicial to my health," juliet reminded him primly. "oh, hang the climate of india!" cried antony maplestone. the squire also was inclined to "hang" the indian climate in its bearing upon the health of his guest. he cross-questioned his prospective niece upon the subject with increasing irritability. "what's the matter with your health? you look strong enough. can't have a liver with that complexion. can't have a heart, rushing about all day long. given it away, eh, what? antony, what's wrong with her heart?" "nothing, sir. it's a tip-top heart; in first-class working condition." "what's wrong, then--what's wrong? nothing but nerves and nonsense. if i were a young man and my fiancee didn't care enough about me to face a bit of discomfort, i'd--i'd comfort myself with the first nice girl that _would_! if you let him go off to india alone, young lady, you'll have yourself to thank if you are left in the lurch." juliet took out her handkerchief and pretended to cry. it was a comfort to be able to hide one's face, and besides, just between herself and the handkerchief there _was_ a tear. she _would_ be left in the lurch, and, oh, my goodness, how dull it would be! from the end of the room sounded three separate gasps of consternation. "leave heroine, uncle! it's my affair. clare, _don't_ cry!" "he doesn't mean it, dear; he doesn't mean it. antony never would." "kiss her, you stupid fellow, kiss her! what's the use of glowering there?" then, in the midst of a thrilling silence, juliet felt strong arms enfold her, felt the sweep of a moustache against her cheek. it was the first, the very first time in the course of her twenty-six years that any man but a blood relation had offered her a caress, and--she liked the sensation! she felt a horrible, horrible inclination to abandon herself to that strong support; to lift her own lips to meet his. the rebound from the temptation gave energy to the gesture with which she pushed him away and leaped, flaming, to her feet. "it's my own heart, and i know best what it can stand! and--and--there are snakes--and rats--and insects, crawly-creepy things dropping from the ceilings! he can have anyone he likes... i don't care... i don't want him. i'll stay at home!" she dashed wildly from the room. antony and his aunt stared blankly at each other. the squire chuckled complacently and rubbed his hands. "_that's_ all right," he cried cheerily. "that's done it. she'll go with you, my boy. she'll go all right. book a second passage to-morrow, and i'll stand the risk." -----------------------------------------------------------------------at dinner that night there was an air of festival. the feast was sumptuous, the table was decorated with exquisite hothouse flowers, purely, spotlessly white--a bridal white, unmistakable in its significance. juliet blushed as she beheld that table, and blushed again looking down on her own white robe. upstairs in her own room she had cried, and stormed, and blushed, and trembled, and vowed fiercely to leave the house by the first train on the following morning, and sobbed again at the thought of departure. also, she had vowed with fervour to be cold as ice to antony maplestone, and to prove to him by the haughtiness of her demeanour that his caress was unpardonable, without excuse. and then, being a woman, and a particularly feminine one at that, she had naturally selected her very best dress, and had arrayed herself therein for his delectation. now what bad luck that the dress happened to be white! the squire over-ate himself recklessly. "hang it all, my dear," he informed his protesting wife, "a man can't always be thinking of diet. there _are_ occasions--" he nodded meaningly towards his guest, and quaffed a bumper of champagne. after dinner, when the pseudo-lovers were left alone for the nightly _tete-a-tete_, the subject of the squire's indiscretion was eagerly seized upon as a subject for conversation, to lessen the embarrassment from which both were suffering. said antony, "it's madness. he has not yet recovered from the last attack. one would think that a man who has suffered such agonies would have learned wisdom!" said juliet gloomily, "who does? nobody does! it certainly doesn't become _us_ to--er--" "oh, well," he interrupted quickly, "let's hope he escapes this time. it's hard on a man to be everlastingly prudent. i'm not at all sure that the greatest wisdom does not exist in occasionally breaking loose!" juliet faced him, erect and dignified. she had scented a personal application in his words, and was determined to stand no nonsense. "mr maplestone, i have been here four days; it seems to me inadvisable to stay any longer. to-morrow morning i propose to receive a telegram summoning me home. i should be obliged if you could make it convenient to be out after eleven o'clock. it would make it easier for me to get away." there was consternation in his glance; more than consternation--dismay. "go! why on earth should you go? is it the office! do they want you back at the office? let _me_ write. surely if i write and say--" "as a matter of fact there is _no_ office. it's a mistake. i--i am not what i seem!" cried juliet, with a touch of melodrama, born of desperation. not another moment could she stand the deception; not another moment could she masquerade under another woman's name. "i am _not_ an inquiry agent. never was. never will be. it was just-just--" "sit down. sit down. take your own time. tell me all about it." antony pushed a deep-cushioned chair towards her, seated himself near at hand, leaned forward, gazing into her eyes. there was no consternation on his face this time; no dismay; nothing but happiest relief. "if you only knew how _thankful_ i am! i hated the thought of such work for you. now--tell me!" and juliet told him. told him how, among a party of friends, she had avowed her yearning for adventure, and had been bidden to hold fast to the thought, and await an opportunity. all things, she was told, come in good time to those who wait. and she had waited; through long, monotonous, uneventful months she had waited, and waited in vain. and then, suddenly, a chance, an opening--a possibility which must be taken, or left, while a moment ticked away its course! she told of the dead girl whose place she had taken, honestly determining to do her best, and allow no one to suffer through the exchange. "if it had been work of which i was incapable i should have left at once. you believe it, don't you? you _do_ believe it?" antony seemed to ignore the question as beneath his notice. something infinitely more important was occupying his mind. "then, what is your real name?" "juliet! all that i have told you of my people is true. everything is true, but the name and the work. perhaps, in time to come, you might explain to your uncle that clare lawson was just a professional name which i adopted when i tried to take up work. it is quite usual. many women do it." "_juliet_!" he repeated softly. from his manner he appeared to have heard only her name. "_juliet_! it's perfect. a name that suits you above all others. of course you are juliet. i was a fool not to know that before. juliet, i am so glad you are not clare!" "i'm not clare, and i'm not alice. it's a--a joke in two moves, but it is time it should come to an end. to-morrow i must go." "you must not go. it's madness! is it because of--of what happened to-day? it need never happen again. i was dreadfully sorry. i would not for the world--" "of course, of course. i _quite_ understand. you were driven to it. it was as disagreeable to you as to me," juliet said sourly. _she felt_ sour; more ruffled by the explanation than she had been by the offence itself. what would have happened next there is no saying, but at that moment the door opened, and mrs maplestone appeared on the threshold. uncle godfrey was in pain. he wished to go to bed. would tony come and give him an arm? retribution sure and swift fell upon the squire. all night long he tossed in pain, and in the early morn the doctor was summoned, who delivered himself of a gloomy verdict: serious. one bad attack following hard on the top of another. the patient had been warned, and the patient had transgressed. the patient's heart was not in a condition to stand these repeated strains. the patient must have a nurse. must be kept quiet. the patient must be safeguarded against irritation and strain. excitement at this juncture might have serious effects. then the doctor drove away, and the patient, who was to be kept quiet, proceeded to work himself into a condition of fuss and antagonism against every separate member of the household, and in especial against antony, his heir. it was antony's fault that he was laid low; the contrariety of antony which had ruined his health; and now he lay at death's door (he was at death's door; he _chose_ to lie at death's door! it was his own business, he supposed, at whose door he should lie?); now, even at this last moment, antony delayed, prevaricated, shilly-shallied, talked calmly of waiting a couple of years! it was not the girl's fault. the girl was willing enough. she was making a pretence of unwillingness. all girls made a pretence. let antony stand up to her like a man, and she would give in; be glad to give in. summon antony! summon the girl! let them be brought before him. let this matter be settled once for all! trembling, mrs maplestone obeyed his orders. trembling, juliet obeyed, and stood beside the patient's bed. antony was not trembling, but his cheek was pale. crimson cheeked, bright of eye, the patient made his pronouncement: he had waited long enough; he could wait no longer; within the next few days he intended to die--probably to-morrow, or the day after; but before he died he wished to see his heir married to the woman of his choice. send instantly for a priest! "my dear uncle," antony protested, "the thing's impossible. even if-even if--there are preliminaries. banns. licences. it is a case of weeks; of _several_ weeks--" but the squire knew better. there were such things as special licences. when money was no object, when life and death hung in the balance, mountains had been, mountains could again be, removed. with a shaking hand he beckoned juliet to his side, and levied a shocking question: "girl, do you wish to kill me?" "you don't understand, you don't understand!" wailed the unhappy girl. "dear mr maplestone, try to be quiet; try not to worry about us. only get better, and then--then--" "i shall never get better," reiterated the squire. his small bright eyes glittered with a sudden suspicion. "is he playing with you? playing fast and loose, to suit his own convenience? has he been unkind to you, cold, disappointing? are you tired already of the fellow?" "oh, no, oh, no, you _don't_ understand! dear mr maplestone, do leave it until you are stronger." the crimson of the squire's cheeks turned to a deeper hue, a spasm of pain contorted his lips, his eyes rolled, closed, opened again, and turned with a dreadful intensity upon his nephew. "i'm dying!" he cried. "you are killing me between you. _antony_!" then antony stepped forward and took juliet by the hands. white to the lips was he, but there was no flinching in his eyes, no tremor in the tone of his strong voice. "_my darling_," said antony, "_will you marry me this week_? as god is my witness, it is my dearest wish. as god is my witness, i will make you happy." at the opposite side of the bed mrs maplestone subsided helplessly into tears. writhing, gasping in pain, the squire muttered to himself, "what a fuss to make! what a fuss about nothing!" to juliet, as to antony, they might have been at the other side of the world. they had ceased to exist. he stood, drawn up to his full height, gazing down into her face. she looked up, looked deep, deep into the steady brown eyes, and read therein what she most longed to see. "yes, tony, i will. the sooner the better," answered juliet. and, so saying, started trustfully upon life's greatest adventure. chapter four. the man who waited for love. behind his tired eyes and general affectation of indifference rupert dempster hid an overwhelming ambition. he longed for love--not for the ordinary springtide passion experienced by ninety-nine men out of a hundred; nor for the ordinary "living-prosaically-ever-after" which is the ultimate sequel to such affairs. the desire of his heart was for the experience of the hundredth man,--an experience as far distinguished from the amours of the ninety-nine, as is the romance of the suburban algernon and angelina, from the historic passion of a dante and beatrice. rupert searched not so much for a wife as for a mate, a woman who should be so completely the complement of himself that to meet would be to recognise, and after recognition life apart would become an impossibility and a farce. in his own mind the conviction remained unshaken that the day _would_ dawn when he should meet this dearer self, and enter into a completeness of joy which would end but with life itself. yet the years passed by, and his thirty-fifth birthday came and went, and found him no nearer his goal. once and again as the years passed by, rupert awoke, breathless and panting, from a dream, the same dream, wherein he had met his love, and they had spoken together. the details of the dream seemed instantly to fade from his mind, leaving behind an impression of mingled joy and pain. she had been beautiful and sweet; he had been proud and glad, yet there had been a shadow. it had not been all joy that he had felt as he had welcomed the well-beloved; his emotion on awaking had been tinged with something strangely resembling fear. but the dream-face had been fair. his longing to meet it was but whetted by the consciousness of mystery. he met her at last at a garden-party and gained an introduction by accident. "do find lady belcher, and bring her to have some tea," his hostess bade him, and supplemented her request with a brief description: "a tall, dark woman, dressed in yellow. she was on that bench a few minutes ago. anyone will tell you..." rupert crossed the lawn in the direction indicated; he was in the mood of resigned boredom which possesses most men at a garden-party, and for the moment the dream woman had no place in his thoughts. lady belcher was plainly a guest of importance, for whose refreshment the hostess felt herself responsible. she was probably elderly, and, as such, uninteresting from a young man's standpoint. he looked for the gleam of a yellow dress, caught it defined sharply among the surrounding blues and pinks, and drew up in front of the seat. "lady belcher, i think? mrs melhuish has sent me to ask you if you will have some tea?" lady belcher was talking volubly to an acquaintance on the subject of the shortcomings of her friends, and was much bored by the interruption. she lifted a face like an elderly rocking-horse, and made short work of the invitation. "thanks! couldn't possibly. i abhor tea," she said curtly, and immediately resumed the interrupted conversation. dempster turned, faintly smiling. he was accustomed to the rudeness of the modern society woman, and it had no power to hurt him. on the contrary, he congratulated himself on having escaped an unwelcome task. he turned aside with a sigh of relief, and even as he turned, the ordered beating of his heart seemed for a moment to cease, and leave his being suspended in space. cut sharply in twain, as by the sweep of a scythe, the old life fell from him and the new life began, for there, but a couple of yards away, stood the dream woman, her eyes gazing steadily into his! she was a tall, slim woman, no longer in her first youth, but her face had a strange, arresting beauty. hair and eyes were dark, and there was something curiously un-english in the modelling of the features, something subtly suggestive of a fiercer, more primal race. so might a woman have looked whose far-off ancestor had been an indian brave, bequeathing to future generations some spark of his own wild vigour. the lips were scarlet, a thin, curved line in the pallor of her face; her eyes were fringed with black, straight lashes. she wore a gown of cloudy black, and there came to rupert, with a cramping of the heart, the swift conviction that she was unhappy. she was looking at him, half frowning, half smiling, having, it would appear, overheard his invitation and its rebuff; but as his face came more clearly into view a look of bewilderment overspread her features. she started, and involuntarily bent her head in salutation. the next moment rupert was by her side, and her hand lay in his. he had extended his own, and hers had come to meet it without hesitation. for a long moment they looked at one another in silence, then he spoke in commonplace greeting: "good afternoon. can i get _you_ some tea?" she shook her head, but at the same time took a slow step forward, which had the effect of turning the refusal into an invitation. "i'm so tired; i don't want anything, but a seat; away from that band!" "come this way. there's a summer-house at the end of the shrubbery that is probably empty. no one knows of it but the intimates. you can rest there quietly." he spoke eagerly, walking beside her, eager to lead her away from the crowd, and have her to himself. the group of visitors among whom she had been standing stared after them curiously, and one elderly, stout woman took a tentative step forward, as if about to follow, thought better of it, and stood aside. dempster had a fleeting suspicion of sharp eyes scanning his face; then he forgot everything but his companion. he was conscious of every movement, of every curve of the slim, graceful figure, but no word was spoken until they seated themselves within the shelter of the arbour, and faced each other across its narrow span. was it the shadow of the trailing branches which made her face so white? she narrowed her eyes, as if searching in the store-room of memory, and a faint smile curved her lips. once again the pain cramped rupert's heart as he realised that smiles came but hardly to her lips. a note of interrogation quickened her voice: "i know you so well... we have met before?" he leaned forward, elbows on knees, chin cupped between finger and thumb, tired eyes aglow with life. "yes!" "when? where?" "always!" he told her. "in our dreams." she shrank at that, edging back into her corner, holding out a quick, protesting hand. "no! please! don't make fun... we have met on more substantial ground. i know your face. i knew it the moment you turned. we have met years ago, and have forgotten--" rupert sat motionless, his eyes riveted upon her face. "think!" he urged softly. "think! ask your own heart, and let it answer. it spoke clearly enough a minute ago. you have _always_ known me! you have been waiting, as i have been waiting. it has been long, and we are both tired, but now it is over, and we can forget. our summer has begun!" he stretched out his hand towards her. "i've been keeping myself for you. from this moment i am yours, and all that i have. the world would call me crazy to make such a vow to a woman i have known in the flesh for only a few minutes, but _you_ understand! _you_ know that it is the simple, absolute truth. give me your hand!" like a homing-bird the small hand fluttered and fell, nestling softly against his own. he pressed his lips to it in a long, sacramental kiss, then raised himself to look into her eyes. "what is your name?" "eve. and yours?" "rupert. i am glad that you are eve. the first woman; the only woman. no other name could have fitted you so well. eve! look in my eyes, and answer what i ask. do you trust me, eve? do you believe that i am speaking the truth?" white as a dead woman, she faced him across the shadow; the scarlet of her lips was like a stain of blood, but as she gazed her face quivered into an inexpressible tenderness, for on rupert dempster's features nature had printed the hall-mark of truth, and no one had yet looked into his eyes and doubted his word. the dream woman accepted it so simply that she did not trouble to answer his question. "i am not worth it," she said instead; "i am too old; too sad. it ought to have been a lovely, radiant girl who could have given you her youth." "i have thought of her like that," he answered simply, "but i see now that it could not have been. i needed more. she could not have satisfied me, if she had not suffered. i should have missed the greatest joy of all, if she had not needed my comfort." "i wish i were beautiful!" she sighed again. "she should have been beautiful to be worthy of you. i wish i were beautiful!" "are you not beautiful?" he asked her. "it is strange; i had thought so much of how you would look, but when our eyes met i forgot all that. we belong; that is everything. the beginning and the end. you are eve." "ah, you are good!" she sighed. "you are good! i did not know there were such men in the world... it is true, rupert. you must have been with me in my dreams, for there is nothing new about you, nothing strange. i know your face as i know my own, and it is rest to be with you--rest and peace. it must have been meant that we should meet to-day, for it is the first time for--oh, so long, that i have been to any public place!" she cast a quick glance at her black dress, and an involuntary shudder shook her frame. "but to-day i felt better, and it was so bright, and they persuaded me. i have dreaded meeting people, but to-day i didn't mind. i think i _wanted_ to come. and then i saw you, and your face was so familiar that i thought i had met you long ago and had forgotten." "you had not forgotten. you had never remembered anything so well. in that first moment you _knew_ that i was different from the rest. it was written on your face, dear; there was no need for words! there is something else written there which hurts me to see. i think you have needed me, eve!" she drew her hand from his and pressed it to her head with a gesture more eloquent than words. rupert's presentiment of trouble had been true; it now remained to discover the nature of her grief. he was conscious of steadying himself mentally and morally, before he possessed himself of the disengaged left hand, which lay on her lap. deftly, tenderly, his fingers felt hers, moving tentatively upwards over the joints, feeling with trembling anxiety for the presence of rings, of _the_ ring! the shock at finding the tell-tale third finger bare was almost as largely compounded of surprise as of joy, so strong had been the presentiment of a husband in the background. the eyes which he raised to hers were radiant with joy, but there was no answering gleam in the depths into which he gazed. their sombre gloom chilled him in the midst of his ecstasy. "eve," he cried softly, "smile at me! i was wrong to conjure up dead ghosts to-day when we ought to think of nothing but the happiness of meeting. eve! i have been preparing for you all these years; now i am free to do as you will. it is for you to order, and i shall obey. we will go where you will, live where you choose--" "you will take me away?" she bent forward, her eyes peering into his, so that he saw more closely than he had done before the beautiful, ravaged face, with its slumbering passion, its deep, overmastering gloom. there shrilled through her voice an almost incredible joy. "_you_--_will_--_take_--_me away_?" dempster laughed happily. ay, indeed, he would take her away. she was free, there was no barrier between them; openly, honourably, before all the world he could claim her as his own--could make her his wife with all the stately ritual of the church. "of course i will take you away! do you imagine, after all these years, i will wait a day longer than i can help? now that i have found you, i shan't easily let you go." and, with his whole being thrilling in answer to her appeal, "you _want_ to come to me, eve?" he asked her. "yes," she sighed softly, "yes!" her lips parted in a long-drawn sigh of content. "you are so good. your goodness rests me. that's what i need more than anything else--rest!" with the same tragic gesture she pressed her fingers against her brow, then, with a sudden impulse, sweet, and girlish, and unexpected, clasped his hand in hers, and repeated the gesture, bending her head to meet the healing touch. there was no need of words to explain the meaning of the action, the message flashed from eye to eye with silent eloquence. for the moment the shadow lifted, and dempster gazed into a face illumined by love and tenderness. only for a moment; then suddenly came the sound of unwelcome footsteps, and peering through the trailing branches rupert beheld a middle-aged couple pacing slowly by, glancing curiously to right and left, yet remaining happily unconscious of the arbour behind the trees. he recognised the woman as the one who had been standing by eve's side in the garden, and wondered with a passing amusement if curiosity had sent her to see what had become of her companion. how far she was from guessing the high happenings of those short moments! in the midst of his amusement he felt eve grasp his arm, and draw him back into the shadow. it was joy to feel that her dread of interruption was as keen as his own, and he turned to her a look of glad understanding, but the tragic misery on her face chilled him once more. it was inconceivable that the annoyance of a temporary interruption could call forth such intensity of feeling, and dempster, regarding her, felt his own nerves thrill with a kindred fear. for one glad moment he had believed that his happiness was assured; now he realised that he had rejoiced too soon. there _were_ barriers to be overcome--mysterious barriers which loomed before him, dark and lowering. he caught the slight form in his arms, cradling it with pitiful tenderness. "my darling! my darling! you are afraid. of _what_ are you afraid? i am here--no one can harm you. give me your dear hands! lean against me! the whole world cannot separate us, eve, if we choose to be together. why are you afraid?" he felt the shudder that ran through her limbs. close against his ear her lips trembled over the words: "i am afraid of losing you; of being left alone! they will try to separate us. if they knew what we had been planning, they would plot together so that we might not meet. you are strong, but they are stronger, and i am in their power... take me away, rupert, take me now, or it will be too late!" he took her hand, and raised it solemnly to his lips. "i swear to you," he said, "that i will take you. i swear that i will be the truest and most faithful of husbands so long as god gives me life!" "i swear to you," she cried in response, "that i will be a true wife. whatever has happened, whatever may come, i swear that you shall never regret it. i will love you; i will be your slave. nothing, nothing can be too much!" they clung together in silence. the nearness, the stillness, the deep welling of joy in the sweet human contact, were all-engrossing. rupert would fain have banished all difficulties into the future, and given himself up to untrammelled enjoyment of the hour, but the urgency of eve's appeal forbade postponement. he raised himself, supporting her in his arms. "eve! from this moment you and i are one. what belongs to one, belongs to the other; we can have no secrets, no concealments. if there are difficulties in our way, i must be prepared to meet them. who is this woman? what right has she or anyone else to dictate what you should or should not do?" her eyes gazed back into his with a deep, unseeing gaze, the delicate eyebrows creased as if in an effort of thought; then once again she lifted her hand and pressed it against her brow. poignantly beautiful, poignantly sad, she sat and gave him her answer. "i live with them," she said quietly. "they take care of me. i think-i think i am mad!" rupert dempster lost no time in questioning his hostess as to the history of the dream woman who had come to fill such a real place in his life. as soon as the guests had departed he put in a plea for a private conversation, whereupon mrs melhuish seated herself on a chair at the farther side of the lawn, and drew a long breath of mingled fatigue, and relief. "that's over, thank goodness! this annual garden-party to the neighbourhood looms over me like a nightmare. i feel ten years younger when the last carriage has driven away from the door. now! what can i do for you? but i know, of course. you've fallen a victim to eve bisdee and her _beaux yeux_. they _are_ beautiful! it's about once in a lifetime that one meets an englishwoman with such eyes as hers. it seems superfluous to have a tongue, when all that one feels can be expressed so eloquently in a glance. even now her eyes are wonderful; but if you'd seen her as a girl, before--" "before what? that's what i am waiting to hear. what happened to her? some tragedy, of course. tell me about it." mrs melhuish gave him a searching glance. "you realised that--that she is not--like other people?" rupert's smile was half sad, half triumphant. "not in the least like other people. but we can discuss that later on. i am waiting for your story." mrs melhuish leaned her head on her hand and her face fell into thoughtful lines. "i've known eve since she was a girl of eighteen--the loveliest thing!-and as gay and sweet as she was lovely. she was an only child, and her parents adored her, and--what is by no means so usual!--she adored them in return. they were not rich--quite poor, in fact; but the family was exceptional, and everyone visited them. when eve came out, mrs bisdee used to give charming little evenings, so simple and unpretentious, but so well done. eve was so different, too, from the ordinary fair, placid english girl that she made quite a sensation in the county. we expected her to make a great match. then one day they were all travelling together to burnham to attend a hunt ball, and the train they were in--" mrs melhuish shuddered, as at a terrible remembrance. "you will remember it--the tunford accident--a terrible affair! over sixty passengers killed in the most appalling circumstances. eve escaped. she was travelling with a friend in the rear part of the train. they were pulled out and carried up the bank, and there that poor child stood and looked on, helpless, maddened, while her parents and the other poor wretches in the wrecked carriages lay pinned down, devoured by the names. oh, my dear man, we read of such things, we agonise over them, or we _think_ we agonise, but imagine the real thing! seeing, hearing, within a few yards, yet as powerless to help as though one were at the other side of the world... well! eve went through that torture, and it wrecked her life. she had brain fever, and when that passed, her mind remained--what shall i say?--_clouded_. yes, that's the right word. it expresses exactly the truth. there is a cloud hanging over her, shutting out the sun. her memory is impaired, so that she does not remember any actual event; but there is an impression of horror and dread. it is ten years since the accident, and the cloud has not lifted. she lives with our doctor and his wife; they are good, honest people, and do their best; but i wish sometimes she could have a change. at the best of times they are not her type, and after ten years together--" "you say that the cloud has not lifted. is she _no_ better than at the beginning of the time?" "oh, yes! when one looks back over the years one can see that there is improvement. her health is better, and she has lost her dread of society. at times, as you saw her to-day, one would hardly realise that she was not normal. but the cloud falls. she is always sweet, always gentle, but terrible, terribly sad." "but she _is_ better," rupert insisted. "she is going to get quite well. i am going to make her well... mrs melhuish"--he leaned forward, his hand on the arm of her chair--"you are my very kind friend. it is only right that i should tell you at once.--i am going to marry eve bisdee!" "my _dear_ rupert!" cried mrs melhuish deeply. her face flushed, her mild eye showed a flash of anger. she was shocked--more than shocked, outraged. her voice took an edge of coldness. "really, this is too much. eve is a most appealing creature, and it is natural that a man should feel chivalrous and protective when he hears her history. but marriage! that's unthinkable! it offends me. please think of what you are saying!" rupert lifted his hand and laid it gently on hers. they were old friends, these two, and for years back had been able to speak together frankly without fear of offence. "wait!" he said. "listen to what i have to say before you give your verdict. what i propose to do may be unusual, but it is eminently sane. i propose to change places with that doctor, and to see what i can do towards removing that cloud. there is only one way in which i can gain the right, and that is by going through a form of marriage. therefore a form of marriage it must be. don't look at me in that commiserating manner, dear lady! this is not philanthropy, it's not pity. i am going to undertake this thing because i want to do it more than anything on earth! now do you understand? you know my ideas about love. we have talked of them together, and you know for what i have been waiting. it came to me this afternoon, at the moment when eve's eyes looked into mine. from that moment there was no going back." "my dear rupert!" cried mrs melhuish again. the anger had faded from her face, but she looked infinitely distressed. with all her heart she wished that this meeting had never taken place. "my dear rupert, to have waited so long, and then to rush into folly like this! i do know your ideas, and very beautiful they are; all the more reason why you should make no mistake. there is always the reverse side of the picture, and as you can love more keenly than other men, so of a certainty can you suffer more. you may feel powerfully attracted to poor eve, but you have no idea of the strain and weariness of battling with a mind diseased. it's hard enough when such a task comes to one as an obvious duty, but to _choose_ it!" "i did not choose it," rupert said quietly. "there is no question of choice. it has to be. don't make it harder for me by misunderstanding. for a moment i thought my kingdom had come, but that was a mistake. i have met my queen, but i shall have to serve for her before she is really mine. seven years i may have to serve--perhaps for twice seven years. do you think a man would deliberately _choose_ such a fate? it's something stronger than choice between eve and me. the simple truth is that i have no object in life but to help her to get back to the light. i'll tell you something else, too--_i'm the only man who can do ill_. i possess a power over her which no doctor or nurse could obtain. good heavens! haven't they had ten years for their experiments? how much longer would you have me content to stand by and wait? if she has any relations, they must be thankful to give her a chance of being cared for, for love instead of money. i'll find her a nurse, the best nurse that can be had. we'll take her abroad to live in the sun, away from all her old associations. she is afraid of those people--did you know that? she is not afraid of me. she _wants_ to come. my dear lady, this thing is going to _be_! the question is--am i to have your help?" mrs melhuish was not easily convinced, but she was conquered in the end, as were, in turns, the few relatives whom eve possessed. all had been conscious that the time had come to make a change, and no more promising change could be imagined than the one proposed. from eve's own point of view, that was to say! for dempster it was a different matter. the relations felt it their duty to argue with him, to point out that he was recklessly shattering his life. but dempster smiled, and persisted. very well, then! let him have his way. so rupert and eve were married, and immediately after set sail for egypt. one midsummer afternoon two years later, rupert dempster walked along an exquisite stretch of road in north wales which divides the rocky course of the river dee from a sleepy canal with fern-covered banks, and an overhanging arch of green. after the blazing eastern lands in which the past years had been spent, the dewy loveliness of the scene was a delight to the senses. on every side rose the crests of green, smiling hills; the river broke into ripples of foam round the scattered rocks which strewed its bed. along the still stream to the left floated a miniature barge, carrying a gay awning overhead. this was the omnibus of the neighbourhood, plying up and down the stream several times a day, and even as rupert watched, its slow course was stayed, and one of the passengers alighted and walked slowly towards him. she was a slightly-made girl with a noticeable daintiness of movement. under her wide-brimmed hat her face showed small and pale, and her hair was of a light flaxen hue. rupert knitted his brow, and his pace quickened instinctively. the girl walked with her eyes on the ground, oblivious of his approach. another moment and they were side by side, and rupert gave a cry of recognition. "lilith! it is lilith! what an extraordinary chance, to meet you here! my dear lilith, i am so pleased to see you." and indeed there was unmistakable pleasure in his voice; the somewhat worn face lightened with animation. he gripped the girl's hand with eager fingers, and she smiled back at him, a calm, unperturbed smile, as though she had parted from him but an hour before. "how do you do, rupert? are you staying down here? is mrs dempster with you?" "yes. we have taken the house just behind those trees. do you know it? you cross the next bridge, and follow the lane to the left." "yes, i know it. i'm staying at the inn." lilith walked by his side, her eyes quietly searching his face, but having vouchsafed these bare words of information, she added nothing more. the silence lasted for several minutes, nevertheless it was with an overwhelming impression of answering a question, that rupert spoke again, saying slowly: "she is better, but she is not cured. the attacks of depression come on less frequently, but they still come. we are tring to ward off another at this moment. she grew tired of the east. for a time she delighted in it, and the novelty took her out of herself; but it became wearisome--the eternal glare, the absence of green, the medley of tongues. she wanted to come home. we've been wandering about for the last four months, and landed here last week. it's a charming spot, and _peaceful_. it ought to do her good!" there was an appeal in his voice which a woman's ear should have been quick to read, but lilith made no response. she turned her strange, expressionless eyes first on the silent, shaded canal, then on the river, sparkling in the sun, its waters beating against the jagged rocks. until that moment rupert had regarded the two streams from an artistic standpoint only, now of a sudden they seemed charged with a spiritual meaning. peace and storm, stagnation and action, life and death,--he saw them all in the contrast between those two streams, and for the first time a doubt crept into his mind whether he had done well for eve in shielding her from the great current of life, and lapping her round with eternal calm. he turned abruptly to the girl and put another question: "will you come with me now and see her? i think perhaps you might do her good." "yes, i will come," lilith answered, with a courteous indifference at which rupert smiled with grim amusement. for two long years he had guarded his treasure with never-ceasing vigilance, finding for her the most secluded retreats, where no alien eye should disturb her repose; avoiding the society of his fellow-creatures as if it had been the plague. and now at last he had invited an outsider to disturb that calm, and she had received the honour with the indifference accorded to the most ordinary of invitations! but, after all, what had he expected? who had ever yet seen lilith moved out of her colossal calm! rupert led the way towards his temporary home, opened the gate, and escorted lilith through a brilliant tangle of garden to the front of the house, where several long chairs were ranged along a shaded veranda. on one of these lay eve, in a reverie so deep that the new-comers had time to take in the details of her appearance before she was aware of their approach. she wore a white dress, the skirt of which was scattered with the petals of crimson roses, which her restless hands had pulled asunder. her head was tilted back on the cushion, showing the beautiful line of the throat; her face was ivory white, and the curved bow of her lips showed vividly, startlingly red. even that first glance brought an impression of strain and unrest; and as her ear at last caught the sound of the approaching footsteps, she leaped upward with a gesture of alarm. her eyes fell upon lilith's figure and distended in wild distress, but the next moment she beheld rupert, and in a flash the fear disappeared and was replaced by the most melting tenderness. she came forward with the shy grace of a child, slipped her hand into his, and stood passively waiting for what it should please him to do next. anyone who doubted if rupert dempster's love had stood the strain of those two long years of waiting would have found his answer in one glimpse at the man's face as he stood holding that little hand in his. "eve! this is an old friend. i met her walking by the river, and asked her to come and see you. her name is lilith wastneys. you remember it, don't you? i have spoken to you about her." "yes, i remember," eve said. she took her hand from her husband's, and held it out towards lilith with a graceful gesture of greeting. her eyes dwelt on the small, composed face with an expression of incredulous surprise. "you wished for power! that seemed strange to me when i heard it, and now that i have seen you it seems stranger still. you look so small and gentle. i wonder what made you wish for power!" lilith's smile was as inscrutable as her eyes. she answered simply by making another statement: "and rupert wished for love." "he has got it!" said eve deeply. she gave one glance at her husband--a wonderful, liquid glance, then turned back to her guest. "won't you sit down? i sit in the veranda to be out of the sun. i am so tired of the sun. in the east it is cruel, blazing down day after day, mocking at the shadows. but the shadows are there--it cannot chase them away." she leaned back on her cushions. "here all is so cool and calm, and the rain falls. that feels like nature weeping with us. i like to watch the rain. have _you_ a pretty garden to sit in?" "i am staying at the inn. i don't want a garden. i can have that at home. when i want to rest i walk over the stepping-stones into the middle of the river. there is a big rock there which forms a kind of natural arm-chair. i can sit on it, looking down the stream, and no one can see me from the bank, for the rock rises up like a wall nearly all the way round. to sit there is like a peep into another life; a mermaid's life, all grey rock, and splashing foam, and soft, ceaseless roar. when you listen to that roar from the bank it sounds harsh and monotonous. you are on another element, you see, so it is alien to you, and has no meaning, but on the rock you are part of the river itself. it tells you its secrets. you can understand!" as she finished speaking, lilith's heavy lids lifted, and her eyes flashed with a sudden light. there was a moment's silence; then eve bent forward on her seat, while a wave of colour flamed into her pale cheeks. "_will you take me with you_?" she cried breathlessly. "will you take me _now_? there is something i am always trying to hear--a secret which i am always trying to find out, and no one can help me. perhaps the river will tell me my secret... take me with you, and let me try!" eve was fascinated with the rocky seat, and spent hours of each day ensconced thereon. the river was so low that it was easy to step from one rock to another, and rupert would see her comfortably settled, and then leave her to take the brisk walk over the hills which was his usual exercise. eve preferred to be alone for part of the day, and he had no fear of leaving her. there had never been any suicidal tendency in her derangement; rather did she cling to life, and shrink from the thought of death. and the river soothed her, she said; the murmuring voice seemed to whisper of happiness and peace, but as yet it was only a murmur. in vain she strained her ears; the message eluded her, and floated vaguely into space. "louder!" she would cry. "louder!" but the river floated sleepily on its course, and refused to be aroused. a week passed by, and rupert grew restless and uneasy. eve was still obsessed with love of her river seat, but the strain of listening for the message which never came added to her depression, and it irked him to feel that she was deliberately courting a disappointment which he was powerless to relieve. "it can do no good," he told lilith impatiently, "and it may do great harm. i have been so careful to screen her from every kind of excitement or strain, so that the brain should have time to rest." "or stagnate?" suggested lilith coldly. "she has had--how many years is it--ten or twelve?--of this wrapping in cotton wool, and she has progressed--how far should you call it--one inch, or two? how much longer shall you be content with inches? if she were in my charge--" rupert stopped and faced her in the narrow path. there was a hint of roughness in his manner. when a man is strung to the finest point of tension it is not always easy to preserve the conventions. "it is easy to boast when one has had no experience! _what_ would you do if she were in your charge?" "neglect her, ignore her, leave her to fend for herself! you and that drudge of a nurse imagine that you are helping by waiting on her hand and foot. what if instead you are sapping her vitality, and stealing her chance of life? what do you leave for her to do, except to breathe? if you could breathe for her, you would relieve her of that also! you make her into a doll, and expect the doll to live! she is asleep, and you feed her with drugs. better a thousand times to waken her out of her sleep, even if it be to suffer. it was a shock which deadened the brain; it may be that only a shock can rouse it to life again!" "ah!" cried rupert bitterly. "i have heard that theory before. it's a devilish theory! my poor eve! she has been tortured enough; she shall be tortured no more. it was the horror of what she saw and heard which caused the mischief in the beginning. the one thing i am thankful for in this loss of memory is that that honour has faded." lilith looked at him with her steady eyes. "have you ever been delirious?" she asked him. "not for an odd hour here and there, but for days together, stretching out into weeks? i _have_; and i know. nothing real can approach the horror of the unknown. there is no beginning to it, and no end. it's a great cloud darkening the sky; it presses lower, lower, strangling the breath. there is no hope in it, no appeal. your wife saw her parents killed before her eyes. i tell you the memory of the truth would be peaceful, compared with this struggle in the darkness. she would realise that it was over, that they were at rest; that it would pain them if she went mourning all her life. i tell you, rupert, the only chance of eve's recovery is to shock her into remembrance!" "and if it were, if it were?"--he turned upon her fiercely as though battling against an inner conviction. "a shock strong enough to revolutionise the brain lies in the hands of providence, to give or to retain. what man dare meddle with such a cure? i love my wife; she is my world. am i to risk her life for a possible relief? to deliberately court danger that she--she--" he threw out his arms with a gesture of intolerable impatience. "oh, it is unthinkable! you don't know what you are talking about. it is easy for you to talk. you have no heart. you cannot feel--" he strode away up the road leading to the hills, and lilith stood and watched him go, and picked a leaf of sorrel from the bank by her side and rubbed it daintily between her small teeth, enjoying the sharp, pungent taste. rupert's anger had no power to ruffle her calm. by and by she also started on her morning promenade, passing by the gate of dempster's house, and catching a glimpse of eve upon the veranda. there had been thunder-storms in the neighbourhood during the last few days, and though the actual storms had not yet reached their little retreat, the atmosphere was heavy and breathless. that morning eve had complained of a headache, and had seemed content to remain in the garden. as she passed by, lilith saw the nurse come out of the gate, basket in hand, and turn in the direction of the canal bank. evidently she was bound for the barge-omnibus, which should convey her to the nearest township. lilith repaired to her own room in the inn, and set about the task of answering a pile of letters. two hours passed quickly. then gradually into her preoccupation stole the sense of something unusual and disturbing. she raised her head, and sat quietly considering its cause. the little room seemed filled with a rushing noise; it was not a new noise, but rather an exaggeration of the one to which she had been accustomed for weeks past--the swirling of the river. lilith rose, and crossed the room to the latticed window. the inn stood on the bisecting road between canal and river, within but a few yards' distance of each; but this morning a strange transformation had passed over the accustomed scene. the waters of the river were no longer crystal clear, but of a thick muddy brown; their course was no longer smiling and leisurely, but rapid and threatening. upon the surface floated broken branches and boughs of trees. lilith turned instantly and descended the stairs. a sense of happenings was upon her; there was no time to waste. at the door of the inn stood the landlord, his broad face lit by a smile of satisfaction. life was sleepy in this quiet vale; he welcomed a passing excitement. "the river is in flood, miss!" he cried genially. "yes, indeed, we shall have a big flood! there were bad thunder-storms this last week up in the hills in merioneth, where the river rises, and all the streams will be swollen, and pouring down into the lake. it was the same in the spring five years ago, when my willie was born. yes, indeed, the roar of it woke us in the middle of the night. look at the colour of it now, miss, and the speed! soon there will not be a rock to be seen. yes, indeed, it will be a fine sight, the river, when it will be in flood!" he was beaming with innocent enjoyment. his face fell like that of a thwarted child when the visitor turned, without as much as a word, and walked down the path; he stared after her blankly, then shrugged his shoulders, and ambled heavily back inside the inn. lilith walked with rapid footsteps; her lips were set, but her eyes roamed. they turned upward towards the house among the trees where she had left eve seated on the veranda. assuredly eve was there still; she had a headache, and had announced her decision to remain at home. this morning, for once, the river seat had lost its allure. of a certainty eve was still on her veranda. nevertheless lilith's footsteps grew quicker; straight as a die she made for the point on the bank opposite to the chain of stepping-stones. no trace of an occupant was to be seen on the central islet, but a stronger sense than that of sight was at work in lilith's brain. all the arguments in the world were powerless to deceive her. eve was on the rock! she knew it. it was the truth. on the edge of the road stood the stump of an old tree, the nearest fork of which stood four or five feet from the ground. lilith grasped it with both hands, and with an agile movement drew her knees up to the level. the rest was easy; she took another grasp of the trunk, drew up her feet and stood, supporting herself on either side, gazing over the stream. yes! the inner certitude had been correct. against the dull grey of the rock lay the folds of a white dress, the gleam of scarlet from a folded parasol, a dark head lay tilted backward towards the sky. eve was there, asleep, or wrapped in one of her trance-like reveries in which she was unconscious of passing events. she would see nothing, hear nothing, until the mood passed and she became conscious of a desire for movement. for half an hour to come, perhaps for an hour, she would remain oblivious, and, meanwhile, with every moment the stream was rising and gaining more deadly swiftness. lilith crooked one arm round the bough of the tree and raised bent hands to her mouth. the stepping-stones were still well above water. she would send her piercing "coo-ee" across the stream and continue to send it, until the unusual character of the sound attracted eve's attention, then she would go to meet her, and help her to the bank. there would be no danger, only a spice of excitement; a thrilling realisation of what might have been. no more. lilith pursed her lips to give the signal, but the signal did not come. poised in the very attitude of preparation, a sudden change of expression showed in her still eyes, or rather an arrestment of expression; the features remained fixed and immovable, while the brain worked. for one long minute she stood motionless, then, slowly, her hands fell to her sides; she bent downwards until once more her knees rested on the fork of the tree, from hence she let herself gently to the ground. no one had seen her. the innkeeper was busy; the road stretched ahead bare and empty. no one would interfere. lilith walked to the nearest bridge, crossed it and seated herself on a sloping bank. the ground was raised above the level of the canal, and by raising her head she could see the chain of stepping-stones leading to the rocky islet. she folded her hands in her lap and watched. the sun shone out from behind a leaden bank of clouds, and beat on her face. what was the expression of lilith's face? there was strength on it, an immense, all-conquering strength; there was the mark of strain, in deepened line and close-set lip; but there was something else--something dominating, overriding. it shone in the eyes; the pose of the head showed it, the beating pulse in the throat. it was joy--primitive, triumphant joy! the stepping-stones grew small and smaller; above the dark swirl of the river their grey surfaces caught the sun and gleamed into silver. once and anon branches of a tree borne down by the flood were caught by one of these islets and for a moment held bound, then the swirl and the rush overcame, and they were swept relentlessly onward. lilith's lips tightened as she watched them pass. ten minutes passed; twenty minutes; the silver gleams made but tiny spaces above the flood. lilith rose to her feet and stood poised for flight. another five minutes and the waters lapped over the surface of the smallest stone. like an arrow from the bow, lilith flew across the bridge, down the path to the little inn. "help! help! the ropes! ... a lady is on one of the rocks. the lady from plas glynn. the ropes! quick! quick!" the ropes hung coiled in the entrance of the inn. it was not the river which was the danger, but the shaded, sleeping canal. many a pedestrian had taken a false step off that fern-bordered bank, and had had a sore struggle for his life. the innkeeper's own son had had this struggle. the ropes were ready, noosed at the end--long, stout ropes, for use, not play. the innkeeper seized them from their pegs and followed lilith down the path. afterwards he recalled that it was she who issued orders, and he who obeyed. he lashed the end of the ropes round the stump of the old tree. one noose was put round his own waist, the other he carried in his hand. the young lady stood by to let out their length, but before he could start, a cry sounded from behind, a terrible cry from the depths of a tortured heart, and rupert dempster fell upon him, and wrenched the ropes from his hand. they lifted their voices, the two men and the girl, and sent forth a ringing cry of alarm; once, twice, they sent it forth, while rupert felt his way to the first wave-lashed stone, and at the third cry eve's white figure appeared in the aperture between the rocks. the sight on which she looked was enough to turn the strongest head--the waste of waters where there had been a bubbling stream, the swirling current covering the way of retreat; yet to the onlookers there appeared no sign of distress in eve's attitude. the lurid sun still shown down, shaftlike through the clouds, and showed her white figure in vivid distinctness. she was bending forward, gazing, not at the shore, but upward across the flood. her ear was bent low, as though listening to its voice... rupert turned back from the first stone, threw off his shoes, and started afresh. once and again his foot slipped, and he swayed perilously to right and left, but always he recovered himself, and pressed on steadfastly towards the rock where stood his wife, motionless, bending forward towards the stream. he was by her side, standing on the same foothold, before she was conscious of his presence; then he spoke her name, and she turned her eyes upon him. oh, god in heaven, they were _sane_ eyes! clear, straight-glancing eyes. _sane_ eyes, full of thankfulness and peace! "i remember!" she cried loudly. "i remember! the river has told me. oh, rupert i am free--" "come!" he said simply, and took her hand. there was no time to waste, for the flood was rushing on its way, and the perilous passage had still to be made; but there was no fear in either heart. nothing on earth or sea could mar the rapture of that moment. after long waiting and heart-sickness the cloud had lifted, and the shadows had taken wing. he read the change in her eyes, the very touch of her hand within his told the same tale. it was no longer weak and helpless; her fingers clasped his with a strong, resolute grasp, giving help as well as receiving. the dream woman had come to life! from the bank the stepping-stones had disappeared from sight, and to the dazzled eyes of the onlookers it seemed as though two disembodied spirits came walking towards them across the waters, their faces lit with an unearthly radiance. when the bank was reached, they turned, and made their way towards the house, unconscious of the existence of the watchers. hand in hand they crossed the bridge and mounted the sloping path... the innkeeper hitched his shoulders and drew a trembling breath. "it was a near thing, look you! as near a shave as ever i seen... that was a good thing, missy, that you caught sight of her just at the right moment!" lilith's heavy eyelids drooped over her eyes. "yes," she said sleepily, "the very right moment!" chapter five. the girl who wished for power. two men proposed to lilith wastneys at the same ball and in the same palm-shaded retreat. she was not surprised, because she had willed that they should speak, and people had a habit of doing as lilith willed. very early in her life she had discovered that if she said nothing, and thought hard, that thought had a power to mould others to her will. it was not often that she put forth her power, for her attitude towards her fellows was one of lofty detachment. they were commonplace creatures--weak, vacillating creatures, swayed to and fro by the emotions of the hour. lilith had never in her life been swayed; never for the fraction of a second had she been uncertain of her own mind; all the temptations in the world could not lure her a step from a premeditated path, but because nature had cast her in a fragile mould, and given her flaxen hair and a baby skin, and minute morsels of hands and feet, the world adopted protective airs towards her and spoke of her approvingly as "sweet and gentle." francis manning, the first of the two men to make a declaration of love, was a big giant of a man with a handsome face, an amiable disposition, and a supreme concern for his own well-being. he had reached the age and position when it seemed desirable to marry, and, that being the case, there was no doubt upon whom his choice would fall. for years past lilith wastneys had stood to francis as a type of all that was sweet and desirable in women. in his eyes she was beautiful, though in reality she had no claim to the title. the love-light in his eyes transformed her pale locks into gold, her colourless eyes into deepest blue; her height was to him "just as high as my heart"; her low voice, her drooping lids, her noiseless movements--each and all appeared to him the perfection of their kind. francis was whole-heartedly in love, but it was not in his nature to be otherwise than leisurely. while a more impetuous lover would have hastened to put his fate to the test, he was content to continue the even tenor of his way, indulge in confident dreams of the future, and leave it to fate to decide the moment of avowal. nothing on earth was farther from his suspicions than the fact that it was lilith herself, who, in the ultimate moment, played the part of fate. she wore a white dress. lilith invariably wore white in the evening,-simple, little white satin frocks devoid of ornament, save for a soft swathing of tulle, from which her shoulders arose, fair and rounded. whatever might be the fashion of the day, that soft swathe of tulle was in its place; however puffed and waved might be the coiffure of the other women in the room, lilith's flaxen locks were always smooth and demure. there was a distinction in such simplicity. people looked at her and questioned. they watched her with puzzled eyes. was she pretty? certainly not pretty. did they admire her? they were not at all sure that they did. _but there was something about her_! it was lilith who led the way into the palm-shaded retreat, and chose the most secluded corner. she and francis were engaged to dance the next number together, but she pleaded fatigue, and they sat alone in the dimness. "who was that dissipated-looking fellow who took you in to supper? i wanted to take you myself, but he was too quick for me. rather a striking-looking head, if he were not such a terrible waster!" "his name is lowther." francis straightened himself, startled into vivid attention. "_lowther_! hereward lowther--_that's_ how i knew his face! i've seen it in caricatures. the idea of meeting lowther here! i should not have thought dances were in his line." "he does not dance." "then why on earth does he trouble to come?" lilith did not answer. she knew; but had no intention of sharing her knowledge, and francis was too much engrossed in his own reflections to pursue the question. "so that is lowther! good heavens, how excited i should have been two or three years ago at the idea of meeting him in the same room! sad how that man has fizzled out! he promised such big things, bigger things than any other man of his day. i've heard him singled out a score of times as the man who was going to save england, and now"--he shrugged, and flicked his large fingers--"it's all over; nothing left but the wreck of a man. drugs, they say. something of the sort evidently; he carries it in his face. not the sort of man for you to have anything to do with, little girl!" francis's voice dropped to a tender note as he spoke the last words, and lilith lifted her heavy lids and smiled at him with gentle sweetness. it was seldom that he had obtained more than a glimpse of those downcast eyes, but now they met his and held them in a lingering look which sent the blood racing through his veins. suddenly, imperatively, the patience of years was broken, and hot words flowed from his lips. he loved her; she was the sweetest, the dearest of women. for years he had loved her; he would love her all his life; would live only to serve her. it was his own feelings on which he enlarged; his own feelings, which were obviously of the first importance. in his ardour there was no hint of anxiety. he was in love, but confidently in love. he had but to speak, and she would come fluttering to his arms. but he wooed her well, denying her no tittle of her woman's kingdom. he held her hands in his, and his big voice softened tenderly as he made his vows. "i will take care of you,--such care as was never taken of a woman before! you are not fit to stand alone; you are too gentle and fragile. you want a big fellow like me to stand between you and the world. it shall be my work in life to shield you, and keep you sheltered and safe. only trust yourself to me, and you will see. you _will_ trust yourself, won't you, darling? i'm not rich, but we should be comfortable enough. you are not the sort of girl to be ambitious, and, you _do_ love me, lilith!" lilith smiled, but she left her hand in his, and a tinge of colour showed in the pale cheeks. "i think i _do_ love you, francis!" she said slowly. francis pressed her hand in acknowledgment. unbroken confidence had deprived him of the great thrill which comes to most men at the knowledge that they are beloved; but one cannot have everything in this world, and if the choice had been his, he would unhesitatingly have plumped for the greater ease. he pressed her hand, and bent over her tenderly. "my darling girl! you make me very happy. you shall never regret it, i'll promise you that... look at your little mite of a hand lying in mine!--i could crush it to pieces with one clutch from my big paw. they are a type of the difference between us--those two hands--i so big, and strong, and you such a little slip of a weak, helpless thing." lilith bent her head on one side, and looked down with a smile. she lifted her tiny fingers and softly stroked the giant hand. "why do you love me, francis?" "because i can't help it!" returned francis promptly. "good heavens, lilith, if you knew how thankful a fellow is to meet a good old-fashioned girl! i'm fed up with these modern specimens, who set themselves up to be equal with men, and push and drive to force themselves to the front, instead of being content with the place which nature has given them. i couldn't stick a modern woman. i want a wife who will let me judge for her, and be thankful to have my protection-like you, you little darling! you are everything that a woman ought to be... and why do you love me?" "because you are so big, and so handsome, and so"--lilith laughed, a tinkling, girlish laugh, which took the sting from the word--"_stupid_!" she bent nearer to him, with a caressing gesture, and francis slipped his arm round her waist, and laughed in sympathy. the dear, wee mite! what nonsense she did talk! "i don't care what is your reason, so long as you _do_ love me. and how soon will you be ready to marry your stupid man?" "do people always marry the people they love?" lilith asked innocently; and francis said they did; of course they did. what else was there for them to do? he remembered afterwards that though the conversation which followed was entirely agreeable to his feelings, lilith had persistently avoided a definite promise. the next morning a letter was handed in at the door of his chambers. it was in lilith's writing, and ran as follows: "dear francis- "i want you to know that i am engaged to be married to hereward lowther. he asked me last night, just after you, and i said `yes.' thank you so much for all your kindness. it would have been very nice, but i feel sure that we should not have suited. "yours affectionately, "lilith wastneys." the engagement of hereward lowther caused some excitement in the political world, across which he had made so meteoric a flight. of no one of the younger men in the house had so much been hoped. his first speech was still quoted as the most brilliant effort of the kind within the memory of the present generation, while his tact and his charm had seemed little inferior to his ability. poor, brilliant, unhappy lowther, his was but another name added to the list of the men of genius who have been their own worst enemies! so rapid had been his downfall, so flagrant his avoidance of duty, that his friends were convinced that his constituency would not return him a second time. and now, with the shock of the unexpected, came the news of his matrimonial engagement. the chorus of disapproval was loud, but the chief frowned thoughtfully, and reserved his opinion. "if she is the right woman, it may be the saving of him yet. who is she? does anyone know?" "her name is wastneys; daughter of a country squire down in cornwall. good enough family, so far as that goes." "and the girl herself?" "oh, a doll! insignificant creature, with washed-out colouring. not even good looking. heavy and dull; not a word to say." the chief sighed. "that," he said slowly, "is the end of lowther! the man is doomed." during the weeks of the honeymoon hereward lowther's thoughts were exercised with a problem which, it is to be hoped, presents no difficulty to the average bridegroom. "_why had he married his wife_?" during the few months which had elapsed since his introduction to lilith wastneys, lowther had been conscious of a reluctant admiration, which was strangely akin to antipathy. there had been occasions when he had definitely decided that he disliked the girl, yet the decision had no mitigating effect on his desire to see her again at the earliest possible moment. but he was certain, looking back over the time from the first meeting on the golf links, to that last evening in the palm-shaded retreat at the ball, he was definitely, absolutely, certain that the idea of marriage had never entered his head. how, then, had he become engaged? how had it happened that he left that ball pledged to live side by side with this strange, silent girl, till death did them part? honestly, hereward did not know. there had been a flirtation, of course, if such a demure, well-conducted affair could be called a flirtation. the girl had looked unusually feminine and attractive in the dim light, and, this was the crux!--_she had seemed to expect it_. some power of expectancy had driven him on until he had spoken the fateful words, for in these days of languor and depression, lowther had lost the power of resistance, and the easiest course seemed invariably the best. he was conscious of his own demoralisation, but the misery of the consciousness had no vivifying effect; it rather drove him back to his drugs. so in this instance he had drifted on, and in a moment's weakness had sacrificed his freedom. yes! that was what it came to; that was the disgraceful fact. he had married this girl because she had desired it, and he was too lazy to resist. lowther acknowledged the fact with a shrug, but immediately afterwards arose a second problem, hardly less incomprehensible than the first. _why had lilith married him_? she did not love him. the man had soon recognised that fact, and it had brought an unexpected stab of pain. if she had loved him, as some women can love, she might have--helped! but she was cold as ice. even his own lukewarm endearments had proved unacceptable; there was evidently no personal attraction to explain the mystery of her marriage with a man who was an historic failure. they had been married a week, and were sitting in the garden of a foreign hotel, discussing a possible excursion, when lilith startled her husband by a sudden question. her voice, as she spoke, was low and unperturbed; her face showed a gentle smile, nevertheless that question smote upon lowther's ears like the crack of a whip. "at what time," asked lilith calmly, "do you next take your morphia?" he turned upon her, furious, ashamed, stammering the inevitable pitiful denial. "wh-at do you mean? morphia--i! who says i take morphia?" "everybody says it. everybody knows. don't distress yourself, hereward. i only wished to know your hours. it is better, isn't it, that we should plan our expeditions for the times when you are most-most--" "_most what_?" "normal! the morphia naturally is soothing, but while it is working would it not be better if you were--alone?" "you are talking nonsense. you don't know what you are talking about. if you understood anything about the working of morphia, you would realise that after a dose one feels stimulated, refreshed. i am never so well as immediately after--" "i'm sorry. i am ignorant, as you say. then we had better start our excursion immediately after an injection. that is, if we can manage to do it in the time. how long is it before the--er--other stage comes on?" "_what_ other stage?" "the--drunken stage!" lilith answered. he hated her at that moment. a fury of anger rushed through his veins. he leaped from his seat and paced the path with impetuous steps. with the cane in his hand he smote fiercely at the encircling shrubs. all the lethargy of the past months disappeared; he was alive again, smartingly alive, face to face with his shame. "who dares to say that i am drunk? it is a lie! when have you seen me drunk?" "should i have said `drugged'? i'm sorry. i'm so ignorant, you see. i didn't know. of course, if you say so, there _is_ a difference." he swung away from her, and entering the hotel mounted the stairs to his own room. in his present condition of mind he dared not--literally dared not--trust himself within sight of his fellows. up and down the quiet room he paced, like a wild animal in its cage, his mind seething with rage and indignation against his wife, against the world, against himself. it was as though a bandage had fallen, and his sleep-ridden eyes were suddenly galvanised into life. he looked back along the sloping path and perceived how far he had fallen... it was nearing the time for his next injection. automatically he took the tabloids from the bottle, and carried them across the room to dissolve them in a glass of water. as he did so, he passed the window and caught sight of his wife's figure seated in the same position as that in which he had left her ten minutes before. how young she looked! almost a child in her simple white frock. the sun shone down on her flaxen locks, on one tiny hand extended on the seat by her side. something gripped at the man's heart at the sight of that hand; it looked so small, so helpless, so appealing. the poor girl! _on her honeymoon_! what a bitter disillusionment must be hers! with a sudden sweeping movement his hand flew outward, and the tabloids hurled through the air and buried themselves in the grass below. the next moment lowther himself descended to the garden, and seated himself by his wife's side. "lilith," he said humbly, "i'm sorry! i was a beast to speak to you as i did, but you know a man doesn't like interference. forgive me, like a good girl, and--i'll tell you something in return! it _was_ time for my morphia, but i've not taken it. i'm going out with you instead... shall we start?" she lifted her eyes and looked at him. it seemed to him that he looked upon a new woman. her eyes were no longer light, but dark and shining. they were bent upon him with an expression which sent the blood rushing through his veins. there was triumph in that look, and an immense, unutterable relief, but there was tenderness also, the tenderness of a mother towards a struggling child. the remembrance of that look remained with lowther and helped him through the inevitable discomforts of the next hours. lilith spoke but little; he was thankful to her for her silence, but once and again when his restlessness grew acute, she slipped her hand through his arm and pushed it forward, so that her fingers clasped his wrist. the little hand was warm to the touch. it was as though some vital force passed from her veins to his, calming, invigorating. only once did lilith touch on the subject of politics. she asked her husband what was likely to be the predominant question of the next session. he told her that it would be the land bill, long deferred, but inevitable: a bill on which the house was sharply divided, which would call forth a heat of argument. he answered curtly, with an evident distaste, and she never renewed the subject. lowther thanked providence for a wife with tact. they roamed about, from one country to another--belgium, holland, france, germany, italy, the tyrol, taking by preference untrodden paths, putting up at quiet country inns, enjoying the study of peasant life. lilith declared that she was tired of cities, had seen enough show places to last her life; now she needed a rest. how badly lowther himself had needed a rest was proved by his altered appearance after a few weeks of a leisurely life passed in fresh, pure air. never again had the subject of morphia been mentioned between himself and his wife, but the doses were steadily diminishing. there had been one whole day when he had taken no injection at all! he wondered at the coincidence which had made lilith so tender on that day! if it had not been for her tenderness, for the clasp of that small, warm hand, he doubted if he could have lasted out. he was no longer so sure that he did not love his wife. he was grateful to her for her tact and forbearance. he was beginning to look forward to her rare tenderness; as a reward for which it were worth while to endure. both lowther and his wife were clever linguists, and he was amused to discover that, quiet as was her nature, she possessed the rare gift of making friends with the humble folk of the different countries through which they passed, and of drawing forth their confidence. many an evening was spent in conversation with "mine host" as he enjoyed his leisurely smoke at the end of the day's work, and "mine host" was an interesting talker, with his tales of the country side, from the lordly baron in his rock-bound castle, to the humblest tenant upon his land. many talks were held also during the day-time, with the labourers in the fields, with the farmers who supplied milk and bread, and who beamed in appreciation of the largesse bestowed by the english milord and his wife. there were charming stories to be told--stories of affection and kindliness between the tenants and the lord of the soil, of a simple, feudal loyalty which sounded like a page from a fairytale of old, but there were tragedies also--stories of injustice and tyranny, of suffering and want. they were simple people, and they told their tales simply and well, delivering themselves in conclusion, of a pathetic apology. "it was a pity... things were not as bad as they had been. in england, of course, it was different. the peasants in england had no such trials to endure!" lilith sat listening while her husband explained that england had her own land troubles. her sleepy eyes expressed but little interest; but now and again she would put a searching question which cut to the very heart of the matter, and set him talking afresh. wherever they went the same subject recurred, and fresh differences were discussed; but these conversations were but incidents in the day's doings. from private conversation politics were banished. at the end of the honeymoon mr and mrs hereward lowther returned to town and took up their abode in a small flat in westminster. the choice was made by lilith, as indeed was every choice in those days of lowther's weakness. she confessed to an affection for westminster, for the quaint, old-fashioned nooks and corners which still remain, tucked behind the busy thoroughfares; for the picturesque precincts of the abbey. westminster was at once central, convenient, and old-world. she was eloquent on the subject of its advantages as a dwelling-place, but she never alluded to the vicinity of saint stephen's. after his return to town lowther passed through a somewhat severe relapse. pace to face with the old conditions he grew nervous and despondent, and had more frequent recourse to his drug, but there was this great difference between his present condition and the past, that whereas he had been indifferent, now he was penitent, remorseful, utterly ashamed. lilith never reproached him for his lapses, she nursed him assiduously through the subsequent weakness; she checked him when he would have made faltering apologies. "we won't talk about it. it is not worth while. it will pass!" she said quietly, and as she spoke, her strange, expressionless eyes gazed into his, and he found himself murmuring in agreement. "yes, it will pass!" never once, so far as he could discover, did any doubt concerning the future enter his wife's head. she must certainly have heard that when a man takes to drugs it is almost a miracle if he is enabled to break the habit, yet her confidence remained unshaken. throughout the darkest day, throughout the bitterest disappointment, she remained serenely unmoved. always, in speaking of the future, she envisaged lowther as strong, confident, successful, until by degrees the image printed itself on his own brain, and the old distrust began to disappear. the house opened, a week passed by, and lowther made no sign of taking his seat. lilith remained silent; it seemed the result of accident that engagements lessened more and more, so that he found himself unoccupied, sitting in the little flat, listening to the chimes of big ben, following in imagination the doings within the second chamber, while hour by hour, day by day, a mysterious power seemed forcing him onward, urging him to arouse himself from his stupor, and go forth once more into the arena. one evening husband and wife sat alone together in the little drawing-room of the flat. lowther was smoking, and making a pretence of reading a review, lilith sat by the open window, her hands folded on her lap. she had none of the nervous, fidgety movements to which most women are subject in moments of idleness, but could remain motionless as a statue for half an hour on end, her lids drooped over her quiet eyes. it was no interruption on his wife's part which caused lowther's increasing restlessness; even when the book was thrown down, and he took to pacing hurriedly up and down, she remained passive and immovable. suddenly lowther drew up by her side, laid a hand on her shoulder. "lilith! i'm going... to the house. would you come? i think it would help me if you would come too." it was the first time that he had acknowledged in words the mysterious truth that in his wife's presence he felt stronger, freer from temptation. his hand lingered on her shoulder with a caressing touch, and lilith turned her head so that for a fleeting moment her cheek rested against his fingers. her assent was a matter of course; she wasted no breath on that, but, as she rose to her feet, she spoke a few words, which to lowther's bruised spirit, were as water to a fainting man: "i am so _proud_ of you, hereward!" the session had begun, and the land bill was occupying the attention of the house. the two leaders had delivered themselves of strong opposing speeches, and the bill was open for discussion. one member after another rose from the crowded benches. a few of the number spoke well and to the point, and were acclaimed with applause; but the greater number repeated old arguments, and failed to throw fresh light on the vexed problem. the house listened with resigned impatience. in a corner of the ladies' gallery sat a small figure with an aureole of flaxen hair. she leaned forward on her seat, her hands clasped together, her eyes fixed in a deep, unblinking gaze at a man on the opposite benches. he was a striking-looking man, still young, yet with an air of delicacy and strain. an onlooker observing him at this moment would have noticed that from time to time he stirred uneasily, and cast a glance upwards at the grille of the ladies' gallery. as each speaker in succession finished his speech and sat down, this man stirred more forcibly, as though combating an impulse which increased in violence, and eventually he was on his feet; had caught the speaker's eyes. there was a momentary silence throughout the house. _lowther_! how long was it, how many years since lowther had essayed a speech? what had happened to spur him to such an effort? this was his first appearance since the beginning of the session, and though he was obviously improved in health he had avoided private conversation, and kept shrinkingly to himself. and now--a speech! with characteristic loyalty to a man who has done good work in past days, the house prayed that lowther knew what he was about, and was not going to make an exhibition of himself. but now he was speaking, and the old charm was at work. the members listened with surprise to the old well-turned sentences, the old masterly style; felt again the charm of the old ingenuous manner. and he was speaking to the point, with an expert's width of knowledge which held the house. "on this point of tenure might it not be well to take a hint from italy?--in italy, etc., etc." "in holland there was a special exemption which was worthy of note..." "in the province of lombardy the tenants retained the right..." the land problems of europe seemed at his finger-ends; he handled them not as a politician informed by dry, written statements, but as living things, seen through living eyes. he had apt illustrations to present with the readiness of first-hand knowledge; he had, as a sum total, one illuminating suggestion, and the house cheered him with a ringing cheer. that cheer sounded in lowther's ears like the opening of a great gate, a gate which his own hands had closed. through its portals he beheld once more the castles of his dreams, and took heart to walk forward. lilith greeted him with a smile of congratulation, but the drive home was accomplished in silence. it was late when they arrived at their modest flat. the servants had retired to bed, leaving a table of refreshments drawn up before the drawing-room fire. lilith took off her cloak and sat down, but lowther went straight to his own room. a few minutes later he returned, and, closing the door behind him, stood silently behind her chair. she could hear the quick intake of his breath, but she waited motionless until he should speak. at last it came. "lilith! i have something i want to give you. something for you--to keep! put out your hand." still silent, still with eyes averted, she held out her hand towards him. something cold clicked against the palm, something long and thin. she opened her fingers, and beheld a morphia syringe. "i--i shan't need it any more," stammered the voice. a hand, lowther's hand, came over her shoulder, mutely making appeal. lilith dropped the syringe, and caught the hand to her breast. the next minute he was kneeling at her feet, and the two were gazing deep into each other's eyes. "lilith," cried lowther brokenly, "it--it will be hard... i shall have a hard fight. do you think you could _love_ me a little, lilith?" "i must love you," answered lilith deeply, "a great deal, or it will be no use!" it was five years later when the opposition came into power, and it surprised nobody when hereward lowther was given a seat in the cabinet. during those five years husband and wife had lived quietly in their little flat, going but little into society, affecting few of the amusements of the day. when parliament was sitting, lilith was a constant visitor to the ladies' gallery, and it was noted that her husband never spoke when she was absent. in holiday time her chief interest lay in the study of the problems of modern life; but, as on that first tour abroad, she studied first-hand, and not through the medium of books. lowther felt it an extraordinary coincidence that her inquiries so often proved of value to himself, and always, under every circumstance, lilith's immovable serenity was as a rock, against which his weaker, more excitable nature found support. lowther questioned himself sometimes as to the explanation of his wife's unshaken calm, and came to the conclusion that it sprang from a certain obtuseness or stupidity of brain, but he smiled as he mentally voiced the thought, and his smile was tender. he loved his wife; she was a dear girl, tactful, unassuming. he was thankful that she was not clever. five years spread a kindly veil over the public memory, and there were few people who troubled to recall lowther's temporary lapse. that was an affair of the past. what mattered now was that he was one of the most brilliant and valuable men in the house, and that the country needed his services. as a politician he was able and statesmanlike, but he was a politician second and a patriot first. the glory of office counted for nothing with him in comparison with the glory of his native land, and the country recognised his honesty and loved him for it. he was a member of the cabinet now, but as certainly as he lived he would be prime minister another day. as he walked through the streets the people pointed him out to each other. "that's lowther. our best man. he'll be prime minister before he's done. the sooner the better. a straight, fair man. the man we want. what a position for a man to gain by sheer personal force--the virtual ruler over a fifth part of the world! what power, my dear fellow--what power!" "you may say so, indeed; extraordinary power!" chapter six. the man who wished for comfort. it seemed hard to francis manning that he, who had asked of fate nothing more exorbitant than an easy, comfortable existence, should have been called on to endure one of the most uncomfortable of experiences--that of being jilted by the girl to whom he had believed himself engaged to be married! for years past he had intended to marry lilith wastneys, and when he told his love she had been everything that was sweet and complaisant, had said, in so many words, that she loved him in return. he had gone home feeling the happiest man in the world, had lain awake for a solid hour by the clock, rejoicing in his happiness, and the very next morning, behold a letter to tell him that she was engaged to another man! francis could not endure to recall the shock, the misery, the discomfort, of that hour. if the news had come from another source he would have refused to believe it; but it was lilith herself who wrote, so there was no loophole of escape. during the following days he felt stunned and wretched. his heart was wounded, but he was not sentimental by nature, and it seemed to him that he could have schooled his heart into subjection if it had not been for--for the other things! there did not seem a single interest in life which this wretched disillusionment had left untouched. to begin with, there was his work. he had worked for a home in which lilith should live as his wife. work seemed suddenly dull and purposeless now that the proposed home had crumbled into ruins. then, as regards amusement-he had grown into the habit of arranging his engagements to fit in with lilith's own. a dinner meant the chance of lilith for a partner; a ball, a dance or two with lilith, and a _tete-a-tete_ in a conservatory; a reception, the chance of edging his way towards a little white figure and keeping beside it for the rest of the evening. amusement lost its savour, now that lilith no more entered into the scheme. life was dull, stale, and unprofitable. the days dragged past on leaden feet; he fell asleep with a sigh, and woke to a pang of remembrance. for a whole month francis was a prey to grief, and then, as he himself would have expressed it, he "bucked up." there came an historic saturday evening, when, in the company of a particularly fine cigar he came to the conclusion that "it was not good enough," and that he could not "stick" it any more. he had had a whole month of being miserable, and it was the dullest time he had ever known! in self-defence he must pull himself together and face the music. it was astonishing how many saws francis quoted over that cigar; but he was as good as his vow, and from that hour he wasted no more regrets on lilith wastneys. so serene and cheerful became his demeanour that his one confidante congratulated him on having set a pattern to suffering mankind. "i have heard many tragic stories. people always do confide in me," she told him; "but have i met a man who has borne his trouble as you have borne yours. i feel a better woman from the experience. it has been a triumph of bravery and endurance!" "think so?" said francis. he was gratified to know that he had made such a good impression, and reminded himself insistently that lookers-on saw most of the game. he did this to quieten a tiresome inner voice which insisted that his cheerful mien was the result of cowardice rather than of bravery, the cowardice which refused to endure! "still, you know," he declared lugubriously, "a fellow feels lonely--" the confidante sighed, and flicked her light eyelashes. "i know the feeling," she said. when a man has made up his mind that it is time to marry, it is foolish to abandon the plan because one woman out of the teeming millions in the land refuses to become his wife. this, at least, was francis manning's seasoned decision, and it was emphasised by the announcement of lilith wastneys' wedding, which appeared in the newspapers exactly three months after her refusal of himself. whatever sentimental hankerings he might have cherished for lilith the maid, it was clearly out of place to cast another thought towards the wife of hereward lowther. francis had a deep respect for the conventions, and death itself could not have removed his former love to a more impassable distance. he heaved a sigh to her memory, and buried it underground. within a week from that day he was engaged to the confidante. it seemed the obvious thing to do, for he knew her more intimately than any other girl of his acquaintance, and owed her a debt of gratitude for her sympathy in his former affair. she was quite a nice girl, too; not pretty, but amiable and healthy, with a small income of her own which would come in usefully towards running the house. he wished her eyelashes had not been quite so white; but one could not have everything. she was a nice, affectionate girl. the confidante accepted francis because she was tired of living at home with a managing mamma, and wanted to start life on her own account. she liked francis, was proud of his fine appearance, knew him to be good-tempered and honourable, and was complacently assured that they would "get on." far better, she said, to begin with a sensible, open-eyed liking, than a headlong passion which would wear itself out before the honeymoon was over. it was, in short, a sensible marriage between eminently sensible contracting parties. the little god of love had no part in the ceremony, but it is only fair to mention that nobody missed him. mr and mrs manning went to scotland for their honeymoon, and francis played golf every day, what time his wife read novels in the veranda of the hotel. she sped him on his way with a smile, and welcomed him back with a smile to match, and if the young girls in the hotel confided in each other that _they_ would break their hearts if _their_ bridegrooms neglected them in such a fashion, such a thought never entered her head. she would have been bored if francis had stayed beside her all day long. what on earth could they have found to say? at the end of a fortnight mr and mrs manning returned to a semi-detached villa in a southern suburb, and settled down to a comfortable married life. mr and mrs francis manning spent the next ten years in peace and comfort, and humdrum happiness. they had good health, easy means, a large number of acquaintances, and three little daughters. the daughters were plain, but sturdy, and gave a minimum of trouble in the household. francis, indeed, insisted on this point. early in the lifetime of maud, the eldest daughter, he had become aware of the amazing fact that nurses occasionally wished to "go out"; that, in addition, they wished to go out on the sabbath day. this seemed to him unreasonable, and he said as much to his wife. "but why in the name of all that's ridiculous, _sunday_? i'm at home on sunday. sunday's the day when we need nurse most of all. it's my holiday." mrs manning represented that sunday was also a holiday for nurse and her friends, and francis said, very well, then, they must have _two_ nurses. if necessary they must have three. the one thing certain was that he could not be disturbed on his day of rest, so a capable assistant was engaged forthwith, and comfort was re-established. the mannings took no part in the intellectual life of the neighbourhood. there, were several book clubs, lecture courses, and the like, which they were urged to join, but without success. francis declared that he worked all day, and came home to rest, and his wife said, thank you, no; she had no wish to go back to school at her age. they went out to dinner now and then, and made a point of giving two or three dinners themselves every winter. they provided lavishly on such occasions, and were agreeably conscious that their guests were impressed. both husband and wife enjoyed rich foods, and saw no reason for denying themselves the gratification. as far as religion was concerned, the mannings made a point of going to church with the children every sunday morning when it was fine, or they were not late for breakfast, or francis did not feel inclined for a walk. sometimes he went off golfing for the day, and then mrs manning dressed maud in her best clothes and they went to church together. she had been brought up to go to church, and thought the habit "nice." besides it was pleasant to see friends coming out, and walk home with mrs lane, her favourite neighbour. they would meet on the path outside the graveyard, and turn uphill together, and mrs lane would say: "_what_ a sermon! my dear, _did_ you see the woman in the pew before ours? she came in late, just before the psalms. she took off her coat, _and_, my dear, her blouse--" she would proceed to describe the blouse in detail, and mrs manning would sigh and say: "it _is_ nice to have something interesting to look at in the next pew! we have those awful miss newtes." the neighbours on both sides envied the francis mannings, and quoted their doings with admiration. in the matter of holidays, for instance, how sane and sensible were their arrangements! the children were sent with their nurses to the sea, the father enjoyed himself on scottish golf links; the mother toured abroad with a woman friend. each autumn the neighbours agreed to profit by the example of the francis mannings, and to do likewise the next summer; but somehow it never came off. when spring came round the wife would conscientiously remind her husband of the resolve, and urge him to keep it, while gracefully withdrawing herself. "margot has had several of those bad chest colds," she would explain. "i should be so anxious in case she caught a chill. it really is my duty to go with the children but _you_, dear, you could quite well--" "well! i don't know," the husband would reply. "what would become of you in the evenings? and i promised to teach jack to swim. i think, on the whole, we'd better stick to the old arrangement this summer." so once more they would depart _en famille_ to the seaside, and stay in lodgings, and be happy in the old domesticated fashion. but also, quite frequently, bored! on the rare occasions when he gave himself over to thought, francis realised that there was only one respect in which life had disappointed him, only one desire which had been withheld. he wanted a son. each time that a child had been expected he had built his hopes upon a son; each time disappointment had been more acute. he had built up a good business by his own exertions; he wanted a son of his own name to carry it on. there were times, moreover, when the purely feminine nature of his household fretted his nerves, and he thought, with longing, of a man child; a little chappie in trousers, instead of the eternal flounces; a knickerbockered elf sitting in his dressing-room watching him shave; a tall hobbledehoy beginning to play golf, listening with interest to accounts of his father's prowess. later on, a man, a partner, a prop for declining years. francis pushed the thought from him, but it recurred. deep at his heart lay the longing for a son. and the son came. this time he had not hoped; he had told himself steadily that it would be a girl. better if it were a girl. no use having a boy at the end of a family of girls. he would grow up half a girl himself, and be a disappointment. he was placidly resigned to girl, and after all, behold, it was a boy! the blood raced through his veins as he heard the good news; something astonishingly like tears pricked at his eyes. "is he--is he _all right_?" he asked breathlessly, and the doctor laughed. "go upstairs and look at him, my dear fellow! pine little chap as you could wish to see." in truth he was a healthy nine-pounder of a son, guaranteed by nurse and mother to be the finest baby ever born, and seated by his wife's bedside, francis gave vent to his jubilation. "now," he said triumphantly, "i have everything i want. i really am a lucky fellow. jolly little beggar, eh? seems to me--i don't know if i'm right--but i do think he looks different from the rest!" the wife smiled, but francis was right; everybody said he was right. the longed-for boy was in truth an extraordinarily comely infant, and each week of his life he blossomed into fuller charm. his well-shaped head was covered with golden curls and when he lay asleep (and he obligingly slept most of his time) it was a pleasure to observe the delicate promise of his features. he had obviously elected to resemble his handsome father, and the father was complacently grateful for the fact.-mrs manning observed with amazement that francis nursed this baby, positively nursed him in his arms, and was quite disappointed when, on returning from the city, he failed to find him awake. "are his eyes changing colour yet?" he would ask. "i want them to be blue. blue eyes would look so well with his yellow hair." but the baby's eyes remained a dull, clouded grey. "not blue yet!" francis would repeat. "how long is it before they begin to change? fine big eyes, aren't they? i want to make the little beggar look at me, but he won't. why does he stare at the ceiling?" "it's the electric light," said his wife; but the next morning, when the lights were turned off, the baby still stared blankly upward. "why the dickens does he stare at the ceiling?" francis asked again. gradually, imperceptibly, a growing anxiety began to mingle with his joy, and the anxiety was connected with those staring eyes. he would not put his thoughts into words; but he watched his wife's face, and saw in it no reflection of his own fears. then for a time he would banish the dread; and anon it would recur. _were_ the boy's eyes all right? was it really natural that he should be always staring up? ridiculous nonsense! of _course_ it was all right. things had come to a pretty pass when he took to worrying himself, while his wife, who knew a thousand times more about babies, remained untroubled and serene. bother the child's eyes! ... he would think about them no more. all his life francis had been a sworn opponent of worry. when anything disagreeable threatened, his mode of procedure was to shrug his shoulders, and immediately divert his thoughts. "leave the thing alone; don't bother about it; it will probably come all right in the end!" such was his theory, and experience had proved that as often as not it was correct. he endeavoured to cultivate the same attitude towards his boy, but in vain. the anxiety recurred. he told himself that he would have the eyes tested, and satisfy himself once for all; but once and again his courage failed, and the days passed on, and nothing was done. then there came an evening when suddenly fear engulfed him, and made anything seem easier than a continuation of suspense. he was holding the child in his arms, and he rose and carried it across the room, to where a powerful light hung from the wall. he pushed aside the shade, and held the tiny face closely approaching the glass. the eyes stared on, unblinking and still. a great cry burst from francis' throat: "my god!" he cried. "the boy is blind!" the boy was blind, and there was no hope that he would ever possess his sight. mrs manning wept herself ill, but even in the depths of her distress she realised that her husband's sufferings were keener than her own. it gave an added touch of misery to those black days, to feel a strange new distance between her husband and herself. she could not comfort him; she could not understand him; after ten years of married life it appeared as if the man she had known had disappeared, and a stranger had taken his place. yet there was nothing unmanly in his grief; he was quiet and self-restrained as she had never seen him before, gentler, and more considerate of others. the poor woman noticed the change with awe, and wondered if francis were going to die. "i have never seen you feel anything as you are feeling this," she said to him one night. they were sitting by the dying fire, and francis raised his head and stared at her with sombre eyes. "but i have felt nothing," he said flatly. "i am finding that out. i did not know what it meant to feel!" from the moment of his discovery of the blindness of his son, francis manning became a man possessed of but one aim--to lighten and alleviate, so far as was humanly possible, the child's sad lot. he taught himself braille, so that in time to come he might teach it to the boy, and be able to translate for his benefit appropriate pieces of literature. he visited every famous institute for the blind at home and abroad, and made an exhaustive study of their systems. he searched for a girl of intelligence and charm, and sent her to be trained in readiness to undertake the boy's education; he schooled himself to be a playmate and companion; he denied himself every luxury, so that the boy's future might be assured. as francis the man, he ceased to exist; he lived on only as francis the father. during the first three years of his life the young francis remained blissfully unconscious of his infirmity. a strong, healthy child surrounded by the tenderest of care, the sun of his happiness never set. his little feet raced up and down; his sweet, shrill voice chanted merry strains; his small, strong hands seemed gifted with sight as well as touch, so surely did they guide him to and fro. nature, having withheld the greatest gift, had remorsefully essayed compensation in the shape of a finer touch, a finer hearing. the blind child was the sunshine of the home; but the father knew that the hour must dawn when that sunshine would be clouded. he held himself in readiness for that hour, training himself as an athlete trains for a race. he would need courage: therefore it behoved him to be brave now, to harden himself against the ills of life, and cultivate a resolute composure. all the influences which had tended to keep him soft must be thrown aside as weights which would hinder the race. he must be wise, therefore it behoved him to think, and to train his mind. a light reason, a light excuse, would no longer be sufficient; he must learn to judge and to reflect. he must be tender; and to be tender it was necessary to bury self, and to put other interests before his own. more weights had to be thrown aside. and he must be patient! hitherto he had considered patience a feeble, almost unmanly, virtue; but he perceived that it would be needed, and must be cultivated with the rest. mrs manning confided in her neighbours that francis had never been the same since the discovery of baby's blindness. he never complained, she said. oh, no; and he was most kind--gave no trouble in the house, _but_--then she sighed, and the neighbours sympathised, and prophesied that he would "come round." in truth the good, commonplace woman was ill at ease in the rarefied atmosphere of the home, and sincerely regretted the comfortable, easy-going husband of yore. for three whole years frank lived untroubled, and then the questions began to come. "am i blind, father? why am i blind? is it naughty to be blind?" the baby child was easily appeased. later on the questions would become more insistent. francis prepared himself for that hour. at four years fleeting shadows began to pass over the boy's radiance. alone with his father, his face would pucker in thought. "shall i always be blind, father? i don't like to be blind. was you blind when you was a little boy?" the knife turned in the father's heart at the sound of the innocent words; but always the cloud loomed darker ahead. he trained himself more zealously, in preparation for the hour when the boy would rebel! but there were happy hours between, hours when the natural joy of childhood filled the house with laughter, and father and son were supremely happy in each other's society. no companion of his own age was half as dear to the boy; no living creature stood for so much in the father's heart. they read and studied together; they held long, intimate conversation. they played games from which blind people are usually debarred. standing behind a hoop on the croquet lawn the father would cry in a brisk, staccato voice, "prank!" and on the instant the boy's mallet would hit the ball, and send it in the direction indicated, and proud and glad was frankie to know that his aim was surer than that of his sighted sisters. and every hour of contentment, every added interest and occupation bestowed upon the boy, was as a salve to the sore father heart. but at six years the inevitable rebellion began. "is he blind?" the boy would ask of a new acquaintance. "can _he_ see, too? _everyone_ can see but me! ... _i_ want to run about like the other fellows, and play cricket, and have some fun. it's dull all alone in the dark. can't you have me made better, father?" at times he would cry; piteous, pitiful tears, but the sensitive ear was quick to catch the distress in his father's voice, and he would offer consolation in the midst of his grief. "don't be sorry, father. i don't want you to be sorry. it doesn't matter; really it doesn't. i have a ripping time!" never for a moment did the boy hold his parents responsible for his infirmity; but there came a day when he blamed his god. "if god can do everything he likes, he could have made me quite right, and well. why didn't he, father?" "i don't know, my son." "_you_ would make me better if you could! you said yourself you'd pay the doctor all your money. you are kinder than him. i don't think god _is_ kind to me, father. it would have been so easy for him--" the wisdom for which francis had prayed and struggled seemed a poor thing at that moment. he was dumb, and yet he dared not be dumb. "frankie," he said, "i'll tell you a secret--a secret between you and me... god sent me a great many blessings when i was young, and they did me no good. i was selfish, and careless, and blind, too, frankie, though my eyes could see, and then after he had tried me with happiness and it had failed, he sent me"--the man's voice trembled ominously--"_a great grief_! ... frankie, old man, when i come to die, i believe i am going to thank god for that grief, more than for all the blessings which went before." the child sat silent, struggling for comprehension. "what did the great grief _do_ to you, father?" francis paused for a moment, struggling for composure. then he spoke: "_it stabbed my dead heart wide awake_!" he stooped and kissed the child's blind eyes. chapter seven. the girl who asked for happiness. fate is a sorry trickster, and a study of life leads one to the conclusion that the less that is asked of her the less does she bestow. meriel, on her part, had made few demands--riches and power had for her no allure; her highest ambition was to attain that quiet domestic happiness enjoyed by thousands of her sister women. she wanted to be loved and to love in return; to transform some trivial villa into a home, and reign therein over her little kingdom; and on her twenty-eighth birthday fate had so wrought the tangled skein that she found herself in the position of unpaid attendant to an old school friend, while her heart was racked by a hopeless passion for the same friend's husband. the way of it was this. meriel and flora had been school friends, between whom existed the affection which often develops between a strong and a weak character when they are thrown into intimate companionship. flora was pretty and gay, qualities which in a young girl blind the eyes of beholders to many drawbacks. meriel was quite resigned to be blinded herself, but some two or three years after the two girls had left school she heard with amazement that flora was engaged to be married to geoffrey sterne, one of the most prominent _litterateurs_ of the day. geoffrey sterne and--flora! how was it that the cleverest of men so often chose weak, clinging women as companions for life? it seemed to meriel inconceivable that this giant among men should have given his love to an animated doll; but flora wrote gushing accounts of her fiance's devotion, and declared that she was as happy as the day was long. it seemed to meriel that she must indeed be the happiest of women! circumstances prevented mend's presence at the wedding, and for the next five years she did not see her friend. a child was born and died; rumour reported that sterne was working incessantly at a work which was to be the _magnum opus_ of his life; it was said also that his wife was in delicate health, and had abandoned the dissipations of town. then at the end of the five years came an invitation in flora's handwriting. meriel was not to be vexed with her for being silent for so long; she had always _intended_ to write, simply dreadful how many things were left undone! really and truly, she had never forgotten the dear old days. would meriel come down and pay her a nice long visit? geoffrey liked to have friends staying in the house; he thought flora was too much alone; but some visitors were such a nuisance--always poking about. meriel was not like that--she was always a dear old thing. would thursday suit? the 3:13. the car should be waiting at the station. flora sent heaps of love... meriel accepted the invitation without hesitation; she was without near relations, living on narrow means, and her life was so bare that she was thankful of the mere change of scene. she liked the sound of "the car"; most of all she longed to meet geoffrey sterne, and see him in the intimacy of his home. flora was waiting at the station when her friend arrived; and at the sight of her face came meriel's first disillusionment. this was not the companion of old; this was a strange woman with whom she had no acquaintance. the once delicate face had lost its contour, the features were blurred and coarsened: out of the blue eyes peered a furtive soul. meriel felt a presage of trouble at the sight of that ravaged face. a week's stay at the house revealed two eloquent facts. flora was afraid of her husband, but she loved him still, and craved for his approval. out of his presence she was nervous, and irritable, possessed by a demon of restlessness which made it impossible for her to attend to the same thing for two minutes together; but let sterne enter the room, and all the poor forces of her nature were rallied to appear calm and at ease. meriel saw through these efforts with a woman's intuition; later on with a woman's sympathy, for she knew that geoffrey sterne no longer loved his wife. he was kindly, chivalrous, attentive; with the utmost of his powers he fulfilled his duty, but there was no spark of that divine flame which would have turned duty into joy. to have gained the love of such a man, and then--to have lost it! meriel found herself reversing her former decision. she had believed flora sterne to be the happiest of women. she now knew her to be the most unfortunate. there was trouble in the air--a trouble nebulous and vague, yet real enough to chill the blood. the cloud of coming disaster settled down more and more heavily over the household. there came a night when the storm broke. sterne had been away all day, and in his absence his wife's restlessness took an acute turn. she wandered about the house rejecting irritably all offers of help, and finally shut herself up in her own rooms, leaving meriel a prey to anxiety. what was the reason of flora's strange behaviour? was it a pure matter of nerves, or was there in truth some hidden sorrow preying upon her mind, and driving her hither and thither in search of oblivion? what sorrow could flora have? grief over the death of her child had long since faded into a placid conclusion that all was for the best. it had been a dear little thing, but children were a tie... she was glad there had been no other... for the rest, life had brought her the most luxurious of homes, the most attentive of husbands, and if that attention was not induced by the highest motive, meriel doubted if the dulled mind grasped the lack. what sorrow, then, could flora have? the afternoon wore slowly away, until the hour approached when sterne would return, when a feeling of responsibility drove meriel to follow flora to her boudoir. she did not wish geoffrey to return to find his wife suffering and alone. the room was darkened, so that it was impossible to see distinctly, but the sound of a low moan reached her ears, and prone on the sofa lay flora, her face sunk deep in the piled-up cushions. meriel spoke, but there was no reply; she knelt down and pressed the cushion from the hidden face, but the eyes remained closed, the jaw fixed and fallen. poor flora! her sufferings had been real enough, since in the end they had culminated in this heavy swoon. meriel threw open windows, found water and smelling salts, and unloosed the clothing round the neck. in the midst of her efforts sterne entered, and with quick glance took in the situation. he brought a flask of brandy from his room, and from time to time inserted a few drops within the parted lips. but flora did not revive. she moaned and stirred, but her eyes remained closed. she showed no consciousness of their presence. in hot haste a doctor was summoned; he came, and stood gazing grimly down at the still figure. "we did everything we could think of before sending for you," sterne explained. "fanned her, sponged her head, gave her brandy--" the doctor looked at him--a terrible look. "_brandy_!" he repeated deeply. "man, have you no eyes? what have you been about to allow her to come to this pass? she is not faint. she is drunk!" flora's remorse was a pitiful thing. for years she had been playing with fire, but the knowledge of the depths to which she had fallen filled her with shame and fear. for days together she refused to see her husband, but from the first moment of consciousness she clung with a childish desperation to the friend of her youth. "don't leave me! don't go away! i can't face it alone. oh, meriel, stay and help me to bear it. i'm afraid to be left alone with geoffrey. he will say nothing--he'll go on being kind, but it will be in his mind.--i shall see it in his eyes... i've disgraced him, and i'm afraid--i'm afraid of the future! ... oh, meriel, stay and help me!" that night, walking in the darkening garden, meriel told sterne of his wife's desire, and added a few simple words. "if you wish it, too, i will stay," she said. "i have no home ties, and can extend my visit as long as it suits you. but i must have your approval. if you would prefer a regular attendant--" his face twitched with emotion. "i should--_abhor_ it!" he said tensely. "if you could stay, it would be a godsend, but it seems too great a sacrifice... we have no right to ask it. why should you give up so much?" "i have so little to give up," meriel said. she looked into sterne's face with a pathetic attempt at a smile. "i am a superfluous woman. nobody needs me, and all my life i have longed to be needed. if i can be of use here, i'd rather stay than go anywhere on earth." "god bless you!" he said, and gripped her hand. that was the signing of the agreement which resulted in four years of ceaseless service. at the beginning meriel had contemplated a stay of a few months; but with every week that passed she seemed more firmly riveted in her post. after each breakdown, flora's dread of being alone with her husband increased in violence, while he shrank more sensitively from the services of a hireling. they needed her, and she stayed on and on, at first provisionally; later, as a matter of course. from the beginning sterne had little hope of his wife's reformation, for he realised that her weakness was of several years' growth, and that the inherent instability of her character unfitted her for the prolonged struggle which lay ahead. as a matter of fact, after the first passion of remorse had worn itself out, the whole of flora's energies were expended in the attempt to deceive her companions, and to discover secret methods of indulging her craving. the history of those four years was one of recurrent disappointment. the last remnant of beauty died out of flora's face; sterne's dark hair was streaked with grey, mend's features were fined to a delicate sharpness; her eyes had the pathetic wistfulness of a dumb animal. from the first moment of meeting her heart had gone out to geoffrey sterne; before she had been three months under his roof she loved him with an absorbing passion, and for four long years she had stood by, watching his torture, holding her love in check. surely no man and woman were ever thrown together in more intimate relationship. night after night they wrestled together against the demon which destroyed their peace; week after week, month after month, they planned and consulted, toiled and failed, hoped and sorrowed,--together, always together; virtually alone, yet always with that pitiful presence holding them apart. sterne was as chivalrous to his friend as to his wife. never by look or deed did he pass the borders of friendship. with one part of her nature meriel was thankful for the fact. it would have marred her admiration of the man's character if he had made love to the woman who was ministering to his wife. with another part of her nature she longed fiercely, hungrily, to feel the touch of his lips, the grasp of his arms. there were times when she was shaken with envy of the poor creature who still claimed his tenderness and his care, but she never deluded herself that sterne returned her love. it seemed to her that her own near association with the tragedy of his life must in itself prevent such a possibility. in years to come, when poor flora had found her rest, sterne might meet some sweet woman who lived in the sunshine, and find happiness with her. "he will forget, and be comforted. he will love her the more for all he has suffered." meriel felt an anguish of envy for that other woman who would enjoy the happiness denied to herself, a bitter rebellion against her own fate. "i have given my youth, my strength, my soul--and what have i gained in return? emptiness and suffering!" she cried fiercely. then added, with a sombre triumph, "but she can never help him as i have helped! he can never need her as he has needed me!" the end of the four years found the three embarked for india to try the effect of "suggestion" under a famous professor of the east. it was a forlorn chance, as it was doubtful if flora retained enough brain power to respond to the treatment; but something was hoped from the change of scene and the healthful effects of the voyage. meriel welcomed the change with relief. flora's increasing disability had of late thrown her husband and friend into what was practically a prolonged _tete-a-tete_, and the strain of constant self-repression had grown beyond endurance. in the turmoil of travelling such close intimacy would be impossible, and her own tired nerves would be refreshed. for the first fortnight all went well. the bay was smooth, the mediterranean blue and smiling; even flora herself was roused to a feeble admiration. she was so quiet and amenable that meriel was able to leave her for hours together in the charge of her maid, while she herself lay on a deck chair, luxuriating in the peace and beauty of the scene. sometimes sterne would sit by her side, and they would talk together,--brief, disconnected fragments of talk, interrupted by intervals of silence. they spoke of happier days; of their youth, their dreams and ambitions, the glowing optimism of early hopes. sterne had started his career with the finest ambition which a writer can know: a passing popularity would not satisfy him, money was regarded merely as a means to live; his aim was to write words which should endure after he himself was laid to rest, and to that aim he had held fast, despite all the trials and discouragements of his life. to him, as to every writer, came the realisation that his power to help and uplift was measured by his own suffering. his readers were enriched by his poverty. there were times when the knowledge soothed, times again when the natural man rose in revolt, and demanded bread for his own soul. "you tell me that i have succeeded," he said bitterly to meriel; "but i have never tasted the savour of success. i have no child to inherit my name, and my wife does not care--even in the early days she cared nothing for my work. never in her life has she read an article of mine from beginning to end. when i told her of a fresh commission she asked always--`how much will it be?' after the first year i never mentioned my work. the poorest clerk hurrying home to tell his wife of a ten-pound rise, feeling sure of her sympathy and understanding, is richer than i. he _has_ his reward!" meriel found courage to ask a question which had long hovered on her lips. "you were so very different. at school flora never pretended to be intellectual. why did you ever--" "marry her?" his face softened, he drew a retrospective sigh. "i loved her, meriel! that was the reason. she was young, and sweet, and trustful, and when a pretty girl steals into a man's heart he does not stop to inquire into her brain powers. i have reproached myself because the glamour so soon faded, but i am thankful to remember that it was an honest marriage; i loved her truly, and she loved me. my poor flora! i believe she does still. it's very pitiful." meriel turned her head so that he should not see her face. the tenderness of his tone was painful to her, the thought of those early days of married love tortured her heart. the world seemed to her a cruel place, where men and women were tried beyond their strength. "at least you have had something!" she told him wistfully. "your golden time passed quickly, but you had the experience. you are a man, and to men work comes first. you can lose yourself in it, forget your disappointments, and escape to a new world. and you have made a great reputation. men praise you, admire you, are helped by you. doesn't _that_ help?" "i wonder," he said vaguely. "i wonder!" they sat in silence gazing at the waste of waters sparkling in the noonday sun. when after some moments he spoke again, it was apparently to introduce a new topic. "what do you feel about colour, meriel? does it speak to you? look at those great waves today! ... the blue of them, the deepest, truest blue that it is possible to conceive, and the shafts of green, cutting across the blue, and the purple shadows, and above all, the foamy torrent of white! things that one has done oneself are so poor, so unsatisfying; but the big things last. the sea comforts me, meriel; the bigness of it, the beauty of it. why should we fret, and be troubled? it will pass! everything passes. we have only to be faithful; to stick to our posts, and look ahead!" but meriel was a woman, with a woman's heart that refused to find comfort in philosophy. she looked at the changeful sea, but the very beauty of it brought a heavier weight, for she was one of the tender souls who are dependent on companionship for her joys. if sterne had loved her, and had been free to love, she would have entered into his joy in nature with ready understanding, but she was suffering from an intolerable loneliness of spirit, to which the glory of the scene around added the last touch of bitterness. "it doesn't comfort me," she said. "i need something nearer; more personal; something of my own. you have suffered, but you have also enjoyed. it is easier to be resigned when you have possessed, even if the possessions have had to go. if you haven't had _all_ that you asked of life, at least you have had a great deal. some of us have nothing!" he looked at her as she gazed wistfully into space, a woman aged before her time, with a sweet sad face, worn with the burden of his own sorrows. "what did you ask?" he inquired softly. "i asked for happiness," meriel said, and turned her eyes on him with a pitiful smile. there was a long silence before he answered, but when he spoke his voice was tremulous with feeling. "ah, meriel!" he cried; "and we have given you duty! ... it's a cold thing to fill a woman's heart... i've reproached myself a thousand times.--i should not have allowed you to sacrifice yourself.--it must not go on!" a spasm of fear ran through her veins. "it's the nearest approach to happiness i've ever known." "nevertheless," he said firmly, "it shall not go on. we have no right to murder your joy. help me through the next few months, and then, whatever happens, we start afresh!" "but if i want to stay?" he shook his head with a finality from which she knew there was no appeal. what geoffrey sterne said he meant, to the last letter of the word, and there was no turning him from a decision. meriel felt the terror of one who, playing among flowers, sees a sudden vision of a serpent's head. a moment before their lives had seemed indefinitely linked, now, in a few months, must come separation, as complete as though they were at opposite ends of the world, for sterne now lived entirely in his country home, and shunned the society of his fellows. she searched his face for some sign of grief, even of regret, but the stern features were set in a mask-like composure. the terrible suspicion stabbed her that he might be _glad_; that he was wearied of the burden of gratitude! for the next few days meriel and sterne mutually avoided being left alone, which was the more easily accomplished, as flora was showing signs of renewed restlessness and irritability. the novelty of the voyage had worn off, the heat of the canal had tried her endurance, and dreaded symptoms called for renewed vigilance on the part of her attendants. now they were out on the indian ocean; but for once the change brought little relief and the nerves of the travellers were tried still further by a slight accident to the engines, which involved a slackening of speed. they were within three days' sail of colombo when the glass fell sharply after a period of intense heat--a danger signal, which to the understanding was rendered more alarming by the sound of hammerings from below, denoting fresh mischief in the machinery. a cyclonic storm was upon them, and the boat altered her course to avoid its centre--a perilous business in face of the long chain of reefs stretching southward from the laccadives. at nightfall there came up a grey swell accompanied by almost unbearable heat, the wind rapidly increased, and in an hour the gale burst upon them in all its fury. that night was a nightmare of horror, for although the boat was headed for the open sea, the crippled engines were unable to support the strain, and she was therefore driven back into the danger zone. the waters were lashed into a churning fury, the wind yelled with a deafening menace. flora cowered in bed in a panic of terror, but to meriel the tumult of the elements brought relief rather than dread. they voiced the tumult of her own mind; the shriek of the wind was as the shriek of her own tortured heart. the dawn was breaking when the crash came, a thunderous crash of rock and steel as the great vessel struck the reef, shook herself free, and struck again, her stern grinding deep into the rock. in that moment every soul on board looked death in the face, and it seemed, indeed, as though death were inevitable. the heroic efforts of the crew succeeded in launching the boats, but several of the number were swamped before the eyes of the beholders, and for the rest the chance of survival on such a sea seemed small indeed. even so, there was a fight for a place, for to remain on the ship meant a certainty of death, and the wildest chance is precious in such a plight, but among the men and women who fought and struggled was no member of geoffrey sterne's party. flora's panic of terror had been so violent that it had been necessary to drug her with a strong sleeping draught, and the faithful maid refused to leave her side. sterne had, indeed, made an attempt to persuade meriel to try for a place, but she had flamed into bitter anger, and he had not persisted. he saw her seated with the other waiting ones in the stern of the vessel, already tilted high above the bow, and turned in silence to make his way to his wife. that moment for meriel was the bitterest of all. the act of death itself had for her no terror; it was the parting from geoffrey sterne which wrung her heart. so inextricably had her life become woven with his that she had no wish to live in a world from which he was absent, and if she lived on, separation was bound to come. only one unutterable regret filled her soul--she was going out into eternity a maimed, stunted thing, from whom had been withheld the meaning of life, the deepest part of whose nature had been persistently starved. "if for even one minute i could have said, `_i am happy_!' i could have died content. but i have never known happiness, and now death is coming, and i am waiting for it alone." in that last word lay the sting. she was alone; the solitary unit among the crowd who had no one to comfort her, and to comfort in return; to whose hand no one clung as to the one sure support. she was alone! at that moment she saw him coming, edging his way along the sloping deck, with the sure foot, the calm, deliberate movements, which were so emblematic of his strength. cautiously, slowly, as he came, there was never a moment of wavering in his course. his mind had registered her position among the crowd of waiting figures; quietly, steadily, he was making his way to her side. meriel looked around. surrounded as she was, she was yet in a solitude as vast as space. to right and left the mummied figures crouched in hypnotised calm, oblivious of everything but themselves and their own peril. she was alone on the great deck,--alone, but for that other figure, climbing step by step to her side. the early light shone on him as he came, lighting up his figure with an unearthly distinctness. she saw the grey streaks in the dark hair, the furrows which sorrow had carved upon his brow, yet despite them all there was about the whole figure an air of youth, an alertness and confidence of bearing, which she had never before beheld. he bore himself like a freed man, from whose limbs the fetters have fallen. another moment and he was beside her, crouched on the deck with his face close to her own. the freed look was in his eyes. "she is still sleeping," he said; "she will not wake. it is better so. i can do no more for her. and so--at last!--i can come to you." "yes," assented meriel breathlessly. there was more to come, she read it in his face, in the thrilling tone of his voice. she waited, her being strung with an agony of longing. "there are only a few minutes left, and we have waited so long! we must not waste them now that they are here... come to me, meriel!" he held out his arms and she swayed into them; his lips were on hers; they clung together with the stored-up passion of years. for a minute the communion of touch brought a fullness of joy, then the craving arose to hear the wonder put into words. "you love me? it is true? oh, geoffrey--how long?" "since the moment we met. how could i help it? it was inevitable. we belong!" he held her face between his hands, bending so close that she could feel his breath on her cheek. "you have been my star and my sun; sunshine of noon; light in the darkness. you have been comfort and rest; deliverance from despair. you have been my love, and my queen, and my inspiration; the one beautiful strong thing that stood fast among the ruins. everything that a woman could be to a man you have been to me for four long years!" "thank god!" she sobbed. "oh, thank god! it is worth it all to hear you say that. but, oh, geoffrey, there were times--so many times! when i would have given my life a hundred times over to have lain like this, to have felt your arms. it was hard to struggle on, fighting one's heart, and now at last when we have come together, to be obliged to part! oh, geoffrey, to say good-bye so soon!" "no," he said deeply. "not that. we'll say no good-bye. we have stuck to our posts, but where we are going there can be no tie but the one which binds your heart to mine. we belong! nothing can part us. shut your eyes, beloved! rest against me. it's the night that is coming,--a short night, and a nightmare dream, and then, for you and me"--his voice swelled to a note of triumphant expectation--"_the morning_!" "oh, i'm so happy!" cried meriel, trembling. "oh, i'm so happy!" the deck shivered and reeled. from every side rose a shrilling of voices. the great ship reared herself on end, and plunged headlong into the deep. so the barrier fell! chapter eight. the man who wished for danger. val lessing's thirtieth birthday found him strong, handsome, prosperous, and--discontented. this is unfortunately a common combination, but val acknowledged to himself that if other men in like position had small cause to grumble, he himself had less, for while they ungraciously demanded of fate still more than they had received, his one annoyance was that he had enjoyed so much. he had never desired to find himself at thirty a director of a prosperous city firm; the thing had come about through a succession of unforeseen events. the death of his father had made it necessary that he should take up business immediately after leaving oxford; that was blow number one, for he had been promised a tour round the world before settling down to work, and in its place found himself obliged to look forward to yearly fortnights lengthening, as a reward of merit, to a possible three weeks. val hated the work, but he set himself to it with characteristic dash and energy. he possessed a bull-dog inability to let go of any scheme once undertaken, which marked him out sharply from the ordinary more or less mechanical employees, and endeared him to the principals of the firm. the "chief" singled him out for special service. his salary rose steadily year by year, and on the date on which this history begins, he had been formally presented with a proportion of shares, and advanced to the dignity of a director in the company. "and now," said the chief in congratulation, "your foot is safely planted on the ladder of fortune. you can count on at least fifteen hundred a year." walking towards his home that night val grudgingly considered those words. as a sane, sensible man, he must of course rejoice that his work had brought him so good a reward, yet there was something in the wording of that sentence which chafed an old sore. _safe_! that was the sting. a man of thirty years, and--_safe_! secured from anxiety, lapped round with comforts--nothing to do now but keep steadily along the beaten rut. eight-fifty tube in the morning; six o'clock tube at night; two-thirty tube on saturday afternoons, always the same black-coated, tall-hatted figure growing, with the passage of years, a thought heavier, a thought wider, but always sleek, always composed--always _safe_! val lessing reviewed the prospect, and once again, more wildly than ever, his vagrant heart cried out in protest. oh! it had been a different life to which he had looked forward in the days that were gone--the mad, glad, foolhardy days when all he had asked of fate was a passage through that highway of adventure, where a thrill lay behind every bush, and a danger at every turn. danger--danger--the very word brought exhilaration; the ring of it, the thrill of it, the wild, sweet savour which it bore! oh, to be out on the highway, away from the treadmill of city life; oh, to wake in the morning, to pull aside a flapping canvas, inhale the clean air blowing over great plains, and across frowning ridges of mountains, to step forth on the day's quest, sure of nothing, nothing in all the world, but of danger to overcome! val lessing's home was represented by a bachelor flat, presided over by a respectable middle-aged couple. the mother for whose sake he had resigned himself to a business career had died some years before, but he was still responsible for a young brother and sister, and obliged to make a home for them during holiday seasons. the noisy incursion was not always welcome, all the same the flat became a very dreary place when the lively pair had taken themselves schoolwards once more, and a solitary dinner was a thing to be avoided. lessing, as a bachelor, had grown into the habit of taking the evening meal in town, and had discovered a certain very bohemian restaurant where most excellent cooking was supplied to as odd a looking company as ever assembled within four walls. he found a never-ending interest in watching his fellow diners and pondering over the secrets of their existence. it was at least safe to conclude that they did not share his own ground for complaint! dinner over, lessing frequently succumbed to an impulse which drew him towards a large corner house in a square adjoining his flat, wherein a particularly happy family party lived, and loved, and laughed, and extended the most cordial of welcomes to uninvited guests. mr gordon was a business man, who, having accumulated a modest "pile," had promptly retired from the city, and now devoted himself to the performance of good works for the benefit of others, and the collection of old china for the satisfaction of himself. mrs gordon was a matron of the plump and complacent order, an excellent manager, who did not know the meaning of fuss, and whose servants invariably stayed with her for years, and then departed, laden with spoils, to espouse a local baker or grocer, and live happily ever afterwards. delia, the daughter, was a minx. she was slim and tall, and had crinkly dark eyebrows, and an oval face, and misty grey eyes with a dreamy, faraway expression, and fringed with a double row of preposterously long eyelashes. she looked particularly dreamy and inaccessible when young men came in to call, and they mentally abased themselves before her, gazing with dazzled eyes at the pinnacle on which she stood, in maiden meditation,--exquisitely, wondrously, crystally unconscious of their own rough existence. and all the time there was not a line of their features, not a kink in their neckties, that that minx delia did not see with the minuteness of a microscope! terence, the son, was walking the hospitals, kept a collection of bones in his coat pocket, and looked upon life as a huge jest organised for his special benefit; loyally returning the compliment by playing jests himself on every available opportunity. in holiday time, he was most useful as a companion to the two scholars with whom he was a prime favourite, but in term time lessing regarded him with mitigated favour. as a conversationalist he preferred the father; as a confidante, the mother; where delia was concerned he preferred a _tete-a-tete_. terence was a very good sort, but he was apt to be decidedly _de trop_. on the evening of the day on which he had been made a director of his company, lessing took his way to the corner house, and found the amiable quartette disporting themselves after their separate ways in the comfortable sitting-room which was their favourite evening resort. mr gordon was reading the latest treatise on oriental china. mrs gordon was knitting mufflers for deep-sea fishermen, and lending an appreciative ear to delia, who, seated at the grand piano, was singing ballads in a very small but penetratingly sweet voice. it was part of delia's minxiness that she elected to sing songs intended for masculine lovers, wherein were set forth panegyrics which might most aptly be applied to herself. on this occasion she was declaiming that "my love is like a red, red rose that's newly blown in june. oh, my love's like a mel-o-dy that's sweetly played in tune"; and so sweet was the air, so sweet the rose-like bloom of her own youth, that her father's eyes strayed continuously from his pages, and rested on her with an admiration reverent in its intensity. "she is too beautiful, too pure for this world"; his eyes seemed to say. "can it be possible that she is really my own daughter?" the mother's eyes strayed also, but there was no reverence in her gaze. she had been a minx herself. terence was reading the latest popular thriller, and from time to time diversifying the entertainment by kicking one of his patent leather pumps into the air, and adroitly fitting his toes into it on its return journey, an accomplishment on which he had wasted golden hours. they all looked up and smiled a welcome as val lessing entered and went round the room greeting each member of the family in turn. "good evening, mrs gordon. good evening, sir. delia, please! don't let me interrupt." delia smiled absently, and crossed the room to a deep chair which was supplied with an admirable foil for white shoulders in the shape of a black satin cushion. she had the air of being only partially aware of lessing's presence, but in reality she was acutely conscious of everything concerning him, even to a certain air of impatience which was due to the importance of the news which he had to communicate. delia was in love with val lessing, and was uncomfortably aware of the fact. val was in love with delia, but remained as yet in comfortable ignorance. delia had always planned that it should be the other way about. she had pictured herself being wooed with assiduous devotion by a lover who refused to be daunted by a dozen noes. it was ignominious to realise that she was now waiting impatiently for the chance to cry, "yes, please!" val seated himself, nodding carelessly at terence, who greeted him by a brilliant example of slipper catching, and cried genially: "well, old tomkins, what's the matter with you? you look as if something was sitting pretty heavy on your chest!" "it is!" said val, and delia's heart went a little excursion on its own accord. _was_ he going to say that he was _engaged_? "good news, i hope, eh, lessing?" cried mr gordon, and for the fraction of a second val hesitated. "er--yes. i suppose--that is, of course, it is very good indeed. i've been made a director." everybody exclaimed, everybody enthused, everybody congratulated, with the exception of delia, who asked lazily: "what is a director?" and yawned when she was told. mr gordon showed the sympathy of understanding, but after putting many questions, and listening to halfhearted replies, he frowned, and delivered himself of an honest criticism. "you're not half as pleased as you ought to be, lessing! a man of your age ought to be thankful to be in such a position. a start of fifteen hundred a year--in such a firm too. good, safe, solid people. no fear of them going in for speculation and landing you in the bankruptcy court. humanly speaking you're safe from anxiety for the rest of your life." "er--yes. that's just it." lessing said vaguely, but his friends understood. it was not the first time that he had rebelled in their hearing; not the first time by many that he had sighed for the vagrant's lot. "he doesn't want to be safe, bless you! that's just what gets him on the raw!" terence said grinning. "he wants to be a fire-and-thunder swashbuckler, out on the pathless wilds." "what is a swashbuckler?" asked delia, and val laughed, and said: "the very opposite to a director in a black coat and tall hat, delia. think it out for yourself! i only wish i had the chance." delia looked thoughtful. she was apportioning fifteen hundred pounds on the upkeep of her future home. she decided on a small flat and a runabout car, and rather thought that the drawing-room should be pink. mrs gordon said seriously: "dear val, you must get the better of these foolish ideas! they are spoiling your life. you have so much that other men want, that it seems really wicked to be discontented because you have not--trouble! oh, my dear boy, it will come soon enough! you ought to be thankful!" "but it's not trouble, mrs gordon! i want trouble no more than any other man. it's danger that fascinates me--adventure--the thrill of the unknown. it was born in me, i suppose. my ancestors were a race of explorers. if i had been able to have a fling in my youth, i might have been able to settle down, but i went straight from oxford to the city, and a longing that is bottled up doesn't diminish, it goes on growing all the time. when mr baron told me the news to-day, i felt--you'll be horrified at my ingratitude!--as if a halter had been slipped round my neck." mr gordon shook his head. "it's a thousand pities that you could not take that trip! if you'd been my son i'd have packed you off with five pounds in your pocket, to work your own way round the world. you'd have had enough excitement to last you for the rest of your life--and danger into the bargain. you'd be thankful _then_ to settle down to your present life." "oh, i'm thankful enough now. it's quite a good life as things go, but just a bit boring." terence kicked his slipper once more. "well--what price the hospital ball next week? _that_ won't be boring, i give you my word. we're having a party to dinner here, and going on together. if you like to chip in--" "terence! don't be cruel. we really must not add to his boredom!" cried delia, smiling, but there was an edge in her smile. terence grimaced expressively at lessing, a grimace which said, "now you've done it! she's got her knife into you for that remark!" kindly mrs gordon sensed the strain in the atmosphere, and said quickly: "do sing something more to us, delia darling. you had only begun. a few more of those dear old ballads!" delia was like her mother, she never made a fuss, so she rose with a slow, graceful gesture, seated herself in her old place, and sang one strain after another with the utmost good humour. the last of all was that delightful ballad entitled "phillida flouts me," and this she delivered with much energy and verve, throwing aside her languid airs to adopt the very attitude of the damsel of the song. lessing loved to hear delia sing, and to-night he laughed with the rest, at the pretty by-play of tossing head and curling lips, but he was not altogether happy in his mind. he remembered the chill of the girl's voice a few minutes before, as she said: "we mustn't bore him still more!" and he felt uncomfortable as if it were he himself who was being flouted. as he walked down the quiet streets on his way home, the words repeated themselves in his brain: "oh, what a plague is love! i cannot bear it. alack and well a-day. phillida flouts me!" it was the night after the hospital ball, and lessing was dining at his favourite restaurant, hoping thereby to counteract a fit of unusual depression. he had not enjoyed that ball; it was borne in upon him that delia had not intended him to enjoy it. she had deliberately filled her programme before the night, and vouchsafed him only one extra, and during the dancing thereof had stopped three times over to inquire if he were _quite_ sure he was not bored! delia was angry with him. delia most pronouncedly was disposed to "flout." there was an ache at lessing's heart which seemed ludicrously out of proportion with the cause. for the first half of his meal he sat alone at his table, then the seat opposite him was taken by one of the swarthy bearded foreigners with which the place abounded. he was a man of early middle age, with a mop of black hair slightly tinged with grey, overhanging eyebrows, and a general air of poverty and bohemianism. he ate hungrily, as though such good food did not often come his way, and as he ate his eyes roamed stealthily round the room. lessing decided that he was in search of a confederate--the man's appearance suggested the word--and that he was puzzled and alarmed by the absence of what he sought. he decided to dally with his own meal so as to see this thing out. many a time he had longed for an opportunity of adventure. now it might be at hand. if the two men met, he would leave the restaurant in their wake and track them through the narrow streets! he recalled written scenes concerning open doorways, fights on staircases, and the like, and thrilled with anticipation. throughout his meal the bearded one continued his scrutiny, and lessing noticed that his glance lingered tentatively on one or two men present as though uncertain of their identity. it was not entirely by appearance, then, that he could distinguish his confederate! there was evidently a sign which would expose one to the other, and then suddenly, with his eyes fixed on a diner at an adjacent table, the bearded one raised his knife, and with a clean, incisive movement swept the salt from his plate on to the table. the other diner ate on undisturbed, but an electric shock of excitement tingled through lessing's veins. more than once before he had observed this deliberate spilling of the salt on the round-topped tables of that restaurant, so often, indeed, that he had made sure in his own mind that it was in the nature of a signal from one member of a fraternity to another. the spilling of the salt--symbol from all ages of disaster, a meet signal indeed for these dark and dangerous men! with an impulse which crystallised the longings of years, lessing attracted his companion's attention by a hasty movement, and then, lifting high his knife, swept his own salt on to the cloth so that the white dust scattered and mingled with the dust already spread. the effect was instantaneous. the swarthy face bent forward to meet his own, the eyes gleamed, the guttural voice breathed a deep, low word: "_brother_!" "_brother_!" whispered lessing in return. his pulses were racing, but he held himself resolutely in hand. a false move might spoil all. he must be silent, and let the other man do the talking. he sat in an attitude of attention while the bearded one crouched over the table, speaking in baited tones. his accent was rather jewish than foreign, a thick, ugly voice, thickened as though by some physical obstruction. "i have been waiting. the time is short. i must be hurrying on. there are many places where i must carry the news!" his voice sank to an almost unhearable depth. "_it is for to-night_!" "to-night!" gasped lessing in return. his real dismay at the nearness of the unknown happening supplied a genuine note to his exclamation, and it appeared that surprise was expected. "to-night! to-night! the chief has given the order. it is his way to make all ready, and at the last to give but a few hours' notice. it is safer so. he has a wise head. all is arranged, and to-morrow, by this time to-morrow--" his lips rolled back, the large prominent teeth gleamed in a smile of diabolic delight. "london, the city of the oppressors--what will be left of the great london then? nothing but a wilderness of fire and ruin!" lessing's blood ran cold. an adventurer at heart, he yet had the true englishman's love of the metropolis. at the thought of danger to london he winced as at a personal wound; in his heart dawned the surprising conviction that he would risk his own life, not once, but a dozen times over, to avert the destruction of that grey old pile. the destruction of london--mad words! mad fancy! was this man a maniac that he spoke of such an impossible feat? agitated, almost gasping for breath, lessing heard himself stammer detached words of inquiry: "when? where? where--how do they start--?" the answer came back in a low hissing whisper: "the oil tanks on the thames! ah-ha, it is a great scheme, a fine scheme. the fuel is lying there, ready to our hands. three brothers have volunteered for the bomb throwing. they will die for a great cause. their names will be remembered as martyrs among us. the burning oil will flare out to the thames. think of it! think of it! a river of flaming oil, joined by other rivers; all the tanks exploded, one by one; the stream of fire flowing along, leaving behind burning shipping, burning banks, spreading ruin to right and left. think of it, brother, think of it! think of the dark stairways and passages, where a man may creep, a man with a torch helping the work, sending the sparks to a fresh home. who can guard miles of river bank? who can distinguish one worker from another? ah, it will be a brave night, a brave night. we have waited, brother, we have appeared to submit, but now--now--" his voice grew hoarse with excitement. lessing pressed his knee gently beneath the table. "careful. be careful. we are observed. give me my orders!" the bearded one drew himself up, and made a pretence of continuing his meal. his voice sank to its old, guttural tones. "to stay here, and pass round the word. all the brothers to be on duty, except those watched by the police. red fist and wharbuton to leave by the nine o'clock train from charing cross, and cross to paris. their departure is to be as public as possible. it would be well if they were given a send-off. if they are out of the way the watch will be relaxed. at all costs they must be found. i go on to other places, you stay here, meet other brothers, give them all this message. red fist and wharbuton to be found and sent off. all others on duty to-night. not a moment to waste." "right," said lessing quickly, and the bearded one rose from his seat. then followed a moment of tension, for suddenly, as if in default of a parting signal, the beetling brows frowned upon him, and a glance of indecision swept across the face. lessing sensed the danger, and leaped to avert it. touching the salt with his fingers, he said meaningly: "we are watched, brother. we are watched!" and bent his head over his plate. there was a breathless silence, then the thick voice bade him good night, and he knew that the danger was past. the next moment the swing doors of the restaurant opened and shut. the bearded one had disappeared. for an endless five minutes lessing forced himself to sit still, then he paid his account, put on his hat, and opening the door, stood on the outer step of the restaurant looking anxiously to right and to left. he had purposely left behind his coat, since in the event of finding the bearded one still hanging about, he could then be able to assert that he was impatiently waiting for the arrival of more brothers. the night was chill and there were but few pedestrians in the narrow street. running his eye to right and left he could count a dozen in all, no one of whom bore any resemblance in figure or clothing to his late companion. a better moment for escape could not be desired, and as if sent by providence a taxi suddenly came into sight, and the chauffeur held up an inquiring hand. in another second lessing was seated inside, and had given an address in mayfair. he did not risk returning for his coat, a telephone message to the manager would possibly secure it from theft, if not the coat must go. this was not a moment for considering coats. lessing sat motionless on his seat until the taxi had covered a couple of miles westwards, when he touched the communicating cord and startled the chauffeur by an imperative order: "scotland yard. and as quick as you can go!" throughout the years that followed lessing remembered his interview with the scotland yard officials with a smarting indignation. to his excited senses the calmness, the stolidity, the insistent incredulity which greeted his story, were exasperating to the last degree. he discovered to his dismay that the first impression left on his hearers was that he himself was drunk, but the realisation forced him to a composure which won an eventual grudging attention. the officials reiterated that the scheme propounded was impracticable, but a minute description of the bearded one, together with the signal of the spilling of salt, made an undoubted effect. it was known to the police that such a signal did indeed exist among certain societies, and its usage on the present occasion was of evident weight. lessing was assured that immediate steps should be taken to ensure the safety of the oil tanks. he had the satisfaction of hearing telephonic messages dispatched to various police centres, giving instructions for largely increased guard. there was nothing more to be done. he had given the alarm; had held to his point until he had succeeded in securing immediate help. sleep was impossible for him that night, but he would return to his rooms, pass the time with a book and a pipe, until the fateful hour had passed. he passed out into the street, and looked round for the taxi which he had instructed to wait. to his annoyance it was not to be seen, but after a momentary hesitation it occurred to him that there might be some rule forbidding vehicles to remain before the entrance, as in the crowded thoroughfares of the west, and that he might find the man waiting round one of the nearest turnings. he strode on therefore, but without success, till finally he decided to take the nearest cut which should lead him to a tube station. the cut was represented by a narrow lane, lined on either side with small shops. lessing walked sharply, looking neither to right nor left. the interview had left him nervously exhausted, and he shivered in the chill night air; he was irritated with the recalcitrant chauffeur, irritated with himself for failing to do the one sensible thing under the circumstances--turn back into the office, and telephone for another car. to walk through the streets in the vicinity of scotland yard, a noticeable figure without outer coat or wrapping, was the last thing in the world which he should have done on such an occasion. but it was too late to turn back. a few more minutes would take him to the tube station, or better still to a thoroughfare where he could pick up another car. by this time lessing had reached the end of the cross-road, at which was situated an eating-house of a rough and unsavoury appearance. as he approached the door it opened, and a group of men streamed into the street, talking together in some eager unintelligible patois, at the sound of which a shiver of impending danger shot through lessing's veins. instinctively he averted his head, and quickened his pace, but instinct was a true prophet, it projected the coming event upon his brain, so that he knew what was before him, before the dark, bearded face glared into his, and the thick voice hissed the eloquent word into his ear: "_traitor_!" lessing did not stop to think. he was one to six, and escape was the necessity of the moment. he took to his heels, ran at full speed until the narrow lane was left behind, and the lights of trafalgar square shone around him, when following his first impulse he leaped into a taxi, and told the man to drive to oxford circus. he had behaved like a fool, and like a fool he had been trapped, but the game was not yet up. his identity was unknown, and by avoiding the neighbourhood of the restaurant he could with ease cut himself off from all likelihood of encountering the brethren. lessing's blood tingled in his veins, his whole being was flooded with exhilaration. here was life, here was excitement, here, at long last, within the confines of the grey city itself, was the thrill of pursuit! for they would be after him, following him no doubt in one of the numerous cars blocking the roads, with intent to track him to his lair, but lessing laughed at the thought with glad youthful confidence. he was not to be caught twice over. he would give them a run--such a run as they had not known for many a long day, but he would slip them in the end! it was two hours later when lessing let himself into his rooms, but he entered with the smiling face of the man who wins; and in good truth he had reason to be proud. he had dodged, he had evaded, he had doubled back on his own tracks with an almost incredible celerity. he had left crowded tube carriages, lost himself in the crowd on the platform, and jumped back into the same carriage, the last passenger to enter before the door was closed. he had changed from taxi to train, from train to taxi, and once, finding himself in a stationary block, had deposited half a crown on the seat of his own car, stepped deftly on to an adjacent "island," and opening the door of an empty growler, hunched himself up on the floor, and remained concealed until it suited his convenience to descend. oh! he had been swift, he had been cunning; always he had acted on the assumption that the pursuer was at hand; never for one moment had he relaxed guard, or allowed himself to slow down. now he was tired, dog tired, but with a glorious fatigue. not for the world would he have foregone one incident of that most thrilling dash! lessing slept, and woke to a fine spring morning. he rang for his newspaper, and turned rapidly over the pages. nothing had happened. the warning had been delivered in time; the grey old city was undisturbed. but that night when lessing returned to his chambers he found a letter awaiting him, addressed in an unknown handwriting. he tore it open, and read the few words which it contained: "traitor,--the doom which you have delayed, will now fall on your own head. do not think to escape. the world itself would not be wide enough to hide you. at the moment when you least expect it, your call will come--" lessing stood, staring at the written words, and the little room seemed suddenly cold as a cave. he had wished, and his wish had been granted to him. henceforth, till he died, danger must be his bride! a man may be brave to the superlative of bravery, yet almost inevitably he will weaken at the consciousness of hidden danger, pursuing him stealthily day after day, week after week, playing with him with ruthless deliberation, as a cat plays with a mouse, setting him free, only to realise that his torture has been in vain, and the day of reckoning is still to come. for the first few days after his receipt of the fateful letter, lessing went about his work with a grim, but not altogether unpleasant, excitement. he realised once for all that it was hopeless to try to hide himself from the brethren, but he determined to sell his life dearly. he carried a policeman's whistle, and a walking-stick with a large and roughly-cut head, which on occasion could be a formidable weapon. the question of a revolver had been dismissed after the shortest hesitation, seeing that lessing's inexperience with firearms made such a possession rather an extra danger than a protection. he put his affairs in order, and, like every other man under sentence of death, woke to a smarting consciousness of the sweetness of life. life and-delia! delia of the rose bloom and the misty eyes. delia, who on occasion could be so maddeningly, tantalisingly alive! lessing did not realise his own changed looks, and it seemed to him the cruellest contrariety of fate that delia should show herself at her sweetest and most womanly at this moment when he knew himself separated from her by the most impenetrable of barriers. a fortnight of incessant, imminent anxiety passed slowly by; then came a night when, taking his way to the corner house after dinner, lessing experienced his first tangible alarm. the square was empty of pedestrians; he was walking on the farther side, close to the tall shuttered houses, when through the shrubs behind the railing of the centre enclosure, the lamplight showed a glimpse of a white face peering towards him. the next second it had disappeared, but even as he walked he had a conviction that a crouching figure kept pace behind that leafy screen. he hurried his steps, the figure kept pace; he could hear the rustle of the boughs as it passed, leaping across the intervening spaces with swift, ape-like bounds. presently, when it reached that thick clump of trees, it would leap ahead, crouch, and take aim. lessing acted on the impulse of the moment. a doctor's plate shone bright on a doorway--he pealed the electric bell, and a moment later stood safe within the entrance hall. the doctor found his patient wanting in nervous force, prescribed a tonic, and rose to intimate that the interview was over; then, as the patient failed to take the hint, explained that he himself was obliged to go out at once. his opinion of the gravity of the case was increased when the patient first expressed a wish to accompany him on his walk, and then bade him good night at the first corner! and that night delia was kinder than ever and the savour of life more alluringly sweet! during the days that followed lessing developed a horror of solitude. the old evenings with a pipe and a book became abhorrent, and on the nights when he did not go to the corner house, he either dined in town or invited a friend to share his home repast. it was therefore with real relief that one saturday morning he received a telegraphic invitation from a leisured friend who diversified a roving existence by flying visits to his country home. the telegram showed the expansiveness of the man of means, and ran as follows: "returning to moat this afternoon. try to join me for a week-end. car will meet four-thirty on chance.- "blakeney." it was impossible to reply, since blakeney had dispatched his wire from crewe, and was presumably already travelling southwards. the form of the message showed that no answer was expected, but lessing had not the shadow of a doubt as to his own acceptance. he was thankful for the chance of leaving london behind, and spending the next two days in blakeney's cheerful society. he sent a boy home to get his bag, and carry it to the station, and when the hour for departure approached, followed by a long and devious route, coming on the platform just in time to jump into a moving carriage. by this time he retained little hope of avoiding the espionage of the brethren, but as his life grew more precious so did his precautions increase, and his determination to fight to the last. the smoking carriage contained the usual contingent of comfortable middle-aged citizens, and the hour's journey passed without incident. it was a stopping train, and the passengers descended in great numbers at the nearer suburbs, and in scattered units once the hour's limit had passed. lessing counted six men besides himself who descended at evershaw, one old, three middle-aged, a young man in seedy brown overcoat, and a workman carrying a bag of tools. they looked one and all reassuringly english and commonplace, and lessing heaved a sigh of relief. for once he had really escaped the scent! he hurried through the booking office, to find himself confronted by the collection of somewhat broken-down looking gigs and pony carts to be seen at most country stations. there was no sign of lessing's luxurious car, only a powerful-looking mud-bespattered taxi, beside which stood a man in leather gaiters and a driving-coat. he touched his cap as lessing approached, saying in an interrogative tone: "beg pardon, sir--mr lessing?" "yes." "i have instructions to meet you, sir. from the moat." "right," said lessing, and handed over his bag. he realised at once that blakeney had probably wired for his own car to meet him some distance down the line; and he seated himself in the capacious tonneau of the taxi with an agreeable rising of spirits. the little station was gay with spring flowers, and the scent of wallflowers floated refreshingly on the cool clean breeze. lessing stretched his tired limbs, and drew a deep, grateful breath. he was just in the mood for a spin through country lanes, and for once was tempted to wish that the moat was situated at a greater distance from the station. then in a moment his mood changed, and a cloud of anxiety descended. already the car had made its first movement forward, when the man with the brown coat sprang to the front, and leaped to the seat beside the chauffeur. scrambling, clutching, he righted himself, steadied his hat on his head, and pressed a tentative touch on a side pocket, and all the time the driver vouchsafed not one glance, but devoted himself to his wheel, as quietly as if it were an everyday occurrence to be boarded at the last moment by an uninvited "fare." there was something in that stolidity which chilled the blood in lessing's veins, for it seemed to infer that the incident was _expected_; that the man in the brown coat had travelled down from town for no other purpose than to occupy that special seat. for the next few minutes lessing alternated between fear and composure. in the latter condition he told himself that it was a usual occurrence for a country driver to give a "lift" to a friend, and that such an action was tacitly sanctioned by his patrons. probably the man in the brown coat was so accustomed to avail himself of his friend's hospitality, that to both the action had become automatic. the more lessing dwelt on this explanation, the more satisfactory did it appear; it supported him to the end of the straggling village, and only lost its power when the car failed to turn up the lane leading to the moat. he leaned forward, tapped at the dividing glass, and called through the tube, but neither man moved the fraction of an inch. he called again, more loudly than before, and as if answering a signal, the car leaped forward, leaped again, and with ever-mounting speed dashed down the empty lane. then the truth could no longer be disguised. these men were in league against him; they had laid a trap, and he had walked into it with credulous ease. the telegram had been a fraud, sent with no other purpose than to lure him from town, into the solitude of these lonely lanes. the brethren's knowledge of blakeney and his ways seemed at first an incredible feat, but a moment's consideration went far to remove the mystery. blakeney had passed through town only a week before, and had dined with lessing at his club. nothing more easy than to discover his name from the porter, and to follow up the scent. at that moment lessing would have given much for the feel of a revolver in his coat pocket. given such a weapon he might have "held up" the two men on the front seat, and forced them to obey his orders; as it was, he was powerless as a child. for another ten minutes the car pursued its headlong rush; the two men sitting silent, immovable, looking neither to right nor left; the man inside crouched forward in an attitude of defence. and once again lessing was conscious of that tingling in his veins which was rather exhilaration than dread. pace to face with danger he had no lack of courage, rather did every faculty of his being rouse itself to an added fullness of life. the tangible had no terror, it was the passive waiting which played havoc with his nerves. the car was still racing forward, plunging deeper and deeper into the heart of the country. lessing studied the road on either side, searching for landmarks which might be registered for future use. he had by now concluded that he was being conveyed to some stronghold of the brethren where he would meet the fate allotted to him for his betrayal, and he reflected that it would be days if not weeks before his disappearance would attract serious attention. by way of precaution he had burnt blakeney's telegram as soon as read; while the boy who carried his bag to the station had departed immediately after his own arrival and could give no clue as to his destination. to-night might see the close of his own life, but his friends would pursue the even tenor of their way without a fear for his welfare. even delia... with the thought of delia came a knife-like pang; a determination to strain every nerve and faculty to outwit his enemies. another five minutes, and he became aware that the car was slacking speed, that the men on the front seat were looking ahead, as though on the watch for an expected signal. presumably it came, for with skilful turns of the wheel the chauffeur steered the car down a narrow lane, and, with a second lurching curve, into a gateway which stood half-way down its length. so far the manipulation of the car had borne testimony to the skill of the chauffeur, but two sharp turnings so quickly succeeding each other were a severe test, and terminated in a momentary skid over a grassy bank, during which the car tilted violently to the side. the swing was severe enough to throw lessing sideways on the seat, and before he had time to right himself, the two men had leaped off the box, the one to the right and the other to the left, and had appeared simultaneously at either door. there was nothing precisely threatening in their demeanour, but they had the air of men who knew their duty, and were prepared to do it. the chauffeur had an appearance of bull-dog strength, but little sign of intelligence. the man in the brown coat had a narrow, hatchet-like face, with keen, alert eyes. the hand which lay on the door of the car was white and well shaped. one glance at him showed that he was the real master of the situation. lessing looked from one to the other with an air of haughty displeasure. "may i inquire the explanation of this extraordinary behaviour! i gave instructions to be driven to the moat." "our instructions were to bring you here. you are expected. i must ask you to get out, and come up to the house." it was the man in the brown coat who spoke. he came a step nearer as he spoke, blocking the doorway; the chauffeur held open the farther door, his great bulk outlined against the green of the trees. it seemed to lessing that for the moment his best policy was to obey, since, if it came to a fight, he preferred the open to his present cramped position. he alighted then without demur, and, stood on the path stretching himself, and looking around with an air of assurement which he was far from feeling. he saw a garden which even in its spring freshness looked desolate and neglected, and, some forty yards from the gate, a low house of grey stone, thickly covered with creepers, the branches of which had been allowed to drape the windows so heavily that in many cases the glass was almost entirely concealed. lessing looked at it and felt a creeping of the blood. there was only one word which could fitly describe the appearance of that house, and it was a word of which he did not care to think. it was a dead house. lessing had been under the impression that while he had been studying his surroundings he had been standing still, but it now appeared that unconsciously to himself, and impelled by the movements of the men on either side, he had been slowly approaching nearer and nearer the open door of the windowless house. instantly he halted and put a sharp inquiry: "what is this house? who is it that is `expecting' me, as you say?" "you will recognise him when you meet," said the man in brown, and pursing his lips gave a soft, prolonged whistle, repeated three times over, with a perceptible pause between each. he looked towards the house meantime, and in imagination lessing filled the blank space of the doorway with a dreaded figure, the figure of a man with black hair turning to grey, a shaggy beard, and large prominent teeth. he had need of all his courage at that moment, but he made no resistance as the men by his side steadily guided him forward; for just as a short time before he had preferred to fight in the open, now he was possessed with a desire to find himself in a room where he might take his stand against the wall, and so force his enemies to a frontal attack. the three men entered a narrow, absolutely bare hallway, from which an uncarpeted staircase rose sharply to the left. from the first glance around, and even more from the dank and mouldy atmosphere, lessing divined that the house had long been unoccupied, and that a deed of violence committed therein might remain undiscovered for an indefinite period. the conclusion did not help to raise his spirits as he entered a long narrow room facing the back of the house, his companions meantime pressing hard on his wake. the room was as empty as the hall; the man in the brown coat walked quickly to the nearer of the two windows, gave a searching glance around, then turned to the chauffeur with a significant shake of the head. there followed a moment's pause, as though both men were puzzled by the absence of someone confidently expected. then the man with the brown coat turned once more to lessing. "i must ask you to wait for us here for a few minutes," he said courteously. "we will not keep you longer than is necessary. i am sorry that i cannot offer you a chair. this house is, as you see, unfurnished." lessing did not condescend to reply. he hailed the departure of the two men as giving him an opportunity to examine his surroundings and find a possible way of escape. the room was on the ground floor, the windows were unbarred, surely then it would be easy. the next moment the blood rushed to his face, as his ears caught the turn of a rusty key, followed by the drawing of a bolt, and hurrying across the floor he found that the door leading into the passage had been doubly secured. the two men were determined to keep him a prisoner while they waited for the appearance of one who was evidently their chief; he could hear their footsteps ascending the stairs, tramping over the bare floors above; once and again the sound of the long thrice-repeated whistle came to his ears, but to his relief there came no answer to the signal. lessing stood with his ears to the chink of the door listening intently. presently he heard the two men descend to the hall, linger for a minute as if undecided, then pass out of the front door. another minute and a new sound broke the stillness; he listened acutely, and had little difficulty in divining its meaning; the men were endeavouring to move the car out of the rut, so that at any moment it might be ready to bear them away. instantly lessing darted to the nearer of the two windows, and looking out experienced an unwelcome surprise. the house was evidently built on shelving ground, for though the room in which he stood was level with the entrance, it was yet raised by a good twenty feet from the ground at the back. now twenty feet is not a great depth, but it is too far for a man to drop without risk of at least spraining an ankle, and thereby leaving himself helpless in the hands of his enemies, especially when, as was the case in this instance, the ground is paved with rough, uneven flags. lessing drew back in disgust, and darted to the window on the farther end of the room. here, if anything, the drop was greater, but the position was improved, inasmuch as a tangle of grass took the place of the jagged flags. the window was of the old-fashioned casement description, and to prise open the rusty latch was no light task even for strong fingers, but it was done at last, and lessing hung forward, listening breathlessly to the sounds from the front of the house. the car was evidently still refusing to budge; he could hear the voice of the chauffeur instructing the man in the brown coat as to his share in the work, and the thud of the engine as once and again it strained to the task. now was his time, while the two men were engaged; while as yet the third man had not appeared! lessing hung out of the window, his eyes sweeping the wall to right and left. he had a strong head, and given so much as a drain pipe would have no hesitation in essaying the descent, but the mass of ivy hid everything from view. lessing hoisted himself on the window-sill, and creeping first to one side and then the other, groped among the leaves. he found no pipe, but a moment's searching discovered what was quite as useful for his purpose, a central branch of the ivy itself, thick as a man's fist, strong enough to support a dozen climbers. lessing gave himself no time to think, but lowered himself from the sill, grasped the branch in both hands, and began his descent. it was not as easy as he had expected, for the branch scalloped along the walls, in a somewhat disconcerting manner, but given a steady head, and a body in reasonable training, there were no serious difficulties to encounter, and a point was soon reached when he could relax his hold, and drop softly to the ground. so far all had gone with almost incredible ease, but lessing was aware that he was not yet out of the wood. at any moment his escape might be discovered, and his pursuers would have a double advantage in their possession of the car and their knowledge of the country itself. it was the work of a few minutes to dart down the overgrown path, scale the wall at the end of the garden, and drop upon the grass below, but the next step was more difficult to decide. looking around him he perceived a white roadway curling like a ribbon round a sweep of meadow land, and realised how easily his escape might be cut off. it flashed into his mind that his best chance was to lie low until his pursuers had started on their chase, and even as the thought passed through his brain, his eye fell on a straggling growth of barberry against the outer side of the wall he had just scaled. the bushes were small and by no means thick, so that at first sight they offered no promise of shelter, but on further examination lessing discovered that the ground between them and the wall was hollowed to the depth of a foot or more, and covered with a mass of tall grasses. here, then, was an ideal hiding-place, where he could lie low and know all that was happening around. without a moment's hesitation lessing laid himself down in the hollow, pressing back the grasses that he might creep close to the shelter of the wall, then allowing them to spring back to their original position. his tweed suit was of a nondescript tint, the shade least likely to catch the eye, but for greater safety he picked handfuls of leaves and grass, and scattered them over his clothes, then lying flat with face hidden on his folded arms, he awaited the discovery of his escape. he had time to grow cramped and chill before the sound of loud raised voices and the heavy tramp of feet over wooden floors warned him that the search had begun. almost immediately afterwards someone came racing down the garden path, circled round once and again, and finally clambered to the top of the wall, to obtain a view over the outlying country. lessing knew by the distinctness of the sound that the ascent had been made at but a short distance from where he lay, and the knowledge sent a chill through his blood. it had not occurred to him that his hiding-place could be viewed from above, and he waited in the keenest suspense, prepared to take to his feet and make a dash for it, at the first hint of discovery. but the man on the wall made no such sign. he breathed in short, gasping breaths, as a man would breathe under stress of agitation, and between his breaths once and again he sent out the old whistling summons, then scrambling, clutching, he fell back into the garden, and again raced to and fro among the curving paths. for the next ten minutes the sounds of the search continued to reach lessing's ears, then came the welcome thudding of the engine, as the car swept out of the gate, showing that the men had abandoned the search of the premises. another ten minutes, and the thudding sounded again, but from another direction, and peering cautiously between the branches, lessing could watch the car approach down the long curve of the road encircling the meadows. it was running slowly now, its occupants no doubt engaged in searching the flat stretch of land, making sure of one direction after another in which their prisoner could not have escaped. presently it turned and slowly traversed the same space, before it finally returned to the high road and disappeared from sight. the dusk had fallen before lessing crept out of his hiding-place, and dragged his stiffened limbs across the meadows. he had determined to avoid the highways, and so wandered on without any idea of the direction in which he was going, but after half an hour's walking, to his joy and relief he struck a railway line, and following it soon arrived at a country station. at ten o'clock that night lessing let himself into his rooms, dusty, dirty, incredibly fatigued, the poorer by the loss of a bag containing two quite admirable suits of clothes, but full of thankfulness and relief. for once at least he had beaten the brethren on their own ground! "it's no good pretending. it's no good trying to deceive me. you _are_ changed!" delia declared, nodding her pretty head with solemn emphasis. "you are changing more and more every single day. and it doesn't suit you. hollows in the cheeks! what business has a man of thirty with hollows in his cheeks? and a different expression in your eyes. worried, absent, scared. valentine lessing,--what have you been and gone and done?" lessing was seated once more in the delightfully homely room at the corner house, enjoying the rare treat of a _tete-a-tete_ with delia. the men of the family were out, and two minutes before the maid had announced "mrs wright from the district," and "could the mistress possibly see her?" whereupon mrs gordon had sighed, and said: "he is out of work again, and she _is_ such a talker! delia, dear, will you go? give her half-a-crown, and say i'm tired." but delia, as a rule the most helpful of daughters, resolutely refused. "no, mother; it's your duty. the vicar says you give far too much. it's pandering, and makes it hard for the other visitors. besides, i'd _never_ get rid of her! be a good, brave lady, and do your duty." so mrs gordon had departed, when delia immediately turned to lessing, and announced triumphantly: "she won't be back for a good half-hour! i've been longing for a chance of talking to you alone," and proceeded to cross-question as before stated. "yes, you _are_ scared." delia repeated. "when anyone enters the room suddenly you jump and look round as if you expected to see a policeman and a pair of handcuffs. it makes me quite nervous even to watch you. and," her voice sank to a deeper note, "you look ill, val! _what is it_?" lessing bent forward in his chair, his hands clasped loosely together between his knees; there was a look in his eyes which brought the colour surging into delia's cheeks. "i can tell you honestly, delia, that i have done nothing to make me fear a policeman or handcuffs, but--i _am_ worried!" for a passing moment he struggled with the temptation to confess the truth, but this point had been mentally argued time and again, always with the same conclusion. to confide his story would be to include his confidante in his own danger, since it was hardly possible that he would not feel called upon to take active steps against the brethren. "i can't tell you the why and wherefore, i wish i could, but i can assure you that i have no cause to be ashamed." "oh, bother ashamed!" cried delia hotly. "_why_ are you scared? has anyone been--er--nasty to you, val? a man in the office--jealous of you because you have got on so well. forged a cheque and pretended it was you, or put money in your drawer like they do in books, you know, when they have a grudge? is it something like that, and you are afraid in case they suspect you and send you away?" the words were so deliciously naive and girlish that lessing was obliged to laugh; they were also so transparently eloquent of the speaker's interest and concern for himself that a great pang rent his heart at the vision of life as it might be. life with delia--with delia's children, a happy, breezy, family life, repeating the atmosphere of the corner house in some flowery suburban cottage. oh, how good it seemed, how full and satisfying! what a joy to a tired man to have that haven to which to return at the close of his day's work. time had been when he had scoffed at the smug security of suburban life; had pitied the lot of the man who spent his evenings playing with his children and mowing a miniature lawn, but in the light of the last month's experience, he asked nothing better of fate than to find himself in a precisely similar position. "no, delia, no!" he cried ardently, "there is no business trouble. it's--er--something outside. don't speak of it, please. i want to tell you, and i ought not. it's dear and sweet of you to care. i can't tell you how much it has meant to me the last few weeks, just to be able--" delia interrupted hurriedly, after the manner of young women who ardently long to hear a declaration of love, yet take fright at the first symptom of its approach. "anyway," she said decisively, "you have _got_ to come to the cottage over whitsuntide. i insist upon it, so it's no use trying to escape. three whole days in the country will steady your nerves. it's not at all _comme il faut_ for a director to have jumpy nerves. if i were a shareholder i'd sell out at once. you will travel down with us on friday afternoon, and stay as long as you can the next week. understand?" lessing thankfully accepted the invitation, which was duly confirmed by mrs gordon upon her return to the sitting-room, and a week later he arrived at the week-end cottage, after a safe and comfortable journey in the company of his cheerful friends. during that week only one disquieting incident had happened, but that was ominous enough. a typed envelope lying among other letters on the breakfast-table was left carelessly until the others had been read and digested, and then torn open with the scant courtesy shown to notes of the circular type; but the folded slip bore no printed words, and as lessing jerked it apart there floated downward on to the carpet a thin powdery stream, at sight of which the blood mounted in his face. moistening one finger, he bent and applied the tip to the scattered grains, then lifted it to his lips. salt! there was no mistaking the sharp clean savour, and on a corner of the paper he beheld the rough amateur drawing of a knife. the brethren had sent him a reminder that they were still waiting for their revenge! that year whitsuntide fell in a spell of warm and settled weather, and a more charming retreat than the gordons' week-end cottage it would be difficult to find. the house was a type of simple comfort, the garden a delicious riot of colour and fragrance. none of the gordons knew anything about the science of gardening, but they considered it "fun" to attend to their own garden, sent wholesale orders to advertising seedsmen, and begged shamelessly from gardening friends. the friends responded with sacks of mysterious-looking roots which the gordons proceeded to plump indiscriminately into the first vacant space which came handy. everything flourished, for the soil was new and rich, and the sun blazed upon it from morning till night; and the result was as delightful as it was unorthodox. after a day spent in the cottage, lessing began to feel that the happenings of the last weeks must surely be the creation of his own brain. the mental atmosphere by which he was surrounded was so kindly and wholesome, so pre-eminently _sane_, that, in contrast, the wild deeds of the brethren seemed more the vagaries of a dream than cold actual fact. most thankfully he accepted the peaceful breathing space, and for the first time since the incident of the spilling of the salt went about his way free from apprehension. it seemed to him in the last degree unlikely that the brethren would choose a time when he was in close contact with friends for the execution of their revenge. lessing had made a compact with himself that under no circumstances would he speak of love to delia gordon. he knew now that he had loved her for years, he realised that under his present circumstances it would be a despicable act to seek to bind her in any way, but, with the extraordinary logic practised by men in affairs of the heart, he believed that so long as he refrained from an actual declaration he was acting as an honourable man. it did not occur to him that in the event of his own sudden death a woman who loved him would find her best comfort in the knowledge that her love had been returned! but the days passed pleasantly. mr and mrs gordon were the kindest of hosts, terence showed himself at his best, and delia, in her light dresses and flower-wreathed hats, was the most tantalisingly pretty creature in the world. lessing found it very difficult to keep his resolve as he sat by her side in a summer-house situated at a discreet distance from the house, and screened by the thick belt of trees which formed the end of the shrubbery; and, if the truth is to be told, delia intended him to find it difficult, and made special play with her eyelashes to that effect. val was looking infinitely better, but when he returned to town that tiresome "worry" would begin again, and she wanted, as any nice, right-minded girl would have wanted, to have the right to comfort and support. "so sorry you can't stay over to-morrow! it's so stupid to rush back to town just when you are beginning to get good. why can't you make a week of it while you are here? only three more days." "i'm afraid i can't. it's been awfully jolly. i've enjoyed every minute of the time, but--er--i don't think i ought. business, you know!" delia was annoyed, and showed it. "awfully boring it must be, to be a city man," said she with her nose in the air. "always having to keep your nose to the grind. that's why i like army men. you can depend upon them. i shall telegraph to captain rawle, and ask him to take your place. he'll jump at it." "conceited ass!" muttered lessing under his breath. he looked at delia and saw beneath her pretence of indifference a mistiness of eye, a tremor at the corner of the lips, the meaning of which was plain even to his obtuse masculine senses, and at the sight his prudence fled to the winds. "delia!" he cried rapturously. "delia! oh, my darling, do you mean to say that you _care_? delia, does it matter to you whether i go or stay? do you really, really mean to say--" "i--i didn't say anything--i--i--_of course_, i care! oh, val, you _are_ stupid!" cried delia, putting up two white hands to hide an exceedingly red face. val knew a rapturous moment as he bent to take those hands in his, but, even as he moved, a warning rustle sounded from the bushes ahead, and he straightened himself in expectation of the advent of an intruder. and then, at that moment, with a spasm of fear freezing his hot blood, he saw once more the face of his enemy. while one might have counted six, it glared at him from between the branches--the swarthy, bearded face, with the tufted eyebrows, and the strong, protuberant teeth. for six long seconds the eyes gazed mockingly into his own. poor palpitating delia, peeping between her fingers, beheld her lover of a moment transformed into a stricken, grey-faced man, who sat huddled up on his seat, staring before him with a gaze of helpless despair. there was no more blushing and trembling after that--delia simply wrapped her arms round his neck, and crooned over him with tender, loving words. "val, my own val. what is it? i'm here. delia's here. nobody shall hurt you, dearest; no one shall harm you. delia's here. look at me, val--my own, own val!" the words pierced. through all the horror and the fear, their sweetness reached to the brain, and turned the current of his thoughts. one look he gave her, a look of passionate gratitude and love, then to her utter bewilderment he lifted her to her feet and drew her to the entrance of the summer-house. "go, darling--go! go quickly! you can help me best that way. go quickly!" delia stared at him, and a sudden explanation leaped into her brain. heart disease! val had discovered that his heart was affected, that was the reason of his changed looks. at the moment he was threatened with a spasm of pain, and man-like preferred to be alone. obediently delia walked away, her heart torn with sympathy. but when they were married she would take such good care of him, such incessant, all-encompassing care, that he must, he should get well! lessing watched her go, and then deliberately moved a chair to the centre of the entrance to the summer-house, seated himself astride, and bent his head on the rail. he had no longer the wish to fight for his life. better a thousand times that the end should come now, rather than later on. he was ready. he was waiting. he prayed that there would not be long to wait. at the hour when he least expected it his call had come! "now then, old fellow, now then! sit up, will you? what's the matter with you? that's right--that's right. keep your hair on, old man. you're not half as bad as you think you are!" terence gordon's breezy voice boomed in lessing's ear. terence's big hands laid hold of him, turned him round on his chair, and pressed him back against its rails. his good-humoured face puckered with concern as he met the blank stare in the man's eyes, and he continued to pour forth a stream of slangy reassurements, the while lessing slowly regained his composure. he could not have told whether it was ten seconds or ten hours during which he had sat waiting for death, but so utterly had he lost touch with the things of earth that it was only by degrees that he could realise that he was still alive and unharmed, and that this singularly earthly young man was seated by his side, ragging him for his mysterious exhibition of funk. "got 'em again--eh, what?" said terence severely. "tell you what, you gave me a touch myself, when you leaped upon me like that. steady, old man. steady! what's it all about?" "terence," said lessing thickly, "go back to the house. look after your sister. i--i am going away. i can't stay. i'm bringing danger upon her, upon you all--i can't explain. i--i've been warned--" "strikes me," said terence slowly. "strikes me, if there's any taking care of delia to be done, it's your business to do it. hardly playing the game is it, to run away just at this point?" "for heaven's sake, don't torture me," cried lessing wildly. "how can you judge? you don't understand. you don't understand--" "strikes me very forcibly, my dear fella," said terence once more, "that it's _you_ that don't understand!" he thrust his arm round the corner of the summer-house, and produced the small black bag, which he was wont to carry on his expeditions to hospital. he placed the bag on the table, and seated himself before it with an air of intense enjoyment. "just keep your eye on your uncle, my lad, and we'll see if he can help you to understand!" and then, calmly, complacently, in the full light of day, that medical student produced from that bag--first, a wig of black hair powdered with grey; secondly, a beard; thirdly, a pair of tufted eyebrows; fourthly a curious arrangement of wire clips connecting four large teeth; and fifthly, a bottle containing a brown fluid or dye. calmly, composedly, in the full light of day, did that medical student don one after the other: the wig, beard, eyebrows, and teeth, and dab an illustrative patch of brown on either cheek. then folding his arms after the manner of the villain in british melodrama, he hissed forth the words which had rung ceaselessly in lessing's ears for the last six weeks: "tr-r-r-aitor! the doom which you have postponed shall fall upon your own head. at the hour when you least--" lessing seized his arm in a grip of steel. "silence! terence, what does this mean? do you dare to tell me that it was _you_ who has made my life a torture all these--" but terence was not to be daunted. he twitched his arm away, and defended himself with his usual energy. "what's that--_torture_? what do _you_ mean by talking of torture? weren't you forever grousing about the dullness of life, and bemoaning yourself because you couldn't have a taste of excitement? weren't you forever gassing about the thrill of danger, and boasting of your adventurer's blood? ought to be jolly thankful to me for giving you a taste of the real gen-u-ine article! i dare you to say i didn't do it uncommonly well, too. very friendly action, i call it. you needed someone to bring you to your senses. mooning along, spoiling your own life, and er--er--hang it all--she _is_ my sister!" concluded terence with a touch of righteous indignation. lessing sat staring, a picture of stupefaction. the words were understandable enough; he heard them with his ears, but his brain refused to take in the meaning. "_you_! it was you? _you_ came into that restaurant, sat at my table--spilled that salt?" "i did. i'd had one or two shots before that, but they didn't come off, but the salt was a fair catch. you'd spun us that yarn more than once--forgot that, didn't you? so i tried it, and you caught on like an eel. the rest was as easy as falling off a log. where else should you go but scotland yard? i went on in advance, watched you out, and trotted along in the rear, waiting for a suitable moment to give you another thrill. then i went home to bed! got home a little quicker than you did that night, sonny, i fancy! what?" the rush of anger and humiliation which came at the remembrance of that two hours of laborious dodging and turning did more to revive lessing than any amount of reassurement. he set his teeth, and continued the cross-examination. "and that night in the square." "hang it, yes! that was me, all right. i'd wasted four evenings hanging about, so i felt pretty murderous that night. pretty good sport, though, to see you bolt into that doctor's place. how i _did_ laugh! by the way, did you take the physic he ordered?" lessing gave him a steely glance. "and the message, the telegram from blakeney? you sent that, of course, and arranged with that car." "just so. ye-es. that was, as you might say, my _tour de force_!" said terence, smirking. "cost me a lot of fag, that did, to say nothing about coin of the realm. thought you were fairly caught that time, didn't you? what about `the thrill' when you heard the sound of the key in the lock? eh, what?" lessing gave him a murderous glance. "how would you have felt if i had injured myself for life, climbing down from that window?" "oh, shucks!" terence shrugged with easy assurance. "any juggins could have got down over that ivy, easy as walking downstairs. and you have done a bit of climbing in your day. did you get very much stung by the nettles lying down by that wall?" lessing's jaw fell; the blood buzzed in his ears. an intolerable humiliation encompassed him. had he been _seen_? terence burst into a great roar of laughter. "oh, bless you, yes! he saw you right enough. it was jeffries, you know. g.p. jeffries, sharpest fellow we have at hospital. he said he had the time of his life, sitting upon that wall, watching you quaking among those nettles. by the way, the bag's all right. i've got it locked away in my cupboard. i suppose you wouldn't be willing, as a slight acknowledgment of my trouble, and in gratitude for an uncommonly useful lesson, to regard the outlay on that day's expedition as a--er, fee?" lessing stared, glared, opened his lips to pour out heated words, stopped short, and expanded his chest in a long, deep breath. suddenly, overpoweringly, the consciousness of safety rushed through his being, and swept before it all petty considerations for his own dignity and self-esteem. he was free, he was safe; his life was unthreatened, he was free to plan ahead, to take upon himself new claims, new responsibilities. he felt again the touch of delia's arms, and knew an irresistible impatience to continue the interrupted scene. he rose from his seat, and addressed a few dignified words to the lad by his side. "another time, terence, we'll thrash this matter out. you meant well, no doubt, but--" "just so. i was sorry to interrupt, but it was all done for the best. she's in the rose garden. she's crying!" volunteered terence, grinning. "is it your heart? _is_ it your heart?" cried delia clinging to his arm. "oh, val, is your heart really affected?" lessing clasped her to him, laughing a big, glad laugh, full of the joy and wonder of life. "it is, darling!" he cried. "it is! _you_ have affected it. oh, delia, delia, let's be married, let's be married at once, and--keep a chicken farm!" chapter nine. the man who wished for success. success was the passion of john malham's life, mediocrity was his bane. the ordinary commonplace life which brings happiness and content to millions of his fellow men filled him with a passion of disgust. as he left the tube station morning and night, and filed out into the street among the crowd of black-coated, middle-class workers, an insignificant unit in an insignificant whole, a feeling of physical nausea overcame him. there were grey-haired men by the hundred among the throng, men not only elderly, but old, working ceaselessly day by day at the same dull grind, returning at night to small houses in the suburbs. from youth to age they had toiled and expended their strength, and this was their reward! in a few years' time they would die, and be buried, and the great machine would grind on, oblivious of their loss. slaves, puppets, automata who were content to masquerade in the guise of men! john malham squared his great shoulders and drew a deep breath of contempt. not for him this dull path of monotony. by one means or another, he had vowed to his own heart to rise to the top of the tree, and make for himself a place among men. malham was a barrister by profession; a barrister, without influence, and with a private income of a hundred a year. his impressive personality, and unmistakable gift of argument had brought him a moderate success, but while others congratulated him, his own feeling was an ever-mounting discontent. he was waiting for the grand opportunity, and the grand opportunity did not come. like an actor who finds no scope for his talent in the puny parts committed to his charge, but feels ever burning within him the capacity to shine as a star, so did malham fret and chafe; intolerantly waiting for his chance. as an outlet for his energies malham had plunged into politics, and here success had been more rapid. as an apt and powerful speaker he was much in request, and his circle of influential acquaintances grew apace. he was asked to dinner, on visits to country houses where he was entertained with cordiality, as a _quid pro quo_ for a speech at the county hall. politicians began to say to him with a smile: "we must have you in the house, malham." "i shall be speaking for _you_ another day, malham!" "a man like you, malham, ought to be in the cabinet." steadily, slowly, the conviction had generated that in politics lay his best hope of success. but he must have money. even in the days of paid members a man without private means was handicapped in the race. once again he could not be content to be a unit in a crowd. he wished to be known; to make himself felt. to do this it would be necessary to entertain, to have a home of which he could be proud. a home, and--a wife. at this point malham's hard face would soften into the tender, humorous smile which was reserved for but one person on earth--for celia bevan, a high school mistress to whom he had been engaged for five long years. pew of his friends, and none of his acquaintances, had heard of his engagement, for malham was a secretive man, and celia was not in his own set. he had met her on a fishing holiday when they happened to be staying in the same small inn, and for the first and only time in his life had been carried away on a wave of impulse. five years ago, and--this was the extraordinary thing!--his heart had never regretted the madness. celia was poor, unknown, getting perilously near thirty, but there was an ageless charm about celia, an ever-new, ever-changing, ever-lovable charm, which held him captive, despite the cold remonstrances of his brain. nowadays he met dozens of wealthy and distinguished women, but no duchess in her purple had for him the charm of celia in her shabby blouses, seated in her shabby lodging, wrestling with the everlasting pile of exercise books. she loved him--heavens! how she loved him. there was nothing tepid about celia. even eight years' teaching at a high school had been powerless to beat down her individuality, or damp the ardour of her spirit. she loved him with a passion which was her very being, and he loved her in return as devotedly as it was in his nature to love. she was his mate, the one woman in the world who could understand, and sympathise, and console. but--there was lady anne! lady anne was the unmarried daughter of his most influential political patron, and of late it had been impossible for malham to disguise from himself the fact that lady anne had fallen a victim to his powerful personality and clever, versatile tongue. she was a pitiful creature, this scion of a noble house, a thin, wizened woman of thirty-seven, plain with a dull, sexless plainness which had in it no redeeming point, so diffident as to be almost uncouth in manner, overwhelmed with the consciousness of her own social failure. wealthy and influential as was her family, no one had ever wished to marry "poor anne," yet hidden within the unattractive exterior lived a loving, sensitive heart, which had gone hungry from the hour of her birth. now as it happened lady anne's brother was nursing a certain constituency in the neighbourhood of his father's place, and being neither clever nor fluent he was thankful to avail himself of the services of an eloquent young barrister, who was ever ready to run down from town for a few days' visit, and deliver a rousing address in furtherance of his cause. so it came about that during the summer and autumn john malham was a frequent visitor at home castle, and at each visit the secret of lady anne became more and more apparent to the eyes of onlookers. lady anne wished to marry malham. her father recognised as much, and decided resignedly that for "poor anne" no better match could be expected. malham was a gentleman, came of a good stock, and--given a start--was the type of man who was bound to come to the front. "we could find him a seat," the earl said to his son, "and anne's jointure would keep them going till he found his feet. if he proposes for her, there'll be no trouble from me. at this time of day we must be thankful for what we can get." cautiously, guardedly, in after-dinner confidences the young man was allowed to infer that the coast was clear. at first he had thrust aside the suggestion with a laugh, as something preposterous and impossible, but the poison worked. he began to dally with the thought, to project himself into an imaginary future when the circumstances of life should make in his favour, instead of acting as a handicap. slowly and surely the poison worked. one evening he took his way to grosvenor square in a frame of mind bordering on desperation. for months past he had been building on the possibility of securing a brief in a case which promised to afford one of the sensations of the year. he had a chance, a promising chance it had appeared, but that afternoon he had received the news that the brief had gone past him in favour of another man, no whit more capable than himself. there were reasons for the choice of which he was ignorant, but in his morbid depression, the only explanation lay in his own insignificance, in the higher social standing of his rival. he had known many such disappointments, and had smarted beneath them, but this was the final straw which broke down his remaining strength, and as it chanced he was left alone with lady anne after dinner, and she ventured a timid question as to the cause of his depression. of what happened next he had no clear recollection; he answered, and she sympathised, faltered out a wish that she might help; he thanked her, and--what did he say next? he could not remember, but he knew that he had accepted the offered help, and with it the hand of the donor. there were tears in lady anne's eyes as she plighted her troth. it was the one desire of her heart to share his life. he was the most wonderful, the most gifted of men. to be able to smooth his way would be the proudest privilege which the world could afford. she held out her thin hand as she spoke, and malham pressed it in his own, and bent over it in elaborate acknowledgment. the chill of those fingers struck to his heart; he left the house and, walking along the streets, the question clamoured insistently at his heart: _would she expect him to kiss her_? he had made an early retreat, and now went straight to celia's lodgings. it was part of the strength of his character that he never deferred a difficult duty, and to-night he knew himself faced with the most painful ordeal of his life. celia was sitting as usual before a pile of exercise books in her shabby little parlour. her white blouse was mended in several places, but it was daintily fresh, and her auburn hair flamed into gold beneath the hanging lamp. she did not rise as he entered, but tilted herself back on her chair, and stretched her tired arms with a sigh of welcome. "oh, dearest and best, is that you? oh, how lovely it is when you don't expect, and the good things come! i was never more happy to see you... kiss me several times!" but he stood stiff and straight on the shabby hearth-rug, and delivered himself of his message: "i am going to many lady anne mulliner." celia rose from the chair, and seated herself on the side of the table. she had grey eyes fringed with dark lashes, and a large, well-shaped mouth with lips which tilted agreeably at the corners what time she was amused. they tilted now, and the grey eyes danced. malham was jesting in the good old way in which he used to jest before he grew so silent and preoccupied. it had pleased them then to make believe, and act little plays for the other's benefit. how good it was to jest again! celia hunched her shoulders to her ears, and pointed at him with a dramatic finger. her voice rang in loud, stagey accents: "false caitiff, wouldst thou indeed betray my innocent trust? pull many a year have i waited in love and fealty, and wouldst thou spurn the poor maiden's heart?" she pulled her handkerchief out of her belt, flourished it to her eyes, then suddenly subsided into laughter, and an easy: "the poor old scarecrow! jack! it's not kind... what about that kiss?" "i am going to marry lady anne mulliner," repeated malham once more. celia put her head on one side, and looked at him with her winsome look, the look he most loved to see. "all right, ducky doo! why shouldn't you? she'll be _most_ pleased. but for to-night, you see, you belong to me, and--er--i haven't seen you for three whole days!" "celia, you must believe me. i mean it. i proposed to lady anne an hour ago, and she accepted me. we are engaged. i came straight here to tell you." the smile faded from celia's face. she looked startled and grave, but there was no serious alarm on her face. "jack--why?" he threw out his arms with a gesture of despair. "because i can't endure this life. i've missed that case; it has gone past me as usual, to a fellow with influence. there is no hope for a man who has no position, no one behind. it would drive me mad to go on year after year with this hopeless struggle. it is driving me mad now. to-night i felt desperate. i would have given anything in the world to buy my chance, and the opportunity came. i took it. i had not the power to refuse." "poor jack!" she said softly. "poor jack!" he had expected reproaches, tears, wild protestations. celia was impetuous by nature, and the peace between them had not been unbroken by storms. he was prepared for violence, but this gentleness played havoc with his composure. his face twitched, he turned towards her with passionate entreaty. "celia, i'm a brute, a coward. nothing that you can say of me is bad enough. you've been an angel, and i know, i knew all the time that i hurt you by delaying our marriage. you would have been satisfied with a small beginning; it was i who was not content. i've kept you waiting year after year, and now at the end i have sold myself to another woman." "you can't sell what is not your own. you can't _give_ what is not your own. you belong to me. i'm not going to give you up!" she rose, and going up to him clasped both hands round his arm. her face was white, but she smiled still; on her pale cheek a dimple dipped and waned. "you were tired and depressed. you saw the chance, and for a moment it seemed the easiest way, but you can't do it, jack; you can't do it! there's something else that you had forgotten. there's _me_! you love me, jack." she raised her face to his with a wooing smile, and a groan burst from his lips. this was torture. his heart was torn, but his resolution remained unchanged. "heaven knows i do. you are the only woman i can ever love. i love you more dearly than anything on earth. except one!" "and that?" "myself. success. the career that lady anne can give--" "poor jack!" sighed celia again. she leaned her head on his shoulder with her old movement of confiding love. for five long years those broad shoulders had been her resting-place, a bulwark between herself and the outer world. she drew him with her to the sofa, and rested there now. it was impossible to thrust her away. "if you loved another woman, darling, if you had grown tired of me, i'd let you go without a word. i'd _want_ you to go, but i'm not going to let you spoil your life. i haven't loved you all these years without knowing your faults as well as your virtues. the outside world sees your cleverness and charm, but the best in you, the very best jack--that belongs to me! if you lost me, it would die. there'd be nothing left but the husk of john malham. the cold, hard husk with nothing inside." "you may be right, celia. i expect you are right, but i have made my choice. you can't understand, no woman could understand how men can put ambition before love, but they do it. it is done every day. i don't say i shall not suffer--you know i shall suffer!" his voice broke suddenly. "celia, _darling_!" she was silent for a moment, lying motionless against his heart, then she spoke in a soft murmur of reminiscent tenderness. "d'you remember, jack, the evening we were engaged? you walked about all night because you were afraid you might go to sleep and think it was a dream, and you scribbled a letter in pencil beneath a lamp-post, and put it into the letter-box so that i might have it at breakfast. i've got it yet--in tissue paper, to keep the pencil fresh." "celia--don't! you torture me. of course i remember." "d'you remember that day up the river when we quarrelled, and i cried all over the tea? when i got home at night my face was all smudged. i'd been handling the kettle, and then dried my eyes, and you had never said a word about it, but had been so _lovely_ to me all the way home. i _did_ love you for that, jack!" "i had made you cry to start with. i've made you cry too often. don't cry for me now, celia! i'm not worth it. you will be better without me." then for the first time there came a flash of anger. she sat up suddenly and faced him with flashing eyes. "how _dare_ you say it? how dare you say such a lie? _without_ you? what would be left to me if you went? you _are_ my life. there has been no room for anyone else; you have demanded everything for yourself,--all my care, all my thought, all interest, all my love,--and i have given them to you, till there is nothing left, and i am powerless to live alone. you know it is true!" "you think so now, celia, but you will find life easier without me. this hopeless waiting is hard on a woman, and i've drawn on you all these years, always asking, always needing. it's a wrench, but it will be better for us both. celia, i haven't given you up without a struggle. i make no defence. i know i am treating you abominably, but this thing is stronger than myself. i _cannot_ go on. i must go my own way." "i will _never_ give you up!" said celia firmly. she held out her left hand the third finger of which was encircled by the engagement ring, an inexpensive trifle in turquoise and pearls. "you put that ring there, and made me swear that it should never come off until the wedding-ring was put in its place. it never shall! it's no use giving me back my promise. you don't realise what you are asking. it is an impossibility. i can never believe that you seriously intend to marry another woman until i see her walking out of church on your arm. and then--" "then--" "it would kill me, jack. i could not live." malham rose hastily, and strode across the room. his endurance was at an end. of what use to prolong the agony? his mind was made up, it was useless to go on torturing celia and himself. "it is too late, the thing is done. there is no drawing back. we are engaged." "will you walk about all night, jack, in case you fall asleep and find it is a dream? will you write a letter in pencil and slip it into her letterbox so that she may have it at breakfast?" "celia, don't! for god's sake, don't... i can't stand this!" "will you quarrel with her, jack, and kiss, and make it up? will she stroke your head when you are tired, to take away the pain, and will you lie and look up in her face, and make up little verses about her eyes? i've got all your verses, jack, dozens of them, locked away in my desk." "you know i won't. that sort of thing is over for ever. it is the price i shall have to pay. one can't have the one big thing, and everything else into the bargain. i have made my choice, and the rest must go." "but we must make quite sure what _is_ the big thing. _i_ am your big thing, jack. you are tired and discouraged, and when people are discouraged things look out of proportion. to-day you put success first, and celia second, but you will find out your mistake. you can't live without me, jack, any more than i can live without you. it's gone deeper than you think." malham's hand was on the door, but he turned at that last word and looked at her across the room. she sat as he had so often seen her, leaning forward from the waist, her chin cupped in her hand, her grey eyes bent on him with an intensity of love. among the drab furnishings of the room, the glowing mass of her hair shone with a burnished splendour. the sight of her represented all that was gracious and beautiful--his thought leaped to that other woman from whom he had parted but an hour before, he saw the two faces side by side, and for a moment he wavered. only a moment, then he hardened himself, and turned once more. "it is too late. i have made my choice. goodbye, celia." "_au revoir_, jack. _my_ jack! you will come back to me!" her voice rang strong and valiant. in just that voice she had put courage into him time and again when he had come nigh to despair. in just that voice had she breathed her undying confidence in the future. but this time when he was lost to sight, and the thud of the closing door sounded through the little house, celia laid her bright head on the table, and her tears fell fast on the scattered papers. in aristocratic circles engagements are of short duration. malham was thankful of the fact, and acceded eagerly to a proposed date less than six weeks ahead. a furnished flat was secured in which he and lady anne could set up housekeeping, leaving the choice of a permanent residence to be made at leisure. he welcomed that decision as a relief from a painful ordeal. it had been a favourite amusement of celia's to go house-hunting on holiday afternoons, and under her guidance it had proved a beguiling occupation. when luck was in the ascendant she would put on her best hat, obtain orders to view mansions in west end squares, and give herself airs to the caretaker on the subject of ball-room accommodation. when luck waned she would escort him to garden suburbs, and gush over a sitting-room four yards by five. and the furniture for mansion and villa alike had been chosen a hundred times over from a point of vantage outside shop windows. it would have been molten torture to go house-hunting and furnishing with lady anne! in a quiet unobtrusive fashion lady anne was exacting. she expected daily visits, which were periods of acute misery to her fiance. her uncouth efforts to worm herself into his confidence shamed and exasperated; he was disagreeably conscious of disappointing her expectations, yet more and more did it become impossible to act the lover's part. conversation would lag between them and finally come to an end, then anne's small eyes would redden as from unshed tears, she would lay her chill hands on his, and ask wistfully: "is anything the matter, john? have i offended you in any way?" "how could you offend me, anne? you are everything that is good and generous. i am most grateful for all you have done." "but you must love me, too. i want you to love me. you _do_ love me, john?" once or twice at such questioning, a flood of anger and loathing, almost maniacal in its fury, rushed through malham's veins, urging him on until it was all he could do to refrain from bursting into cruel laughter, into bitter, gibing words. love _her_! that pitiful, sexless thing--he who had known celia, and held her in his arms. was anne blind that she could not see what manner of woman she was? had she no sense that she could not realise the nature of the bargain between them? and every week of that endless six a letter came to him from celia bearing the same message: "i have seen it in the paper, jack, but i know it is not true. you will never do it. you can't do it, jack. you belong to me. dear, it will be harder with every day that passes. be brave and end it _now_! i know you better than you know yourself. nothing that she can give you will make you happy apart from me. it's been hard for you--i know it too well, and you shall never hear a word of reproach, but--come soon, jack! it's weary waiting. i have given you so much that i've no power to live alone. your celia." each letter said the same thing in different words, and each time that one arrived the struggle between love and ambition was fought afresh in malham's mind. never before had he realised all that celia had counted for in his life; never had he yearned so passionately for her presence. a dozen times over he started with rapid footsteps to answer her appeal in person, but never once did he arrive at his destination. the very sight of the mean streets through which he was obliged to pass, served to chill his enthusiasm and awake the remembrance of all that a reconciliation must entail. to break off his engagement with lady anne mulliner at the eleventh hour would be to alienate his political patrons and ring the death knell of his hopes. he would be obliged to drag on year after year waiting for a chance of distinguishing himself at the bar, living meantime in one of these mean little houses, in one of these mean little streets, turning out morning after morning to make his way to the tube, among the crowd of black-coated, middle-class workers. the struggle ended each time in the victory of ambition. he turned and retraced his steps towards his own chambers. the last letter arrived on the morning of the marriage. its message was the same, but the valiant confidence had waned, and a note of wildness took its place. yet even now celia would not, could not, believe that his decision was irrevocable. even now she adjured him to reflect, to remember, to be warned! the handwriting was rough and untidy, hardly recognisable as celia's dainty calligraphy; in every line, in every word there were signs of agitation and despair, but as malham recognised with a pang, there was still no word of reproach. he kissed the letter and held it passionately to his lips, before he dropped it into the fire. the husband of the lady anne mulliner must not treasure love letters from another woman. the paper flamed orange and blue, then shrivelled into blackened ashes. malham, looking on, read into the sight a simile with his own life. the beauty, the splendour of it were burnt out; nothing but ashes remained. it was a curious reflection for a man who would that day plant his foot firmly on the ladder of success! the fashionable church was filled to overflowing; reporters seated in points of vantage jotted down the names of the aristocratic guests with other details of public interest. "marriage of an earl's daughter." "romantic marriage." "marriage in high life." the titles were already drawn out awaiting the following description. "the duchess of a. looked charming in amber velvet with a sable cloak. the marchioness of b. looked charming in green, with a hat with white plumes. the bridesmaids, eleven in number, were a charming group in grey satin and silver veils. they carried charming bouquets of azaleas, which with charming gold and pearl bangles were the gift of the bridegroom. their names were --. the bride wore a gown of white satin covered with old english point lace, the court train was draped with the same valuable lace, and lined with silver tissue. she carried a bouquet of orchids." there were a dozen reporters in the church, and they used the word "charming" many, dozens of times collectively, but not one of them ventured to apply it to the bride! lady anne cried in a softly persistent fashion throughout the ceremony, and the sight of her tears awoke a smouldering fury in malham's heart. why need she cry? she had gained her desire. it was he who should cry! in the vestry a young married relative came forward, and with deft hands straightened the twisted wreath and arranged the folds of the veil. "really, anne!" she cried impatiently, "you positively _must_ think of your appearance. my dear, if you could see yourself! for goodness' sake pull yourself together." as she turned away, she shot a glance at malham, standing tall and impassive beside the table, and there came into her eyes a cold comprehending gleam. "there," said her eyes, "stands a man who has sold his soul!" there were eyes all round him, studying him where he stood, and in them all he read the same condemnation, the same scorn. the organ blared; the bridesmaids ranged themselves behind the bridal couple, the procession left the vestry, and proceeded down the aisle. now there were more eyes, hundreds of eyes, staring with merciless gaze. the bride was trembling with nervousness, her chin shaking like that of a frightened child. all her life she had been snubbed and kept in the background; terror of her conspicuous position for the time being swamped her joy in her handsome spouse. the sound of her panting breath came to malham's ears; he hurried his pace in fear of another breakdown, and the laces of the bridal train caught in the carved woodwork of a pew. there was a momentary pause while a bridesmaid came to the rescue, and malham, turning to discover the nature of the hindrance, felt an icy chill spread down his spine. in the pew by his side, within touch of his hand, stood celia, tall and slim, gazing straight into his face. her hair glowed like flames round her colourless face, her lips were parted, showing a gleam of teeth, her head was thrown back on the white column of her throat,--each cherished detail of her beauty smote on malham with a separate pang, but it was the expression in her eyes which chilled his blood. _what was the expression in her eyes_? malham's heart beat in sickening thuds. was it a moment, or an hour, during which he stood and stared back into those terrible eyes? to the onlookers the pause was barely perceptible; to him it seemed endless as eternity. it was only when he was seated beside his bride in the carriage, and anne was sobbing against his shoulder, that malham realised the meaning of celia's eyes. they were dead eyes. they had _no_ expression! the reception was a nightmare, but it came to an end at last, and malham and his bride bade good-bye to their friends, and started on the first stage of their honeymoon. it had been arranged that they should remain in town until the next morning, when they were to make an early start for the continent. they drove to a fashionable hotel, where a suite of rooms had been secured for their use, and after a couple of hours' rest, went through the ordeal of their first _tete-a-tete_ meal. malham felt like a man in a dream. he moved, he spoke, he ate, and drank as might a machine wound up to perform certain actions, but he was conscious of nothing but a pair of dead eyes gazing at him out of a living face. there was only one feeling of which he was capable--a feeling of fear--of deadly, overmastering fear. dinner over, malham excused himself, and repaired to the great lounge of the hotel. anne had recovered her composure, and had embarked upon a series of sentimental reminiscences which bade fair to drive him demented. at all costs he must escape from her presence. he seated himself at one of the small tables and automatically lifted an evening paper. the first thing that met his eye was his own name at the head of a column. "marriage of mr john malham and lady anne mulliner." he crushed the sheet with a savage hand, and thrust it back on the table, and as he did so another paragraph separated itself from the context and smote upon his brain. "suicide of a high school teacher. a well-dressed young woman was drowned in the serpentine at five o'clock this afternoon. the life-saving apparatus was put in operation with all possible speed, but when the body was recovered, life was found to be extinct. the deceased had letters in her possession addressed to miss celia bevan, 19 wrothesley street, maida vale. it is believed to be a case of premeditated suicide." across the hall two young men were whispering to each other behind their papers. "that fellow over there, by the big palm,--that's malham! reading an account of his own wedding. clever fellow, but poor as a rat. been dragging along for years at the bar, but that's all over now! with a father-in-law like lord fluteson to give him a push, he'll soon romp ahead. jolly good day's work this has been for him!" his companion looked across the lounge. "some fellows," he said grudgingly, "have all the luck!" chapter ten. the girl who wished for work. norah boyce was one of numerous young women who have seen better days. during the seven years which had elapsed since she had bidden farewell to a parisian boarding-school, she had enjoyed all the sweets of existence which fall to the lot of a girl whom nature has endowed with beauty and a deceased parent with an income of five hundred pounds a year. and then, of a sudden, catastrophe overtook her. societies collapsed, banks failed, labourers went on strike and brought down dividends on railway investments. the five hundred pounds was reduced to something considerably under one, and norah spent her nights in tears, and her days in studying the newspapers in search of "something to do." being still young in experience, she started by spending a small fortune on advertisements in which she expressed her willingness to undertake secretarial duties, to act as companion to an invalid lady--as governess to young children, or as instructress in the arts of poker-work, marquetry, and painting on china; then as time went on and the public continued to treat her overtures with contempt, she abandoned this mode of procedure, and contented herself with reading the notices for which _other_ people had paid, and in wasting postage-stamps in reply. it was when this occupation had been continued for several months and her spirits had fallen to the lowest possible ebb that her eye was attracted by a paragraph which awakened new hopes. a lady wished to meet with a young person of good principles and cheerful disposition, who would accompany her to church on sundays, spend some hours of every morning in reading aloud, playing upon the harmonium, and making herself useful and agreeable; and applicants were directed to apply in person at number 8 berrington square, between three and five o'clock in the afternoon. "i shall try for it!" cried norah instantly. "it will be horribly humiliating. i shall be shown into the dining-room, and expected to take a seat between the sideboard and the door, as servants do when they are applying for a situation, but anything is better than sitting here, doing nothing! i don't feel remarkably cheerful at present, but it is in the old lady's power to put me in the wildest spirits, if she is so inclined. she must be old--no human creature under sixty could have written that advertisement. she can't have any children, or she would not be advertising for a companion; she must be well off, or she could not afford to pay for `extras' in this rash fashion; she would have to put up with being dull as i have done the last month. heigho! it would be very pleasing if she took a fancy to me, and adopted me as her heir! i don't in the least see why she shouldn't! i can be very charming when i choose. i shall put on my sealskin coat, and my best hat!" a few hours later, miss boyce knocked at the door of number 8 berrington square, was informed that mrs baker was at home, and shown into a room on the right of the entrance hall. it was the dining-room. "of course! i knew it!" said norah to herself, and straightway proceeded to take stock of her surroundings. a red flock wall-paper, a heavy mahogany sideboard, on which were flanked an imposing array of biscuit-boxes and cruets; mahogany chairs upholstered in black haircloth; an india-rubber plant in the centre of the table, and an american organ in the corner! the visitor rolled her eyes to the ceiling, and went through an expressive pantomime of despair, for she was an artistic, beauty-loving creature, whose spirits were sensibly affected by the colour of a wallpaper, and to whom it was a real trial to live in ugly surroundings. she had barely time to compose herself before the door opened, and the mistress of the house made her appearance. mrs baker was an old lady of the white rabbit type, weak-eyed, anaemic, and kindly, and evidently unaccustomed to the engagement of "young persons," for she shook hands with norah, seated herself in an easy chair by the fire, and waited developments with a blandly inquiring smile. it was evident that norah was expected to advertise her capabilities without the aid of the usual cross-questionings, so, taking her courage in both hands, she launched forth into explanations, prefaced, it must sorrowfully be admitted, by a reference to better days; confessed to a passion for reading aloud and playing on the harmonium, and dwelt at length on the advantages of her scholastic training. when at last she paused for breath, after having talked for a good five minutes on end, the old lady blinked her eyes, and said: "what, love?--i didn't quite catch what you were saying. i am a little hard of hearing!" "i might have known it!" norah told herself reproachfully. "deaf, of course! it just completes the character," and in a heightened voice she proceeded to repeat every word of her former statement. signs of impatience became visible on the listener's face as she proceeded, and she hurried on in order to announce the name of her musical professor before she should be interrupted by the question which was evidently hovering on the old lady's lips. "did you ever happen to meet a family named henstock, who lived in finsbury park? a corner house it was--white, with green posts at the gate?" queried mrs baker, bending forward with an expression of breathless curiosity. norah gasped, and shook her head. the connection between the family of henstock in the corner house in finsbury park, and her own application for the post of companion, was so exceedingly remote as to reduce her to a condition of petrified silence. "how very extraordinary! you are so like mary ellen, the very image of mary ellen! she was a great favourite of mine, was mary ellen, and she married a very worthy young man, an assistant in a bank at bradford. yes! she had two lovely little boys. it was very good of you to come and see me, my dear, and i should like very much to have you with me. i am reading a most interesting biography at present, and i take in several periodicals. yes! perhaps you could come on monday morning. at eleven o'clock." three months' experience of answering advertisements had left norah so little prepared for this speedy acceptance of her services, that she was surprised into protest. "but i do not wish to hurry your decision! perhaps you would like to have references, or to consult your--" "no, love! i have no one to consider but myself, and you have such a strong resemblance to mary ellen! it is in this way: my nephew has been in the habit of going to church with me. i cannot hear very much; but i like to go all the same, and john was in the habit of repeating the sermon to me in the afternoon. yes! he is a very estimable-minded young man, and very good to his old aunt! it was he who suggested that i should advertise for a companion. he said it would be so lonely for me if he ever went out of town, but he will be very pleased when i tell him that i have found someone so like mary ellen. he has such a dislike for these new-fashioned, strong-minded girls who are always calling out for their rights. i am sure, my dear, that you have too much sense for such notions. you look far too pretty and amiable. now about the little matter of remuneration! ... would half a crown a day be agreeable?" norah gasped again, with a sensation as if a pail of water had been suddenly douched over her head. half a crown a day! it was what people paid to charwomen. good gracious! she tried to calculate what sum was represented by seven half-crowns, and the delay which took place before she succeeded in settling the point convinced her that, after all, she would be wise to accept mrs baker's offer, since in another situation she might possibly be required to teach arithmetic and mathematics! she perjured herself, therefore, by declaring that half a crown would be very agreeable indeed, and returned home undecided between hilarity and depression. for the next three weeks norah earned her half-crown a day with equal satisfaction to herself and her employer. the biographies were a trifle dull, it is true, and the harmonium decidedly creaky and out of tune, but the old lady was kindly and affectionate, and her companion had the pleasure of feeling that her services were appreciated. by this time, however, she had fully grasped the fact that seven half-crowns equal seventeen-and-six, and in the conviction that further effort was required to secure herself from anxiety, had recommenced the daily searchings of the newspaper columns. then it was that she discovered an advertisement which filled her with a sense of delighted amusement, because of its strange likeness and yet contrast to the one of a month before. another lady, it appeared, was desirous of finding a companion, but this time the advertiser was a champion of women's rights, who wished to meet with someone of like opinions, who would walk with her in the afternoons and discuss the problems and difficulties of the sex. "`curiouser and curiouser!'" quoted norah to herself. "what a droll coincidence. now, if i had not--but of course as i _have_, i could not possibly... and yet, why not? i am sure after being shut up in that stuffy room all morning reading those dull, old-fashioned books, i am in a most daring and revolutionary mood in the afternoons. i should not be pretending to take an interest in the suffrage question; i should really and truly feel it... it would be instructive to hear what this lady has to say for herself, and then, after marching about the country listening to her tirades, i should probably be quite thankful to get back to medievalism and my dear old lady in the morning.--i'll do it! i will! i'll go and see her without an hour's delay..." the advertisement had not asked for a personal application, but norah had gained experience by this time, and was perfectly aware of the advantage possessed by miss boyce in her sealskin coat and best hat, over the "young persons" who, as a rule, applied for situations. she intended to be not only heard but seen. the advanced lady lived in a flat which was as artistic as the house in berrington square was commonplace. she was a spinster of uncertain age, tall and angular, and so formidable in appearance that at the sight of her norah was overcome with a panic of nervousness. "good afternoon," she stammered. "i--i saw your advertisement in the _daily news_, and thought that i would--that is to say, that i would apply--that i would try to--to.--i hope i have not inconvenienced you by calling in person!" "not at all, not at all. i have already received several replies, but it is far more satisfactory to have a personal interview," returned the spinster, staring very hard at norah's hat, and craning her neck to see how the bows were arranged at the back. "i am ordered to take a certain amount of outdoor exercise daily, and as my friends are not able to accompany me, i wish to meet with a lady who is interested in the same subjects as myself, and with whom i can enjoy exchange of ideas as we walk. you look rather young, but i gather from the fact of your having replied to my advertisement, that you are--" "i am very much interested. i should enjoy hearing your views, and, though i am young, i have seen a great deal of life. i have travelled more than most people, and am now alone in the world, and obliged to earn my own living." norah had been in haste to reply, in order to avoid a more compromising statement, but now she stopped short, surprised by a flash of delight which illumined the listener's face. "ah-h!" cried miss mellor, in the rapturous tone of one who has suddenly been granted a long-craved-for opportunity. "then you have had experience! you _know_! you _fed_! you agree with me that the history of the human race, the throng of events, the multifarious forms of human life are only the accidental form of the idea; they do not belong to the idea itself, in which alone lies the adequate objectivity of the will, but only to that phenomenon which appears to the knowledge of the individual, and which is just as foreign and unessential to the idea itself as the figures which they assume are to the clouds, or the foam flakes to the brooks! so true! so deeply true! you agree with me, i feel sure!" "certainly. quite so. i mean to say--naturally! oh, yes. by all means!" gasped norah weakly, and her head fell back against the chair. she was not to know that the speaker had discovered her little speech in a book only one short half-hour before, and had learned it off by heart in the fond hope of being able to introduce it incidentally into conversation, and she felt faint and dizzy with the effort of trying to understand. miss mellor saw that she had made an impression, and beamed with complacent delight. "ah, yes; i see that we are at one!" she cried. "and is it not a comfort to feel that, having once grasped this idea, we shall now be able to distinguish between the will and the idea, and between the idea and its manifestation? the events of the world will now have significance for us, inasfar only as they are the letters out of which we may read the idea of man. we can never again believe with the vulgar--" "oh, my goodness!" cried norah to herself. "to think that it should have come to this! i'm vulgar! i must be; and i never knew it! i don't understand one _word_ she is saying. if i ever get out of this room alive--" she sank still farther back in her chair and stared at miss mellor with fascinated, unblinking eyes, like a poor little rabbit beneath the spell of the boa-constrictor. in a dim, far-off way, she heard the stream of unmeaning eloquence, but her one supreme longing was to bring the interview to an end, to crawl home and lie down upon the sofa, and put wet cloths on her head, and go to sleep and forget all about her sufferings... suddenly the dock chimed, and she awoke to the fact that it was over half an hour since she had entered the room. she rose to her feet, and was about to falter forth apologies for her ignorance, when, to her astonishment, the advanced lady bore down upon her, and grasping her hand in fervent fashion, declared that she was enchanted to have discovered a kindred spirit, and that, suffering as she did from constant coldness and misunderstanding, it was soul-refreshing to meet with one whose mind was as her own, and that she would henceforth live in anticipation of their afternoon communions! for one moment norah was stupefied with amazement, the next her eyes shone, and the dimples dipped in her cheeks, for with a flash of intuition she had grasped the significance of the situation! what the advanced lady really desired was not a companion who would talk and air her own opinions, but a dummy figure to whom she herself could lay down the law; a target at which she could let fly the arrows of her newly-acquired wisdom. an occasional murmur of assent would therefore be the extent of the companion's duties, which feat norah felt herself well able to accomplish. for the next few months the enterprising miss boyce fulfilled her two daily engagements with equal satisfaction to herself and her employers. in the morning, within the fusty confines of number 8 berrington square, she read aloud extracts from antiquated volumes which had been the favourites of the old lady's youth; likewise retrimmed caps, sprayed the leaves of the india-rubber plant, retrieved dropped stitches in knitting, droned out voluntaries and national airs on the wheezy old harmonium, and listened to endless reminiscences of the henstock family, and other worthies equally unknown. in the afternoons norah roamed the different parks in company with miss mellor, preserving an attentive silence while that good lady quoted the opinions of her friends, or paraphrased the leading articles in the radical press. her first feeling towards this, the second of her employers, had been largely tinged with impatience and lack of sympathy, but as time went on, she relented somewhat in the hardness of her judgment, and felt the dawning of a kindly pity. she was a very lonely woman--this tall angular spinster who talked so loudly of her rights; love had never come into her life, and in all the breadth of the land she had hardly a relation whom she could take by the hand. once, in the middle of a heated argument on the suffrage, miss mellor paused to look longingly at a curly-headed baby toddling across the path; and beside the duck-pond in regent's park she invariably lost the thread of her argument in watching the crowds of merry children feeding their pets. norah reflected that had miss mellor been a happy wife and mother she might not have troubled her head about a vote. all the same, the result of education on the woman's question had been to convince norah that the demand for "rights" had been founded on some very definite wrongs. after the long walk the two ladies would return to tea in the flat, where the companion consumed the wafer-like bread and butter and dainty cakes with philistine enjoyment, and even miss mellor herself descended from her high horse, and inquired curiously: "where do you get your hats?" of her two employers norah had distinct preference for the old lady, mrs baker. she was of a more lovable nature than the voluble miss mellor, and, moreover, as she herself had announced--she had a nephew! the nephew was a handsome, well-set-up man of thirty, who possessed considerable culture and refinement, and a most ingratiating kindliness of demeanour towards his homely old aunt. the first sunday after norah entered upon her duties, young mr baker did not call at berrington square; on the second sunday he came to midday dinner; on the third, he met the two ladies at the church door after morning service, and remained with them for the whole of the afternoon; on the fourth, he was already seated in the pew when they entered the church, and he persisted in these good habits until it became a matter of course that he should spend the whole day in berrington square, as norah herself had done from the beginning of her engagement. in the afternoon mrs baker would invariably make the hospitable suggestion that "if john liked" he could descend to a chill, fireless room in the basement to indulge in an after-dinner weed, but john refused to move until miss boyce had given her repetition of the morning's service. he said that he was afraid she might forget an important point, in which case he should be at hand to jog her memory. "john is so thoughtful!" said his aunt proudly. as a matter of fact, john never once volunteered a suggestion on any one of these occasions. he seemed to be fully occupied in using his eyes and ears, and in truth it was both a pretty and touching sight to see the young fresh face bent close to the withered countenance of the deaf old woman, and to listen to the thrush-like tones of the girl's voice, as with a sweet and simple eloquence she gave her brief resume of the morning's sermon. the old lady nodded and wagged her head to enforce the points, while the tears trickled down her cheeks. from time to time john also would take a promenade to the window, and clear his throat loudly as he stared at the dusty trees. strange how much more powerful those sermons appeared in the repetition! after the recital was over, young mr baker would take miss boyce to examine the ferns in the tiny conservatory, while his aunt enjoyed her forty winks; in the evening he escorted her back to her lodgings. he was a most attentive young man! in mrs baker's opinion "john" was infallible, and by and by norah became so much infected with this view that her afternoon's occupation became fraught with misery, as she thought of what "john" would say if he knew to what heresies she was lending her ears. one sunday afternoon returning to the berrington square drawing-room after a short absence, she overheard a few words which sent an added pang through her heart. "--most fortunate indeed!" john was saying. "you might have searched the world over, and not found another like her. i had begun to fear that the type was extinct. a sweet, modest, old-fashioned girl!" that evening norah wet her pillow with her tears, and astonished the advanced lady the next afternoon by contradicting assertions, and raising up objections in a most unprecedented fashion. these signs of backsliding were very distressing to miss mellor, who had been encouraged by her companion's unfailing acquiescence to imagine herself unanswerable in argument, but she was encouraged to believe that example might perhaps accomplish what precept had failed to inspire. "you will, i know, rejoice with me on a great honour which has been conferred upon me by my fellow-workers," she announced proudly one day. "i have been promoted from the reserves to a foremost position in the fighting line. i am nominated for active service on friday next!" norah's eyes were exceptionally large and expressive, and the saucer-like stare of curiosity which she turned upon the speaker was very gratifying to that good lady's feelings. "on friday evening. at the albert hall. the chancellor is to speak. we shall be there. twenty are nominated for service. _i_ am number nine!" norah stared harder than ever. this sounded rather perilously like the story of a nihilist plot which she had read in a shilling shocker some weeks before. she had visions of bomb explosions and wholesale arrests, and, as ever, the thought of john obtruded itself into the foreground of her mind. what would john think if miss mellor were arrested, and gave the name of norah boyce as her chosen friend and confidante? "number nine, for _what_?" she gasped nervously, and miss mellor was hurried into unthinking reply: "for screaming--i mean protesting. the first eight champions will raise their voices in rotation. they will be silenced, probably ejected. then it will be my turn." "ejected!" norah looked scared. "turned out. oh-h! how dreadful! they will seize hold of you--men will seize hold of you, and pull and drag. they will pinch your arms... it must be horrid to be pinched!" "what would have become of the world if other great reformers had ceased their struggles through dread of being pinched?" demanded miss mellor sternly; and norah felt snubbed, and looked it. she had no courage left for further argument. on the next friday afternoon norah took her way to the flat to accompany her fighting employer on the walk abroad which should invigorate her for the evening's fray, but to her dismay found the good lady stretched upon the sofa, very flushed as to face, and husky as to voice. "it is quinsy," she announced. "i'm subject to it. i felt it coming on, but i would not give in. i have gargled and fomented all morning, but it is too late. i couldn't scream to save my life. it's a terrible, terrible disappointment, but i am thankful that i need not upset the committee's plans. you shall take my place!" "i?" cried norah shrilly. "no, no--i can't! i couldn't--i wouldn't-not for anything in the whole wide world! call out before a whole meeting, have them all staring at me, strange men catching hold of me, dragging my sleeves, crushing my hat--_never_! i'd sooner die!" "then," croaked miss mellor hoarsely, "i shall go myself!" and from this point she refused to budge. she was ill; in the natural course of events she would grow worse; if she went out into the damp and the cold, and endured the excitement of a crowded political meeting, she would most certainly be very ill indeed; but she had promised; she could not disappoint the committee at the eleventh hour; she had no energy to seek further for a substitute. then her voice took a pathetic turn, and she sighed feebly. "i have been kind to you, norah. i have tried to be your friend. danvers (the maid) would accompany you to the hall. you have nothing to do but to sit still and interrupt when your turn arrives. how can you be so selfish and unkind?" as time went on and argument and appeal alike failed to move miss mellor from her position, a paralysis of helplessness seized norah in its grip. she knew that in the end she would be compelled to consent, for of two horrifying alternatives it seemed the least to dare a certain amount of buffeting for herself, rather than allow another woman to run the risk of serious, even fatal, consequences. at nine o'clock that evening, then, behold a trembling and faint-hearted number nine seated at the end of one of the rows of stalls at the albert hall, the faithful danvers by her side, listening with all her ears, not to the eloquence of the chancellor of the exchequer, but to the shrill interruptions from feminine tongues which punctuated his utterances. numbers one and two had been escorted from the gallery by indulgent, if somewhat contemptuous, stewards. numbers pour and five had received less consideration; number six had been undeniably hustled; number seven had squealed aloud. norah realised with a dread sinking of the heart that the temper of the meeting was rising, and that each fresh disturber of the peace would receive less consideration. only one more, and then... the great building whirled before her eyes, the faces on the platform became faint and blurred, her heart pounded so loudly that it seemed impossible that her neighbours should not hear its thuds. she turned her head to look at the nearest door and examine the faces of the group of stewards waiting in readiness at its portal. were they _very_ big, _very_ fierce, _very_ formidable? which of the number would be the first to tear her from her seat? her pretty face was blanched and drawn beneath her flower-wreathed hat; one of the stewards meeting her glance moved forward to her side with a stifled exclamation of dismay. he bent low over her, whispering in her ear: "miss boyce! what are you doing here? are you alone? you ought not to be here without a man to look after you. it is getting too noisy--too excited. if there are any more interruptions things will become dangerous. let me take you out quietly, while there is time--" john baker, by all that was confounding and terrible! john, the last man on earth whom she would have wished to witness her humiliation! john, who had called her a "modest, old-fashioned girl." ... it was the last straw to poor norah's composure; her fluttering heart gave one sickening leap, and then appeared to stop altogether; she held out her hands with a feeble, despairing gesture, and collapsed in a limp little heap in john baker's arms. when norah came back to consciousness she was lying on a form in a bare, boarded room, and john was engaged in sprinkling water from a water-jug over the front of her best silk blouse. she sat up hastily, brushed the hair from her forehead, and stared around with bewildered eyes. a roar of applause from the great hall broke the silence, and brought back struggling remembrance. "did you--did you turn me out?" "i _carried_ you out! you fainted, and i brought you in here. it was no wonder; you were not accustomed to such sights. did you imagine in your faintness that you had been turned out like those other screaming women, you poor little frightened girl?" asked john's big voice in its most caressing tones. norah shivered with dismay. "i was--i am--i mean i _should_ have been, if i had stayed five minutes longer! i'm number nine!" she cried; and then seeing john's stare of stupefied dismay, promptly threw up her hands to her face, and burst into weak-minded tears. "oh--oh! what _will_ you think of me--what _will_ you say!--i was obliged to earn some money--and half a crown a day was not enough,--mrs baker gives me half a crown. i--i go to another lady in the afternoons, and she is a suffragette. she is very kind to me, and very patient, because i'm stupid, and can't understand, and--and i don't seem to care! i don't _want_ a vote, but she was number nine to-night, and she is ill--her throat is very bad, she might be dangerously ill if she came out. she would only stay at home if i promised to take her place, and, she has been very kind.--i promised, and now i've failed. i was too terribly frightened. and then i saw your face... oh, what _do_ you think of me?" but john baker refused to give any expression of opinion. all he said was: "half a crown a day! she offered you _that_! oh, my poor little girl!" and his voice was so low and tender that at the sound of it norah sobbed afresh. "don't cry. put on your hat. i will take you into the air, and drive you home in a taxi. you will feel better in the air," said john quietly. he gave her his arm, and escorted her into the corridor, and as they walked along, another roar sounded from within the precincts of the hall, and through an open doorway shot a dishevelled female form, struggling in the grasp of half a dozen stewards. danvers herself! the faithful danvers, who, seeing the collapse of her mistress' proxy, had gallantly taken upon herself the duties of number nine. norah shuddered, and grasped more tightly john's protecting arm. "oh, what _must_ you think of me?" she demanded once more; and john, looking down at her as they reached the cool air of the street, replied sturdily: "i think that no woman can serve two masters. can't you make up your mind to take _one_ instead?" chapter eleven. the after years. fifteen years had come and gone. the men and women who had sat round the fire on that memorable new year's eve in mrs ingram's hospitable country manor, had left youth behind, and entered upon the strenuous term of middle age, while their host and hostess had reached a stage still further on the downward path, and frankly ranged themselves among the old. fifteen years ago! and now once more the end of the year was approaching, and mr ingram and his wife were discussing their plans for the festive season. it was a very frail woman who lay back against the cushions of her chair, and to her husband all outside considerations were as naught compared with the necessity of screening her from undue exertion. "forget that it is christmas time, that's the best thing you can do! all your life you have worked and schemed to give other people pleasure, now you must take it easy, and let them have a turn for a change. no christmas presents, no village treats, no house-party over the new year. you and i will have a quiet resting time, and think of nobody but ourselves." his wife smiled, her fine, delicate smile, and stretched out her hand to meet his. "foolish man!" she said softly. "what folly you do talk! the christmas presents are _ready_, dear. i begin collecting them each january, as soon as the last batch is out of the way, and it would break my heart to disappoint the villagers of their treat; but i'll be very good, and leave the whole of the arrangements to the vicar. that's a concession made entirely to please you. i want to please you, because as regards the house-party i am going to ask _you_ to give in to me! i'd been planning a very special gathering for this year. please, dear, don't say no! it would be such a great interest. i want to ask all the members of that heart's desire party of fifteen years ago--all that are left, that's to say, and sit over the fire together as we did then, for the first hour of the new year, and talk over our different experiences. i have thought of it for the last three or four years, but something has always come in the way, and now--now i would rather not postpone it again." her husband knew the meaning of that unwillingness. she was thinking that she might not live to see another new year, and the knowledge was enough to stifle any objections which he might have made. "you shall do as you choose, dearest," he said softly. "i ask only that you should spare yourself. you must spend the mornings in your own room, and then you will be able to enjoy your guests for the rest of the day." he was silent for a few minutes, gazing into the heart of the fire. "it is one thing to wish," he said at last, "and another to confess what has really happened. i wonder if they _will_ confess!" "probably--not!" mrs ingram said. "we may be sure of one thing at least, that the happenings which went deepest will never be put into words. all the same we shall know. it is not only by speech that the heart tells its secrets, hubert!" "but the ordinary man judges only by his ears. his eyes are holden that he cannot see." "ah, well," sighed mrs ingram softly, "there's an instinct that is truer than sight!" her husband pressed her hand, but did not answer. he knew well that his wife possessed a wonderful heart-vision which could pierce beneath the deceptions of surface appearance, down to the truth beneath; but this was a plane to which he could not follow; and in truth he could not trust himself to discuss it. this dearly loved wife had always been of an unusual exalted character, and with the decline of bodily health, she seemed to cast from her one by one the hindering frailties of the flesh, and to become ever more spiritual and crystalline. he reverenced, he worshipped, but--he feared! a spirit so fine seemed out of place on this gross earth. but, thank god! the old gaiety was not dead, and her laugh rang clear as ever as a few minutes later he brought a writing-table to her side, and they embarked upon the work of tracing old friends under new conditions. mr ingram would have been hard put to it to remember the names alone of all who had been present on the historic occasion, but his wife's diary supplied an account not only of these, but of manners and appearance, with a surprisingly verbatim record of what each person had said. she had the memory which records words, and now as she read over one pronouncement after another, something of her own keenness entered into her husband's manner. "by jove, you have a memory! it all comes back as i hear you reading-the very words--the very expressions. i can see claudia sitting in that chair, telling us about the rich cousin who sent her cast-off clothes, and looking so wonderfully pretty and sparkling. ah, poor claudia! well--one is bound to come up against tragedy, if one follows the happenings of nine lives for fifteen years. all things considered, i think we have less of it than might have been expected. who comes next on the list? norah boyce, eh? we shan't have norah, since that clever husband of hers has got this appointment in canada; but we know at least that things go well with her. nice little norah! she deserved her good luck. and then comes lilith wastneys. no need to look up her address, eh? care of the rt. hon. hereward lowther, would reach her the world over. and john harely malham! these friends of yours have developed into very great personages, dear! do you think they will care to accept invitations from simple country dwellers like ourselves?" "i shall send them invitations, and i think they will come," mrs ingram said quietly. people had a way of doing what she wished, which seemed the more extraordinary as she never argued nor persuaded. "those two are our only notables; the others are leading quite ordinary lives, so ordinary that we shall have to resort to the directory to trace one or two. i have not heard of francis manning for years." "manning, manning! which was manning? the man who was in such a dickens of a hurry to get himself into trouble?" "no, that was val lessing. val is quite a prosperous city man now. he sends me a christmas card every year. francis manning was the big, lazy creature who couldn't think of anything he wanted so much as to be let alone, to jog along in comfort. i have heard nothing of him since he wrote years ago to tell me of his marriage. i sent him a present." "i'll bet you did!" commented her husband, laughing. "oh, well, we can easily track mr manning. then there comes juliet! there's no difficulty about juliet. let me see! what was it that juliet wished for?" "adventure!" mrs ingram said, and they both smiled. "so juliet wished for adventure, did she? well! well!" cried mr ingram nodding. "_how_ many inches should you say she measures round the waist at the present moment?" but at this his wife protested strongly. "too bad! too bad! why should the mere fact of being stout make it seem ridiculous for a woman to have a share in romance or excitement? i'm not going to allow you to laugh at juliet. wait at least until you have heard what she has to say. now we come to the last on the list-rupert dempster, rupert who wished for love." "i remember," said her husband shortly. many things that had happened on that evening had faded from memory, but the shock occasioned by rupert's unexpected confession had impressed it on his mind. in imagination he could see the firelight playing upon the tired face, and hear the strong, quiet tone speaking of his ideal love, the primal, overmastering affinity of mind for mind, soul for soul, body for body. and it was this rupert dempster who had married a woman admittedly insane! rumour said that she had to a great extent regained her reason, but still... mr ingram registered a hope that dempster and his wife would not accept his wife's invitation for new year's eve! it was new year's eve, and throughout the afternoon one batch of visitors after another drove up to the door of the manor. some had travelled by train, some by motor, and each guest in turn was received by the hostess, welcomed with her inimitable charm, and escorted to the rooms apportioned to them, where tea was served instead of in the hall downstairs, as was the usual custom in the household. it did not satisfy mrs ingram's dramatic sense that her guests should meet one by one; she preferred to postpone the moment until they met _en masse_ round the dinner table later on. six invitations had been sent out, and in due time six replies came back. some were affectionate in tone, others politely formal, some implied a willingness to stay as long as they should be asked; others regretted that one day only could be spared; but so far as the anniversary itself was concerned, each of the six notes brought the acceptance which mrs ingram had so confidently expected. by six o'clock that evening six of the surviving members of the original party were once more gathered together beneath the roof of the manor. it was just eight o'clock when the sound of the gong pealed through the house, and mr and mrs ingram took their stand in the great hall, to watch the procession of their guests down the stairway. first of all came a tall man, muscular and healthy, a typical country squire, the sunburn of his skin showing in marked contrast to his white shirt and waistcoat. a handsome man, with an air of agreeable content, and beside him a stout matron, her large face wreathed in smiles, her dress a handsome creation of the year before last. behind her, creeping close to the wall, a plain, insignificant woman trailed a robe of magnificent gold brocade, while the glitter of diamonds on neck and head lent an additional wanness to the pinched face. this was the lady anne malham, and by her side walked the husband whose success in life had made him a world-known figure. the large head, and hawk-like features had been so often represented in the press that the public recognised him at a glance, but few of those who studied the weary face realised that this was a man who had not yet seen his forty-fifth year. there was no lingering trace of youth on the face of john malham, millionaire! behind the malhams came yet another couple: the woman's left hand rested lightly on the banister, while on the inner side of the stairway, her husband slipped his arm through hers, as though to afford a double security to her descent. slim, ethereally transparent, her white shoulders rising above a dress of misty black, a carmine flush staining the soft oval of her cheeks, eve dempster appeared more like a beautiful wraith than a woman of flesh and blood. the years had brought to her none of the ordinary signs of age; as though loath to mar so exquisite a creature, they had passed by, leaving behind nothing but an air of additional transparence and fragility to mark their course. rupert, on the contrary, looked more than his age. his face was lined as by a ceaseless anxiety, but in his eyes there was a great content. eve dempster's long, misty train floated so far behind as to necessitate a gap in the descent of the guests. the gap, and the isolated position which she occupied as the first of the guests to descend in single file, threw into greater prominence the stolid, ungainly figure of mrs francis manning, clad in a satin gown of a violent shade of blue. her light hair was elaborately waved and dressed in the latest eccentricity of the day; tight white kid gloves came to an end half-way up her reddened arms. she looked what she was, a middle-class matron of the suburbs, divided between pride and embarrassment in her present position. her husband followed close behind, large, heavily built, with clean-shaven face, patient, saddened, strikingly controlled. mrs ingram, watching from the hall beneath, felt a smarting of the eyes as she looked at that face, and remembered the torpid complacence of the days that were gone! the next couple were in appearance perhaps the most normal of any. a man too alert and supple to be yet classed as middle-aged, a pretty, soft-eyed woman, with humorous lips, and a graceful head poised at an angle which suggested an agreeable touch of coquetry; a woman whose spirit remained young; a woman who retained the power to charm, though the dreaded forty hovered but a few years ahead. and then, last of all, sweeping downwards with the indefinable air of those accustomed to high places, came the guests of honour, the rt. hon. hereward lowther, and lilith, his wife. the minister was smiling, and the smile showed him at his best. a physiognomist would have read in his face a curious mingling of weakness and strength but the old shadow was replaced by a radiant complacence, and there was a touch of obvious though perfectly good-natured condescension in his bearing as he surveyed the group in the hall. he was ready to be all that was agreeable to his wife's old friends, but he expected that in their turn they would appreciate the honour paid by his presence. as for lilith herself, a murmur of incredulity arose from the watchers as she stepped into sight, so extraordinarily like the lilith of old did she appear. the pale hair was twisted round the head in identically the same fashion as of yore, the white satin dress, with the swathing of tulle round the shoulders, followed the same natural lines. there was no glitter of gems, but val lessing noticed with a thrill of remembrance that round her throat there were ropes of pearls,--lustrous, shimmering pearls, for which a man might venture his life. in the shaded light of the lamps there were no lines to be seen on the quiet face. it seemed impossible to believe that fifteen long years had passed by since that white-robed figure had last descended that staircase! a few moments of merry greetings and laughter, of introductions by host and hostess, and then the house-party once more formed into pairs, filed into the dining-room, and took their places round the festive board. it was a long and elaborate meal which followed, and in the drawing-room afterwards the guests found a delightful entertainment provided for their benefit. the days were over when dancing appealed as an ideal manner of passing the time; to-night the guests sat still and were amused by others, and as the hour of twelve drew nigh, watched the performance of an exquisite little masque of the seasons, in which the old year and the new played the leading characters. more than one person suspected the authorship of that masque, and recognised another instance of mrs ingram's generalship, in tuning the minds of the hearers to a desired note, before the moment of the conference arrived. they stood together in the great hall, hand in hand, waiting for the striking of the hour from the church tower, men and women, where before had stood youths and maidens; together, as the last note died away, they turned back to the fire, and seated themselves in the circling chairs, but when they were all seated there were still two chairs which remained vacant. to the majority of the company the presence of these chairs appeared the most meaningless of incidents; two only of the number divined their significance,--rupert dempster and the squire's stout, prosaic-looking wife. as usual it was the woman who put her thoughts into words: "ah, poor claudia! poor meriel!" she sighed softly. "how little we thought that they would be absent when we met again! and such tragic fates... that beautiful claudia! can you remember how she sat that night, making her naughty, audacious speeches, and looking so sweet and bewitching all the time that one could not believe that she meant half she said. but she _did_, or how could she have married that man? meriel was staying with her, at the time that she first--found out! she persuaded her to see the specialist. claudia _dared_ not tell her husband. to the very last she braved it out. one would not have expected her to have such courage! and when he did know, he went straight away and never saw her again. she would see no one. she lived alone with her nurses until the end. poor claudia! she wished for great riches, and she got them, but--" "pound bitterness to her soul! yes. that is the reward of seeking the worthless thing," mrs ingram said quietly. "claudia had a few years given to her to taste the power of money, and a few years more to test its helplessness. she learned many lessons, poor child, in that hidden room. i sent for one of her nurses after she died. the woman cried bitterly when she spoke of her. she said she had never had a patient who was more thoughtful and considerate. i was thankful to know that the poor child had had someone with her who really loved and sympathised." there was a tense silence. the pathos of claudia's fate lay heavy upon those who remembered her in the flush of her youthful triumph, and with that other name, too, was the connection of tragedy. "and meriel! meriel wished for happiness," francis manning said slowly. "she was shipwrecked, wasn't she, when she was sailing to india with some friends?" "with geoffrey sterne and his wife," val lessing told him. "my sister kept up a correspondence with her for some years, and i heard from her. they had both been at school with mrs sterne. she appeared to lose her health after the marriage, but while meriel was paying her first visit it was discovered that the real trouble was--drink! there's no harm speaking of it now, for later on it became public property, but at the time they hoped for a cure, and the great object was to let no one suspect. she was fond of meriel and begged her to stay on, in the place of a hired nurse, and meriel was a lonely creature. she told my sister that she was thankful to find someone who needed her. but she had a hard time. all the trouble, and isolation, and patience, and--_hastiness_, for nothing! it was a hopeless case, and grew steadily worse and worse. meriel left off writing during that time, but my sister said that even before that her letters had grown awfully sad... then they sailed for india, i suppose to try what the change would do, and there was a collision. some of the passengers got away in boats and were saved--meriel refused to leave. some of the passengers told how they had seen sterne trying to persuade her; but she would not leave." there was another silence. with one accord the guests looked at mrs ingram, and she recognised the meaning of that look, shook her head, and held out her hands with a gesture of helplessness. "you are thinking that my theory has failed, and that meriel found none of the happiness for which she longed. yes! it sounds like it. her youth spent in isolation, with a drunken woman as companion, and the result of it all--failure! i don't deny it, dear people. i don't argue. on the surface it's a pitiful tale, but we know only the surface. no one can read the secrets of meriel's heart. she was happy in one thing, at least--that the time of her loneliness was short, and i think there are none among you who will deny that meriel is happy _now_. whatever may be your creeds, you will agree that such brave, unselfish giving is a garnering of wealth for the life that is to come. we may be satisfied that meriel has come into her kingdom!" she paused just for a moment, then with a challenging smile turned towards val lessing, who sat on her right. the conversation had taken a pensive turn, and with the generalship of a born hostess she was ready to switch it back into a livelier channel. among all the couples who were present none looked more absolutely sane and satisfied than val and his wife. val could obviously be trusted to give a cheerful report. "well, val, what have you to tell us? was fate kind or unkind enough to lead you through any perilous seas before you reached your present very sunshiny haven?" val bent his head in acknowledgment of the compliment. there was a tinge of embarrassment on his face; he glanced across the hearth at his wife, and as quickly averted his eyes. "w-e-ll," he said slowly, "i think i may say that it _was_! i had an experience of er--what appeared at the time to be a very--er--acute danger. it lasted for some four or five weeks, and then was--er-relieved in a somewhat remarkable manner. you will excuse the details. i have only to confess that the experience taught me the most useful lesson of my life--to appreciate the blessings of safety! i don't deny that in the course of that experience there were moments of excitement which i intensely enjoyed, but on the whole i discovered that it is much more agreeable to live in peace." he paused for a moment, and into his eyes there leaped a delightful smile. "i may add," he said dryly, "that my wife has relieved me of one great dread. she is good enough to provide a spice of uncertainty, which makes it impossible that i shall ever have to complain of monotony in life!" everyone looked at delia, and delia flicked her long eyelashes, and stared into space with an expression of angelic innocence. but a dimple dipped in her cheek. delia at thirty-eight was still a minx. there was more than one man in the room who envied lessing the possession of his delightful wife! the general laugh subsided, and mrs ingram turned to the squire's wife. "so much for danger!" she said smiling. "now, juliet, what have you to report of adventure? your friends will remember how impatiently you were straining at your bonds. has the adventure really come along?" more than one of the listeners felt it an effort at that moment to repress a smile, so exceedingly unadventurous was the appearance of the portly dame. perhaps she felt the covert amusement, for there was a note of defiance in her voice as she took up the challenge. "yes, it _did_," she said emphatically. "it most certainly did, and i have to thank you, dear mrs ingram, for making me--er--_receptive_--so that when the opportunity arose, i was ready to take it. before our talk here fifteen years ago, i had drifted into the belief that nothing adventurous or interesting could ever happen to me, and that i must just resign myself to be bored. after that i changed my way of thinking, and expected the chance to come. i am like mr lessing--i prefer not to give you any details, but i think i am quite safe in saying that no other woman ever met her husband in the extraordinary circumstances under which i met mine. it was very adventurous indeed, and we were engaged--oh, at once, and married in a month, and after my husband's service abroad we settled down in the dear old house where we are still living with our six children." she paused, and looked around with a warning air. "please don't murmur sympathetically! whenever i say `six,' people always murmur sympathetically, and it's so misplaced. it's just what we wanted--_lots_ of little heads round the table. five sturdy boys, and one little girl." "well, at any rate, you can't have much adventure now!" it was mrs francis manning who spoke, the faint cockney twang of her voice sounding discordantly in contrast to the cultured tones of her companions. "children are such a tie. we have four, and i never seem to have a free hour. and to live in the country, too. it's a good thing you had some adventure when you were young, for there's no chance of it now." "i deny it!" cried juliet, hotly. "i deny it. can anything in the world be more adventurous than to start a new home, and a new generation, to have six young lives entrusted to one to train for the world's service? think what those six lives may mean, multiplying into fresh lives, spreading influence wherever they go! there are no such adventures in life, as marriage and parent-ship, if one can only see them in the right light, and keep on seeing..." she gave a little laugh, half shy, half apologetic, a trifle ashamed of her own intensity. "ah, well! it's adventurous enough to have a pack of boys who ate learning to ride, learning to shoot, trying to copy everything that their father can do to-day, hobbling home almost every day of the week with cuts and bruises, and breaks and sprains. i have all the adventure that i need, and,--what shall i say? only this, that i enjoy it even more than i expected!" she stopped, panting, and her husband smiled at her across the room, and silently clapped his hands. "i beg to second the motion!" he said gravely, and there was a general stir of laughter. it was pleasant to meet a couple of the good old-fashioned type which was yearly becoming more rare. every person in the room felt a sincere respect for captain and mrs antony maplestone. "well, of course--if you put it like that," said mrs manning doubtfully, "i'm sure i've always done my best to be a good mother, and the girls go to school now, which makes it easier, but with the boy being blind--well, naturally, it's a tie! my husband tells me he wished for comfort, and there's no doubt but he's got it. we're not rich, of course, but comfortable, quite comfortable. he's only to express a wish, and it's there for him, and i keep a first-rate cook. but as i said to him only to-day, he doesn't give himself a chance. always slaving and worrying for someone else, particularly for the boy, even now when he is getting quite big, and able to do for himself. it's wonderful how clever blind people become! of course we all want to be helpful, but, as i say, there _is_ a medium course, and everyone notices how frank has altered these last years. if you remember he used to be quite stout--" "please, marion! spare my blushes. i am perfectly well, and my greatest pleasure is looking after the boy." francis manning spoke with quiet self-possession, nevertheless his hearers divined a hidden wound, and unanimously forbore from comment, but those who had known the man fifteen years before, marvelled at the change which had come over his whole personality. it was more than a change; it was a transfiguration. what trumpet-call had sounded in this man's ears to rouse him from his sleep? mrs ingram looked around and met the glance of john malham, millionaire, leaning back in his chair with his head supported on his hand. of all the men in the room he looked the most worn and exhausted, and she wondered if perchance at this very moment his tired brain was evolving another titan scheme by which fresh coffers could be added to his store. her smile had more of pity than envy as she addressed him: "mr malham, it is unnecessary to ask your report! all the world knows how you have succeeded. it only remains for your old friends to congratulate you, and wish you a continuance of your success." "thanks very much, mrs ingram. it is a great pleasure to be here, and to meet you all again. i only wish i could have managed to make a longer stay." malham was obviously ill at ease, obviously annoyed when his wife took up the strain, and in her flat voice proceeded to enlarge on her husband's marvellous powers. with the obvious intention of avoiding the ordeal he bent forward towards juliet, and pointing to a miniature which hung from her neck, said in a low voice, "is that one of the six? the little girl? may i see?" juliet beamed broadly as she held out the pearl-rimmed case containing a pretty round young face. "and you? how many have you?" "none," he said shortly, and juliet hurried to retrieve her mistake. "yes. that's the girl. a great pet, of course. i called her celia. her father thought it too fanciful, but he had had his own way about the boys, so i insisted on it. it's such a pretty name, so sweet and winsome--don't you think so? and uncommon. one meets so many gladyses and phyllises, but so seldom a celia. did you ever know a celia?" she looked at him, and the motherly smile faded at sight of his tortured face. "yes. i knew a celia," he said thickly, and juliet looked hurriedly in another direction, her heart leaping to a swift conclusion. "he loved a girl called celia, and she died, and he married lady anne for her position. all his success has not brought him happiness. oh, the poor, _poor_ man!" meantime lady anne's voice had trailed into silence, and rupert dempster was answering mrs ingram's unspoken summons. like manning he had but little to say, but there was all the difference in the world in his manner of saying it. "i wished for eve," he said simply. "here she is!" and again he slipped his hand through his wife's arm. as a matter of course he had seated himself by her side; as a matter of course eve had looked for his coming. for all their friendliness and courtesy, there was about these two an air of detachment from their surroundings, an air of living apart in a world of their own, fenced round with an ambuscade through which no darts could pass. the affectionate camaraderie of the lessings and maplestones was a good and pleasant thing to witness, but the bond which bound these two was finer, more exalted. eve's eyes were deep and luminous at that moment, but their beautiful glance held no remembrance of her companions. all her thought was for her man. "ah, rupert, yes! you have gained your wish!" mrs ingram said deeply. she looked at the two as they sat side by side, and a reflection of their own radiance showed in her own face. "it was a great wish," she said, "a wish that was worth while, for your treasure can never be taken away. death itself is powerless to divide your souls. dear rupert, i am glad for you. we are all glad! it is good to have you among us to-day..." hereward lowther bent forward in his seat, the firelight playing on his eager, animated face. throughout the evening he had worn an air of expectancy, and now he burst eagerly into speech. "mrs ingram, i have to thank you for a tremendously interesting evening. my wife told me that she had a special reason for wishing to accept your invitation. i understood that we were to celebrate some sort of anniversary, but as old friends you will remember that she is chary of words, and i was entirely ignorant of its nature. i have been intensely interested in the history of the various wishes, but i confess that my chief feeling has been curiosity. please tell me! what was my wife's wish?" mrs ingram looked at the corner by the fireplace where for the last hour a white figure sat, silent, immovable, her face shadowed by an outstanding beam. even so fifteen years ago had the girl lilith wastneys watched and waited, until at her hostess's summons she had moved softly forward to make her extraordinary pronouncement. the remembrance of that moment was vivid in the minds of her old friends, as mrs ingram answered: "lilith," she said deliberately, "wished for power." the next moment the silence was broken by a peal of laughter. it was hereward lowther who laughed, giving way to a gust of amusement with the boy-like unrestraint which still characterised his moods. he threw back his head, he clasped his knees, he opened his mouth and let the loud ha-ha's echo through the hall. in a very paroxysm of amusement he repeated the word, over and again, and between each repetition, swayed with fresh laughter. "power! lilith? lilith wished for power? of all the inexplicable wishes! i might have guessed for months but i should never have guessed that. lilith? the most humble and retiring of women. look at her now! that's where she would always be, if she were not driven forward,-hiding in some out-of-the-way corner. and you tell me that she wished for _power_? when was that--fifteen years ago? and we have been married for twelve... how extraordinarily she must have changed!" through eight different minds the reflection was passing, how extraordinarily lilith remained the same, but it did not become mere friends to contradict the verdict of a husband, so they remained silent, and, his outburst of amusement over, hereward lowther vouchsafed a more serious attention to the problem. "well!" he said thoughtfully, "we may say that vicariously she has gained her wish. as my wife--" he checked himself as though fearful of seeming to boast, and added quickly, "i should be delighted to feel that i have been able to provide lilith with anything for which she wished!" lilith bent forward and sent him a smile of acknowledgment. then her eyes travelled round the circle and rested on her hostess's face. the two women looked at one another long and steadily and a flush rose into mrs ingram's cheeks. "i think," she said quietly, "i must reckon lilith among my successes. mr lowther, may i tell you how proud my husband and i feel to number you among our guests to-night? ordinary people who can only stand by and watch feel a profound gratitude to workers like yourself, who are types of all that is honourable and disinterested. england owes you a great debt to-day." every man present joined in a murmur of assent, for though political opinions differed, one and all acknowledged the singleness of lowther's aim. across one or two minds flitted a remembrance of the tragic eclipse which had marked the statesman's early career, but in each case the remembrance brought with it an increased admiration. not one man in a thousand would have had the power to climb out of so deep a ditch! and now, one by one, the nine histories had been discussed, and the company instinctively drew their chairs nearer the fire, watching with questioning eagerness the eloquent face of the woman whose words had had so large a bearing on their lives. here she was, an old woman now, worn to the point of breaking, yet vital, as ever, with the flame of an encompassing sympathy. "ah, dear people," she sighed, "dear people, it is so good to meet you again! i am so grateful to you for coming. the remembrance of this night will be company for me during many quiet days. i shall have much to think over, but at present i am conscious only of one thing--that my prophecy is true, is almost _terribly_ true! we are only faintly beginning to understand the real power of steady, concentrated will. the thing that a man aims for, with a strong, single, undeviating aim, that thing, sooner or later, _a man can have_! so much is certain, but i blame myself for not insisting more upon the initial question. _is it worth while_? oh, dear people, so often our ambitions are _not_ worth while. an aim which is to ride dominant over every call, an aim for which all hindrances are to be cast aside, must needs have a spiritual nature, if it is to satisfy a spiritual being. in the days to come, teach your children the importance of this great decision; teach them their power, but be sure, be very sure, to teach them to think long and earnestly, lest in their blindness they choose the dross, and go starving all their days!" john malham leaned back in his chair, so that his face was in the shadow. francis manning's eyes gazed deeply into space. across the silence broke the harp-like tones of eve dempster's voice: "mrs ingram, you have gained your own wish. it is written in your face that it was worth while. will you tell us what it was?" the hostess looked down at her thin, locked hands. her voice trembled, as she slowly recited her answer, dwelling with eloquent emphasis on one of the earlier words: "i have--learned--in whatever state i am, therewith to be content!" the end. the decameron of giovanni boccaccio faithfully translated by j.m. rigg with illustrations by louis chalon volume ii contents fifth day novel i. cimon, by loving, waxes wise, wins his wife iphigenia by capture on the high seas, and is imprisoned at rhodes. he is delivered by lysimachus; and the twain capture cassandra and recapture iphigenia in the hour of their marriage. they flee with their ladies to crete, and having there married them, are brought back to their homes. novel ii. gostanza loves martuccio gomito, and hearing that he is dead, gives way to despair, and hies her alone aboard a boat, which is wafted by the wind to susa. she finds him alive in tunis, and makes herself known to him, who, having by his counsel gained high place in the king's favour, marries her, and returns with her wealthy to lipari. novel iii. pietro boccamazza runs away with agnolella, and encounters a gang of robbers: the girl takes refuge in a wood, and is guided to a castle. pietro is taken, but escapes out of the hands of the robbers, and after some adventures arrives at the castle where agnolella is, marries her, and returns with her to rome. novel iv. ricciardo manardi is found by messer lizio da valbona with his daughter, whom he marries, and remains at peace with her father. novel v. guidotto da cremona dies leaving a girl to giacomino da pavia. she has two lovers in faenza, to wit, giannole di severino and minghino di mingole, who fight about her. she is discovered to be giannole's sister, and is given to minghino to wife. novel vi. gianni di procida, being found with a damsel that he loves, and who had been given to king frederic, is bound with her to a stake, so to be burned. he is recognized by ruggieri dell' oria, is delivered, and marries her. novel vii. teodoro, being enamoured of violante, daughter of messer amerigo, his lord, gets her with child, and is sentenced to the gallows; but while he is being scourged thither, he is recognized by his father, and being set at large, takes violante to wife. novel viii. nastagio degli onesti, loving a damsel of the traversari family, by lavish expenditure gains not her love. at the instance of his kinsfolk he hies him to chiassi, where he sees a knight hunt a damsel and slay her and cause her to be devoured by two dogs. he bids his kinsfolk and the lady that he loves to breakfast. during the meal the said damsel is torn in pieces before the eyes of the lady, who, fearing a like fate, takes nastagio to husband. novel ix. federigo degli alberighi loves and is not loved in return: he wastes his substance by lavishness until nought is left but a single falcon, which, his lady being come to see him at his house, he gives her to eat: she, knowing his case, changes her mind, takes him to husband and makes him rich. novel x. pietro di vinciolo goes from home to sup: his wife brings a boy into the house to bear her company: pietro returns, and she hides her gallant under a hen-coop: pietro explains that in the house of ercolano, with whom he was to have supped, there was discovered a young man bestowed there by ercolano's wife: the lady thereupon censures ercolano's wife: but unluckily an ass treads on the fingers of the boy that is hidden under the hen-coop, so that he cries for pain: pietro runs to the place, sees him, and apprehends the trick played on him by his wife, which nevertheless he finally condones, for that he is not himself free from blame. sixth day novel i. a knight offers to carry madonna oretta a horseback with a story, but tells it so ill that she prays him to dismount her. novel ii. cisti, a baker, by an apt speech gives messer geri spina to know that he has by inadvertence asked that of him which he should not. novel iii. monna nonna de' pulci by a ready retort silences the scarce seemly jesting of the bishop of florence. novel iv. chichibio, cook to currado gianfigliazzi, owes his safety to a ready answer, whereby he converts currado's wrath into laughter, and evades the evil fate with which currado had threatened him. novel v. messer forese da rabatta and master giotto, the painter, journeying together from mugello, deride one another's scurvy appearance. novel vi. michele scalza proves to certain young men that the baronci are the best gentlemen in the world and the maremma, and wins a supper. novel vii. madonna filippa, being found by her husband with her lover, is cited before the court, and by a ready and jocund answer acquits herself, and brings about an alteration of the statute. novel viii. fresco admonishes his niece not to look at herself in the glass, if 'tis, as she says, grievous to her to see nasty folk. novel ix. guido cavalcanti by a quip meetly rebukes certain florentine gentlemen who had taken him at a disadvantage. novel x. fra cipolla promises to shew certain country-folk a feather of the angel gabriel, in lieu of which he finds coals, which he avers to be of those with which st. lawrence was roasted. seventh day novel i. gianni lotteringhi hears a knocking at his door at night: he awakens his wife, who persuades him that 'tis the bogey, which they fall to exorcising with a prayer; whereupon the knocking ceases. novel ii. her husband returning home, peronella bestows her lover in a tun; which, being sold by her husband, she avers to have been already sold by herself to one that is inside examining it to set if it be sound. whereupon the lover jumps out, and causes the husband to scour the tun for him, and afterwards to carry it to his house. novel iii. fra rinaldo lies with his gossip: her husband finds him in the room with her; and they make him believe that he was curing his godson of worms by a charm. novel iv. tofano one night locks his wife out of the house: she, finding that by no entreaties may she prevail upon him to let her in, feigns to throw herself into a well, throwing therein a great stone. tofano hies him forth of the house, and runs to the spot: she goes into the house, and locks him out, and hurls abuse at him from within. novel v. a jealous husband disguises himself as a priest, and hears his own wife's confession: she tells him that she loves a priest, who comes to her every night. the husband posts himself at the door to watch for the priest, and meanwhile the lady brings her lover in by the roof, and tarries with him. novel vi. madonna isabella has with her leonetto, her accepted lover, when she is surprised by one messer lambertuccio, by whom she is beloved: her husband coming home about the same time, she sends messer lambertuccio forth of the house drawn sword in hand, and the husband afterwards escorts leonetto home. novel vii. lodovico discovers to madonna beatrice the love that he bears her: she sends egano, her husband, into a garden disguised as herself, and lies with lodovico; who thereafter, being risen, hies him to the garden and cudgels egano. novel viii. a husband grows jealous of his wife, and discovers that she has warning of her lover's approach by a piece of pack-thread, which she ties to her great toe a nights. while he is pursuing her lover, she puts another woman in bed in her place. the husband, finding her there, beats her, and cuts off her hair. he then goes and calls his wife's brothers, who, holding his accusation to be false, give him a rating. novel ix. lydia, wife of nicostratus, loves pyrrhus, who to assure himself thereof, asks three things of her, all of which she does, and therewithal enjoys him in presence of nicostratus, and makes nicostratus believe that what he saw was not real. novel x. two sienese love a lady, one of them being her gossip: the gossip dies, having promised his comrade to return to him from the other world; which he does, and tells him what sort of life is led there. eighth day novel i. gulfardo borrows moneys of guasparruolo, which he has agreed to give guasparruolo's wife, that he may lie with her. he gives them to her, and in her presence tells guasparruolo that he has done so, and she acknowledges that 'tis true. novel ii. the priest of varlungo lies with monna belcolore: he leaves with her his cloak by way of pledge, and receives from her a mortar. he returns the mortar, and demands of her the cloak that he had left in pledge, which the good lady returns him with a gibe. novel iii. calandrino, bruno and buffalmacco go in quest of the heliotrope beside the mugnone. thinking to have found it, calandrino gets him home laden with stones. his wife chides him: whereat he waxes wroth, beats her, and tells his comrades what they know better than he. novel iv. the rector of fiesole loves a widow lady, by whom he is not loved, and thinking to lie with her, lies with her maid, with whom the lady's brothers cause him to be found by his bishop. novel v. three young men pull down the breeches of a judge from the marches, while he is administering justice on the bench. novel vi. bruno and buffalmacco steal a pig from calandrino, and induce him to essay its recovery by means of pills of ginger and vernaccia. of the said pills they give him two, one after the other, made of dog-ginger compounded with aloes; and it then appearing as if he had had the pig himself, they constrain him to buy them off, if he would not have them tell his wife. novel vii. a scholar loves a widow lady, who, being enamoured of another, causes him to spend a winter's night awaiting her in the snow. he afterwards by a stratagem causes her to stand for a whole day in july, naked upon a tower, exposed to the flies, the gadflies, and the sun. novel viii. two men keep with one another: the one lies with the other's wife: the other, being ware thereof, manages with the aid of his wife to have the one locked in a chest, upon which he then lies with the wife of him that is locked therein. novel ix. bruno and buffalmacco prevail upon master simone, a physician, to betake him by night to a certain place, there to be enrolled in a company that go the course. buffalmacco throws him into a foul ditch, and there they leave him. novel x. a sicilian woman cunningly conveys from a merchant that which he has brought to palermo; he, making a shew of being come back thither with far greater store of goods than before, borrows money of her, and leaves her in lieu thereof water and tow. ninth day novel i. madonna francesca, having two lovers, the one rinuccio, the other alessandro, by name, and loving neither of them, induces the one to simulate a corpse in a tomb, and the other to enter the tomb to fetch him out: whereby, neither satisfying her demands, she artfully rids herself of both. novel ii. an abbess rises in haste and in the dark, with intent to surprise an accused nun abed with her lover: thinking to put on her veil, she puts on instead the breeches of a priest that she has with her: the nun, espying her headgear, and doing her to wit thereof, is acquitted, and thenceforth finds it easier to forgather with her lover. novel iii. master simone, at the instance of bruno and buffalmacco and nello, makes calandrino believe that he is with child. calandrino, accordingly, gives them capons and money for medicines, and is cured without being delivered. novel iv. cecco, son of messer fortarrigo, loses his all at play at buonconvento, besides the money of cecco, son of messer angiulieri, whom, running after him in his shirt and crying out that he has robbed him, he causes to be taken by peasants: he then puts on his clothes, mounts his palfrey, and leaves him to follow in his shirt. novel v. calandrino being enamoured of a damsel, bruno gives him a scroll, averring that, if he but touch her therewith, she will go with him: he is found with her by his wife, who subjects him to a most severe and vexatious examination. novel vi. two young men lodge at an inn, of whom the one lies with the host's daughter, his wife by inadvertence lying with the other. he that lay with the daughter afterwards gets into her father's bed and tells him all, taking him to be his comrade. they bandy words: whereupon the good woman, apprehending the circumstances, gets her to bed with her daughter, and by divers apt words re-establishes perfect accord. novel vii. talano di molese dreams that a wolf tears and rends all the neck and face of his wife: he gives her warning thereof, which she heeds not, and the dream comes true. novel viii. biondello gulls ciacco in the matter of a breakfast: for which prank ciacco is cunningly avenged on biondello, causing him to be shamefully beaten. novel ix. two young men ask counsel of solomon; the one, how he is to make himself beloved, the other, how he is to reduce an unruly wife to order. the king bids the one to love, and the other to go to the bridge of geese. novel x. dom gianni at the instance of his gossip pietro uses an enchantment to transform pietro's wife into a mare; but, when he comes to attach the tail, gossip pietro, by saying that he will have none of the tail, makes the enchantment of no effect. tenth day novel i. a knight in the service of the king of spain deems himself ill requited. wherefore the king, by most cogent proof, shews him that the blame rests not with him, but with the knight's own evil fortune; after which, he bestows upon him a noble gift. novel ii. ghino di tacco, captures the abbot of cluny, cures him of a disorder of the stomach, and releases him. the abbot, on his return to the court of rome, reconciles ghino with pope boniface, and makes him prior of the hospital. novel iii. mitridanes, holding nathan in despite by reason of his courtesy, journey with intent to kill him, and falling in with him unawares, is advised by him how to compass his end. following his advice, he finds him in a copse, and recognizing him, is shame-stricken, and becomes his friend. novel iv. messer gentile de' carisendi, being come from modena, disinters a lady that he loves, who has been buried for dead. she, being reanimated, gives birth to a male child; and messer gentile restores her, with her son, to niccoluccio caccianimico, her husband. novel v. madonna dianora craves of messer ansaldo a garden that shall be as fair in january as in may. messer ansaldo binds himself to a necromancer, and thereby gives her the garden. her husband gives her leave to do messer ansaldo's pleasure: he, being apprised of her husband's liberality, releases her from her promise; and the necromancer releases messer ansaldo from his bond, and will tale nought of his. novel vi. king charles the old, being conqueror, falls in love with a young maiden, and afterward growing ashamed of his folly bestows her and her sister honourably in marriage. novel vii. king pedro, being apprised of the fervent love borne him by lisa, who thereof is sick, comforts her, and forthwith gives her in marriage to a young gentleman, and having kissed her on the brow, ever after professes himself her knight. novel viii. sophronia, albeit she deems herself wife to gisippus, is wife to titus quintius fulvus, and goes with him to rome, where gisippus arrives in indigence, and deeming himself scorned by titus, to compass his own death, avers that he has slain a man. titus recognizes him, and to save his life, alleges that 'twas he that slew the man: whereof he that did the deed being witness, he discovers himself as the murderer. whereby it comes to pass that they are all three liberated by octavianus; and titus gives gisippus his sister to wife, and shares with him all his substance. novel ix. saladin, in guise of a merchant, is honourably entreated by messer torello. the crusade ensuing, messer torello appoints a date, after which his wife may marry again: he is taken prisoner, and by training hawks comes under the soldan's notice. the soldan recognizes him, makes himself known to him, and entreats him with all honour. messer torello falls sick, and by magic arts is transported in a single night to pavia, where his wife's second marriage is then to be solemnized, and being present thereat, is recognized by her, and returns with her to his house. novel x. the marquis of saluzzo, overborne by the entreaties of his vassals, consents to take a wife, but, being minded to please himself in the choice of her, takes a husbandman's daughter. he has two children by her, both of whom he makes her believe that he has put to death. afterward, feigning to be tired of her, and to have taken another wife, he turns her out of doors in her shift, and brings his daughter into the house in guise of his bride; but, finding her patient under it all, he brings her home again, and shews her her children, now grown up, and honours her, and causes her to be honoured, as marchioness. illustrations to the decameron volume ii pietro and agnolella (fifth day, third story) gianni and restituta (fifth day, sixth story) calandrino singing (ninth day, fifth story) titus, gisippus, and sophronia (tenth day, eighth story) -endeth here the fourth day of the decameron, beginneth the fifth, in which under the rule of fiammetta discourse is had of good fortune befalling lovers after divers direful or disastrous adventures. -all the east was white, nor any part of our hemisphere unillumined by the rising beams, when the carolling of the birds that in gay chorus saluted the dawn among the boughs induced fiammetta to rise and rouse the other ladies and the three gallants; with whom adown the hill and about the dewy meads of the broad champaign she sauntered, talking gaily of divers matters, until the sun had attained some height. then, feeling his rays grow somewhat scorching, they retraced their steps, and returned to the villa; where, having repaired their slight fatigue with excellent wines and comfits, they took their pastime in the pleasant garden until the breakfast hour; when, all things being made ready by the discreet seneschal, they, after singing a stampita,(1) and a balladette or two, gaily, at the queen's behest, sat them down to eat. meetly ordered and gladsome was the meal, which done, heedful of their rule of dancing, they trod a few short measures with accompaniment of music and song. thereupon, being all dismissed by the queen until after the siesta, some hied them to rest, while others tarried taking their pleasure in the fair garden. but shortly after none, all, at the queen's behest, reassembled, according to their wont, by the fountain; and the queen, having seated herself on her throne, glanced towards pamfilo, and bade him with a smile lead off with the stories of good fortune. whereto pamfilo gladly addressed himself, and thus began. (1) a song accompanied by music, but without dancing. novel i. -cimon, by loving, waxes wise, wins his wife iphigenia by capture on the high seas, and is imprisoned at rhodes. he is delivered by lysimachus; and the twain capture cassandra and recapture iphigenia in the hour of their marriage. they flee with their ladies to crete, and having there married them, are brought back to their homes. -many stories, sweet my ladies, occur to me as meet for me to tell by way of ushering in a day so joyous as this will be: of which one does most commend itself to my mind, because not only has it, one of those happy endings of which to-day we are in quest, but 'twill enable you to understand how holy, how mighty and how salutary are the forces of love, which not a few, witting not what they say, do most unjustly reprobate and revile: which, if i err not, should to you, for that i take you to be enamoured, be indeed welcome. once upon a time, then, as we have read in the ancient histories of the cypriotes, there was in the island of cyprus a very great noble named aristippus, a man rich in all worldly goods beyond all other of his countrymen, and who might have deemed himself incomparably blessed, but for a single sore affliction that fortune had allotted him. which was that among his sons he had one, the best grown and handsomest of them all, that was well-nigh a hopeless imbecile. his true name was galesus; but, as neither his tutor's pains, nor his father's coaxing or chastisement, nor any other method had availed to imbue him with any tincture of letters or manners, but he still remained gruff and savage of voice, and in his bearing liker to a beast than to a man, all, as in derision, were wont to call him cimon, which in their language signifies the same as "bestione" (brute)(1) in ours. the father, grieved beyond measure to see his son's life thus blighted, and having abandoned all hope of his recovery, nor caring to have the cause of his mortification ever before his eyes, bade him betake him to the farm, and there keep with his husbandmen. to cimon the change was very welcome, because the manners and habits of the uncouth hinds were more to his taste than those of the citizens. so to the farm cimon hied him, and addressed himself to the work thereof; and being thus employed, he chanced one afternoon as he passed, staff on shoulder, from one domain to another, to enter a plantation, the like of which for beauty there was not in those parts, and which was then--for 'twas the month of may--a mass of greenery; and, as he traversed it, he came, as fortune was pleased to guide him, to a meadow girt in with trees exceeding tall, and having in one of its corners a fountain most fair and cool, beside which he espied a most beautiful girl lying asleep on the green grass, clad only in a vest of such fine stuff that it scarce in any measure veiled the whiteness of her flesh, and below the waist nought but an apron most white and fine of texture; and likewise at her feet there slept two women and a man, her slaves. no sooner did cimon catch sight of her, than, as if he had never before seen form of woman, he stopped short, and leaning on his cudgel, regarded her intently, saying never a word, and lost in admiration. and in his rude soul, which, despite a thousand lessons, had hitherto remained impervious to every delight that belongs to urbane life, he felt the awakening of an idea, that bade his gross and coarse mind acknowledge, that this girl was the fairest creature that had ever been seen by mortal eye. and thereupon he began to distinguish her several parts, praising her hair, which shewed to him as gold, her brow, her nose and mouth, her throat and arms, and above all her bosom, which was as yet but in bud, and as he gazed, he changed of a sudden from a husbandman into a judge of beauty, and desired of all things to see her eyes, which the weight of her deep slumber kept close shut, and many a time he would fain have awakened her, that he might see them. but so much fairer seemed she to him than any other woman that he had seen, that he doubted she must be a goddess; and as he was not so devoid of sense but that he deemed things divine more worthy of reverence than things mundane, he forbore, and waited until she should awake of her own accord; and though he found the delay overlong, yet, enthralled by so unwonted a delight, he knew not how to be going. however, after he had tarried a long while, it so befell that iphigenia--such was the girl's name--her slaves still sleeping, awoke, and raised her head, and opened her eyes, and seeing cimon standing before her, leaning on his staff, was not a little surprised, and said:--"cimon, what seekest thou in this wood at this hour?" for cimon she knew well, as indeed did almost all the country-side, by reason alike of his uncouth appearance as of the rank and wealth of his father. to iphigenia's question he answered never a word; but as soon as her eyes were open, nought could he do but intently regard them, for it seemed to him that a soft influence emanated from them, which filled his soul with a delight that he had never before known. which the girl marking began to misdoubt that by so fixed a scrutiny his boorish temper might be prompted to some act that should cause her dishonour: wherefore she roused her women, and got up, saying:--"keep thy distance, cimon, in god's name." whereto cimon made answer:--"i will come with thee." and, albeit the girl refused his escort, being still in fear of him, she could not get quit of him; but he attended her home; after which he hied him straight to his father's house, and announced that he was minded on no account to go back to the farm: which intelligence was far from welcome to his father and kinsmen; but nevertheless they suffered him to stay, and waited to see what might be the reason of his change of mind. so cimon, whose heart, closed to all teaching, love's shaft, sped by the beauty of iphigenia, had penetrated, did now graduate in wisdom with such celerity as to astonish his father and kinsmen, and all that knew him. he began by requesting his father to let him go clad in the like apparel, and with, in all respects, the like personal equipment as his brothers: which his father very gladly did. mixing thus with the gallants, and becoming familiar with the manners proper to gentlemen, and especially to lovers, he very soon, to the exceeding great wonder of all, not only acquired the rudiments of letters, but waxed most eminent among the philosophic wits. after which (for no other cause than the love he bore to iphigenia) he not only modulated his gruff and boorish voice to a degree of smoothness suitable to urbane life, but made himself accomplished in singing and music; in riding also and in all matters belonging to war, as well by sea as by land, he waxed most expert and hardy. and in sum (that i go not about to enumerate each of his virtues in detail) he had not completed the fourth year from the day of his first becoming enamoured before he was grown the most gallant, and courteous, ay, and the most perfect in particular accomplishments, of the young cavaliers that were in the island of cyprus. what then, gracious ladies, are we to say of cimon? verily nought else but that the high faculties, with which heaven had endowed his noble soul, invidious fortune had bound with the strongest of cords, and circumscribed within a very narrow region of his heart; all which cords love, more potent than fortune, burst and brake in pieces; and then with the might, wherewith he awakens dormant powers, he brought them forth of the cruel obfuscation, in which they lay, into clear light, plainly shewing thereby, whence he may draw, and whither he may guide, by his beams the souls that are subject to his sway. now, albeit by his love for iphigenia cimon was betrayed, as young lovers very frequently are, into some peccadillos, yet aristippus, reflecting that it had turned him from a booby into a man, not only bore patiently with him, but exhorted him with all his heart to continue steadfast in his love. and cimon, who still refused to be called galesus, because 'twas as cimon that iphigenia had first addressed him, being desirous to accomplish his desire by honourable means, did many a time urge his suit upon her father, cipseus, that he would give her him to wife: whereto cipseus always made the same answer, to wit, that he had promised her to pasimondas, a young rhodian noble, and was not minded to break faith with him. however, the time appointed for iphigenia's wedding being come, and the bridegroom having sent for her, cimon said to himself:--'tis now for me to shew thee, o iphigenia, how great is my love for thee: 'tis by thee that i am grown a man, nor doubt i, if i shall have thee, that i shall wax more glorious than a god, and verily thee will i have, or die. having so said, he privily enlisted in his cause certain young nobles that were his friends, and secretly fitted out a ship with all equipment meet for combat, and put to sea on the look-out for the ship that was to bear iphigenia to rhodes and her husband. and at length, when her father had done lavishing honours upon her husband's friends, iphigenia embarked, and, the mariners shaping their course for rhodes, put to sea. cimon was on the alert, and overhauled them the very next day, and standing on his ship's prow shouted amain to those that were aboard iphigenia's ship:--"bring to; strike sails, or look to be conquered and sunk in the sea." then, seeing that the enemy had gotten their arms above deck, and were making ready to make a fight of it, he followed up his words by casting a grapnel upon the poop of the rhodians, who were making great way; and having thus made their poop fast to his prow, he sprang, fierce as a lion, reckless whether he were followed or no, on to the rhodians' ship, making, as it were, no account of them, and animated by love, hurled himself, sword in hand, with prodigious force among the enemy, and cutting and thrusting right and left, slaughtered them like sheep; insomuch that the rhodians, marking the fury of his onset, threw down their arms, and as with one voice did all acknowledge themselves his prisoners. to whom cimon:--"gallants," quoth he, "'twas neither lust of booty nor enmity to you that caused me to put out from cyprus to attack you here with force of arms on the high seas. moved was i thereto by that which to gain is to me a matter great indeed, which peaceably to yield me is to you but a slight matter; for 'tis even iphigenia, whom more than aught else i love; whom, as i might not have her of her father in peaceable and friendly sort, love has constrained me to take from you in this high-handed fashion and by force of arms; to whom i mean to be even such as would have been your pasimondas: wherefore give her to me, and go your way, and god's grace go with you." yielding rather to force than prompted by generosity, the rhodians surrendered iphigenia, all tears, to cimon; who, marking her tears, said to her:--"grieve not, noble lady; thy cimon am i, who, by my long love, have established a far better right to thee than pasimondas by the faith that was plighted to him." so saying, he sent her aboard his ship, whither he followed her, touching nought that belonged to the rhodians, and suffering them to go their way. to have gotten so dear a prize made him the happiest man in the world, but for a time 'twas all he could do to assuage her grief: then, after taking counsel with his comrades, he deemed it best not to return to cyprus for the present: and so, by common consent they shaped their course for crete, where most of them, and especially cimon, had alliances of old or recent date, and friends not a few, whereby they deemed that there they might tarry with iphigenia in security. but fortune, that had accorded cimon so gladsome a capture of the lady, suddenly proved fickle, and converted the boundless joy of the enamoured gallant into woeful and bitter lamentation. 'twas not yet full four hours since cimon had parted from the rhodians, when with the approach of night, that night from which cimon hoped such joyance as he had never known, came weather most turbulent and tempestuous, which wrapped the heavens in cloud, and swept the sea with scathing blasts; whereby 'twas not possible for any to see how the ship was to be worked or steered, or to steady himself so as to do any duty upon her deck. whereat what grief was cimon's, it boots not to ask. indeed it seemed to him that the gods had granted his heart's desire only that it might be harder for him to die, which had else been to him but a light matter. not less downcast were his comrades; but most of all iphigenia, who, weeping bitterly and shuddering at every wave that struck the ship, did cruelly curse cimon's love and censure his rashness, averring that this tempest was come upon them for no other cause than that the gods had decreed, that, as 'twas in despite of their will that he purposed to espouse her, he should be frustrate of his presumptuous intent, and having lived to see her expire, should then himself meet a woeful death. while thus and yet more bitterly they bewailed them, and the mariners were at their wits' end, as the gale grew hourly more violent, nor knew they, nor might conjecture, whither they went, they drew nigh the island of rhodes, albeit that rhodes it was they wist not, and set themselves, as best and most skilfully they might, to run the ship aground. in which enterprise fortune favoured them, bringing them into a little bay, where, shortly before them, was arrived the rhodian ship that cimon had let go. nor were they sooner ware that 'twas rhodes they had made, than day broke, and, the sky thus brightening a little, they saw that they were about a bow-shot from the ship that they had released on the preceding day. whereupon cimon, vexed beyond measure, being apprehensive of that which in fact befell them, bade make every effort to win out of the bay, and let fortune carry them whither she would, for nowhere might they be in worse plight than there. so might and main they strove to bring the ship out, but all in vain: the violence of the gale thwarted them to such purpose as not only to preclude their passage out of the bay but to drive them, willing nilling, ashore. whither no sooner were they come, than they were recognized by the rhodian mariners, who were already landed. of whom one ran with all speed to a farm hard by, whither the rhodian gallants were gone, and told them that fortune had brought cimon and iphigenia aboard their ship into the same bay to which she had guided them. whereat the gallants were overjoyed, and taking with them not a few of the farm-servants, hied them in hot haste to the shore, where, cimon and his men being already landed with intent to take refuge in a neighbouring wood, they took them all (with iphigenia) and brought them to the farm. whence, pursuant to an order of the senate of rhodes, to which, so soon as he received the news, pasimondas made his complaint, cimon and his men were all marched off to prison by lysimachus, chief magistrate of the rhodians for that year, who came down from the city for the purpose with an exceeding great company of men at arms. on such wise did our hapless and enamoured cimon lose his so lately won iphigenia before he had had of her more than a kiss or two. iphigenia was entertained and comforted of the annoy, occasioned as well by her recent capture as by the fury of the sea, by not a few noble ladies of rhodes, with whom she tarried until the day appointed for her marriage. in recompense of the release of the rhodian gallants on the preceding day the lives of cimon and his men were spared, notwithstanding that pasimondas pressed might and main for their execution; and instead they were condemned to perpetual imprisonment: wherein, as may be supposed, they abode in dolorous plight, and despaired of ever again knowing happiness. however, it so befell that, pasimondas accelerating his nuptials to the best of his power, fortune, as if repenting her that in her haste she had done cimon so evil a turn, did now by a fresh disposition of events compass his deliverance. pasimondas had a brother, by name hormisdas, his equal in all respects save in years, who had long been contract to marry cassandra, a fair and noble damsel of rhodes, of whom lysimachus was in the last degree enamoured; but owing to divers accidents the marriage had been from time to time put off. now pasimondas, being about to celebrate his nuptials with exceeding great pomp, bethought him that he could not do better than, to avoid a repetition of the pomp and expense, arrange, if so he might, that his brother should be wedded on the same day with himself. so, having consulted anew with cassandra's kinsfolk, and come to an understanding with them, he and his brother and they conferred together, and agreed that on the same day that pasimondas married iphigenia, hormisdas should marry cassandra. lysimachus, getting wind of this arrangement, was mortified beyond measure, seeing himself thereby deprived of the hope which he cherished of marrying cassandra himself, if hormisdas should not forestall him. but like a wise man he concealed his chagrin, and cast about how he might frustrate the arrangement: to which end he saw no other possible means but to carry cassandra off. it did not escape him that the office which he held would render this easily feasible, but he deemed it all the more dishonourable than if he had not held the office; but, in short, after much pondering, honour yielded place to love, and he made up his mind that, come what might, he would carry cassandra off. then, as he took thought what company he should take with him, and how he should go about the affair, he remembered cimon, whom he had in prison with his men, and it occurred to him that he could not possibly have a better or more trusty associate in such an enterprise than cimon. wherefore the same night he caused cimon to be brought privily to him in his own room, and thus addressed him:--"cimon, as the gods are most generous and liberal to bestow their gifts on men, so are they also most sagacious to try their virtue; and those whom they find to be firm and steadfast in all circumstances they honour, as the most worthy, with the highest rewards. they have been minded to be certified of thy worth by better proofs than thou couldst afford them, as long as thy life was bounded by thy father's house amid the superabundant wealth which i know him to possess: wherefore in the first place they so wrought upon thee with the shrewd incitements of love that from an insensate brute, as i have heard, thou grewest to be a man; since when, it has been and is their intent to try whether evil fortune and harsh imprisonment may avail to change thee from the temper that was thine when for a short while thou hadst joyance of the prize thou hadst won. and so thou prove the same that thou wast then, they have in store for thee a boon incomparably greater than aught that they vouchsafed thee before: what that boon is, to the end thou mayst recover heart and thy wonted energies, i will now explain to thee. pasimondas, exultant in thy misfortune and eager to compass thy death, hastens to the best of his power his nuptials with thy iphigenia; that so he may enjoy the prize that fortune, erstwhile smiling, gave thee, and forthwith, frowning, reft from thee. whereat how sore must be thy grief, if rightly i gauge thy love, i know by my own case, seeing that his brother hormisdas addresses himself to do me on the same day a like wrong in regard of cassandra, whom i love more than aught else in the world. nor see i that fortune has left us any way of escape from this her unjust and cruel spite, save what we may make for ourselves by a resolved spirit and the might of our right hands: take we then the sword, and therewith make we, each, prize of his lady, thou for the second, i for the first time: for so thou value the recovery, i say not of thy liberty, for without thy lady i doubt thou wouldst hold it cheap, but of thy lady, the gods have placed it in thine own hands, if thou art but minded to join me in my enterprise." these words restored to cimon all that he had lost of heart and hope, nor pondered he long, before he replied:--"lysimachus, comrade stouter or more staunch than i thou mightst not have in such an enterprise, if such indeed it be as thou sayst: wherefore lay upon me such behest as thou shalt deem meet, and thou shalt marvel to witness the vigour of my performance." whereupon lysimachus:--"on the third day from now," quoth he, "their husbands' houses will be newly entered by the brides, and on the same day at even we too will enter them in arms, thou with thy men, and i with some of mine, in whom i place great trust, and forcing our way among the guests and slaughtering all that dare to oppose us, will bear the ladies off to a ship which i have had privily got ready." cimon approved the plan, and kept quiet in prison until the appointed time; which being come, the nuptials were celebrated with great pomp and magnificence, that filled the houses of the two brothers with festal cheer. then lysimachus having made ready all things meet, and fired cimon and his men and his own friends for the enterprise by a long harangue, disposed them in due time, all bearing arms under their cloaks, in three companies; and having privily despatched one company to the port, that, when the time should come to embark, he might meet with no let, he marched with the other two companies to the house of pasimondas, posted the one company at the gate, that, being entered, they might not be shut in or debarred their egress, and, with the other company and cimon, ascended the stairs, and gained the saloon, where the brides and not a few other ladies were set at several tables to sup in meet order: whereupon in they rushed, and overthrew the tables and seized each his own lady, and placed them in charge of their men, whom they bade bear them off forthwith to the ship that lay ready to receive them. whereupon the brides and the other ladies and the servants with one accord fell a sobbing and shrieking, insomuch that a confused din and lamentation filled the whole place. cimon, lysimachus and their band, none withstanding, but all giving way before them, gained the stairs, which they were already descending when they encountered pasimondas, who, carrying a great staff in his hand, was making in the direction of the noise; but one doughty stroke of cimon's sword sufficed to cleave his skull in twain, and lay him dead at cimon's feet, and another stroke disposed of hapless hormisdas, as he came running to his brother's aid. some others who ventured to approach them were wounded and beaten off by the retinue. so forth of the house, that reeked with blood and resounded with tumult and lamentation and woe, sped simon and lysimachus with all their company, and without any let, in close order, with their fair booty in their midst, made good their retreat to the ship; whereon with the ladies they one and all embarked, for the shore was now full of armed men come to rescue the ladies, and, the oarsmen giving way, put to sea elate. arrived at crete, they met with a hearty welcome on the part of their many friends and kinsfolk; and, having married their ladies, they made greatly merry, and had gladsome joyance of their fair booty. their doings occasioned, both in cyprus and in rhodes, no small stir and commotion, which lasted for a long while: but in the end, by the good offices of their friends and kinsfolk in both islands, 'twas so ordered as that after a certain term of exile cimon returned with iphigenia to cyprus, and in like manner lysimachus returned with cassandra to rhodes; and long and blithely thereafter lived they, each well contented with his own wife in his own land. (1) one of the augmentative forms of bestia. novel ii. -gostanza loves martuccio gomito, and hearing that he is dead, gives way to despair, and hies her alone aboard a boat, which is wafted by the wind to susa. she finds him alive in tunis, and makes herself known to him, who, having by his counsel gained high place in the king's favour, marries her, and returns with her wealthy to lipari. -pamfilo's story being ended, the queen, after commending it not a little, called for one to follow from emilia; who thus began:-meet and right it is that one should rejoice when events so fall out that passion meets with its due reward: and as love merits in the long run rather joy than suffering, far gladlier obey i the queen's than i did the king's behest, and address myself to our present theme. you are to know then, dainty ladies, that not far from sicily there is an islet called lipari, in which, no great while ago, there dwelt a damsel, gostanza by name, fair as fair could be, and of one of the most honourable families in the island. and one martuccio gomito, who was also of the island, a young man most gallant and courteous, and worthy for his condition, became enamoured of gostanza; who in like manner grew so afire for him that she was ever ill at ease, except she saw him. martuccio, craving her to wife, asked her of her father, who made answer that, martuccio being poor, he was not minded to give her to him. mortified to be thus rejected by reason of poverty, martuccio took an oath in presence of some of his friends and kinsfolk that lipari should know him no more, until he was wealthy. so away he sailed, and took to scouring the seas as a rover on the coast of barbary, preying upon all whose force matched not his own. in which way of life he found fortune favourable enough, had he but known how to rest and be thankful: but 'twas not enough that he and his comrades in no long time waxed very wealthy; their covetousness was inordinate, and, while they sought to gratify it, they chanced in an encounter with certain saracen ships to be taken after a long defence, and despoiled, and, most part of them, thrown into the sea by their captors, who, after sinking his ship, took martuccio with them to tunis, and clapped him in prison, and there kept him a long time in a very sad plight. meanwhile, not by one or two, but by divers and not a few persons, tidings reached lipari that all that were with martuccio aboard his bark had perished in the sea. the damsel, whose grief on martuccio's departure had known no bounds, now hearing that he was dead with the rest, wept a great while, and made up her mind to have done with life; but, lacking the resolution to lay violent hands upon herself, she bethought her how she might devote herself to death by some novel expedient. so one night she stole out of her father's house, and hied her to the port, and there by chance she found, lying a little apart from the other craft, a fishing boat, which, as the owners had but just quitted her, was still equipped with mast and sails and oars. aboard which boat she forthwith got, and being, like most of the women of the island, not altogether without nautical skill, she rowed some distance out to sea, and then hoisted sail, and cast away oars and tiller, and let the boat drift, deeming that a boat without lading or steersman would certainly be either capsized by the wind or dashed against some rock and broken in pieces, so that escape she could not, even if she would, but must perforce drown. and so, her head wrapped in a mantle, she stretched herself weeping on the floor of the boat. but it fell out quite otherwise than she had conjectured: for, the wind being from the north, and very equable, with next to no sea, the boat kept an even keel, and next day about vespers bore her to land hard by a city called susa, full a hundred miles beyond tunis. to the damsel 'twas all one whether she were at sea or ashore, for, since she had been aboard, she had never once raised, nor, come what might, meant she ever to raise, her head. now it so chanced, that, when the boat grounded, there was on the shore a poor woman that was in the employ of some fishermen, whose nets she was just taking out of the sunlight. seeing the boat under full sail, she marvelled how it should be suffered to drive ashore, and conjectured that the fishermen on board were asleep. so to the boat she hied her, and finding therein only the damsel fast asleep, she called her many times, and at length awakened her; and perceiving by her dress that she was a christian, she asked her in latin how it was that she was come thither all alone in the boat. hearing the latin speech, the damsel wondered whether the wind had not shifted, and carried her back to lipari: so up she started, gazed about her, and finding herself ashore and the aspect of the country strange, asked the good woman where she was. to which the good woman made answer:--"my daughter, thou art hard by susa in barbary." whereupon the damsel, sorrowful that god had not seen fit to accord her the boon of death, apprehensive of dishonour, and at her wits' end, sat herself down at the foot of her boat, and burst into tears. which the good woman saw not without pity, and persuaded her to come with her into her hut, and there by coaxing drew from her how she was come thither; and knowing that she could not but be fasting, she set before her her own coarse bread and some fish and water, and prevailed upon her to eat a little. gostanza thereupon asked her, who she was that thus spoke latin; whereto she answered that her name was carapresa, and that she was from trapani, where she had served some christian fishermen. to the damsel, sad indeed though she was, this name carapresa, wherefore she knew not, seemed to be of happy augury, so that she began to take hope, she knew not why, and to grow somewhat less fain of death: wherefore without disclosing who or whence she was, she earnestly besought the good woman for the love of god to have pity on her youth, and advise her how best to avoid insult. whereupon carapresa, good woman that she was, left her in her hut, while with all speed she picked up her nets; and on her return she wrapped her in her own mantle, and led her to susa. arrived there, she said to her:--"gostanza, i shall bring thee to the house of an excellent saracen lady, for whom i frequently do bits of work, as she has occasion: she is an old lady and compassionate: i will commend thee to her care as best i may, and i doubt not she will right gladly receive thee, and entreat thee as her daughter: and thou wilt serve her, and, while thou art with her, do all thou canst to gain her favour, until such time as god may send thee better fortune;" and as she said, so she did. the old lady listened, and then, gazing steadfastly in the damsel's face, shed tears, and taking her hand, kissed her forehead, and led her into the house, where she and some other women dwelt quite by themselves, doing divers kinds of handiwork in silk and palm leaves and leather. wherein the damsel in a few days acquired some skill, and thenceforth wrought together with them; and rose wondrous high in the favour and good graces of all the ladies, who soon taught her their language. now while the damsel, mourned at home as lost and dead, dwelt thus at susa, it so befell that, mariabdela being then king of tunis, a young chieftain in granada, of great power, and backed by mighty allies, gave out that the realm of tunis belonged to him, and having gathered a vast army, made a descent upon tunis with intent to expel the king from the realm. martuccio gomito, who knew the language of barbary well, heard the tidings in prison, and learning that the king of tunis was mustering a mighty host for the defence of his kingdom, said to one of the warders that were in charge of him and his comrades:--"if i might have speech of the king, i am confident that the advice that i should give him would secure him the victory." the warder repeated these words to his chief, who forthwith carried them to the king. wherefore by the king's command martuccio was brought before him, and being asked by him what the advice, of which he had spoken, might be, answered on this wise:--"sire, if in old days, when i was wont to visit this country of yours, i duly observed the manner in which you order your battle, methinks you place your main reliance upon archers; and therefore, if you could contrive that your enemy's supply of arrows should give out and your own continue plentiful, i apprehend that you would win the battle." "ay indeed," replied the king, "i make no doubt that, could i but accomplish that, i should conquer." "nay but, sire," returned martuccio, "you may do it, if you will. listen, and i will tell you how. you must fit the bows of your archers with strings much finer than those that are in common use, and match them with arrows, the notches of which will not admit any but these fine strings; and this you must do so secretly that your enemy may not know it, else he will find means to be even with you. which counsel i give you for the following reason:--when your and your enemy's archers have expended all their arrows, you wot that the enemy will fall to picking up the arrows that your men have shot during the battle, and your men will do the like by the enemy's arrows; but the enemy will not be able to make use of your men's arrows, by reason that their fine notches will not suffice to admit the stout strings, whereas your men will be in the contrary case in regard of the enemy's arrows, for the fine string will very well receive the large-notched arrow, and so your men will have an abundant supply of arrows, while the enemy will be at a loss for them." the king, who lacked not sagacity, appreciated martuccio's advice, and gave full effect to it; whereby he came out of the war a conqueror, and martuccio, being raised to the chief place in his favour, waxed rich and powerful. which matters being bruited throughout the country, it came to the ears of gostanza that martuccio gomito, whom she had long supposed to be dead, was alive; whereby her love for him, some embers of which still lurked in her heart, burst forth again in sudden flame, and gathered strength, and revived her dead hope. wherefore she frankly told all her case to the good lady with whom she dwelt, saying that she would fain go to tunis, that her eyes might have assurance of that which the report received by her ears had made them yearn to see. the lady fell heartily in with the girl's desire, and, as if she had been her mother, embarked with her for tunis, where on their arrival they were honourably received in the house of one of her kinswomen. carapresa, who had attended her, being sent to discover what she might touching martuccio, brought back word that he was alive, and high in honour and place. the gentlewoman was minded that none but herself should apprise martuccio of the arrival of his gostanza: wherefore she hied her one day to martuccio, and said:--"martuccio, there is come to my house a servant of thine from lipari, who would fain speak with thee here privily, and for that he would not have me trust another, i am come hither myself to deliver his message." martuccio thanked her, and forthwith hied him with her to her house: where no sooner did the girl see him than she all but died for joy, and carried away by her feelings, fell upon his neck with open arms and embraced him, and, what with sorrow of his past woes and her present happiness, said never a word, but softly wept. martuccio regarded her for a while in silent wonder; then, heaving a sigh, he said:--"thou livest then, my gostanza? long since i heard that thou wast lost; nor was aught known of thee at home." which said, he tenderly and with tears embraced her. gostanza told him all her adventures, and how honourably she had been entreated by the gentlewoman with whom she had dwelt. and so long time they conversed, and then martuccio parted from her, and hied him back to his lord the king, and told him all, to wit, his own adventures and those of the girl, adding that with his leave he was minded to marry her according to our law. which matters the king found passing strange; and having called the girl to him, and learned from her that 'twas even as martuccio had said:--"well indeed," quoth he, "hast thou won thy husband." then caused he gifts most ample and excellent to be brought forth, part of which he gave to gostanza, and part to martuccio, leaving them entirely to their own devices in regard of one another. then martuccio, in terms most honourable, bade farewell to the old lady with whom gostanza had dwelt, thanking her for the service she had rendered to gostanza, and giving her presents suited to her condition, and commending her to god, while gostanza shed many a tear: after which, by leave of the king, they went aboard a light bark, taking with them carapresa, and, sped by a prosperous breeze, arrived at lipari, where they were received with such cheer as 'twere vain to attempt to describe. there were martuccio and gostanza wedded with all pomp and splendour; and there long time in easeful peace they had joyance of their love. novel iii. -pietro boccamazza runs away with agnolella, and encounters a gang of robbers: the girl takes refuge in a wood, and is guided to a castle. pietro is taken, but escapes out of the hands of the robbers, and after some adventures arrives at the castle where agnolella is, marries her, and returns with her to rome. -ended emilia's story, which none of the company spared to commend, the queen, turning to elisa, bade her follow suit; and she, with glad obedience, thus began:-'tis a story, sweet ladies, of a woeful night passed by two indiscreet young lovers that i have in mind; but, as thereon ensued not a few days of joy, 'tis not inapposite to our argument, and shall be narrated. 'tis no long time since at rome, which, albeit now the tail,(1) was of yore the head, of the world, there dwelt a young man, pietro boccamazza by name, a scion of one of the most illustrious of the roman houses, who became enamoured of a damsel exceeding fair, and amorous withal--her name agnolella--the daughter of one gigliuozzo saullo, a plebeian, but in high repute among the romans. nor, loving thus, did pietro lack the address to inspire in agnolella a love as ardent as his own. wherefore, overmastered by his passion, and minded no longer to endure the sore suffering that it caused him, he asked her in marriage. whereof his kinsfolk were no sooner apprised, than with one accord they came to him and strongly urged him to desist from his purpose: they also gave gigliuozzo saullo to understand that he were best to pay no sort of heed to pietro's words, for that, if he so did, they would never acknowledge him as friend or relative. thus to see himself debarred of the one way by which he deemed he might attain to his desire, pietro was ready to die for grief, and, all his kinsfolk notwithstanding, he would have married gigliuozzo's daughter, had but the father consented. wherefore at length he made up his mind that, if the girl were willing, nought should stand in the way; and having through a common friend sounded the damsel and found her apt, he brought her to consent to elope with him from rome. the affair being arranged, pietro and she took horse betimes one morning, and sallied forth for anagni, where pietro had certain friends, in whom he placed much trust; and as they rode, time not serving for full joyance of their love, for they feared pursuit, they held converse thereof, and from time to time exchanged a kiss. now it so befell, that, the way being none too well known to pietro, when, perhaps eight miles from rome, they should have turned to the right, they took instead a leftward road. whereon when they had ridden but little more than two miles, they found themselves close to a petty castle, whence, so soon as they were observed, there issued some dozen men at arms; and, as they drew near, the damsel, espying them, gave a cry, and said:--"we are attacked, pietro, let us flee;" and guiding her nag as best she knew towards a great forest, she planted the spurs in his sides, and so, holding on by the saddle-bow, was borne by the goaded creature into the forest at a gallop. pietro, who had been too engrossed with her face to give due heed to the way, and thus had not been ware, as soon as she, of the approach of the men at arms, was still looking about to see whence they were coming, when they came up with him, and took him prisoner, and forced him to dismount. then they asked who he was, and, when he told them, they conferred among themselves, saying:--"this is one of the friends of our enemies: what else can we do but relieve him of his nag and of his clothes, and hang him on one of these oaks in scorn of the orsini?" to which proposal all agreeing, they bade pietro strip himself: but while, already divining his fate, he was so doing, an ambuscade of full five-and-twenty men at arms fell suddenly upon them, crying:--"death, death!" thus surprised, they let pietro go, and stood on the defensive; but, seeing that the enemy greatly outnumbered them, they took to their heels, the others giving chase. whereupon pietro hastily resumed his clothes, mounted his nag, and fled with all speed in the direction which he had seen the damsel take. but finding no road or path through the forest, nor discerning any trace of a horse's hooves, he was--for that he found not the damsel--albeit he deemed himself safe out of the clutches of his captors and their assailants, the most wretched man alive, and fell a weeping and wandering hither and thither about the forest, uttering agnolella's name. none answered; but turn back he dared not: so on he went, not knowing whither he went; besides which, he was in mortal dread of the wild beasts that infest the forest, as well on account of himself as of the damsel, whom momently he seemed to see throttled by some bear or wolf. thus did our unfortunate pietro spend the whole day, wandering about the forest, making it to resound with his cries of agnolella's name, and harking at times back, when he thought to go forward; until at last, what with his cries and his tears and his fears and his long fasting, he was so spent that he could go no further. 'twas then nightfall, and, as he knew not what else to do, he dismounted at the foot of an immense oak, and having tethered his nag to the trunk, climbed up into the branches, lest he should be devoured by the wild beasts during the night. shortly afterwards the moon rose with a very clear sky, and pietro, who dared not sleep, lest he should fall, and indeed, had he been secure from that risk, his misery and his anxiety on account of the damsel would not have suffered him to sleep, kept watch, sighing and weeping and cursing his evil luck. now the damsel, who, as we said before, had fled she knew not whither, allowing her nag to carry her whithersoever he would, strayed so far into the forest that she lost sight of the place where she had entered it, and spent the whole day just as pietro had done, wandering about the wilderness, pausing from time to time, and weeping, and uttering his name, and bewailing her evil fortune. at last, seeing that 'twas now the vesper hour and pietro came not, she struck into a path, which the nag followed, until, after riding some two miles, she espied at some distance a cottage, for which she made with all speed, and found there a good man, well stricken in years, with his wife, who was likewise aged. seeing her ride up alone, they said:--"daughter, wherefore ridest thou thus alone at this hour in these parts?" weeping, the damsel made answer that she had lost her companion in the forest, and asked how far might anagni be from there? "my daughter," returned the good man, "this is not the road to anagni; 'tis more than twelve miles away." "and how far off," inquired the damsel, "are the nearest houses in which one might find lodging for the night?" "there are none so near," replied the good man, "that thou canst reach them to-day." "then, so please you," said the damsel, "since go elsewhither i cannot, for god's sake let me pass the night here with you." whereto the good man made answer:--"damsel, welcome art thou to tarry the night with us; but still thou art to know that these parts are infested both by day and by night by bands, which, be they friends or be they foes, are alike ill to meet with, and not seldom do much despite and mischief, and if by misadventure one of these bands should visit us while thou wert here, and marking thy youth and beauty should do thee despite and dishonour, we should be unable to afford thee any succour. this we would have thee know, that if it should so come to pass, thou mayst not have cause to reproach us." the damsel heard not the old man's words without dismay; but, seeing that the hour was now late, she answered:--"god, if he be so pleased, will save both you and me from such molestation, and if not, 'tis a much lesser evil to be maltreated by men than to be torn in pieces by the wild beasts in the forest." so saying, she dismounted, and entered the cottage, where, having supped with the poor man and his wife on such humble fare as they had, she laid herself in her clothes beside them in their bed. she slept not, however; for her own evil plight and that of pietro, for whom she knew not how to augur aught but evil, kept her sighing and weeping all night long. and towards matins she heard a great noise as of men that marched; so up she got and hied her into a large courtyard that was in rear of the cottage, and part of which was covered with a great heap of hay, which she espying, hid herself therein, that, if the men came there, they might not so readily find her. scarce had she done so than the men, who proved to be a strong company of marauders, were at the door of the cottage, which they forced open; and having entered, and found the damsel's nag, still saddled, they asked who was there. the damsel being out of sight, the good man answered:--"there is none here but my wife and i; but this nag, which has given some one the slip, found his way hither last night, and we housed him, lest he should be devoured by the wolves." "so!" said the chief of the band, "as he has no owner, he will come in very handy for us." whereupon, in several parties, they ransacked the cottage from top to bottom; and one party went out into the courtyard, where, as they threw aside their lances and targets, it so befell that one of them, not knowing where else to bestow his lance, tossed it into the hay, and was within an ace of killing the damsel that lay hid there, as likewise she of betraying her whereabouts, for the lance all but grazing her left breast, insomuch that the head tore her apparel, she doubted she was wounded, and had given a great shriek, but that, remembering where she was, she refrained for fear. by and by the company cooked them a breakfast of kid's and other meat, and having eaten and drunken, dispersed in divers directions, as their affairs required, taking the girl's nag with them. and when they were gotten some little way off, the good man asked his wife:--"what became of the damsel, our guest of last night, that i have not seen her since we rose?" the good woman answered that she knew not where the damsel was, and went to look for her. the damsel, discovering that the men were gone, came forth of the hay, and the good man, seeing her, was overjoyed that she had not fallen into the hands of the ruffians, and, as day was breaking, said to her:--"now that day is at hand, we will, so it like thee, escort thee to a castle, some five miles hence, where thou wilt be in safety; but thou must needs go afoot, because these villains, that are but just gone, have taken thy nag with them." the damsel, resigning herself to her loss, besought them for god's sake to take her to the castle: whereupon they set forth, and arrived there about half tierce. now the castle belonged to one of the orsini, liello di campo di fiore by name, whose wife, as it chanced, was there. a most kindly and good woman she was, and, recognizing the damsel as soon as she saw her, gave her a hearty welcome and would fain have from her a particular account of how she came there. so the damsel told her the whole story. the lady, to whom pietro was also known, as being a friend of her husband, was distressed to hear of his misadventure, and being told where he was taken, gave him up for dead. so she said to the damsel:--"since so it is that thou knowest not how pietro has fared, thou shalt stay here with me until such time as i may have opportunity to send thee safely back to rome." meanwhile pietro, perched on his oak in as woeful a plight as might be, had espied, when he should have been in his first sleep, a full score of wolves, that, as they prowled, caught sight of the nag, and straightway were upon him on all sides. the horse, as soon as he was ware of their approach, strained on the reins till they snapped, and tried to make good his escape; but, being hemmed in, was brought to bay, and made a long fight of it with his teeth and hooves; but in the end they bore him down and throttled him and forthwith eviscerated him, and, the whole pack falling upon him, devoured him to the bone before they had done with him. whereat pietro, who felt that in the nag he had lost a companion and a comfort in his travail, was sorely dismayed, and began to think that he should never get out of the forest. but towards dawn, he, perched there in the oak, almost dead with cold, looking around him as he frequently did, espied about a mile off a huge fire. wherefore, as soon as 'twas broad day, he got down, not without trepidation, from the oak, and bent his steps towards the fire; and being come to it, he found, gathered about it, a company of shepherds, eating and making merry, who took pity on him and made him welcome. and when he had broken his fast and warmed himself, he told them the mishap that had befallen him, and how it was that he was come there alone, and asked them if there was a farm or castle in those parts, whither he might betake him. the shepherds said that about three miles away there was a castle belonging to liello di campo di fiore, where his lady was then tarrying. pietro, much comforted, requested to be guided thither by some of their company; whereupon two of them right gladly escorted him. so pietro arrived at the castle, where he found some that knew him; and while he was endeavouring to set on foot a search for the damsel in the forest, the lady summoned him to her presence, and he, forthwith obeying, and seeing agnolella with her, was the happiest man that ever was. he yearned till he all but swooned to go and embrace her, but refrained, for bashfulness, in the lady's presence. and overjoyed as he was, the joy of the damsel was no less. the lady received him with great cheer, and though, when she had heard the story of his adventures from his own lips, she chid him not a little for having set at nought the wishes of his kinsfolk; yet, seeing that he was still of the same mind, and that the damsel was also constant, she said to herself:--to what purpose give i myself all this trouble? they love one another, they know one another; they love with equal ardour; their love is honourable, and i doubt not is well pleasing to god, seeing that the one has escaped the gallows and the other the lance, and both the wild beasts: wherefore be it as they would have it. then, turning to them, she said:--"if 'tis your will to be joined in wedlock as man and wife, mine jumps with it: here shall your nuptials be solemnized and at liello's charges, and for the rest i will see that your peace is made with your kinsfolk." so in the castle the pair were wedded, pietro only less blithe than agnolella, the lady ordering the nuptials as honourably as might be in her mountain-home, and there they had most sweet joyance of the first fruits of their love. so some days they tarried there, and then accompanied by the lady with a strong escort, they took horse and returned to rome, where, very wroth though she found pietro's kinsfolk for what he had done, the lady re-established solid peace between him and them; and so at rome pietro and agnolella lived together to a good old age in great tranquillity and happiness. (1) in reference to the forlorn condition of the city while the seat of the papacy was at avignon, 1308-1377. novel iv. -ricciardo manardi is found by messer lizio da valbona with his daughter, whom he marries, and remains at peace with her father. -in silence elisa received the praise bestowed on her story by her fair companions; and then the queen called for a story from filostrato, who with a laugh began on this wise:--chidden have i been so often and by so many of you for the sore burden, which i laid upon you, of discourse harsh and meet for tears, that, as some compensation for such annoy, i deem myself bound to tell you somewhat that may cause you to laugh a little: wherefore my story, which will be of the briefest, shall be of a love, the course whereof, save for sighs and a brief passage of fear mingled with shame, ran smooth to a happy consummation. know then, noble ladies, that 'tis no long time since there dwelt in romagna a right worthy and courteous knight, messer lizio da valbona by name, who was already verging upon old age, when, as it happened, there was born to him of his wife, madonna giacomina, a daughter, who, as she grew up, became the fairest and most debonair of all the girls of those parts, and, for that she was the only daughter left to them, was most dearly loved and cherished by her father and mother, who guarded her with most jealous care, thinking to arrange some great match for her. now there was frequently in messer lizio's house, and much in his company, a fine, lusty young man, one ricciardo de' manardi da brettinoro, whom messer lizio and his wife would as little have thought of mistrusting as if he had been their own son: who, now and again taking note of the damsel, that she was very fair and graceful, and in bearing and behaviour most commendable, and of marriageable age, fell vehemently in love with her, which love he was very careful to conceal. the damsel detected it, however, and in like manner plunged headlong into love with him, to ricciardo's no small satisfaction. again and again he was on the point of speaking to her, but refrained for fear; at length, however, he summoned up his courage, and seizing his opportunity, thus addressed her:--"caterina, i implore thee, suffer me not to die for love of thee." whereto the damsel forthwith responded:--"nay, god grant that it be not rather that i die for love of thee." greatly exhilarated and encouraged, ricciardo made answer:--"'twill never be by default of mine that thou lackest aught that may pleasure thee; but it rests with thee to find the means to save thy life and mine." then said the damsel:--"thou seest, ricciardo, how closely watched i am, insomuch that i see not how 'twere possible for thee to come to me; but if thou seest aught that i may do without dishonour, speak the word, and i will do it." ricciardo was silent a while, pondering many matters: then, of a sudden, he said:--"sweet my caterina, there is but one way that i can see, to wit, that thou shouldst sleep either on or where thou mightst have access to the terrace by thy father's garden, where, so i but knew that thou wouldst be there at night, i would without fail contrive to meet thee, albeit 'tis very high." "as for my sleeping there," replied caterina, "i doubt not that it may be managed, if thou art sure that thou canst join me." ricciardo answered in the affirmative. whereupon they exchanged a furtive kiss, and parted. on the morrow, it being now towards the close of may, the damsel began complaining to her mother that by reason of the excessive heat she had not been able to get any sleep during the night. "daughter," said the lady, "what heat was there? nay, there was no heat at all." "had you said, 'to my thinking,' mother," rejoined caterina, "you would perhaps have said sooth; but you should bethink you how much more heat girls have in them than ladies that are advanced in years." "true, my daughter," returned the lady, "but i cannot order that it shall be hot and cold, as thou perchance wouldst like; we must take the weather as we find it, and as the seasons provide it: perchance to-night it will be cooler, and thou wilt sleep better." "god grant it be so," said caterina, "but 'tis not wonted for the nights to grow cooler as the summer comes on." "what then," said the lady, "wouldst thou have me do?" "with your leave and my father's," answered caterina, "i should like to have a little bed made up on the terrace by his room and over his garden, where, hearing the nightingales sing, and being in a much cooler place, i should sleep much better than in your room." whereupon:--"daughter, be of good cheer," said the mother; "i will speak to thy father, and we will do as he shall decide." so the lady told messer lizio what had passed between her and the damsel; but he, being old and perhaps for that reason a little morose, said:--"what nightingale is this, to whose chant she would fain sleep? i will see to it that the cicalas shall yet lull her to sleep." which speech, coming to caterina's ears, gave her such offence, that for anger, rather than by reason of the heat, she not only slept not herself that night, but suffered not her mother to sleep, keeping up a perpetual complaint of the great heat. wherefore her mother hied her in the morning to messer lizio, and said to him:--"sir, you hold your daughter none too dear; what difference can it make to you that she lie on the terrace? she has tossed about all night long by reason of the heat; and besides, can you wonder that she, girl that she is, loves to hear the nightingale sing? young folk naturally affect their likes." whereto messer lizio made answer:--"go, make her a bed there to your liking, and set a curtain round it, and let her sleep there, and hear the nightingale sing to her heart's content." which the damsel no sooner learned, than she had a bed made there with intent to sleep there that same night; wherefore she watched until she saw ricciardo, whom by a concerted sign she gave to understand what he was to do. messer lizio, as soon as he had heard the damsel go to bed, locked a door that led from his room to the terrace, and went to sleep himself. when all was quiet, ricciardo with the help of a ladder got upon a wall, and standing thereon laid hold of certain toothings of another wall, and not without great exertion and risk, had he fallen, clambered up on to the terrace, where the damsel received him quietly with the heartiest of cheer. many a kiss they exchanged; and then got them to bed, where well-nigh all night long they had solace and joyance of one another, and made the nightingale sing not a few times. but, brief being the night and great their pleasure, towards dawn, albeit they wist it not, they fell asleep, caterina's right arm encircling ricciardo's neck, while with her left hand she held him by that part of his person which your modesty, my ladies, is most averse to name in the company of men. so, peacefully they slept, and were still asleep when day broke and messer lizio rose; and calling to mind that his daughter slept on the terrace, softly opened the door, saying to himself:--let me see what sort of night's rest the nightingale has afforded our caterina? and having entered, he gently raised the curtain that screened the bed, and saw ricciardo asleep with her and in her embrace as described, both being quite naked and uncovered; and having taken note of ricciardo, he went away, and hied him to his lady's room, and called her, saying:--"up, up, wife, come and see; for thy daughter has fancied the nightingale to such purpose that she has caught him, and holds him in her hand." "how can this be?" said the lady. "come quickly, and thou shalt see," replied messer lizio. so the lady huddled on her clothes, and silently followed messer lizio, and when they were come to the bed, and had raised the curtain, madonna giacomina saw plainly enough how her daughter had caught, and did hold the nightingale, whose song she had so longed to hear. whereat the lady, deeming that ricciardo had played her a cruel trick, would have cried out and upbraided him; but messer lizio said to her:--"wife, as thou valuest my love, say not a word; for in good sooth, seeing that she has caught him, he shall be hers. ricciardo is a gentleman and wealthy; an alliance with him cannot but be to our advantage: if he would part from me on good terms, he must first marry her, so that the nightingale shall prove to have been put in his own cage and not in that of another." whereby the lady was reassured, seeing that her husband took the affair so quietly, and that her daughter had had a good night, and was rested, and had caught the nightingale. so she kept silence; nor had they long to wait before ricciardo awoke; and, seeing that 'twas broad day, deemed that 'twas as much as his life was worth, and aroused caterina, saying:--"alas! my soul, what shall we do, now that day has come and surprised me here?" which question messer lizio answered by coming forward, and saying:--"we shall do well." at sight of him ricciardo felt as if his heart were torn out of his body, and sate up in the bed, and said:--"my lord, i cry you mercy for god's sake. i wot that my disloyalty and delinquency have merited death; wherefore deal with me even as it may seem best to you: however, i pray you, if so it may be, to spare my life, that i die not." "ricciardo," replied messer lizio, "the love i bore thee, and the faith i reposed in thee, merited a better return; but still, as so it is, and youth has seduced thee into such a transgression, redeem thy life, and preserve my honour, by making caterina thy lawful spouse, that thine, as she has been for this past night, she may remain for the rest of her life. in this way thou mayst secure my peace and thy safety; otherwise commend thy soul to god." pending this colloquy, caterina let go the nightingale, and having covered herself, began with many a tear to implore her father to forgive ricciardo, and ricciardo to do as messer lizio required, that thereby they might securely count upon a long continuance of such nights of delight. but there needed not much supplication; for, what with remorse for the wrong done, and the wish to make amends, and the fear of death, and the desire to escape it, and above all ardent love, and the craving to possess the beloved one, ricciardo lost no time in making frank avowal of his readiness to do as messer lizio would have him. wherefore messer lizio, having borrowed a ring from madonna giacomina, ricciardo did there and then in their presence wed caterina. which done, messer lizio and the lady took their leave, saying:--"now rest ye a while; for so perchance 'twere better for you than if ye rose." and so they left the young folks, who forthwith embraced, and not having travelled more than six miles during the night, went two miles further before they rose, and so concluded their first day. when they were risen, ricciardo and messer lizio discussed the matter with more formality; and some days afterwards ricciardo, as was meet, married the damsel anew in presence of their friends and kinsfolk, and brought her home with great pomp, and celebrated his nuptials with due dignity and splendour. and so for many a year thereafter he lived with her in peace and happiness, and snared the nightingales day and night to his heart's content. novel v. -guidotto da cremona dies leaving a girl to giacomino da pavia. she has two lovers in faenza, to wit, giannole di severino and minghino di mingole, who fight about her. she is discovered to be giannole's sister, and is given to minghino to wife. -all the ladies laughed so heartily over the story of the nightingale, that, even when filostrato had finished, they could not control their merriment. however, when the laughter was somewhat abated, the queen said:--"verily if thou didst yesterday afflict us, to-day thou hast tickled us to such purpose that none of us may justly complain of thee." then, as the turn had now come round to neifile, she bade her give them a story. and thus, blithely, neifile began:--as filostrato went to romagna for the matter of his discourse, i too am fain to make a short journey through the same country in what i am about to relate to you. i say, then, that there dwelt of yore in the city of fano two lombards, the one ycleped guidotto da cremona and the other giacomino da pavia, men advanced in life, who, being soldiers, had spent the best part of their youth in feats of arms. now guidotto, being at the point of death, and having no son or any friend or kinsman in whom he placed more trust than in giacomino, left him a girl of about ten years, and all that he had in the world, and so, having given him to know not a little of his affairs, he died. about the same time the city of faenza, which had long been at war and in a most sorry plight, began to recover some measure of prosperity; and thereupon liberty to return thither on honourable terms was accorded to all that were so minded. whither, accordingly, giacomino, who had dwelt there aforetime, and liked the place, returned with all his goods and chattels, taking with him the girl left him by guidotto, whom he loved and entreated as his daughter. the girl grew up as beautiful a maiden as was to be found in the city; and no less debonair and modest was she than fair. wherefore she lacked not admirers; but above all two young men, both very gallant and of equal merit, the one giannole di severino, the other minghino di mingole, affected her with so ardent a passion, that, growing jealous, they came to hate one another with an inordinate hatred. right gladly would each have espoused her, she being now fifteen years old, but that his kinsmen forbade it; wherefore seeing that neither might have her in an honourable way, each determined to compass his end as best he might. now giacomino had in his house an ancient maid, and a man, by name crivello, a very pleasant and friendly sort of fellow, with whom giannole grew familiar, and in due time confided to him all his love, praying him to further the attainment of his desire, and promising to reward him handsomely, if he did so. crivello made answer:--"thou must know that there is but one way in which i might be of service to thee in this affair: i might contrive that thou shouldst be where she is when giacomino is gone off to supper; but, were i to presume to say aught to her on thy behalf, she would never listen to me. this, if it please thee, i promise to do for thee, and will be as good as my word; and then thou canst do whatever thou mayst deem most expedient." giannole said that he asked no more; and so 'twas arranged. meanwhile minghino on his part had made friends with the maid, on whom he had so wrought that she had carried several messages to the girl, and had gone far to kindle her to his love, and furthermore had promised to contrive that he should meet her when for any cause giacomino should be from home in the evening. and so it befell that no long time after these parleys, giacomino, by crivello's management, was to go sup at the house of a friend, and by preconcert between crivello and giannole, upon signal given, giannole was to come to giacomino's house and find the door open. the maid, on her part, witting nought of the understanding between crivello and giannole, let minghino know that giacomino would not sup at home, and bade him be near the house, so that he might come and enter it on sight of a signal from her. the evening came; neither of the lovers knew aught of what the other was about; but, being suspicious of one another, they came to take possession, each with his own company of armed friends. minghino, while awaiting the signal, rested with his company in the house of one of his friends hard by the girl's house: giannole with his company was posted a little farther off. crivello and the maid, when giacomino was gone, did each their endeavour to get the other out of the way. crivello said to the maid:--"how is it thou takest not thyself off to bed, but goest still hither and thither about the house?" and the maid said to crivello:--"nay, but why goest thou not after thy master? thou hast supped; what awaitest thou here?" and so, neither being able to make the other quit the post, crivello, the hour concerted with giannole being come, said to himself:--what care i for her? if she will not keep quiet, 'tis like to be the worse for her. whereupon he gave the signal, and hied him to the door, which he had no sooner opened, than giannole entered with two of his companions, and finding the girl in the saloon, laid hands on her with intent to carry her off. the girl struggled, and shrieked amain, as did also the maid. minghino, fearing the noise, hasted to the spot with his companions; and, seeing that the girl was already being borne across the threshold, they drew their swords, and cried out in chorus:--"ah! traitors that ye are, ye are all dead men! 'twill go otherwise than ye think for. what means this force?" which said, they fell upon them with their swords, while the neighbours, alarmed by the noise, came hurrying forth with lights and arms, and protested that 'twas an outrage, and took minghino's part. so, after a prolonged struggle, minghino wrested the girl from giannole, and set her again in giacomino's house. nor were the combatants separated before the officers of the governor of the city came up and arrested not a few of them; among them minghino and giannole and crivello, whom they marched off to prison. however, peace being restored and giacomino returned, 'twas with no little chagrin that he heard of the affair; but finding upon investigation that the girl was in no wise culpable, he was somewhat reassured; and determined, lest the like should again happen, to bestow the girl in marriage as soon as might be. on the morrow the kinsfolk of the two lovers, having learned the truth of the matter, and knowing what evil might ensue to the captives, if giacomino should be minded to take the course which he reasonably might, came and gave him good words, beseeching him to let the kindly feeling, the love, which they believed he bore to them, his suppliants, count for more with him than the wrong that the hare-brained gallants had done him, and on their part and their own offering to make any amend that he might require. giacomino, who had seen many things in his time, and lacked not sound sense, made answer briefly:--"gentlemen, were i in my own country, as i am in yours, i hold myself in such sort your friend that nought would i do in this matter, or in any other, save what might be agreeable to you: besides which, i have the more reason to consider your wishes, because 'tis against you yourselves that you have offended, inasmuch as this damsel, whatever many folk may suppose, is neither of cremona nor of pavia, but is of faenza, albeit neither i nor she, nor he from whom i had her, did ever wot whose daughter she was: wherefore, touching that you ask of me, i will even do just as you bid me." the worthy men found it passing strange that the girl should be of faenza; and having thanked giacomino for his handsome answer, they besought him that he would be pleased to tell them how she had come into his hands, and how he knew that she was of faenza. to whom giacomino replied on this wise:--"a comrade and friend i had, guidotto da cremona, who, being at the point of death, told me that, when this city of faenza was taken by the emperor frederic, he and his comrades, entering one of the houses during the sack, found there good store of booty, and never a soul save this girl, who, being two years old or thereabouts, greeted him as father as he came up the stairs; wherefore he took pity on her, and carried her with whatever else was in the house away with him to fano; where on his deathbed he left her to me, charging me in due time to bestow her in marriage, and give her all his goods and chattels by way of dowry: but, albeit she is now of marriageable age, i have not been able to provide her with a husband to my mind; though right glad should i be to do so, that nought like the event of yesterday may again befall me." now among the rest of those present was one guglielmo da medicina, who had been with guidotto on that occasion, and knew well whose house it was that guidotto had sacked; and seeing the owner there among the rest, he went up to him, and said:--"dost hear, bernabuccio, what giacomino says?" "ay," answered bernabuccio, "and i gave the more heed thereto, for that i call to mind that during those disorders i lost a little daughter of just the age that giacomino speaks of." "'tis verily she then," said guglielmo, "for once when i was with guidotto i heard him describe what house it was that he had sacked, and i wist that 'twas thine. wherefore search thy memory if there be any sign by which thou thinkest to recognize her, and let her be examined that thou mayst be assured that she is thy daughter." so bernabuccio pondered a while, and then recollected that she ought to have a scar, shewing like a tiny cross, above her left ear, being where he had excised a tumour a little while before that affair: wherefore without delay he went up to giacomino, who was still there, and besought him to let him go home with him and see the damsel. giacomino gladly did so, and no sooner was the girl brought into bernabuccio's presence, than, as he beheld her, 'twas as if he saw the face of her mother, who was still a beautiful woman. however, he would not rest there, but besought giacomino of his grace to permit him to lift a lock or two of hair above her left ear; whereto giacomino consented. so bernabuccio approached her where she stood somewhat shamefast, and with his right hand lifted her locks, and, seeing the cross, wist that in very truth she was his daughter, and tenderly wept and embraced her, albeit she withstood him; and then, turning to giacomino, he said:--"my brother, the girl is my daughter; 'twas my house that guidotto sacked, and so sudden was the assault that my wife, her mother, forgot her, and we have always hitherto supposed, that, my house being burned that same day, she perished in the flames." catching his words, and seeing that he was advanced in years, the girl inclined to believe him, and impelled by some occult instinct, suffered his embraces, and melting, mingled her tears with his. bernabuccio forthwith sent for her mother and her sisters and other kinswomen and her brothers, and having shewn her to them all, and told the story, after they had done her great cheer and embraced her a thousand times, to giacomino's no small delight, he brought her home with him. which coming to the ears of the governor of the city, the worthy man, knowing that giannole, whom he had in ward, was bernabuccio's son and the girl's brother, made up his mind to deal leniently with giannole: wherefore he took upon himself the part of mediator in the affair, and having made peace between bernabuccio and giacomino and giannole and minghino, gave agnesa--such was the damsel's name--to minghino to wife, to the great delight of all minghino's kinsfolk, and set at liberty not only giannole and minghino but crivello, and the others their confederates in the affair. whereupon minghino with the blithest of hearts wedded agnesa with all due pomp and circumstance, and brought her home, where for many a year thereafter he lived with her in peace and prosperity. novel vi. -gianni di procida, being found with a damsel that he loves, and who had been given to king frederic, is bound with her to a stake, so to be burned. he is recognized by ruggieri dell' oria, is delivered, and marries her. -neifile's story, with which the ladies were greatly delighted, being ended, the queen called for one from pampinea; who forthwith raised her noble countenance, and thus began:--mighty indeed, gracious ladies, are the forces of love, and great are the labours and excessive and unthought of the perils which they induce lovers to brave; as is manifest enough by what we have heard to-day and on other occasions: howbeit i mean to shew you the same once more by a story of an enamoured youth. hard by naples is the island of ischia, in which there dwelt aforetime with other young damsels one, restituta by name, daughter of one marin bolgaro, a gentleman of the island. very fair was she, and blithe of heart, and by a young gallant, gianni by name, of the neighbouring islet of procida, was beloved more dearly than life, and in like measure returned his love. now, not to mention his daily resort to ischia to see her, there were times not a few when gianni, not being able to come by a boat, would swim across from procida by night, that he might have sight, if of nought else, at least of the walls of her house. and while their love burned thus fervently, it so befell that one summer's day, as the damsel was all alone on the seashore, picking her way from rock to rock, detaching, as she went, shells from their beds with a knife, she came to a recess among the rocks, where for the sake, as well of the shade as of the comfort afforded by a spring of most cool water that was there, some sicilian gallants, that were come from naples, had put in with their felucca. who, having taken note of the damsel, that she was very fair, and that she was not yet ware of them, and was alone, resolved to capture her, and carry her away; nor did they fail to give effect to their resolve; but, albeit she shrieked amain, they laid hands on her, and set her aboard their boat, and put to sea. arrived at calabria, they fell a wrangling as to whose the damsel should be, and in brief each claimed her for his own: wherefore, finding no means of coming to an agreement, and fearing that worse might befall them, and she bring misfortune upon them, they resolved with one accord to give her to frederic, king of sicily, who was then a young man, and took no small delight in commodities of that quality; and so, being come to palermo, they did. marking her beauty, the king set great store by her; but as she was somewhat indisposed, he commanded that, till she was stronger, she should be lodged and tended in a very pretty villa that was in one of his gardens, which he called cuba; and so 'twas done. the purloining of the damsel caused no small stir in ischia, more especially because 'twas impossible to discover by whom she had been carried off. but gianni, more concerned than any other, despairing of finding her in ischia, and being apprised of the course the felucca had taken, equipped one himself, and put to sea, and in hot haste scoured the whole coast from minerva to scalea in calabria, making everywhere diligent search for the damsel, and in scalea learned that she had been taken by sicilian mariners to palermo. whither, accordingly, he hied him with all speed; and there after long search discovering that she had been given to the king, who kept her at cuba, he was sore troubled, insomuch that he now scarce ventured to hope that he should ever set eyes on her, not to speak of having her for his own, again. but still, holden by love, and seeing that none there knew him, he sent the felucca away, and tarried there, and frequently passing by cuba, he chanced one day to catch sight of her at a window, and was seen of her, to their great mutual satisfaction. and gianni, taking note that the place was lonely, made up to her, and had such speech of her as he might, and being taught by her after what fashion he must proceed, if he would have further speech of her, he departed, but not till he had made himself thoroughly acquainted with the configuration of the place; and having waited until night was come and indeed far spent, he returned thither, and though the ascent was such that 'twould scarce have afforded lodgment to a woodpecker, won his way up and entered the garden, where, finding a pole, he set it against the window which the damsel had pointed out as hers, and thereby swarmed up easily enough. the damsel had aforetime shewn herself somewhat distant towards him, being careful of her honour, but now deeming it already lost, she had bethought her that there was none to whom she might more worthily give herself than to him; and reckoning upon inducing him to carry her off, she had made up her mind to gratify his every desire; and to that end had left the window open that his ingress might be unimpeded. so, finding it open, gianni softly entered, lay down beside the damsel, who was awake, and before they went further, opened to him all her mind, beseeching him most earnestly to take her thence, and carry her off. gianni replied that there was nought that would give him so much pleasure, and that without fail, upon leaving her, he would make all needful arrangements for bringing her away when he next came. whereupon with exceeding great delight they embraced one another, and plucked that boon than which love has no greater to bestow; and having so done divers times, they unwittingly fell asleep in one another's arms. now towards daybreak the king, who had been greatly charmed with the damsel at first sight, happened to call her to mind, and feeling himself fit, resolved, notwithstanding the hour, to go lie with her a while; and so, attended by a few of his servants, he hied him privily to cuba. having entered the house, he passed (the door being softly opened) into the room in which he knew the damsel slept. a great blazing torch was borne before him, and so, as he bent his glance on the bed, he espied the damsel and gianni lying asleep, naked and in one another's arms. whereat he was seized with a sudden and vehement passion of wrath, insomuch that, albeit he said never a word, he could scarce refrain from slaying both of them there and then with a dagger that he had with him. then, bethinking him that 'twere the depth of baseness in any man--not to say a king--to slay two naked sleepers, he mastered himself, and determined to do them to death in public and by fire. wherefore, turning to a single companion that he had with him, he said:--"what thinkest thou of this base woman, in whom i had placed my hope?" and then he asked whether he knew the gallant, that had presumed to enter his house to do him such outrage and despite. whereto the other replied that he minded not ever to have seen him. thereupon the king hied him out of the room in a rage, and bade take the two lovers, naked as they were, and bind them, and, as soon as 'twas broad day, bring them to palermo, and bind them back to back to a stake in the piazza, there to remain until tierce, that all might see them, after which they were to be burned, as they had deserved. and having so ordered, he went back to palermo, and shut himself up in his room, very wroth. no sooner was he gone than there came unto the two lovers folk not a few, who, having awakened them, did forthwith ruthlessly take and bind them: whereat, how they did grieve and tremble for their lives, and weep and bitterly bewail their fate, may readily be understood. pursuant to the king's commandment they were brought to palermo, and bound to a stake in the piazza; and before their eyes faggots and fire were made ready to burn them at the hour appointed by the king. great was the concourse of the folk of palermo, both men and women, that came to see the two lovers, the men all agog to feast their eyes on the damsel, whom they lauded for shapeliness and loveliness, and no less did the women commend the gallant, whom in like manner they crowded to see, for the same qualities. meanwhile the two hapless lovers, both exceeding shamefast, stood with bent heads bitterly bewailing their evil fortune, and momently expecting their death by the cruel fire. so they awaited the time appointed by the king; but their offence being bruited abroad, the tidings reached the ears of ruggieri dell' oria, a man of peerless worth, and at that time the king's admiral, who, being likewise minded to see them, came to the place where they were bound, and after gazing on the damsel and finding her very fair, turned to look at the gallant, whom with little trouble he recognized, and drawing nearer to him, he asked him if he were gianni di procida. gianni raised his head, and recognizing the admiral, made answer:--"my lord, he, of whom you speak, i was; but i am now as good as no more." the admiral then asked him what it was that had brought him to such a pass. whereupon:--"love and the king's wrath," quoth gianni. the admiral induced him to be more explicit, and having learned from him exactly how it had come about, was turning away, when gianni called him back, saying:--"oh! my lord, if so it may be, procure me one favour of him by whose behest i thus stand here." "what favour?" demanded ruggieri. "i see," returned gianni, "that die i must, and that right soon. i crave, then, as a favour, that, whereas this damsel and i, that have loved one another more dearly than life, are here set back to back, we may be set face to face, that i may have the consolation of gazing on her face as i depart." ruggieri laughed as he replied:--"with all my heart. i will so order it that thou shalt see enough of her to tire of her." he then left him and charged the executioners to do nothing more without further order of the king; and being assured of their obedience, he hied him forthwith to the king, to whom, albeit he found him in a wrathful mood, he spared not to speak his mind, saying:--"sire, wherein have they wronged thee, those two young folk, whom thou hast ordered to be burned down there in the piazza?" the king told him. whereupon ruggieri continued:--"their offence does indeed merit such punishment, but not at thy hands, and if misdeeds should not go unpunished, services should not go unrewarded; nay, may warrant indulgence and mercy. knowest thou who they are whom thou wouldst have burned?" the king signified that he did not. whereupon ruggieri:--"but i," quoth he, "am minded that thou shouldst know them, to the end that thou mayst know with what discretion thou surrenderest thyself to a transport of rage. the young man is the son of landolfo di procida, brother of messer gianni di procida, to whom thou owest it that thou art lord and king of this island. the damsel is a daughter of marin bolgaro, whose might alone to-day prevents ischia from throwing off thy yoke. moreover, these young folk have long been lovers, and 'tis for that the might of love constrained them, and not that they would do despite to thy lordship, that they have committed this offence, if indeed 'tis meet to call that an offence which young folk do for love's sake. wherefore, then, wouldst thou do them to death, when thou shouldst rather do them all cheer, and honour them with lordly gifts?" the king gave ear to ruggieri's words, and being satisfied that he spoke sooth, repented him, not only of his evil purpose, but of what he had already done, and forthwith gave order to loose the two young folk from the stake, and bring them before him; and so 'twas done. and having fully apprised himself of their case, he saw fit to make them amends of the wrong he had done them with honours and largess. wherefore he caused them to be splendidly arrayed, and being assured that they were both minded to wed, he himself gave gianni his bride, and loading them with rich presents, sent them well content back to ischia, where they were welcomed with all festal cheer, and lived long time thereafter to their mutual solace and delight. novel vii. -teodoro, being enamoured of violante, daughter of messer amerigo, his lord, gets her with child, and is sentenced to the gallows; but while he is being scourged thither, he is recognized by his father, and being set at large, takes violante to wife. -while they doubted whether the two lovers would be burned, the ladies were all fear and suspense; but when they heard of their deliverance, they all with one accord put on a cheerful countenance, praising god. the story ended, the queen ordained that the next should be told by lauretta, who blithely thus began:-fairest ladies, what time good king guglielmo ruled sicily there dwelt on the island a gentleman, messer amerigo abate da trapani by name, who was well provided, as with other temporal goods, so also with children. for which cause being in need of servants, he took occasion of the appearance in trapani waters of certain genoese corsairs from the levant, who, scouring the coast of armenia, had captured not a few boys, to purchase of them some of these youngsters, supposing them to be turks; among whom, albeit most shewed as mere shepherd boys, there was one, teodoro, by name, whose less rustic mien seemed to betoken gentle blood. who, though still treated as a slave, was suffered to grow up in the house with messer amerigo's children, and, nature getting the better of circumstance, bore himself with such grace and dignity that messer amerigo gladly gave him his freedom, and still deeming him to be a turk, had him baptized and named pietro, and made him his majordomo, and placed much trust in him. now among the other children that grew up in messer amerigo's house was his fair and dainty daughter, violante; and, as her father was in no hurry to give her in marriage, it so befell that she became enamoured of pietro, but, for all her love and the great conceit she had of his qualities and conduct, she nevertheless was too shamefast to discover her passion to him. however, love spared her the pains, for pietro had cast many a furtive glance in her direction, and had grown so enamoured of her that 'twas never well with him except he saw her; but great was his fear lest any should detect his passion, for he deemed 'twould be the worse for him. the damsel, who was fain indeed of the sight of him, understood his case; and to encourage him dissembled not her exceeding great satisfaction. on which footing they remained a great while, neither venturing to say aught to the other, much as both longed to do so. but, while they both burned with a mutual flame, fortune, as if their entanglement were of her preordaining, found means to banish the fear and hesitation that kept them tongue-tied. messer amerigo possessed, a mile or so from trapani, a goodly estate, to which he was wont not seldom to resort with his daughter and other ladies by way of recreation; and on one of these days, while there they tarried with pietro, whom they had brought with them, suddenly, as will sometimes happen in summer, the sky became overcast with black clouds, insomuch that the lady and her companions, lest the storm should surprise them there, set out on their return to trapani, making all the haste they might. but pietro and the girl being young, and sped perchance by love no less than by fear of the storm, completely outstripped her mother and the other ladies; and when they were gotten so far ahead as to be well-nigh out of sight of the lady and all the rest, the thunder burst upon them peal upon peal, hard upon which came a fall of hail very thick and close, from which the lady sought shelter in the house of a husbandman. pietro and the damsel, finding no more convenient refuge, betook them to an old, and all but ruinous, and now deserted, cottage, which, however, still had a bit of roof left, whereunder they both took their stand in such close quarters, owing to the exiguity of the shelter, that they perforce touched one another. which contact was the occasion that they gathered somewhat more courage to disclose their love; and so it was that pietro began on this wise:--"now would to god that this hail might never cease, that so i might stay here for ever!" "and well content were i," returned the damsel. and by and by their hands met, not without a tender pressure, and then they fell to embracing and so to kissing one another, while the hail continued. and not to dwell on every detail, the sky was not clear before they had known the last degree of love's felicity, and had taken thought how they might secretly enjoy one another in the future. the cottage being close to the city gate, they hied them thither, as soon as the storm was overpast, and having there awaited the lady, returned home with her. nor, using all discretion, did they fail thereafter to meet from time to time in secret, to their no small solace; and the affair went so far that the damsel conceived, whereby they were both not a little disconcerted; insomuch that the damsel employed many artifices to arrest the course of nature, but to no effect. wherefore pietro, being in fear of his life, saw nothing for it but flight, and told her so. whereupon:--"if thou leave me," quoth she, "i shall certainly kill myself." much as he loved her, pietro answered:--"nay but, my lady, wherefore wouldst thou have me tarry here? thy pregnancy will discover our offence: thou wilt be readily forgiven; but 'twill be my woeful lot to bear the penalty of thy sin and mine." "pietro," returned the damsel, "too well will they wot of my offence, but be sure that, if thou confess not, none will ever wot of thine." then quoth he:--"since thou givest me this promise, i will stay; but mind thou keep it." the damsel, who had done her best to keep her condition secret, saw at length by the increase of her bulk that 'twas impossible: wherefore one day most piteously bewailing herself, she made her avowal to her mother, and besought her to shield her from the consequences. distressed beyond measure, the lady chid her severely, and then asked her how it had come to pass. the damsel, to screen pietro, invented a story by which she put another complexion on the affair. the lady believed her, and, that her fall might not be discovered, took her off to one of their estates; where, the time of her delivery being come, and she, as women do in such a case, crying out for pain, it so befell that messer amerigo, whom the lady expected not, as indeed he was scarce ever wont, to come there, did so, having been out a hawking, and passing by the chamber where the damsel lay, marvelled to hear her cries, and forthwith entered, and asked what it meant. on sight of whom the lady rose and sorrowfully gave him her daughter's version of what had befallen her. but he, less credulous than his wife, averred that it could not be true that she knew not by whom she was pregnant, and was minded to know the whole truth: let the damsel confess and she might regain his favour; otherwise she must expect no mercy and prepare for death. the lady did all she could to induce her husband to rest satisfied with what she had told him; but all to no purpose. mad with rage, he rushed, drawn sword in hand, to his daughter's bedside (she, pending the parley, having given birth to a boy) and cried out:--"declare whose this infant is, or forthwith thou diest." overcome by fear of death, the damsel broke her promise to pietro, and made a clean breast of all that had passed between him and her. whereat the knight, grown fell with rage, could scarce refrain from slaying her. however, having given vent to his wrath in such words as it dictated, he remounted his horse and rode to trapani, and there before one messer currado, the king's lieutenant, laid information of the wrong done him by pietro, in consequence whereof pietro, who suspected nothing, was forthwith taken, and being put to the torture, confessed all. some days later the lieutenant sentenced him to be scourged through the city, and then hanged by the neck; and messer amerigo, being minded that one and the same hour should rid the earth of the two lovers and their son (for to have compassed pietro's death was not enough to appease his wrath), mingled poison and wine in a goblet, and gave it to one of his servants with a drawn sword, saying:--"get thee with this gear to violante, and tell her from me to make instant choice of one of these two deaths, either the poison or the steel; else, i will have her burned, as she deserves, in view of all the citizens; which done, thou wilt take the boy that she bore a few days ago, and beat his brains out against the wall, and cast his body for a prey to the dogs." hearing the remorseless doom thus passed by the angry father upon both his daughter and his grandson, the servant, prompt to do evil rather than good, hied him thence. now, as pietro in execution of his sentence was being scourged to the gallows by the serjeants, 'twas so ordered by the leaders of the band that he passed by an inn, where were three noblemen of armenia, sent by the king of that country as ambassadors to rome, to treat with the pope of matters of the highest importance, touching a crusade that was to be; who, having there alighted to rest and recreate them for some days, had received not a few tokens of honour from the nobles of trapani, and most of all from messer amerigo. hearing the tramp of pietro's escort, they came to a window to see what was toward; and one of them, an aged man, and of great authority, fineo by name, looking hard at pietro, who was stripped from the waist up, and had his hands bound behind his back, espied on his breast a great spot of scarlet, not laid on by art, but wrought in the skin by operation of nature, being such as the ladies here call a rose. which he no sooner saw, than he was reminded of a son that had been stolen from him by corsairs on the coast of lazistan some fifteen years before, nor had he since been able to hear tidings of him; and guessing the age of the poor wretch that was being scourged, he set it down as about what his son's would be, were he living, and, what with the mark and the age, he began to suspect that 'twas even his son, and bethought him that, if so, he would scarce as yet have forgotten his name or the speech of armenia. wherefore, as he was within earshot he called to him:--"teodoro!" at the word pietro raised his head: whereupon fineo, speaking in armenian, asked him:--"whence and whose son art thou?" the serjeants, that were leading him, paused in deference to the great man, and so pietro answered:--"of armenia was i, son of one fineo, brought hither by folk i wot not of, when i was but a little child." then fineo, witting that in very truth 'twas the boy that he had lost, came down with his companions, weeping; and, all the serjeants making way, he ran to him, and embraced him, and doffing a mantle of richest texture that he wore, he prayed the captain of the band to be pleased to tarry there until he should receive orders to go forward, and was answered by the captain that he would willingly so wait. fineo already knew, for 'twas bruited everywhere, the cause for which pietro was being led to the gallows; wherefore he straightway hied him with his companions and their retinue to messer currado, and said to him:--"sir, this lad, whom you are sending to the gallows like a slave, is freeborn, and my son, and is ready to take to wife her whom, as 'tis said, he has deflowered; so please you, therefore, delay the execution until such time as it may be understood whether she be minded to have him for husband, lest, should she be so minded, you be found to have broken the law." messer currado marvelled to hear that pietro was fineo's son, and not without shame, albeit 'twas not his but fortune's fault, confessed that 'twas even as fineo said: and having caused pietro to be taken home with all speed, and messer amerigo to be brought before him, told him the whole matter. messer amerigo, who supposed that by this time his daughter and grandson must be dead, was the saddest man in the world to think that 'twas by his deed, witting that, were the damsel still alive, all might very easily be set right: however, he sent post haste to his daughter's abode, revoking his orders, if they were not yet carried out. the servant, whom he had earlier despatched, had laid the sword and poison before the damsel, and, for that she was in no hurry to make her choice, was giving her foul words, and endeavouring to constrain her thereto, when the messenger arrived; but on hearing the injunction laid upon him by his lord, he desisted, and went back, and told him how things stood. whereupon messer amerigo, much relieved, hied him to fineo, and well-nigh weeping, and excusing himself for what had befallen, as best he knew how, craved his pardon, and professed himself well content to give teodoro, so he were minded to have her, his daughter to wife. fineo readily accepted his excuses, and made answer:--"'tis my will that my son espouse your daughter, and, so he will not, let thy sentence passed upon him be carried out." so fineo and messer amerigo being agreed, while teodoro still languished in fear of death, albeit he was glad at heart to have found his father, they questioned him of his will in regard of this matter. when he heard that, if he would, he might have violante to wife, teodoro's delight was such that he seemed to leap from hell to paradise, and said that, if 'twas agreeable to them all, he should deem it the greatest of favours. so they sent to the damsel to learn her pleasure: who, having heard how it had fared, and was now like to fare, with teodoro, albeit, saddest of women, she looked for nought but death, began at length to give some credence to their words, and to recover heart a little, and answered that, were she to follow the bent of her desire, nought that could happen would delight her more than to be teodoro's wife; but nevertheless she would do as her father bade her. so, all agreeing, the damsel was espoused with all pomp and festal cheer, to the boundless delight of all the citizens, and was comforted, and nurtured her little boy, and in no long time waxed more beautiful than ever before; and, her confinement being ended, she presented herself before fineo, who was then about to quit rome on his homeward journey, and did him such reverence as is due to a father. fineo, mighty well pleased to have so fair a daughter-in-law, caused celebrate her nuptials most bravely and gaily, and received, and did ever thereafter entreat, her as his daughter. and so he took her, not many days after the festivities were ended, with his son and little grandson, aboard a galley, and brought them to lazistan, and there thenceforth the two lovers dwelt with him in easeful and lifelong peace. novel viii. -nastagio degli onesti, loving a damsel of the traversari family, by lavish expenditure gains not her love. at the instance of his kinsfolk he hies him to chiassi, where he sees a knight hunt a damsel and slay her and cause her to be devoured by two dogs. he bids his kinsfolk and the lady that he loves to breakfast. during the meal the said damsel is torn in pieces before the eyes of the lady, who, fearing a like fate, takes nastagio to husband. -lauretta was no sooner silent than thus at the queen's behest began filomena:--sweet ladies, as in us pity has ever its meed of praise, even so divine justice suffers not our cruelty to escape severe chastisement: the which that i may shew you, and thereby dispose you utterly to banish that passion from your souls, i am minded to tell you a story no less touching than delightsome. in ravenna, that most ancient city of romagna, there dwelt of yore noblemen and gentlemen not a few, among whom was a young man, nastagio degli onesti by name, who by the death of his father and one of his uncles inherited immense wealth. being without a wife, nastagio, as 'tis the way with young men, became enamoured of a daughter of messer paolo traversaro, a damsel of much higher birth than his, whose love he hoped to win by gifts and the like modes of courting, which, albeit they were excellent and fair and commendable, not only availed him not, but seemed rather to have the contrary effect, so harsh and ruthless and unrelenting did the beloved damsel shew herself towards him; for whether it was her uncommon beauty or her noble lineage that puffed her up, so haughty and disdainful was she grown that pleasure she had none either in him or in aught that pleased him. the burden of which disdain nastagio found so hard to bear, that many a time, when he had made his moan, he longed to make away with himself. however he refrained therefrom, and many a time resolved to give her up altogether, or, if so he might, to hold her in despite, as she did him: but 'twas all in vain, for it seemed as if, the more his hope dwindled, the greater grew his love. and, as thus he continued, loving and spending inordinately, certain of his kinsfolk and friends, being apprehensive lest he should waste both himself and his substance, did many a time counsel and beseech him to depart ravenna, and go tarry for a time elsewhere, that so he might at once cool his flame and reduce his charges. for a long while nastagio answered their admonitions with banter; but as they continued to ply him with them, he grew weary of saying no so often, and promised obedience. whereupon he equipped himself as if for a journey to france or spain, or other distant parts, got on horseback and sallied forth of ravenna, accompanied by not a few of his friends, and being come to a place called chiassi, about three miles from ravenna, he halted, and having sent for tents and pavilions, told his companions that there he meant to stay, and they might go back to ravenna. so nastagio pitched his camp, and there commenced to live after as fine and lordly a fashion as did ever any man, bidding divers of his friends from time to time to breakfast or sup with him, as he had been wont to do. now it so befell that about the beginning of may, the season being very fine, he fell a brooding on the cruelty of his mistress, and, that his meditations might be the less disturbed, he bade all his servants leave him, and sauntered slowly, wrapt in thought, as far as the pinewood. which he had threaded for a good half-mile, when, the fifth hour of the day being well-nigh past, yet he recking neither of food nor of aught else, 'twas as if he heard a woman wailing exceedingly and uttering most piercing shrieks: whereat, the train of his sweet melancholy being broken, he raised his head to see what was toward, and wondered to find himself in the pinewood; and saw, moreover, before him running through a grove, close set with underwood and brambles, towards the place where he was, a damsel most comely, stark naked, her hair dishevelled, and her flesh all torn by the briers and brambles, who wept and cried piteously for mercy; and at her flanks he saw two mastiffs, exceeding great and fierce, that ran hard upon her track, and not seldom came up with her and bit her cruelly; and in the rear he saw, riding a black horse, a knight sadly accoutred, and very wrathful of mien, carrying a rapier in his hand, and with despiteful, blood-curdling words threatening her with death. whereat he was at once amazed and appalled, and then filled with compassion for the hapless lady, whereof was bred a desire to deliver her, if so he might, from such anguish and peril of death. wherefore, as he was unarmed, he ran and took in lieu of a cudgel a branch of a tree, with which he prepared to encounter the dogs and the knight. which the knight observing, called to him before he was come to close quarters, saying:--"hold off, nastagio, leave the dogs and me alone to deal with this vile woman as she has deserved." and, even as he spoke, the dogs gripped the damsel so hard on either flank that they arrested her flight, and the knight, being come up, dismounted. whom nastagio approached, saying:--"i know not who thou art, that knowest me so well, but thus much i tell thee: 'tis a gross outrage for an armed knight to go about to kill a naked woman, and set his dogs upon her as if she were a wild beast: rest assured that i shall do all i can to protect her." whereupon:--"nastagio," replied the knight, "of the same city as thou was i, and thou wast yet a little lad when i, messer guido degli anastagi by name, being far more enamoured of this damsel than thou art now of her of the traversari, was by her haughtiness and cruelty brought to so woeful a pass that one day in a fit of despair i slew myself with this rapier which thou seest in my hand; for which cause i am condemned to the eternal pains. nor was it long after my death that she, who exulted therein over measure, also died, and for that she repented her not of her cruelty and the joy she had of my sufferings, for which she took not blame to herself, but merit, was likewise condemned to the pains of hell. nor had she sooner made her descent, than for her pain and mine 'twas ordained, that she should flee before me, and that i, who so loved her, should pursue her, not as my beloved lady, but as my mortal enemy, and so, as often as i come up with her, i slay her with this same rapier with which i slew myself, and having ripped her up by the back, i take out that hard and cold heart, to which neither love nor pity had ever access, and therewith her other inward parts, as thou shalt forthwith see, and cast them to these dogs to eat. and in no long time, as the just and mighty god decrees, she rises even as if she had not died, and recommences her dolorous flight, i and the dogs pursuing her. and it so falls out that every friday about this hour i here come up with her, and slaughter her as thou shalt see; but ween not that we rest on other days; for there are other places in which i overtake her, places in which she used, or devised how she might use, me cruelly; on which wise, changed as thou seest from her lover into her foe, i am to pursue her for years as many as the months during which she shewed herself harsh to me. wherefore leave me to execute the decree of the divine justice, and presume not to oppose that which thou mayst not avail to withstand." affrighted by the knight's words, insomuch that there was scarce a hair on his head but stood on end, nastagio shrank back, still gazing on the hapless damsel, and waited all a tremble to see what the knight would do. nor had he long to wait; for the knight, as soon as he had done speaking, sprang, rapier in hand, like a mad dog upon the damsel, who, kneeling, while the two mastiffs gripped her tightly, cried him mercy; but the knight, thrusting with all his force, struck her between the breasts, and ran her clean through the body. thus stricken, the damsel fell forthwith prone on the ground sobbing and shrieking: whereupon the knight drew forth a knife, and having therewith opened her in the back, took out the heart and all the circumjacent parts, and threw them to the two mastiffs, who, being famished, forthwith devoured them. and in no long time the damsel, as if nought thereof had happened, started to her feet, and took to flight towards the sea, pursued, and ever and anon bitten, by the dogs, while the knight, having gotten him to horse again, followed them as before, rapier in hand; and so fast sped they that they were quickly lost to nastagio's sight. long time he stood musing on what he had seen, divided between pity and terror, and then it occurred to him that, as this passed every friday, it might avail him not a little. so, having marked the place, he rejoined his servants, and in due time thereafter sent for some of his kinsfolk and friends, and said to them:--"'tis now a long while that you urge me to give up loving this lady that is no friend to me, and therewith make an end of my extravagant way of living; and i am now ready so to do, provided you procure me one favour, to wit, that next friday messer paolo traversaro, and his wife and daughter, and all the ladies, their kinswomen, and as many other ladies as you may be pleased to bid, come hither to breakfast with me: when you will see for yourselves the reason why i so desire." a small matter this seemed to them; and so, on their return to ravenna, they lost no time in conveying nastagio's message to his intended guests: and, albeit she was hardly persuaded, yet in the end the damsel that nastagio loved came with the rest. nastagio caused a lordly breakfast to be prepared, and had the tables set under the pines about the place where he had witnessed the slaughter of the cruel lady; and in ranging the ladies and gentlemen at table he so ordered it, that the damsel whom he loved was placed opposite the spot where it should be enacted. the last course was just served, when the despairing cries of the hunted damsel became audible to all, to their no small amazement; and each asking, and none knowing, what it might import, up they all started intent to see what was toward; and perceived the suffering damsel, and the knight and the dogs, who in a trice were in their midst. they hollaed amain to dogs and knight, and not a few advanced to succour the damsel: but the words of the knight, which were such as he had used to nastagio, caused them to fall back, terror-stricken and lost in amazement. and when the knight proceeded to do as he had done before, all the ladies that were there, many of whom were of kin to the suffering damsel and to the knight, and called to mind his love and death, wept as bitterly as if 'twere their own case. when 'twas all over, and the lady and the knight had disappeared, the strange scene set those that witnessed it pondering many and divers matters: but among them all none was so appalled as the cruel damsel that nastagio loved, who, having clearly seen and heard all that had passed, and being ware that it touched her more nearly than any other by reason of the harshness that she had ever shewn to nastagio, seemed already to be fleeing from her angered lover, and to have the mastiffs on her flanks. and so great was her terror that, lest a like fate should befall her, she converted her aversion into affection, and as soon as occasion served, which was that very night, sent a trusty chambermaid privily to nastagio with a request that he would be pleased to come to her, for that she was ready in all respects to pleasure him to the full. nastagio made answer that he was greatly flattered, but that he was minded with her consent to have his pleasure of her in an honourable way, to wit, by marrying her. the damsel, who knew that none but herself was to blame that she was not already nastagio's wife, made answer that she consented. wherefore by her own mouth she acquainted her father and mother that she agreed to marry nastagio; and, they heartily approving her choice, nastagio wedded her on the ensuing sunday, and lived happily with her many a year. nor was it in her instance alone that this terror was productive of good: on the contrary, it so wrought among the ladies of ravenna that they all became, and have ever since been, much more compliant with men's desires than they had been wont to be. novel ix. -federigo degli alberighi loves and is not loved in return: he wastes his substance by lavishness until nought is left but a single falcon, which, his lady being come to see him at his house, he gives her to eat: she, knowing his case, changes her mind, takes him to husband and makes him rich. -so ended filomena; and the queen, being ware that besides herself only dioneo (by virtue of his privilege) was left to speak, said with gladsome mien:--'tis now for me to take up my parable; which, dearest ladies, i will do with a story like in some degree to the foregoing, and that, not only that you may know how potent are your charms to sway the gentle heart, but that you may also learn how upon fitting occasions to make bestowal of your guerdons of your own accord, instead of always waiting for the guidance of fortune, which most times, not wisely, but without rule or measure, scatters her gifts. you are then to know, that coppo di borghese domenichi, a man that in our day was, and perchance still is, had in respect and great reverence in our city, being not only by reason of his noble lineage, but, and yet more, for manners and merit most illustrious and worthy of eternal renown, was in his old age not seldom wont to amuse himself by discoursing of things past with his neighbours and other folk; wherein he had not his match for accuracy and compass of memory and concinnity of speech. among other good stories, he would tell, how that there was of yore in florence a gallant named federigo di messer filippo alberighi, who for feats of arms and courtesy had not his peer in tuscany; who, as is the common lot of gentlemen, became enamoured of a lady named monna giovanna, who in her day held rank among the fairest and most elegant ladies of florence; to gain whose love he jousted, tilted, gave entertainments, scattered largess, and in short set no bounds to his expenditure. however the lady, no less virtuous than fair, cared not a jot for what he did for her sake, nor yet for him. spending thus greatly beyond his means, and making nothing, federigo could hardly fail to come to lack, and was at length reduced to such poverty that he had nothing left but a little estate, on the rents of which he lived very straitly, and a single falcon, the best in the world. the estate was at campi, and thither, deeming it no longer possible for him to live in the city as he desired, he repaired, more in love than ever before; and there, in complete seclusion, diverting himself with hawking, he bore his poverty as patiently as he might. now, federigo being thus reduced to extreme poverty, it so happened that one day monna giovanna's husband, who was very rich, fell ill, and, seeing that he was nearing his end, made his will, whereby he left his estate to his son, who was now growing up, and in the event of his death without lawful heir named monna giovanna, whom he dearly loved, heir in his stead; and having made these dispositions he died. monna giovanna, being thus left a widow, did as our ladies are wont, and repaired in the summer to one of her estates in the country which lay very near to that of federigo. and so it befell that the urchin began to make friends with federigo, and to shew a fondness for hawks and dogs, and having seen federigo's falcon fly not a few times, took a singular fancy to him, and greatly longed to have him for his own, but still did not dare to ask him of federigo, knowing that federigo prized him so much. so the matter stood when by chance the boy fell sick; whereby the mother was sore distressed, for he was her only son, and she loved him as much as might be, insomuch that all day long she was beside him, and ceased not to comfort him, and again and again asked him if there were aught that he wished for, imploring him to say the word, and, if it might by any means be had, she would assuredly do her utmost to procure it for him. thus repeatedly exhorted, the boy said:--"mother mine, do but get me federigo's falcon, and i doubt not i shall soon be well." whereupon the lady was silent a while, bethinking her what she should do. she knew that federigo had long loved her, and had never had so much as a single kind look from her: wherefore she said to herself:--how can i send or go to beg of him this falcon, which by what i hear is the best that ever flew, and moreover is his sole comfort? and how could i be so unfeeling as to seek to deprive a gentleman of the one solace that is now left him? and so, albeit she very well knew that she might have the falcon for the asking, she was perplexed, and knew not what to say, and gave her son no answer. at length, however, the love she bore the boy carried the day, and she made up her mind, for his contentment, come what might, not to send, but to go herself and fetch him the falcon. so:--"be of good cheer, my son," she said, "and doubt not thou wilt soon be well; for i promise thee that the very first thing that i shall do tomorrow morning will be to go and fetch thee the falcon." whereat the child was so pleased that he began to mend that very day. on the morrow the lady, as if for pleasure, hied her with another lady to federigo's little house, and asked to see him. 'twas still, as for some days past, no weather for hawking, and federigo was in his garden, busy about some small matters which needed to be set right there. when he heard that monna giovanna was at the door, asking to see him, he was not a little surprised and pleased, and hied him to her with all speed. as soon as she saw him, she came forward to meet him with womanly grace, and having received his respectful salutation, said to him:--"good morrow, federigo," and continued:--"i am come to requite thee for what thou hast lost by loving me more than thou shouldst: which compensation is this, that i and this lady that accompanies me will breakfast with thee without ceremony this morning." "madam," federigo replied with all humility, "i mind not ever to have lost aught by loving you, but rather to have been so much profited that, if i ever deserved well in aught, 'twas to your merit that i owed it, and to the love that i bore you. and of a surety had i still as much to spend as i have spent in the past, i should not prize it so much as this visit you so frankly pay me, come as you are to one who can afford you but a sorry sort of hospitality." which said, with some confusion, he bade her welcome to his house, and then led her into his garden, where, having none else to present to her by way of companion, he said:--"madam, as there is none other here, this good woman, wife of this husbandman, will bear you company, while i go to have the table set." now, albeit his poverty was extreme, yet he had not known as yet how sore was the need to which his extravagance had reduced him; but this morning 'twas brought home to him, for that he could find nought wherewith to do honour to the lady, for love of whom he had done the honours of his house to men without number: wherefore, distressed beyond measure, and inwardly cursing his evil fortune, he sped hither and thither like one beside himself, but never a coin found he, nor yet aught to pledge. meanwhile it grew late, and sorely he longed that the lady might not leave his house altogether unhonoured, and yet to crave help of his own husbandman was more than his pride could brook. in these desperate straits his glance happened to fall on his brave falcon on his perch in his little parlour. and so, as a last resource, he took him, and finding him plump, deemed that he would make a dish meet for such a lady. wherefore, without thinking twice about it, he wrung the bird's neck, and caused his maid forthwith pluck him and set him on a spit, and roast him carefully; and having still some spotless table linen, he had the table laid therewith, and with a cheerful countenance hied him back to his lady in the garden, and told her that such breakfast as he could give her was ready. so the lady and her companion rose and came to table, and there, with federigo, who waited on them most faithfully, ate the brave falcon, knowing not what they ate. when they were risen from table, and had dallied a while in gay converse with him, the lady deemed it time to tell the reason of her visit: wherefore, graciously addressing federigo, thus began she:--"federigo, by what thou rememberest of thy past life and my virtue, which, perchance, thou hast deemed harshness and cruelty, i doubt not thou must marvel at my presumption, when thou hearest the main purpose of my visit; but if thou hadst sons, or hadst had them, so that thou mightest know the full force of the love that is borne them, i should make no doubt that thou wouldst hold me in part excused. nor, having a son, may i, for that thou hast none, claim exemption from the laws to which all other mothers are subject, and, being thus bound to own their sway, i must, though fain were i not, and though 'tis neither meet nor right, crave of thee that which i know thou dost of all things and with justice prize most highly, seeing that this extremity of thy adverse fortune has left thee nought else wherewith to delight, divert and console thee; which gift is no other than thy falcon, on which my boy has so set his heart that, if i bring him it not, i fear lest he grow so much worse of the malady that he has, that thereby it may come to pass that i lose him. and so, not for the love which thou dost bear me, and which may nowise bind thee, but for that nobleness of temper, whereof in courtesy more conspicuously than in aught else thou hast given proof, i implore thee that thou be pleased to give me the bird, that thereby i may say that i have kept my son alive, and thus made him for aye thy debtor." no sooner had federigo apprehended what the lady wanted, than, for grief that 'twas not in his power to serve her, because he had given her the falcon to eat, he fell a weeping in her presence, before he could so much as utter a word. at first the lady supposed that 'twas only because he was loath to part with the brave falcon that he wept, and as good as made up her mind that he would refuse her: however, she awaited with patience federigo's answer, which was on this wise:--"madam, since it pleased god that i should set my affections upon you there have been matters not a few, in which to my sorrow i have deemed fortune adverse to me; but they have all been trifles in comparison of the trick that she now plays me: the which i shall never forgive her, seeing that you are come here to my poor house, where, while i was rich, you deigned not to come, and ask a trifling favour of me, which she has put it out of my power to grant: how 'tis so, i will briefly tell you. when i learned that you, of your grace, were minded to breakfast with me, having respect to your high dignity and desert, i deemed it due and seemly that in your honour i should regale you, to the best of my power, with fare of a more excellent quality than is commonly set before others; and, calling to mind the falcon which you now ask of me, and his excellence, i judged him meet food for you, and so you have had him roasted on the trencher this morning; and well indeed i thought i had bestowed him; but, as now i see that you would fain have had him in another guise, so mortified am i that i am not able to serve you, that i doubt i shall never know peace of mind more." in witness whereof he had the feathers and feet and beak of the bird brought in and laid before her. the first thing the lady did, when she had heard federigo's story, and seen the relics of the bird, was to chide him that he had killed so fine a falcon to furnish a woman with a breakfast; after which the magnanimity of her host, which poverty had been and was powerless to impair, elicited no small share of inward commendation. then, frustrate of her hope of possessing the falcon, and doubting of her son's recovery, she took her leave with the heaviest of hearts, and hied her back to the boy: who, whether for fretting, that he might not have the falcon, or by the unaided energy of his disorder, departed this life not many days after, to the exceeding great grief of his mother. for a while she would do nought but weep and bitterly bewail herself; but being still young, and left very wealthy, she was often urged by her brothers to marry again, and though she would rather have not done so, yet being importuned, and remembering federigo's high desert, and the magnificent generosity with which he had finally killed his falcon to do her honour, she said to her brothers:--"gladly, with your consent, would i remain a widow, but if you will not be satisfied except i take a husband, rest assured that none other will i ever take save federigo degli alberighi." whereupon her brothers derided her, saying:--"foolish woman, what is't thou sayst? how shouldst thou want federigo, who has not a thing in the world?" to whom she answered:--"my brothers, well wot i that 'tis as you say; but i had rather have a man without wealth than wealth without a man." the brothers, perceiving that her mind was made up, and knowing federigo for a good man and true, poor though he was, gave her to him with all her wealth. and so federigo, being mated with such a wife, and one that he had so much loved, and being very wealthy to boot, lived happily, keeping more exact accounts, to the end of his days. novel x. -pietro di vinciolo goes from home to sup: his wife brings a boy into the house to bear her company: pietro returns, and she hides her gallant under a hen-coop: pietro explains that in the house of ercolano, with whom he was to have supped, there was discovered a young man bestowed there by ercolano's wife: the lady thereupon censures ercolano's wife: but unluckily an ass treads on the fingers of the boy that is hidden under the hen-coop, so that he cries for pain: pietro runs to the place, sees him, and apprehends the trick played on him by his wife, which nevertheless he finally condones, for that he is not himself free from blame. -when the queen had done speaking, and all had praised god that he had worthily rewarded federigo, dioneo, who never waited to be bidden, thus began:--i know not whether i am to term it a vice accidental and superinduced by bad habits in us mortals, or whether it be a fault seated in nature, that we are more prone to laugh at things dishonourable than at good deeds, and that more especially when they concern not ourselves. however, as the sole scope of all my efforts has been and still shall be to dispel your melancholy, and in lieu thereof to minister to you laughter and jollity; therefore, enamoured my damsels, albeit the ensuing story is not altogether free from matter that is scarce seemly, yet, as it may afford you pleasure, i shall not fail to relate it; premonishing you my hearers, that you take it with the like discretion as when, going into your gardens, you stretch forth your delicate hands and cull the roses, leaving the thorns alone: which, being interpreted, means that you will leave the caitiff husband to abide in sorry plight with his dishonour, and will gaily laugh at the amorous wiles or his wife, and commiserate her unfortunate gallant, when occasion requires. 'tis no great while since there dwelt at perugia a rich man named pietro di vinciolo, who rather, perchance, to blind others and mitigate the evil repute in which he was held by the citizens of perugia, than for any desire to wed, took a wife: and such being his motive, fortune provided him with just such a spouse as he merited. for the wife of his choice was a stout, red-haired young woman, and so hot-blooded that two husbands would have been more to her mind than one, whereas one fell to her lot that gave her only a subordinate place in his regard. which she perceiving, while she knew herself to be fair and lusty, and felt herself to be gamesome and fit, waxed very wroth, and now and again had high words with her husband, and led but a sorry life with him at most times. then, seeing that thereby she was more like to fret herself than to dispose her husband to conduct less base, she said to herself:--this poor creature deserts me to go walk in pattens in the dry; wherefore it shall go hard but i will bring another aboard the ship for the wet weather. i married him, and brought him a great and goodly dowry, knowing that he was a man, and supposing him to have the desires which men have and ought to have; and had i not deemed him to be a man, i should never have married him. he knew me to be a woman: why then took he me to wife, if women were not to his mind? 'tis not to be endured. had i not been minded to live in the world, i had become a nun; and being minded there to live, as i am, if i am to wait until i have pleasure or solace of him, i shall wait perchance until i am old; and then, too late, i shall bethink me to my sorrow that i have wasted my youth; and as to the way in which i should seek its proper solace i need no better teacher and guide than him, who finds his delight where i should find mine, and finds it to his own condemnation, whereas in me 'twere commendable. 'tis but the laws that i shall set at nought, whereas he sets both them and nature herself at nought. so the good lady reasoned, and peradventure more than once; and then, casting about how she might privily compass her end, she made friends with an old beldam, that shewed as a veritable santa verdiana, foster-mother of vipers, who was ever to be seen going to pardonings with a parcel of paternosters in her hand, and talked of nothing but the lives of the holy fathers, and the wounds of st. francis, and was generally reputed a saint; to whom in due time she opened her whole mind. "my daughter," replied the beldam, "god, who knows all things, knows that thou wilt do very rightly indeed: were it for no other reason, 'twould be meet for thee and every other young woman so to do, that the heyday of youth be not wasted; for there is no grief like that of knowing that it has been wasted. and what the devil are we women fit for when we are old except to pore over the cinders on the hearth? the which if any know, and may attest it, 'tis i, who, now that i am old, call to mind the time that i let slip from me, not without most sore and bitter and fruitless regret: and albeit 'twas not all wasted, for i would not have thee think that i was entirely without sense, yet i did not make the best use of it: whereof when i bethink me, and that i am now, even as thou seest me, such a hag that never a spark of fire may i hope to get from any, god knows how i rue it. now with men 'tis otherwise: they are born meet for a thousand uses, not for this alone; and the more part of them are of much greater consequence in old age than in youth: but women are fit for nought but this, and 'tis but for that they bear children that they are cherished. whereof, if not otherwise, thou mayst assure thyself, if thou do but consider that we are ever ready for it; which is not the case with men; besides which, one woman will tire out many men without being herself tired out. seeing then that 'tis for this we are born, i tell thee again that thou wilt do very rightly to give thy husband thy loaf for his cake, that in thy old age thy soul may have no cause of complaint against thy flesh. every one has just as much of this life as he appropriates: and this is especially true of women, whom therefore it behoves, much more than men, to seize the moment as it flies: indeed, as thou mayst see for thyself, when we grow old neither husband, nor any other man will spare us a glance; but, on the contrary, they banish us to the kitchen, there to tell stories to the cat, and to count the pots and pans; or, worse, they make rhymes about us:--'to the damsel dainty bits; to the beldam ague-fits;' and such-like catches. but to make no more words about it, i tell thee at once that there is no person in the world to whom thou couldst open thy mind with more advantage than to me; for there is no gentleman so fine but i dare speak my mind to him, nor any so harsh and forbidding but i know well how to soften him and fashion him to my will. tell me only what thou wouldst have, and leave the rest to me: but one word more: i pray thee to have me in kindly remembrance, for that i am poor; and thou shalt henceforth go shares with me in all my indulgences and every paternoster that i say, that god may make thereof light and tapers for thy dead:" wherewith she ended. so the lady came to an understanding with the beldam, that, as soon as she set eyes on a boy that often came along that street, and of whom the lady gave her a particular description, she would know what she was to do: and thereupon the lady gave her a chunk of salt meat, and bade her god-speed. the beldam before long smuggled into the lady's chamber the boy of whom she had spoken, and not long after another, such being the humour of the lady, who, standing in perpetual dread of her husband, was disposed, in this particular, to make the most of her opportunities. and one of these days, her husband being to sup in the evening with a friend named ercolano, the lady bade the beldam bring her a boy as pretty and dainty as was to be found in perugia; and so the beldam forthwith did. but the lady and the boy being set at table to sup, lo, pietro's voice was heard at the door, bidding open to him. whereupon the lady gave herself up for dead; but being fain, if she might, to screen the boy, and knowing not where else to convey or conceal him, bestowed him under a hen-coop that stood in a veranda hard by the chamber in which they were supping, and threw over it a sorry mattress that she had that day emptied of its straw; which done she hastened to open the door to her husband; saying to him as he entered:--"you have gulped your supper mighty quickly to-night." whereto pietro replied:--"we have not so much as tasted it." "how so?" enquired the lady. "i will tell thee," said pietro. "no sooner were we set at table, ercolano, his wife, and i, than we heard a sneeze close to us, to which, though 'twas repeated, we paid no heed; but as the sneezer continued to sneeze a third, a fourth, a fifth, and many another time to boot, we all began to wonder, and ercolano, who was somewhat out of humour with his wife, because she had kept us a long time at the door before she opened it, burst out in a sort of rage with:--'what means this? who is't that thus sneezes?' and made off to a stair hard by, beneath which and close to its foot was a wooden closet, of the sort which, when folk are furnishing their houses, they commonly cause to be placed there, to stow things in upon occasion. and as it seemed to him that the sneezing proceeded thence, he undid the wicket, and no sooner had he opened it than out flew never so strong a stench of brimstone; albeit we had already been saluted by a whiff of it, and complained thereof, but had been put off by the lady with:--''tis but that a while ago i bleached my veils with brimstone, having sprinkled it on a dish, that they might catch its fumes, which dish i then placed under the stair, so that it still smells a little.' "however the door being now, as i have said, open, and the smoke somewhat less dense, ercolano, peering in, espied the fellow that had sneezed, and who still kept sneezing, being thereto constrained by the pungency of the brimstone. and for all he sneezed, yet was he by this time so well-nigh choked with the brimstone that he was like neither to sneeze nor to do aught else again. as soon as he caught sight of him, ercolano bawled out:--'now see i, madam, why it was that a while ago, when we came here, we were kept waiting so long at the gate before 'twas opened; but woe betide me for the rest of my days, if i pay you not out.' whereupon the lady, perceiving that her offence was discovered, ventured no excuse, but fled from the table, whither i know not. ercolano, ignoring his wife's flight, bade the sneezer again and again to come forth; but he, being by this time fairly spent, budged not an inch for aught that ercolano said. wherefore ercolano caught him by one of his feet, and dragged him forth, and ran off for a knife with intent to kill him; but i, standing in fear of the signory on my own account, got up and would not suffer him to kill the fellow or do him any hurt, and for his better protection raised the alarm, whereby some of the neighbours came up and took the lad, more dead than alive, and bore him off, i know not whither. however, our supper being thus rudely interrupted, not only have not gulped it, but i have not so much as tasted it, as i said before!" her husband's story shewed his wife that there were other ladies as knowing as she, albeit misfortune might sometimes overtake them and gladly would she have spoken out in defence of ercolano's wife, but, thinking that, by censuring another's sin, she would secure more scope for her own, she launched out on this wise:--"fine doings indeed, a right virtuous and saintly lady she must be: here is the loyalty of an honest woman, and one to whom i had lief have confessed, so spiritual i deemed her; and the worst of it is that, being no longer young, she sets a rare example to those that are so. curses on the hour that she came into the world: curses upon her that she make not away with herself, basest, most faithless of women that she must needs be, the reproach of her sex, the opprobrium of all the ladies of this city, to cast aside all regard for her honour, her marriage vow, her reputation before the world, and, lost to all sense of shame, to scruple not to bring disgrace upon a man so worthy, a citizen so honourable, a husband by whom she was so well treated, ay, and upon herself to boot! by my hope of salvation no mercy should be shewn to such women; they should pay the penalty with their lives; to the fire with them while they yet live, and let them be burned to ashes." then, calling to mind the lover that she had close at hand in the hen-coop, she fell to coaxing pietro to get him to bed, for the hour grew late. pietro, who was more set on eating than sleeping, only asked whether there was aught he might have by way of supper. "supper, forsooth!" replied the lady. "ay, of course 'tis our way to make much of supper when thou art not at home. as if i were ercolano's wife! now, wherefore tarry longer? go, get thy night's rest: 'twere far better for thee." now so it was that some of pietro's husbandmen had come to the house that evening with divers things from the farm, and had put up their asses in a stable that adjoined the veranda, but had neglected to water them; and one of the asses being exceeding thirsty, got his head out of the halter and broke loose from the stable, and went about nosing everything, if haply he might come by water: whereby he came upon the hen-coop, beneath which was the boy; who, being constrained to stand on all fours, had the fingers of one hand somewhat protruding from under the hen-coop; and so as luck or rather ill-luck would have it, the ass trod on them; whereat, being sorely hurt, he set up a great howling, much to the surprise of pietro, who perceived that 'twas within his house. so forth he came, and hearing the boy still moaning and groaning, for the ass still kept his hoof hard down on the fingers, called out:--"who is there?" and ran to the hen-coop and raised it, and espied the fellow, who, besides the pain that the crushing of his fingers by the ass's hoof occasioned him, trembled in every limb for fear that pietro should do him a mischief. he was one that pietro had long been after for his foul purposes: so pietro, recognizing him, asked him:--"what dost thou here?" the boy making no answer, save to beseech him for the love of god to do him no hurt, pietro continued:--"get up, have no fear that i shall hurt thee; but tell me:--how, and for what cause comest thou to be here?" the boy then confessed everything. whereupon pietro, as elated by the discovery as his wife was distressed, took him by the hand; and led him into the room where the lady in the extremity of terror awaited him; and, having seated himself directly in front of her, said:--"'twas but a moment ago that thou didst curse ercolano's wife, and averred that she ought to be burned, and that she was the reproach of your sex: why saidst thou not, of thyself? or, if thou wast not minded to accuse thyself, how hadst thou the effrontery to censure her, knowing that thou hadst done even as she? verily 'twas for no other reason than that ye are all fashioned thus, and study to cover your own misdeeds with the delinquencies of others: would that fire might fall from heaven and burn you all, brood of iniquity that ye are!" the lady, marking that in the first flush of his wrath he had given her nothing worse than hard words, and discerning, as she thought, that he was secretly overjoyed to hold so beautiful a boy by the hand, took heart of grace and said:--"i doubt not indeed that thou wouldst be well pleased that fire should fall from heaven and devour us all, seeing that thou art as fond of us as a dog is of the stick, though by the holy rood thou wilt be disappointed; but i would fain have a little argument with thee, to know whereof thou complainest. well indeed were it with me, didst thou but place me on an equality with ercolano's wife, who is an old sanctimonious hypocrite, and has of him all that she wants, and is cherished by him as a wife should be: but that is not my case. for, granted that thou givest me garments and shoes to my mind, thou knowest how otherwise ill bested i am, and how long it is since last thou didst lie with me; and far liefer had i go barefoot and in rags, and have thy benevolence abed, than have all that i have, and be treated as thou dost treat me. understand me, pietro, be reasonable; consider that i am a woman like other women, with the like craving; whereof if thou deny me the gratification, 'tis no blame to me that i seek it elsewhere; and at least i do thee so much honour as not forgather with stable-boys or scurvy knaves." pietro perceived that she was like to continue in this vein the whole night: wherefore, indifferent as he was to her, he said:--"now, madam, no more of this; in the matter of which thou speakest i will content thee; but of thy great courtesy let us have something to eat by way of supper; for, methinks, the boy, as well as i, has not yet supped." "ay, true enough," said the lady, "he has not supped; for we were but just sitting down to table to sup, when, beshrew thee, thou madest thy appearance." "go then," said pietro, "get us some supper; and by and by i will arrange this affair in such a way that thou shalt have no more cause of complaint." the lady, perceiving that her husband was now tranquil, rose, and soon had the table laid again and spread with the supper which she had ready; and so they made a jolly meal of it, the caitiff husband, the lady and the boy. what after supper pietro devised for their mutual satisfaction has slipped from my memory. but so much as this i know, that on the morrow as he wended his way to the piazza, the boy would have been puzzled to say, whether of the twain, the wife or the husband, had had the most of his company during the night. but this i would say to you, dear my ladies, that whoso gives you tit, why, just give him tat; and if you cannot do it at once, why, bear it in mind until you can, that even as the ass gives, so he may receive. dioneo's story, whereat the ladies laughed the less for shamefastness rather than for disrelish, being ended, the queen, taking note that the term of her sovereignty was come, rose to her feet, and took off the laurel wreath and set it graciously upon elisa's head, saying:--"madam, 'tis now your turn to bear sway." the dignity accepted, elisa followed in all respects the example of her predecessors: she first conferred with the seneschal, and directed him how meetly to order all things during the time of her sovereignty; which done to the satisfaction of the company:--"ofttimes," quoth she, "have we heard how with bright sallies, and ready retorts, and sudden devices, not a few have known how to repugn with apt checks the bites of others, or to avert imminent perils; and because 'tis an excellent argument, and may be profitable, i ordain that to-morrow, god helping us, the following be the rule of our discourse; to wit, that it be of such as by some sprightly sally have repulsed an attack, or by some ready retort or device have avoided loss, peril or scorn." the rule being heartily approved by all, the queen rose and dismissed them till supper-time. so the honourable company, seeing the queen risen, rose all likewise, and as their wont was, betook them to their diversions as to each seemed best. but when the cicalas had hushed their chirping, all were mustered again for supper; and having blithely feasted, they all addressed them to song and dance. and the queen, while emilia led a dance, called for a song from dioneo, who at once came out with:--'monna aldruda, come perk up thy mood, a piece of glad tidings i bring thee.' whereat all the ladies fell a laughing, and most of all the queen, who bade him give them no more of that, but sing another. quoth dioneo:--"madam, had i a tabret, i would sing:--'up with your smock, monna lapa!' or:--'oh! the greensward under the olive!' or perchance you had liefer i should give you:--'woe is me, the wave of the sea!' but no tabret have i: wherefore choose which of these others you will have. perchance you would like:--'now hie thee to us forth, that so it may be cut, as may the fields about.'" "no," returned the queen, "give us another." "then," said dioneo, "i will sing:--'monna simona, embarrel, embarrel. why, 'tis not the month of october.'"(1) "now a plague upon thee," said the queen, with a laugh; "give us a proper song, wilt thou? for we will have none of these." "never fear, madam," replied dioneo; "only say which you prefer. i have more than a thousand songs by heart. perhaps you would like:--'this my little covert, make i ne'er it overt'; or:--'gently, gently, husband mine'; or:--'a hundred pounds were none too high a price for me a cock to buy.'" the queen now shewed some offence, though the other ladies laughed, and:--"a truce to thy jesting, dioneo," said she, "and give us a proper song: else thou mayst prove the quality of my ire." whereupon dioneo forthwith ceased his fooling, and sang on this wise:-so ravishing a light doth from the fair eyes of my mistress move as keeps me slave to her and thee, o love. a beam from those bright orbs did radiate that flame that through mine own eyes to my breast did whilom entrance gain. thy majesty, o love, thy might, how great they be, 'twas her fair face did manifest: whereon to brood still fain, i felt thee take and chain each sense, my soul enthralling on such wise that she alone henceforth evokes my sighs. wherefore, o dear my lord, myself i own thy slave, and, all obedience, wait and yearn, till thy might me console. yet wot i not if it be throughly known how noble is the flame wherewith i burn, my loyalty how whole to her that doth control ev'n in such sort my mind that shall i none, nor would i, peace receive, save hers alone. and so i pray thee, sweet my lord, that thou give her to feel thy fire, and shew her plain how grievous my disease. this service deign to render; for that now thou seest me waste for love, and in the pain dissolve me by degrees: and then the apt moment seize my cause to plead with her, as is but due from thee to me, who fain with thee would sue. when dioneo's silence shewed that his song was ended, the queen accorded it no stinted meed of praise; after which she caused not a few other songs to be sung. thus passed some part of the night; and then the queen, taking note that its freshness had vanquished the heat of the day, bade all go rest them, if they would, till the morning. (1) the song is evidently amoebean. -endeth here the fifth day of the decameron, beginneth the sixth, wherein, under the rule of elisa, discourse is had of such as by some sprightly sally have repulsed an attack, or by some ready retort or device have avoided loss, peril or scorn. -still in mid heaven, the moon had lost her radiance, nor was any part of our world unillumined by the fresh splendour of the dawn, when, the queen being risen and having mustered her company, they hied them, gently sauntering, across the dewy mead some distance from the beautiful hill, conversing now of this, now of the other matter, canvassing the stories, their greater or less degree of beauty, and laughing afresh at divers of their incidents, until, the sun being now in his higher ascendant, they began to feel his heat, and turning back by common consent, retraced their steps to the palace, where, the tables being already set, and fragrant herbs and fair flowers strewn all about, they by the queen's command, before it should grow hotter, addressed themselves to their meal. so, having blithely breakfasted, they first of all sang some dainty and jocund ditties, and then, as they were severally minded, composed them to sleep or sat them down to chess or dice, while dioneo and lauretta fell a singing of troilus and cressida. the hour of session being come, they took their places, at the queen's summons, in their wonted order by the fountain; but, when the queen was about to call for the first story, that happened which had not happened before; to wit, there being a great uproar in the kitchen among the maids and men, the sound thereof reached the ears of the queen and all the company. whereupon the queen called the seneschal and asked him who bawled so loud, and what was the occasion of the uproar. the seneschal made answer that 'twas some contention between licisca and tindaro; but the occasion he knew not, having but just come to quiet them, when he received her summons. the queen then bade him cause licisca and tindaro to come thither forthwith: so they came, and the queen enquired of them the cause of the uproar. tindaro was about to make answer, when licisca, who was somewhat advanced in years, and disposed to give herself airs, and heated to the strife of words, turned to tindaro, and scowling upon him said:--"unmannerly varlet that makest bold to speak before me; leave me to tell the story." then, turning to the queen, she said:--"madam, this fellow would fain instruct me as to sicofante's wife, and--neither more or less--as if i had not known her well--would have me believe that, the first night that sicofante lay with her, 'twas by force and not without effusion of blood that master yard made his way into dusky hill; which i deny, averring that he met with no resistance, but, on the contrary, with a hearty welcome on the part of the garrison. and such a numskull is he as fondly to believe that the girls are so simple as to let slip their opportunities, while they wait on the caprice of father or brothers, who six times out of seven delay to marry them for three or four years after they should. ay, ay indeed, doubtless they were well advised to tarry so long! christ's faith! i should know the truth of what i swear; there is never a woman in my neighbourhood whose husband had her virginity; and well i know how many and what manner of tricks our married dames play their husbands; and yet this booby would fain teach me to know women as if i were but born yesterday." while licisca thus spoke, the ladies laughed till all their teeth were ready to start from their heads. six times at least the queen bade her be silent: but all in vain; she halted not till she had said all that she had a mind to. when she had done, the queen turned with a smile to dioneo saying:--"this is a question for thee to deal with, dioneo; so hold thyself in readiness to give final judgment upon it, when our stories are ended." "madam," replied dioneo forthwith, "i give judgment without more ado: i say that licisca is in the right; i believe that 'tis even as she says, and that tindaro is a fool." whereupon licisca burst out laughing, and turning to tindaro:--"now did i not tell thee so?" quoth she. "begone in god's name: dost think to know more than i, thou that art but a sucking babe? thank god, i have not lived for nothing, not i." and had not the queen sternly bade her be silent, and make no more disturbance, unless she had a mind to be whipped, and sent both her and tindaro back to the kitchen, the whole day would have been spent in nought but listening to her. so licisca and tindaro having withdrawn, the queen charged filomena to tell the first story: and gaily thus filomena began. novel i. -a knight offers to carry madonna oretta a horseback with a story, but tells it so ill that she prays him to dismount her. -as stars are set for an ornament in the serene expanse of heaven, and likewise in springtime flowers and leafy shrubs in the green meadows, so, damsels, in the hour of rare and excellent discourse, is wit with its bright sallies. which, being brief, are much more proper for ladies than for men, seeing that prolixity of speech, where brevity is possible, is much less allowable to them. but for whatever cause, be it the sorry quality of our understanding, or some especial enmity that heaven bears to our generation, few ladies or none are left to-day that, when occasion prompts, are able to meet it with apt speech, ay, or if aught of the kind they hear, can understand it aright: to our common shame be it spoken! but as, touching this matter, enough has already been said by pampinea,(1) i purpose not to enlarge thereon; but, that you may know what excellence resides in speech apt for the occasion, i am minded to tell you after how courteous a fashion a lady imposed silence upon a gentleman. 'tis no long time since there dwelt in our city a lady, noble, debonair and of excellent discourse, whom not a few of you may have seen or heard of, whose name--for such high qualities merit not oblivion--was madonna oretta, her husband being messer geri spina. now this lady, happening to be, as we are, in the country, moving from place to place for pleasure with a company of ladies and gentlemen, whom she had entertained the day before at breakfast at her house, and the place of their next sojourn, whither they were to go afoot, being some considerable distance off, one of the gentlemen of the company said to her:--"madonna oretta, so please you, i will carry you great part of the way a horseback with one of the finest stories in the world." "indeed, sir," replied the lady, "i pray you do so; and i shall deem it the greatest of favours." whereupon the gentleman, who perhaps was no better master of his weapon than of his story, began a tale, which in itself was indeed excellent, but which, by repeating the same word three, four or six times, and now and again harking back, and saying:--"i said not well"; and erring not seldom in the names, setting one in place of another, he utterly spoiled; besides which, his mode of delivery accorded very ill with the character of the persons and incidents: insomuch that madonna oretta, as she listened, did oft sweat, and was like to faint, as if she were ill and at the point of death. and being at length able to bear no more of it, witting that the gentleman had got into a mess and was not like to get out of it, she said pleasantly to him:--"sir, this horse of yours trots too hard; i pray you be pleased to set me down." the gentleman, being perchance more quick of apprehension than he was skilful in narration, missed not the meaning of her sally, and took it in all good and gay humour. so, leaving unfinished the tale which he had begun, and so mishandled, he addressed himself to tell her other stories. (1) cf. first day, novel x. novel ii. -cisti, a baker, by an apt speech gives messer geri spina to know that he has by inadvertence asked that of him which he should not. -all the ladies and the men alike having greatly commended madonna oretta's apt saying, the queen bade pampinea follow suit, and thus she began:-fair ladies, i cannot myself determine whether nature or fortune be the more at fault, the one in furnishing a noble soul with a vile body, or the other in allotting a base occupation to a body endowed with a noble soul, whereof we may have seen an example, among others, in our fellow-citizen, cisti; whom, furnished though he was with a most lofty soul, fortune made a baker. and verily i should curse nature and fortune alike, did i not know that nature is most discreet, and that fortune, albeit the foolish imagine her blind, has a thousand eyes. for 'tis, i suppose, that, being wise above a little, they do as mortals ofttimes do, who, being uncertain as to their future, provide against contingencies by burying their most precious treasures in the basest places in their houses, as being the least likely to be suspected; whence, in the hour of their greatest need, they bring them forth, the base place having kept them more safe than the dainty chamber would have done. and so these two arbitresses of the world not seldom hide their most precious commodities in the obscurity of the crafts that are reputed most base, that thence being brought to light they may shine with a brighter splendour. whereof how in a trifling matter cisti, the baker, gave proof, restoring the eyes of the mind to messer geri spina, whom the story of his wife, madonna oretta, has brought to my recollection, i am minded to shew you in a narrative which shall be of the briefest. i say then that pope boniface, with whom messer geri spina stood very high in favour and honour, having sent divers of his courtiers to florence as ambassadors to treat of certain matters of great moment, and they being lodged in messer geri's house, where he treated with them of the said affairs of the pope, 'twas, for some reason or another, the wont of messer geri and the ambassadors of the pope to pass almost every morning by santa maria ughi, where cisti, the baker, had his bakehouse, and plied his craft in person. now, albeit fortune had allotted him a very humble occupation, she had nevertheless prospered him therein to such a degree that he was grown most wealthy, and without ever aspiring to change it for another, lived in most magnificent style, having among his other good things a cellar of the best wines, white and red, that were to be found in florence, or the country parts; and marking messer geri and the ambassadors of the pope pass every morning by his door, he bethought him that, as 'twas very hot, 'twould be a very courteous thing to give them to drink of his good wine; but comparing his rank with that of messer geri, he deemed it unseemly to presume to invite him, and cast about how he might lead messer geri to invite himself. so, wearing always the whitest of doublets and a spotless apron, that denoted rather the miller, than the baker, he let bring, every morning about the hour that he expected messer geri and the ambassadors to pass by his door, a spick-and-span bucket of fresh and cool spring water, and a small bolognese flagon of his good white wine, and two beakers that shone like silver, so bright were they: and there down he sat him, as they came by, and after hawking once or twice, fell a drinking his wine with such gusto that 'twould have raised a thirst in a corpse. which messer geri having observed on two successive mornings, said on the third:--"what is't, cisti? is't good?" whereupon cisti jumped up, and answered:--"ay, sir, good it is; but in what degree i might by no means make you understand, unless you tasted it." messer geri, in whom either the heat of the weather, or unwonted fatigue, or, perchance, the gusto with which he had seen cisti drink, had bred a thirst, turned to the ambassadors and said with a smile:--"gentlemen, 'twere well to test the quality of this worthy man's wine: it may be such that we shall not repent us." and so in a body they came up to where cisti stood; who, having caused a goodly bench to be brought out of the bakehouse, bade them be seated, and to their servants, who were now coming forward to wash the beakers, said:--"stand back, comrades, and leave this office to me, for i know as well how to serve wine as to bake bread; and expect not to taste a drop yourselves." which said, he washed four fine new beakers with his own hands, and having sent for a small flagon of his good wine, he heedfully filled the beakers, and presented them to messer geri and his companions; who deemed the wine the best that they had drunk for a great while. so messer geri, having praised the wine not a little, came there to drink every morning with the ambassadors as long as they tarried with him. now when the ambassadors had received their conge, and were about to depart, messer geri gave a grand banquet, to which he bade some of the most honourable of the citizens, and also cisti, who could by no means be induced to come. however, messer geri bade one of his servants go fetch a flask of cisti's wine, and serve half a beaker thereof to each guest at the first course. the servant, somewhat offended, perhaps, that he had not been suffered to taste any of the wine, took with him a large flask, which cisti no sooner saw, than:--"son," quoth he, "messer geri does not send thee to me": and often as the servant affirmed that he did, he could get no other answer: wherewith he was fain at last to return to messer geri. "go, get thee back, said messer geri, and tell him that i do send thee to him, and if he answers thee so again, ask him, to whom then i send thee." so the servant came back, and said:--"cisti, messer geri does, for sure, send me to thee." "son," answered cisti, "messer geri does, for sure, not send thee to me." "to whom then," said the servant, "does he send me?" "to arno," returned cisti. which being reported by the servant to messer geri, the eyes of his mind were straightway opened, and:--"let me see," quoth he to the servant, "what flask it is thou takest there." and when he had seen it:--"cisti says sooth," he added; and having sharply chidden him, he caused him take with him a suitable flask, which when cisti saw:--"now know i," quoth he, "that 'tis indeed messer geri that sends thee to me," and blithely filled it. and having replenished the rundlet that same day with wine of the same quality, he had it carried with due care to messer geri's house, and followed after himself; where finding messer geri he said:--"i would not have you think, sir, that i was appalled by the great flask your servant brought me this morning; 'twas but that i thought you had forgotten that which by my little beakers i gave you to understand, when you were with me of late; to wit, that this is no table wine; and so wished this morning to refresh your memory. now, however, being minded to keep the wine no longer, i have sent you all i have of it, to be henceforth entirely at your disposal." messer geri set great store by cisti's gift, and thanked him accordingly, and ever made much of him and entreated him as his friend. novel iii. -monna nonna de' pulci by a ready retort silences the scarce seemly jesting of the bishop of florence. -pampinea's story ended, and praise not a little bestowed on cisti alike for his apt speech and for his handsome present, the queen was pleased to call forthwith for a story from lauretta, who blithely thus began:-debonair my ladies, the excellency of wit, and our lack thereof, have been noted with no small truth first by pampinea and after her by filomena. to which topic 'twere bootless to return: wherefore to that which has been said touching the nature of wit i purpose but to add one word, to remind you that its bite should be as a sheep's bite and not as a dog's; for if it bite like a dog, 'tis no longer wit but discourtesy. with which maxim the words of madonna oretta, and the apt reply of cisti, accorded excellently. true indeed it is that if 'tis by way of retort, and one that has received a dog's bite gives the biter a like bite in return, it does not seem to be reprehensible, as otherwise it would have been. wherefore one must consider how and when and on whom and likewise where one exercises one's wit. by ill observing which matters one of our prelates did once upon a time receive no less shrewd a bite than he gave; as i will shew you in a short story. while messer antonio d'orso, a prelate both worthy and wise, was bishop of florence, there came thither a catalan gentleman, messer dego della ratta by name, being king ruberto's marshal. now dego being very goodly of person, and inordinately fond of women, it so befell that of the ladies of florence she that he regarded with especial favour was the very beautiful niece of a brother of the said bishop. and having learned that her husband, though of good family, was but a caitiff, and avaricious in the last degree, he struck a bargain with him that he should lie one night with the lady for five hundred florins of gold: whereupon he had the same number of popolins(1) of silver, which were then current, gilded, and having lain with the lady, albeit against her will, gave them to her husband. which coming to be generally known, the caitiff husband was left with the loss and the laugh against him; and the bishop, like a wise man, feigned to know nought of the affair. and so the bishop and the marshal being much together, it befell that on st. john's day, as they rode side by side down the street whence they start to run the palio,(2) and took note of the ladies, the bishop espied a young gentlewoman, whom this present pestilence has reft from us, monna nonna de' pulci by name, a cousin of messer alesso rinucci, whom you all must know; whom, for that she was lusty and fair, and of excellent discourse and a good courage, and but just settled with her husband in porta san piero, the bishop presented to the marshal; and then, being close beside her, he laid his hand on the marshal's shoulder and said to her:--"nonna, what thinkest thou of this gentleman? that thou mightst make a conquest of him?" which words the lady resented as a jibe at her honour, and like to tarnish it in the eyes of those, who were not a few, in whose hearing they were spoken. wherefore without bestowing a thought upon the vindication of her honour, but being minded to return blow for blow, she retorted hastily:--"perchance, sir, he might not make a conquest of me; but if he did so, i should want good money." the answer stung both the marshal and the bishop to the quick, the one as contriver of the scurvy trick played upon the bishop's brother in regard of his niece, the other as thereby outraged in the person of his brother's niece; insomuch that they dared not look one another in the face, but took themselves off in shame and silence, and said never a word more to her that day. in such a case, then, the lady having received a bite, 'twas allowable in her wittily to return it. (1) a coin of the same size and design as the fiorino d'oro, but worth only two soldi. (2) a sort of horse-race still in vogue at siena. novel iv. -chichibio, cook to currado gianfigliazzi, owes his safety to a ready answer, whereby he converts currado's wrath into laughter, and evades the evil fate with which currado had threatened him. -lauretta being now silent, all lauded nonna to the skies; after which neifile received the queen's command to follow suit, and thus began:-albeit, loving ladies, ready wit not seldom ministers words apt and excellent and congruous with the circumstances of the speakers, 'tis also true that fortune at times comes to the aid of the timid, and unexpectedly sets words upon the tongue, which in a quiet hour the speaker could never have found for himself: the which 'tis my purpose to shew you by my story. currado gianfigliazzi, as the eyes and ears of each of you may bear witness, has ever been a noble citizen of our city, open-handed and magnificent, and one that lived as a gentleman should with hounds and hawks, in which, to say nothing at present of more important matters, he found unfailing delight. now, having one day hard by peretola despatched a crane with one of his falcons, finding it young and plump, he sent it to his excellent cook, a venetian, chichibio by name, bidding him roast it for supper and make a dainty dish of it. chichibio, who looked, as he was, a very green-head, had dressed the crane, and set it to the fire and was cooking it carefully, when, the bird being all but roasted, and the fumes of the cooking very strong, it so chanced that a girl, brunetta by name, that lived in the same street, and of whom chichibio was greatly enamoured, came into the kitchen, and perceiving the smell and seeing the bird, began coaxing chichibio to give her a thigh. by way of answer chichibio fell a singing:--"you get it not from me, madam brunetta, you get it not from me." whereat madam brunetta was offended, and said to him:--"by god, if thou givest it me not, thou shalt never have aught from me to pleasure thee." in short there was not a little altercation; and in the end chichibio, fain not to vex his mistress, cut off one of the crane's thighs, and gave it to her. so the bird was set before currado and some strangers that he had at table with him, and currado, observing that it had but one thigh, was surprised, and sent for chichibio, and demanded of him what was become of the missing thigh. whereto the mendacious venetian answered readily:--"the crane, sir, has but one thigh and one leg." "what the devil?" rejoined currado in a rage: "so the crane has but one thigh and one leg? thinkst thou i never saw crane before this?" but chichibio continued:--"'tis even so as i say, sir; and, so please you, i will shew you that so it is in the living bird." currado had too much respect for his guests to pursue the topic; he only said:--"since thou promisest to shew me in the living bird what i have never seen or heard tell of, i bid thee do so to-morrow, and i shall be satisfied, but if thou fail, i swear to thee by the body of christ that i will serve thee so that thou shalt ruefully remember my name for the rest of thy days." no more was said of the matter that evening, but on the morrow, at daybreak, currado, who had by no means slept off his wrath, got up still swelling therewith, and ordered his horses, mounted chichibio on a hackney, and saying to him:--"we shall soon see which of us lied yesternight, thou or i," set off with him for a place where there was much water, beside which there were always cranes to be seen about dawn. chichibio, observing that currado's ire was unabated, and knowing not how to bolster up his lie, rode by currado's side in a state of the utmost trepidation, and would gladly, had he been able, have taken to flight; but, as he might not, he glanced, now ahead, now aback, now aside, and saw everywhere nought but cranes standing on two feet. however, as they approached the river, the very first thing they saw upon the bank was a round dozen of cranes standing each and all on one foot, as is their wont, when asleep. which chichibio presently pointed out to currado, saying:--"now may you see well enough, sir, that 'tis true as i said yesternight, that the crane has but one thigh and one leg; mark but how they stand over there." whereupon currado:--"wait," quoth he, "and i will shew thee that they have each thighs and legs twain." so, having drawn a little nigher to them, he ejaculated, "oho!" which caused the cranes to bring each the other foot to the ground, and, after hopping a step or two, to take to flight. currado then turned to chichibio, saying:--"how now, rogue? art satisfied that the bird has thighs and legs twain?" whereto chichibio, all but beside himself with fear, made answer:--"ay, sir; but you cried not, oho! to our crane of yestereve: had you done so, it would have popped its other thigh and foot forth, as these have done." which answer currado so much relished, that, all his wrath changed to jollity and laughter:--"chichibio," quoth he, "thou art right, indeed i ought to have so done." thus did chichibio by his ready and jocund retort arrest impending evil, and make his peace with his master. novel v. -messer forese da rabatta and master giotto, the painter, journeying together from mugello, deride one another's scurvy appearance. -neifile being silent, and the ladies having made very merry over chichibio's retort, pamfilo at the queen's command thus spoke:--dearest ladies, if fortune, as pampinea has shewn us, does sometimes bide treasures most rich of native worth in the obscurity of base occupations, so in like manner 'tis not seldom found that nature has enshrined prodigies of wit in the most ignoble of human forms. whereof a notable example is afforded by two of our citizens, of whom i purpose for a brief while to discourse. the one, messer forese da rabatta by name, was short and deformed of person and withal flat-cheeked and flat-nosed, insomuch that never a baroncio(1) had a visage so misshapen but his would have shewed as hideous beside it; yet so conversant was this man with the laws, that by not a few of those well able to form an opinion he was reputed a veritable storehouse of civil jurisprudence. the other, whose name was giotto, was of so excellent a wit that, let nature, mother of all, operant ever by continual revolution of the heavens, fashion what she would, he with his style and pen and pencil would depict its like on such wise that it shewed not as its like, but rather as the thing itself, insomuch that the visual sense of men did often err in regard thereof, mistaking for real that which was but painted. wherefore, having brought back to light that art which had for many ages lain buried beneath the blunders of those who painted rather to delight the eyes of the ignorant than to satisfy the intelligence of the wise, he may deservedly be called one of the lights that compose the glory of florence, and the more so, the more lowly was the spirit in which he won that glory, who, albeit he was, while he yet lived, the master of others, yet did ever refuse to be called their master. and this title that he rejected adorned him with a lustre the more splendid in proportion to the avidity with which it was usurped by those who were less knowing than he, or were his pupils. but for all the exceeding greatness of his art, yet in no particular had he the advantage of messer forese either in form or in feature. but to come to the story:--'twas in mugello that messer forese, as likewise giotto, had his country-seat, whence returning from a sojourn that he had made there during the summer vacation of the courts, and being, as it chanced, mounted on a poor jade of a draught horse, he fell in with the said giotto, who was also on his way back to florence after a like sojourn on his own estate, and was neither better mounted, nor in any other wise better equipped, than messer forese. and so, being both old men, they jogged on together at a slow pace: and being surprised by a sudden shower, such as we frequently see fall in summer, they presently sought shelter in the house of a husbandman that was known to each of them, and was their friend. but after a while, as the rain gave no sign of ceasing, and they had a mind to be at florence that same day, they borrowed of the husbandman two old cloaks of romagnole cloth, and two hats much the worse for age (there being no better to be had), and resumed their journey. whereon they had not proceeded far, when, taking note that they were soaked through and through, and liberally splashed with the mud cast up by their nags' hooves (circumstances which are not of a kind to add to one's dignity), they, after long silence, the sky beginning to brighten a little, began to converse. and messer forese, as he rode and hearkened to giotto, who was an excellent talker, surveyed him sideways, and from head to foot, and all over, and seeing him in all points in so sorry and scurvy a trim, and recking nought of his own appearance, broke into a laugh and said:--"giotto, would e'er a stranger that met us, and had not seen thee before, believe, thinkst thou, that thou wert, as thou art, the greatest painter in the world." whereto giotto answered promptly:--"methinks, sir, he might, if, scanning you, he gave you credit for knowing the a b c." which hearing, messer forese recognized his error, and perceived that he had gotten as good as he brought. (1) the name of a florentine family famous for the extraordinary ugliness of its men: whereby it came to pass that any grotesque or extremely ugly man was called a baroncio. fanfani, vocab. della lingua italiana, 1891. novel vi. -michele scalza proves to certain young men that the baronci are the best gentlemen in the world and the maremma, and wins a supper. -the ladies were still laughing over giotto's ready retort, when the queen charged fiammetta to follow suit; wherefore thus fiammetta began:--pamfilo's mention of the baronci, who to you, damsels, are perchance not so well known as to him, has brought to my mind a story in which 'tis shewn how great is their nobility; and, for that it involves no deviation from our rule of discourse, i am minded to tell it you. 'tis no long time since there dwelt in our city a young man, michele scalza by name, the pleasantest and merriest fellow in the world, and the best furnished with quaint stories: for which reason the florentine youth set great store on having him with them when they forgathered in company. now it so befell that one day, he being with a party of them at mont' ughi, they fell a disputing together on this wise; to wit, who were the best gentlemen and of the longest descent in florence. one said, the uberti, another, the lamberti, or some other family, according to the predilection of the speaker. whereat scalza began to smile, and said:--"now out upon you, out upon you, blockheads that ye are: ye know not what ye say. the best gentlemen and of longest descent in all the world and the maremma (let alone florence) are the baronci by the common consent of all phisopholers,(1) and all that know them as i do; and lest you should otherwise conceive me, i say that 'tis of your neighbours the baronci(2) of santa maria maggiore that i speak." whereupon the young men, who had looked for somewhat else from him, said derisively:--"thou dost but jest with us; as if we did not know the baronci as well as thou!" quoth scalza:--"by the gospels i jest not, but speak sooth; and if there is any of you will wager a supper to be given to the winner and six good fellows whom he shall choose, i will gladly do the like, and--what is more--i will abide by the decision of such one of you as you may choose." then said one of them whose name was neri mannini:--"i am ready to adventure this supper;" and so they agreed together that piero di fiorentino, in whose house they were, should be judge, and hied them to him followed by all the rest, eager to see scalza lose, and triumph in his discomfiture, and told piero all that had been said. piero, who was a young man of sound sense, heard what neri had to say; and then turning to scalza:--"and how," quoth he, "mayst thou make good what thou averrest?" "i will demonstrate it," returned scalza, "by reasoning so cogent that not only you, but he that denies it shall acknowledge that i say sooth. you know, and so they were saying but now, that the longer men's descent, the better is their gentility, and i say that the baronci are of longer descent, and thus better gentlemen than any other men. if, then, i prove to you that they are of longer descent than any other men, without a doubt the victory in this dispute will rest with me. now you must know that when god made the baronci, he was but a novice in his art, of which, when he made the rest of mankind, he was already master. and to assure yourself that herein i say sooth, you have but to consider the baronci, how they differ from the rest of mankind, who all have faces well composed and duly proportioned, whereas of the baronci you will see one with a face very long and narrow, another with a face inordinately broad, one with a very long nose, another with a short one, one with a protruding and upturned chin, and great jaws like an ass's; and again there will be one that has one eye larger than its fellow, or set on a lower plane; so that their faces resemble those that children make when they begin to learn to draw. whereby, as i said, 'tis plainly manifest that, when god made them, he was but novice in his art; and so they are of longer descent than the rest of mankind, and by consequence better gentlemen." by which entertaining argument piero, the judge, and neri who had wagered the supper, and all the rest, calling to mind the baronci's ugliness, were so tickled, that they fell a laughing, and averred that scalza was in the right, and that he had won the wager, and that without a doubt the baronci were the best gentlemen, and of the longest descent, not merely in florence, but in the world and the maremma to boot. wherefore 'twas not without reason that pamfilo, being minded to declare messer forese's ill-favouredness, said that he would have been hideous beside a baroncio. (1) in the italian fisofoli: an evidently intentional distortion. (2) villani, istorie fiorentine, iv. cap. ix., and dante, paradiso, xvi. 104, spell the name barucci. novel vii. -madonna filippa, being found by her husband with her lover, is cited before the court, and by a ready and jocund answer acquits herself, and brings about an alteration of the statute. -fiammetta had been silent some time, but scalza's novel argument to prove the pre-eminent nobility of the baronci kept all still laughing, when the queen called for a story from filostrato, who thus began:--noble ladies, an excellent thing is apt speech on all occasions, but to be proficient therein i deem then most excellent when the occasion does most imperatively demand it. as was the case with a gentlewoman, of whom i purpose to speak to you, who not only ministered gaiety and merriment to her hearers, but extricated herself, as you shall hear, from the toils of an ignominious death. there was aforetime in the city of prato a statute no less censurable than harsh, which, making no distinction between the wife whom her husband took in adultery with her lover, and the woman found pleasuring a stranger for money, condemned both alike to be burned. while this statute was in force, it befell that a gentlewoman, fair and beyond measure enamoured, madonna filippa by name, was by her husband, rinaldo de' pugliesi, found in her own chamber one night in the arms of lazzarino de' guazzagliotri, a handsome young noble of the same city, whom she loved even as herself. whereat rinaldo, very wroth, scarce refrained from falling upon them and killing them on the spot; and indeed, but that he doubted how he should afterwards fare himself, he had given way to the vehemence of his anger, and so done. nor, though he so far mastered himself, could he forbear recourse to the statute, thereby to compass that which he might not otherwise lawfully compass, to wit, the death of his lady. wherefore, having all the evidence needful to prove her guilt, he took no further counsel; but, as soon as 'twas day, he charged the lady and had her summoned. like most ladies that are veritably enamoured, the lady was of a high courage; and, though not a few of her friends and kinsfolk sought to dissuade her, she resolved to appear to the summons, having liefer die bravely confessing the truth than basely flee and for defiance of the law live in exile, and shew herself unworthy of such a lover as had had her in his arms that night. and so, attended by many ladies and gentlemen, who all exhorted her to deny the charge, she came before the podesta, and with a composed air and unfaltering voice asked whereof he would interrogate her. the podesta, surveying her, and taking note of her extraordinary beauty, and exquisite manners, and the high courage that her words evinced, was touched with compassion for her, fearing she might make some admission, by reason whereof, to save his honour, he must needs do her to death. but still, as he could not refrain from examining her of that which was laid to her charge, he said:--"madam, here, as you see, is your husband, rinaldo, who prefers a charge against you, alleging that he has taken you in adultery, and so he demands that, pursuant to a statute which is in force here, i punish you with death: but this i may not do, except you confess; wherefore be very careful what you answer, and tell me if what your husband alleges against you be true." the lady, no wise dismayed, and in a tone not a little jocund, thus made answer:--"true it is, sir, that rinaldo is my husband, and that last night he found me in the arms of lazzarino, in whose arms for the whole-hearted love that i bear him i have ofttimes lain; nor shall i ever deny it; but, as well i wot you know, the laws ought to be common and enacted with the common consent of all that they affect; which conditions are wanting to this law, inasmuch as it binds only us poor women, in whom to be liberal is much less reprehensible than it were in men; and furthermore the consent of no woman was--i say not had, but--so much as asked before 'twas made; for which reasons it justly deserves to be called a bad law. however, if in scathe of my body and your own soul, you are minded to put it in force, 'tis your affair; but, i pray you, go not on to try this matter in any wise, until you have granted me this trifling grace, to wit, to ask my husband if i ever gainsaid him, but did not rather accord him, when and so often as he craved it, complete enjoyment of myself." whereto rinaldo, without awaiting the podesta's question, forthwith answered, that assuredly the lady had ever granted him all that he had asked of her for his gratification. "then," promptly continued the lady, "if he has ever had of me as much as sufficed for his solace, what was i or am i to do with the surplus? am i to cast it to the dogs? is it not much better to bestow it on a gentleman that loves me more dearly than himself, than to suffer it to come to nought or worse?" which jocund question being heard by well-nigh all the folk of prato, who had flocked thither all agog to see a dame so fair and of such quality on her trial for such an offence, they laughed loud and long, and then all with one accord, and as with one voice, exclaimed that the lady was in the right and said well; nor left they the court until in concert with the podesta they had so altered the harsh statute as that thenceforth only such women as should wrong their husbands for money should be within its purview. wherefore rinaldo left the court, discomfited of his foolish enterprise; and the lady blithe and free, as if rendered back to life from the burning, went home triumphant. novel viii. -fresco admonishes his niece not to look at herself in the glass, if 'tis, as she says, grievous to her to see nasty folk. -'twas not at first without some flutterings of shame, evinced by the modest blush mantling on their cheeks, that the ladies heard filostrato's story; but afterwards, exchanging glances, they could scarce forbear to laugh, and hearkened tittering. however, when he had done, the queen turning to emilia bade her follow suit. whereupon emilia, fetching a deep breath as if she were roused from sleep, thus began:--loving ladies, brooding thought has kept my spirit for so long time remote from here that perchance i may make a shift to satisfy our queen with a much shorter story than would have been forthcoming but for my absence of mind, wherein i purpose to tell you how a young woman's folly was corrected by her uncle with a pleasant jest, had she but had the sense to apprehend it. my story, then, is of one, fresco da celatico by name, that had a niece, ciesca, as she was playfully called, who, being fair of face and person, albeit she had none of those angelical charms that we ofttimes see, had so superlative a conceit of herself, that she had contracted a habit of disparaging both men and women and all that she saw, entirely regardless of her own defects, though for odiousness, tiresomeness, and petulance she had not her match among women, insomuch that there was nought that could be done to her mind: besides which, such was her pride that had she been of the blood royal of france, 'twould have been inordinate. and when she walked abroad, so fastidious was her humour, she was ever averting her head, as if there was never a soul she saw or met but reeked with a foul smell. now one day--not to speak of other odious and tiresome ways that she had--it so befell that being come home, where fresco was, she sat herself down beside him with a most languishing air, and did nought but fume and chafe. whereupon:--"ciesca," quoth he, "what means this, that, though 'tis a feast-day, yet thou art come back so soon?" she, all but dissolved with her vapourish humours, made answer:--"why, the truth is, that i am come back early because never, i believe, were there such odious and tiresome men and women in this city as there are to-day. i cannot pass a soul in the street that i loathe not like ill-luck; and i believe there is not a woman in the world that is so distressed by the sight of odious people as i am; and so i am come home thus soon to avoid the sight of them." whereupon fresco, to, whom his niece's bad manners were distasteful in the extreme:--"daughter," quoth he, "if thou loathe odious folk as much as thou sayest, thou wert best, so thou wouldst live happy, never to look at thyself in the glass." but she, empty as a reed, albeit in her own conceit a match for solomon in wisdom, was as far as any sheep from apprehending the true sense of her uncle's jest; but answered that on the contrary she was minded to look at herself in the glass like other women. and so she remained, and yet remains, hidebound in her folly. novel ix. -guido cavalcanti by a quip meetly rebukes certain florentine gentlemen who had taken him at a disadvantage. -the queen, perceiving that emilia had finished her story, and that none but she, and he who had the privilege of speaking last, now remained to tell, began on this wise:--albeit, debonair my ladies, you have forestalled me to-day of more than two of the stories, of which i had thought to tell one, yet one is still left me to recount, which carries at the close of it a quip of such a sort, that perhaps we have as yet heard nought so pregnant. you are to know, then, that in former times there obtained in our city customs excellent and commendable not a few, whereof today not one is left to us, thanks to the greed which, growing with the wealth of our folk, has banished them all from among us. one of which customs was that in divers quarters of florence the gentlemen that there resided would assemble together in companies of a limited number, taking care to include therein only such as might conveniently bear the expenses, and to-day one, another to-morrow, each in his turn for a day, would entertain the rest of the company; and so they would not seldom do honour to gentlemen from distant parts when they visited the city, and also to their fellow-citizens; and in like manner they would meet together at least once a year all in the same trim, and on the most notable days would ride together through the city, and now and again they would tilt together, more especially on the greater feasts, or when the city was rejoiced by tidings of victory or some other glad event. among which companies was one of which messer betto brunelleschi was the leading spirit, into which messer betto and his comrades had striven hard to bring guido, son of cavalcante de' cavalcanti, and not without reason, inasmuch as, besides being one of the best logicians in the world, and an excellent natural philosopher (qualities of which the company made no great account), he was without a peer for gallantry and courtesy and excellence of discourse and aptitude for all matters which he might set his mind to, and that belonged to a gentleman; and therewithal he was very rich, and, when he deemed any worthy of honour, knew how to bestow it to the uttermost. but, as messer betto had never been able to gain him over, he and his comrades supposed that 'twas because guido, being addicted to speculation, was thereby estranged from men. and, for that he was somewhat inclined to the opinion of the epicureans, the vulgar averred that these speculations of his had no other scope than to prove that god did not exist. now one day it so befell that, guido being come, as was not seldom his wont, from or san michele by the corso degli adimari as far as san giovanni, around which were then the great tombs of marble that are to-day in santa reparata, besides other tombs not a few, and guido being between the columns of porphyry, that are there, and the tombs and the door of san giovanni, which was locked, messer betto and his company came riding on to the piazza of santa reparata, and seeing him among the tombs, said:--"go we and flout him." so they set spurs to their horses, and making a mock onset, were upon him almost before he saw them. whereupon:--"guido," they began, "thou wilt be none of our company; but, lo now, when thou hast proved that god does not exist, what wilt thou have achieved?" guido, seeing that he was surrounded, presently answered:--"gentlemen, you may say to me what you please in your own house." thereupon he laid his hand on one of the great tombs, and being very nimble, vaulted over it, and so evaded them, and went his way, while they remained gazing in one another's faces, and some said that he had taken leave of his wits, and that his answer was but nought, seeing that the ground on which they stood was common to them with the rest of the citizens, and among them guido himself. but messer betto, turning to them:--"nay but," quoth he, "'tis ye that have taken leave of your wits, if ye have not understood him; for meetly and in few words he has given us never so shrewd a reprimand; seeing that, if you consider it well, these tombs are the houses of the dead, that are laid and tarry therein; which he calls our house, to shew us that we, and all other simple, unlettered men, are, in comparison of him and the rest of the learned, in sorrier case than dead men, and so being here, we are in our own house." then none was there but understood guido's meaning and was abashed, insomuch that they flouted him no more, and thenceforth reputed messer betto a gentleman of a subtle and discerning wit. novel x. -fra cipolla promises to shew certain country-folk a feather of the angel gabriel, in lieu of which he finds coals, which he avers to be of those with which st. lawrence was roasted. -all the company save dioneo being delivered of their several stories, he wist that 'twas his turn to speak. wherefore, without awaiting any very express command, he enjoined silence on those that were commending guido's pithy quip, and thus began:--sweet my ladies, albeit 'tis my privilege to speak of what likes me most, i purpose not to-day to deviate from that theme whereon you have all discoursed most appositely; but, following in your footsteps, i am minded to shew you with what adroitness and readiness of resource one of the friars of st. antony avoided a pickle that two young men had in readiness for him. nor, if, in order to do the story full justice, i be somewhat prolix of speech, should it be burdensome to you, if you will but glance at the sun, which is yet in mid-heaven. certaldo, as perchance you may have heard, is a town of val d'elsa within our country-side, which, small though it is, had in it aforetime people of rank and wealth. thither, for that there he found good pasture, 'twas long the wont of one of the friars of st. antony to resort once every year, to collect the alms that fools gave them. fra cipolla(1)--so hight the friar--met with a hearty welcome, no less, perchance, by reason of his name than for other cause, the onions produced in that district being famous throughout tuscany. he was little of person, red-haired, jolly-visaged, and the very best of good fellows; and therewithal, though learning he had none, he was so excellent and ready a speaker that whoso knew him not would not only have esteemed him a great rhetorician, but would have pronounced him tully himself or, perchance, quintilian; and in all the country-side there was scarce a soul to whom he was not either gossip or friend or lover. being thus wont from time to time to visit certaldo, the friar came there once upon a time in the month of august, and on a sunday morning, all the good folk of the neighbouring farms being come to mass in the parish church, he took occasion to come forward and say:--"ladies and gentlemen, you wot 'tis your custom to send year by year to the poor of baron master st. antony somewhat of your wheat and oats, more or less, according to the ability and the devoutness of each, that blessed st. antony may save your oxen and asses and pigs and sheep from harm; and you are also accustomed, and especially those whose names are on the books of our confraternity, to pay your trifling annual dues. to collect which offerings, i am hither sent by my superior, to wit, master abbot; wherefore, with the blessing of god, after none, when you hear the bells ring, you will come out of the church to the place where in the usual way i shall deliver you my sermon, and you will kiss the cross; and therewithal, knowing, as i do, that you are one and all most devoted to baron master st. antony, i will by way of especial grace shew you a most holy and goodly relic, which i brought myself from the holy land overseas, which is none other than one of the feathers of the angel gabriel, which he left behind him in the room of the virgin mary, when he came to make her the annunciation in nazareth." and having said thus much, he ceased, and went on with the mass. now among the many that were in the church, while fra cipolla made this speech, were two very wily young wags, the one giovanni del bragoniera by name, the other biagio pizzini; who, albeit they were on the best of terms with fra cipolla and much in his company, had a sly laugh together over the relic, and resolved to make game of him and his feather. so, having learned that fra cipolla was to breakfast that morning in the town with one of his friends, as soon as they knew that he was at table, down they hied them into the street, and to the inn where the friar lodged, having complotted that biagio should keep the friar's servant in play, while giovanni made search among the friar's goods and chattels for this feather, whatever it might be, to carry it off, that they might see how the friar would afterwards explain the matter to the people. now fra cipolla had for servant one guccio,(2) whom some called by way of addition balena,(3) others imbratta,(4) others again porco,(5) and who was such a rascallion that sure it is that lippo topo(6) himself never painted his like. concerning whom fra cipolla would ofttimes make merry with his familiars, saying:--"my servant has nine qualities, any one of which in solomon, aristotle, or seneca, would have been enough to spoil all their virtue, wisdom and holiness. consider, then, what sort of a man he must be that has these nine qualities, and yet never a spark of either virtue or wisdom or holiness." and being asked upon divers occasions what these nine qualities might be, he strung them together in rhyme, and answered:--"i will tell you. lazy and uncleanly and a liar he is, negligent, disobedient and foulmouthed, iwis, and reckless and witless and mannerless: and therewithal he has some other petty vices, which 'twere best to pass over. and the most amusing thing about him is, that, wherever he goes, he is for taking a wife and renting a house, and on the strength of a big, black, greasy beard he deems himself so very handsome a fellow and seductive, that he takes all the women that see him to be in love with him, and, if he were left alone, he would slip his girdle and run after them all. true it is that he is of great use to me, for that, be any minded to speak with me never so secretly, he must still have his share of the audience; and, if perchance aught is demanded of me, such is his fear lest i should be at a loss what answer to make, that he presently replies, ay or no, as he deems meet." now, when he left this knave at the inn, fra cipolla had strictly enjoined him on no account to suffer any one to touch aught of his, and least of all his wallet, because it contained the holy things. but guccio imbratta, who was fonder of the kitchen than any nightingale of the green boughs, and most particularly if he espied there a maid, and in the host's kitchen had caught sight of a coarse fat woman, short and misshapen, with a pair of breasts that shewed as two buckets of muck and a face that might have belonged to one of the baronci, all reeking with sweat and grease and smoke, left fra cipolla's room and all his things to take care of themselves, and like a vulture swooping down upon the carrion, was in the kitchen in a trice. where, though 'twas august, he sat him down by the fire, and fell a gossiping with nuta--such was the maid's name--and told her that he was a gentleman by procuration,(7) and had more florins than could be reckoned, besides those that he had to give away, which were rather more than less, and that he could do and say such things as never were or might be seen or heard forever, good lord! and a day. and all heedless of his cowl, which had as much grease upon it as would have furnished forth the caldron of altopascio,(8) and of his rent and patched doublet, inlaid with filth about the neck and under the armpits, and so stained that it shewed hues more various than ever did silk from tartary or the indies, and of his shoes that were all to pieces, and of his hose that were all in tatters, he told her in a tone that would have become the sieur de chatillon, that he was minded to rehabit her and put her in trim, and raise her from her abject condition, and place her where, though she would not have much to call her own, at any rate she would have hope of better things, with much more to the like effect; which professions, though made with every appearance of good will, proved, like most of his schemes, insubstantial as air, and came to nothing. finding guccio porco thus occupied with nuta, the two young men gleefully accounted their work half done, and, none gainsaying them, entered fra cipolla's room, which was open, and lit at once upon the wallet, in which was the feather. the wallet opened, they found, wrapt up in many folds of taffeta, a little casket, on opening which they discovered one of the tail-feathers of a parrot, which they deemed must be that which the friar had promised to shew the good folk of certaldo. and in sooth he might well have so imposed upon them, for in those days the luxuries of egypt had scarce been introduced into tuscany, though they have since been brought over in prodigious abundance, to the grave hurt of all italy. and though some conversance with them there was, yet in those parts folk knew next to nothing of them; but, adhering to the honest, simple ways of their forefathers, had not seen, nay for the most part had not so much as heard tell of, a parrot. so the young men, having found the feather, took it out with great glee; and looking around for something to replace it, they espied in a corner of the room some pieces of coal, wherewith they filled the casket; which they then closed, and having set the room in order exactly as they had found it, they quitted it unperceived, and hied them merrily off with the feather, and posted themselves where they might hear what fra cipolla would say when he found the coals in its stead. mass said, the simple folk that were in the church went home with the tidings that the feather of the angel gabriel was to be seen after none; and this goodman telling his neighbour, and that goodwife her gossip, by the time every one had breakfasted, the town could scarce hold the multitude of men and women that flocked thither all agog to see this feather. fra cipolla, having made a hearty breakfast and had a little nap, got up shortly after none, and marking the great concourse of country-folk that were come to see the feather, sent word to guccio imbratta to go up there with the bells, and bring with him the wallet. guccio, though 'twas with difficulty that he tore himself away from the kitchen and nuta, hied him up with the things required; and though, when he got up, he was winded, for he was corpulent with drinking nought but water, he did fra cipolla's bidding by going to the church door and ringing the bells amain. when all the people were gathered about the door, fra cipolla, all unwitting that aught of his was missing, began his sermon, and after much said in glorification of himself, caused the confiteor to be recited with great solemnity, and two torches to be lit by way of preliminary to the shewing of the feather of the angel gabriel: he then bared his head, carefully unfolded the taffeta, and took out the casket, which, after a few prefatory words in praise and laudation of the angel gabriel and his relic, he opened. when he saw that it contained nought but coals, he did not suspect guccio balena of playing the trick, for he knew that he was not clever enough, nor did he curse him, that his carelessness had allowed another to play it, but he inly imprecated himself, that he had committed his things to the keeping of one whom he knew to be "negligent and disobedient, reckless and witless." nevertheless, he changed not colour, but with face and hands upturned to heaven, he said in a voice that all might hear:--"o god, blessed be thy might for ever and ever." then, closing the casket, and turning to the people:--"ladies and gentlemen," he said, "you are to know, that when i was yet a very young man, i was sent by my superior into those parts where the sun rises, and i was expressly bidden to search until i should find the privileges of porcellana, which, though they cost nothing to seal, are of much more use to others than to us. on which errand i set forth, taking my departure from venice, and traversing the borgo de' greci,(9) and thence on horseback the realm of algarve,(10) and so by baldacca(11) i came to parione,(12) whence, somewhat athirst, i after a while got on to sardinia.(13) but wherefore go i about to enumerate all the lands in which i pursued my quest? having passed the straits of san giorgio, i arrived at truffia(14) and buffia,(15) countries thickly populated and with great nations, whence i pursued my journey to menzogna,(16) where i met with many of our own brethren, and of other religious not a few, intent one and all on eschewing hardship for the love of god, making little account of others! toil, so they might ensue their own advantage, and paying in nought but unminted coin(17) throughout the length and breadth of the country; and so i came to the land of abruzzi, where the men and women go in pattens on the mountains, and clothe the hogs with their own entrails;(18) and a little further on i found folk that carried bread in staves and wine in sacks.(19) and leaving them, i arrived at the mountains of the bachi,(20) where all the waters run downwards. in short i penetrated so far that i came at last to india pastinaca,(21) where i swear to you by the habit that i wear, that i saw pruning-hooks(22) fly: a thing that none would believe that had not seen it. whereof be my witness that i lie not maso del saggio, that great merchant, whom i found there cracking nuts, and selling the shells by retail! however, not being able to find that whereof i was in quest, because from thence one must travel by water, i turned back, and so came at length to the holy land, where in summer cold bread costs four deniers, and hot bread is to be had for nothing. and there i found the venerable father nonmiblasmetesevoipiace,(23) the most worshipful patriarch of jerusalem; who out of respect for the habit that i have ever worn, to wit, that of baron master st. antony, was pleased to let me see all the holy relics that he had by him, which were so many, that, were i to enumerate them all, i should not come to the end of them in some miles. however, not to disappoint you, i will tell you a few of them. in the first place, then, he shewed me the finger of the holy spirit, as whole and entire as it ever was, and the tuft of the seraph that appeared to st. francis, and one of the nails of the cherubim, and one of the ribs of the verbum caro hie thee to the casement,(24) and some of the vestments of the holy catholic faith, and some of the rays of the star that appeared to the magi in the east, and a phial of the sweat of st. michael a battling with the devil and the jaws of death of st. lazarus, and other relics. and for that i gave him a liberal supply of the acclivities(25) of monte morello in the vulgar and some chapters of caprezio, of which he had long been in quest, he was pleased to let me participate in his holy relics, and gave me one of the teeth of the holy cross, and in a small phial a bit of the sound of the bells of solomon's temple, and this feather of the angel gabriel, whereof i have told you, and one of the pattens of san gherardo da villa magna, which, not long ago, i gave at florence to gherardo di bonsi, who holds him in prodigious veneration. he also gave me some of the coals with which the most blessed martyr, st. lawrence, was roasted. all which things i devoutly brought thence, and have them all safe. true it is that my superior has not hitherto permitted me to shew them, until he should be certified that they are genuine. however, now that this is avouched by certain miracles wrought by them, of which we have tidings by letter from the patriarch, he has given me leave to shew them. but, fearing to trust them to another, i always carry them with me; and to tell you the truth i carry the feather of the angel gabriel, lest it should get spoiled, in a casket, and the coals, with which st. lawrence was roasted, in another casket; which caskets are so like the one to the other, that not seldom i mistake one for the other, which has befallen me on this occasion; for, whereas i thought to have brought with me the casket wherein is the feather, i have brought instead that which contains the coals. nor deem i this a mischance; nay, methinks, 'tis by interposition, of god, and that he himself put the casket of coals in my hand, for i mind me that the feast of st. lawrence falls but two days hence. wherefore god, being minded that by shewing you the coals, with which he was roasted, i should rekindle in your souls the devotion that you ought to feel towards him, guided my hand, not to the feather which i meant to take, but to the blessed coals that were extinguished by the humours that exuded from that most holy body. and so, blessed children, bare your heads and devoutly draw nigh to see them. but first of all i would have you know, that whoso has the sign of the cross made upon him with these coals, may live secure for the whole of the ensuing year, that fire shall not touch him, that he feel it not." having so said, the friar, chanting a hymn in praise of st. lawrence, opened the casket, and shewed the coals. whereon the foolish crowd gazed a while in awe and reverent wonder, and then came pressing forward in a mighty throng about fra cipolla with offerings beyond their wont, each and all praying him to touch them with the coals. wherefore fra cipolla took the coals in his hand, and set about making on their white blouses, and on their doublets, and on the veils of the women crosses as big as might be, averring the while that whatever the coals might thus lose would be made good to them again in the casket, as he had often proved. on this wise, to his exceeding great profit, he marked all the folk of certaldo with the cross, and, thanks to his ready wit and resource, had his laugh at those, who by robbing him of the feather thought to make a laughing-stock of him. they, indeed, being among his hearers, and marking his novel expedient, and how voluble he was, and what a long story he made of it, laughed till they thought their jaws would break; and, when the congregation was dispersed, they went up to him, and never so merrily told him what they had done, and returned him his feather; which next year proved no less lucrative to him than that day the coals had been. (1) onion. (2) diminutive of arriguccio. (3) whale. (4) filth. (5) hog. (6) the works of this painter seem to be lost. (7) one of the humorous ineptitudes of which boccaccio is fond. (8) an abbey near lucca famous for its doles of broth. (9) perhaps part of the "sesto" of florence known as the borgo, as the tradition of the commentators that the friar's itinerary is wholly florentine is not to be lightly set aside. (10) il garbo, a quarter or street in florence, doubtless so called because the wares of algarve were there sold. rer. ital. script. (muratori: suppl. tartini) ii. 119. villani, istorie fiorentine, iv. 12, xii. 18. (11) a famous tavern in florence. florio, vocab. ital. e ingl., ed torriano, 1659. (12) a "borgo" in florence. villani, istorie fiorentine, iv. 7. (13) a suburb of florence on the arno, ib. ix. 256. (14) the land of cajolery. (15) the land of drollery. (16) the land of lies. (17) i.e. in false promises: suggested by dante's pagando di moneta senza conio. parad. xxix. 126. (18) a reference to sausage-making. (19) i.e. cakes fashioned in a hollow ring, and wines in leathern bottles. (20) grubs. (21) in allusion to the shapeless fish, so called, which was proverbially taken as a type of the outlandish. (22) a jeu de mots, "pennati," pruning-hooks, signifying also feathered, though "pennuti" is more common in that sense. (23) takemenottotaskanitlikeyou. (24) fatti alle finestre, a subterfuge for factum est. (25) piagge, jocularly for pagine: doubtless some mighty tome of school divinity is meant. immense was the delight and diversion which this story afforded to all the company alike, and great and general was the laughter over fra cipolla, and more especially at his pilgrimage, and the relics, as well those that he had but seen as those that he had brought back with him. which being ended, the queen, taking note that therewith the close of her sovereignty was come, stood up, took off the crown, and set it on dioneo's head, saying with a laugh:--"'tis time, dioneo, that thou prove the weight of the burden of having ladies to govern and guide. be thou king then; and let thy rule be such that, when 'tis ended, we may have cause to commend it." dioneo took the crown, and laughingly answered:--"kings worthier far than i you may well have seen many a time ere now--i speak of the kings in chess; but let me have of you that obedience which is due to a true king, and of a surety i will give you to taste of that solace, without which perfection of joy there may not be in any festivity. but enough of this: i will govern as best i may." then, as was the wont, he sent for the seneschal, and gave him particular instruction how to order matters during the term of his sovereignty; which done, he said:--"noble ladies, such and so diverse has been our discourse of the ways of men and their various fortunes, that but for the visit that we had a while ago from madam licisca, who by what she said has furnished me with matter of discourse for to-morrow, i doubt i had been not a little put to it to find a theme. you heard how she said that there was not a woman in her neighbourhood whose husband had her virginity; adding that well she knew how many and what manner of tricks they, after marriage, played their husbands. the first count we may well leave to the girls whom it concerns; the second, methinks, should prove a diverting topic: wherefore i ordain that, taking our cue from madam licisca, we discourse to-morrow of the tricks that, either for love or for their deliverance from peril, ladies have heretofore played their husbands, and whether they were by the said husbands detected or no." to discourse of such a topic some of the ladies deemed unmeet for them, and besought the king to find another theme. but the king made answer:--"ladies, what manner of theme i have prescribed i know as well as you, nor was i to be diverted from prescribing it by that which you now think to declare unto me, for i wot the times are such that, so only men and women have a care to do nought that is unseemly, 'tis allowable to them to discourse of what they please. for in sooth, as you must know, so out of joint are the times that the judges have deserted the judgment-seat, the laws are silent, and ample licence to preserve his life as best he may is accorded to each and all. wherefore, if you are somewhat less strict of speech than is your wont, not that aught unseemly in act may follow, but that you may afford solace to yourselves and others, i see not how you can be open to reasonable censure on the part of any. furthermore, nought that has been said from the first day to the present moment has, methinks, in any degree sullied the immaculate honour of your company, nor, god helping us, shall aught ever sully it. besides, who is there that knows not the quality of your honour? which were proof, i make no doubt, against not only the seductive influence of diverting discourse, but even the terror of death. and, to tell you the truth, whoso wist that you refused to discourse of these light matters for a while, would be apt to suspect that 'twas but for that you had yourselves erred in like sort. and truly a goodly honour would you confer upon me, obedient as i have ever been to you, if after making me your king and your lawgiver, you were to refuse to discourse of the theme which i prescribe. away, then, with this scruple fitter for low minds than yours, and let each study how she may give us a goodly story, and fortune prosper her therein." so spake the king, and the ladies, hearkening, said that, even as he would, so it should be: whereupon he gave all leave to do as they might be severally minded until the supper-hour. the sun was still quite high in the heaven, for they had not enlarged in their discourse: wherefore, dioneo with the other gallants being set to play at dice, elisa called the other ladies apart, and said:--"there is a nook hard by this place, where i think none of you has ever been: 'tis called the ladies' vale: whither, ever since we have been here, i have desired to take you, but time meet i have not found until today, when the sun is still so high: if, then, you are minded to visit it, i have no manner of doubt that, when you are there, you will be very glad you came." the ladies answered that they were ready, and so, saying nought to the young men, they summoned one of their maids, and set forth; nor had they gone much more than a mile, when they arrived at the vale of ladies. they entered it by a very strait gorge, through which there issued a rivulet, clear as crystal, and a sight, than which nought more fair and pleasant, especially at that time when the heat was great, could be imagined, met their eyes. within the valley, as one of them afterwards told me, was a plain about half-a-mile in circumference, and so exactly circular that it might have been fashioned according to the compass, though it seemed a work of nature's art, not man's: 'twas girdled about by six hills of no great height, each crowned with a palace that shewed as a goodly little castle. the slopes of the hills were graduated from summit to base after the manner of the successive tiers, ever abridging their circle, that we see in our theatres; and as many as fronted the southern rays were all planted so close with vines, olives, almond-trees, cherry-trees, fig-trees and other fruitbearing trees not a few, that there was not a hand's-breadth of vacant space. those that fronted the north were in like manner covered with copses of oak saplings, ashes and other trees, as green and straight as might be. besides which, the plain, which was shut in on all sides save that on which the ladies had entered, was full of firs, cypresses, and bay-trees, with here and there a pine, in order and symmetry so meet and excellent as had they been planted by an artist, the best that might be found in that kind; wherethrough, even when the sun was in the zenith, scarce a ray of light might reach the ground, which was all one lawn of the finest turf, pranked with the hyacinth and divers other flowers. add to which--nor was there aught there more delightsome--a rivulet that, issuing from one of the gorges between two of the hills, descended over ledges of living rock, making, as it fell, a murmur most gratifying to the ear, and, seen from a distance, shewed as a spray of finest, powdered quick-silver, and no sooner reached the little plain, than 'twas gathered into a tiny channel, by which it sped with great velocity to the middle of the plain, where it formed a diminutive lake, like the fishponds that townsfolk sometimes make in their gardens, when they have occasion for them. the lake was not so deep but that a man might stand therein with his breast above the water; and so clear, so pellucid was the water that the bottom, which was of the finest gravel, shewed so distinct, that one, had he wished, who had nought better to do, might have counted the stones. nor was it only the bottom that was to be seen, but such a multitude of fishes, glancing to and fro, as was at once a delight and a marvel to behold. bank it had none, but its margin was the lawn, to which it imparted a goodlier freshness. so much of the water as it might not contain was received by another tiny channel, through which, issuing from the vale, it glided swiftly to the plain below. to which pleasaunce the damsels being come surveyed it with roving glance, and finding it commendable, and marking the lake in front of them, did, as 'twas very hot, and they deemed themselves secure from observation, resolve to take a bath. so, having bidden their maid wait and keep watch over the access to the vale, and give them warning, if haply any should approach it, they all seven undressed and got into the water, which to the whiteness of their flesh was even such a veil as fine glass is to the vermeil of the rose. they, being thus in the water, the clearness of which was thereby in no wise affected, did presently begin to go hither and thither after the fish, which had much ado where to bestow themselves so as to escape out of their hands. in which diversion they spent some time, and caught a few, and then they hied them out of the water and dressed them again, and bethinking them that 'twas time to return to the palace, they began slowly sauntering thither, dilating much as they went upon the beauty of the place, albeit they could not extol it more than they had already done. 'twas still quite early when they reached the palace, so that they found the gallants yet at play where they had left them. to whom quoth pampinea with a smile:--"we have stolen a march upon you to-day." "so," replied dioneo, "'tis with you do first and say after?" "ay, my lord," returned pampinea, and told him at large whence they came, and what the place was like, and how far 'twas off, and what they had done. what she said of the beauty of the spot begat in the king a desire to see it: wherefore he straightway ordered supper, whereof when all had gaily partaken, the three gallants parted from the ladies and hied them with their servants to the vale, where none of them had ever been before, and, having marked all its beauties, extolled it as scarce to be matched in all the world. then, as the hour was very late, they did but bathe, and as soon as they had resumed their clothes, returned to the ladies, whom they found dancing a carol to an air that fiammetta sang, which done, they conversed of the ladies' vale, waxing eloquent in praise thereof: insomuch that the king called the seneschal, and bade him have some beds made ready and carried thither on the morrow, that any that were so minded might there take their siesta. he then had lights and wine and comfits brought; and when they had taken a slight refection, he bade all address them to the dance. so at his behest pamfilo led a dance, and then the king, turning with gracious mien to elisa:--"fair damsel," quoth he, "'twas thou to-day didst me this honour of the crown; and 'tis my will that thine to-night be the honour of the song; wherefore sing us whatsoever thou hast most lief." "that gladly will i," replied elisa smiling; and thus with dulcet voice began:-if of thy talons, love, be quit i may, i deem it scarce can be but other fangs i may elude for aye. service i took with thee, a tender maid, in thy war thinking perfect peace to find, and all my arms upon the ground i laid, yielding myself to thee with trustful mind: thou, harpy-tyrant, whom no faith may bind, eftsoons didst swoop on me, and with thy cruel claws mad'st me thy prey. then thy poor captive, bound with many a chain, thou tookst, and gav'st to him, whom fate did call hither my death to be; for that in pain and bitter tears i waste away, his thrall: nor heave i e'er a sigh, or tear let fall, so harsh a lord is he, that him inclines a jot my grief to allay. my prayers upon the idle air are spent: he hears not, will not hear; wherefore in vain the more each hour my soul doth her torment; nor may i die, albeit to die were gain. ah! lord, have pity of my bitter pain! help have i none but thee; then take and bind and at my feet him lay. but if thou wilt not, do my soul but loose from hope, that her still binds with triple chain. sure, o my lord, this prayer thou'lt not refuse: the which so thou to grant me do but deign, i look my wonted beauty to regain, and banish misery with roses white and red bedecked and gay. so with a most piteous sigh ended elisa her song, whereat all wondered exceedingly, nor might any conjecture wherefore she so sang. but the king, who was in a jolly humour, sent for tindaro, and bade him out with his cornemuse, and caused them tread many a measure thereto, until, no small part of the night being thus spent, he gave leave to all to betake them to rest. -endeth here the sixth day of the decameron, beginneth the seventh, in which, under the rule of dioneo, discourse is had of the tricks which, either for love or for their deliverance from peril, ladies have heretofore played their husbands, and whether they were by the said husbands detected, or no. -fled was now each star from the eastern sky, save only that which we call lucifer, which still glowed in the whitening dawn, when uprose the seneschal, and with a goodly baggage-train hied him to the ladies' vale, there to make all things ready according to the ordinance and commandment of the king. nor was it long after his departure that the king rose, being awaked by the stir and bustle that the servants made in lading the horses, and being risen he likewise roused all the ladies and the other gallants; and so, when as yet 'twas scarce clear daybreak, they all took the road; nor seemed it to them that the nightingales and the other birds had ever chanted so blithely as that morning. by which choir they were attended to the ladies' vale, where they were greeted by other warblers not a few, that seemed rejoiced at their arrival. roving about the vale, and surveying its beauties afresh, they rated them higher than on the previous day, as indeed the hour was more apt to shew them forth. then with good wine and comfits they broke their fast, and, that they might not lag behind the songsters, they fell a singing, whereto the vale responded, ever echoing their strains; nor did the birds, as minded not to be beaten, fail to swell the chorus with notes of unwonted sweetness. however, breakfast-time came, and then, the tables being laid under a living canopy of trees, and beside other goodly trees that fringed the little lake, they sat them down in order as to the king seemed meet. so they took their meal, glancing from time to time at the lake, where the fish darted to and fro in multitudinous shoals, which afforded not only delight to their eyes but matter for converse. breakfast ended, and the tables removed, they fell a singing again more blithely than before. after which, there being set, in divers places about the little vale, beds which the discreet seneschal had duly furnished and equipped within and without with store of french coverlets, and other bedgear, all, that were so minded, had leave of the king to go to sleep, and those that cared not to sleep might betake them, as each might choose, to any of their wonted diversions. but, all at length being risen, and the time for addressing them to the story-telling being come, the king had carpets spread on the sward no great way from the place where they had breakfasted; and, all having sat them down beside the lake, he bade emilia begin; which, blithe and smiling, emilia did on this wise. novel i. -gianni lotteringhi hears a knocking at his door at night: he awakens his wife, who persuades him that 'tis the bogey, which they fall to exorcising with a prayer; whereupon the knocking ceases. -my lord, glad indeed had i been, that, saving your good pleasure, some other than i had had precedence of discourse upon so goodly a theme as this of which we are to speak--i doubt i am but chosen to teach others confidence; but, such being your will, i will gladly obey it. and my endeavour shall be, dearest ladies, to tell you somewhat that may be serviceable to you in the future: for, if you are, as i am, timorous, and that most especially of the bogey, which, god wot, i know not what manner of thing it may be, nor yet have found any that knew, albeit we are all alike afraid of it, you may learn from this my story how to put it to flight, should it intrude upon you, with a holy, salutary and most efficacious orison. there dwelt of yore at florence, in the quarter of san pancrazio, a master-spinner, gianni lotteringhi by name, one that had prospered in his business, but had little understanding of aught else; insomuch that being somewhat of a simpleton, he had many a time been chosen leader of the band of laud-singers of santa maria novella, and had charge of their school; and not a few like offices had he often served, upon which he greatly plumed himself. howbeit, 'twas all for no other reason than that, being a man of substance, he gave liberal doles to the friars; who, for that they got thereof, this one hose, another a cloak, and a third a hood, would teach him good orisons, or give him the paternoster in the vernacular, or the chant of st. alexis, or the lament of st. bernard, or the laud of lady matilda, or the like sorry stuff, which he greatly prized, and guarded with jealous care, deeming them all most conducive to the salvation of his soul. now our simple master-spinner had a most beautiful wife, and amorous withal, her name monna tessa. daughter she was of mannuccio dalla cuculla, and not a little knowing and keen-witted; and being enamoured of federigo di neri pegolotti, a handsome and lusty gallant, as he also of her, she, knowing her husband's simplicity, took counsel with her maid, and arranged that federigo should come to chat with her at a right goodly pleasure-house that the said gianni had at camerata, where she was wont to pass the summer, gianni coming now and again to sup and sleep, and going back in the morning to his shop, or, maybe, to his laud-singers. federigo, who desired nothing better, went up there punctually on the appointed day about vespers, and as the evening passed without gianni making his appearance, did most comfortably, and to his no small satisfaction, sup and sleep with the lady, who lying in his arms taught him that night some six of her husband's lauds. but, as neither she nor federigo was minded that this beginning should also be the end of their intercourse, and that it might not be needful for the maid to go each time to make the assignation with him, they came to the following understanding; to wit, that as often as he came and went between the house and an estate that he had a little higher up, he should keep an eye on a vineyard that was beside the house, where he would see an ass's head stuck on one of the poles of the vineyard, and as often as he observed the muzzle turned towards florence, he might visit her without any sort of misgiving; and if he found not the door open, he was to tap it thrice, and she would open it; and when he saw the muzzle of the ass's head turned towards fiesole, he was to keep away, for then gianni would be there. following which plan, they forgathered not seldom: but on one of these evenings, when federigo was to sup with monna tessa on two fat capons that she bad boiled, it so chanced that gianni arrived there unexpectedly and very late, much to the lady's chagrin: so she had a little salt meat boiled apart, on which she supped with her husband; and the maid by her orders carried the two boiled capons laid in a spotless napkin with plenty of fresh eggs and a bottle of good wine into the garden, to which there was access otherwise than from the house, and where she was wont at times to sup with federigo; and there the maid set them down at the foot of a peach-tree, that grew beside a lawn. but in her vexation she forgot to tell the maid to wait till federigo should come, and let him know that gianni was there, and he must take his supper in the garden: and she and gianni and the maid were scarce gone to bed, when federigo came and tapped once at the door, which being hard by the bedroom, gianni heard the tap, as did also the lady, albeit, that gianni might have no reason to suspect her, she feigned to be asleep. federigo waited a little, and then gave a second tap; whereupon, wondering what it might mean, gianni nudged his wife, saying:--"tessa, dost hear what i hear? methinks some one has tapped at our door." the lady, who had heard the noise much better than he, feigned to wake up, and:--"how? what sayst thou?" quoth she. "i say," replied gianni, "that, meseems, some one has tapped at our door." "tapped at it?" quoth the lady. "alas, my gianni, wottest thou not what that is? 'tis the bogey, which for some nights past has so terrified me as never was, insomuch that i never hear it but i pop my head under the clothes and venture not to put it out again until 'tis broad day." "come, come, wife," quoth gianni, "if such it is, be not alarmed; for before we got into bed i repeated the te lucis, the intemerata, and divers other good orisons, besides which i made the sign of the cross in the name of the father, son and holy spirit at each corner of the bed; wherefore we need have no fear that it may avail to hurt us, whatever be its power." the lady, lest federigo, perchance suspecting a rival, should take offence, resolved to get up, and let him understand that gianni was there: so she said to her husband:--"well well; so sayst thou; but i for my part shall never deem myself safe and secure, unless we exorcise it, seeing that thou art here." "oh!" said gianni, "and how does one exorcise it?" "that," quoth the lady, "i know right well; for t'other day, when i went to fiesole for the pardoning, one of those anchoresses, the saintliest creature, my gianni, god be my witness, knowing how much afraid i am of the bogey, taught me a holy and salutary orison, which she said she had tried many a time before she was turned anchoress, and always with success. god wot, i should never have had courage to try it alone; but as thou art here, i propose that we go exorcise it together." gianni made answer that he was quite of the same mind; so up they got, and stole to the door, on the outside of which federigo, now suspicious, was still waiting. and as soon as they were there:--"now," quoth the lady to gianni, "thou wilt spit, when i tell thee." "good," said gianni. whereupon the lady began her orison, saying:- "bogey, bogey that goest by night, tail erect, thou cam'st, tail erect, take thy flight hie thee to the garden, and the great peach before, grease upon grease, and droppings five score of my hen shalt thou find: set the flask thy lips to, then away like the wind, and no scathe unto me or my gianni do." and when she had done:--"now, gianni," quoth she, "spit": and gianni spat. there was no more room for jealousy in federigo's mind as he heard all this from without; nay, for all his disappointment, he was like to burst with suppressed laughter, and when gianni spat, he muttered under his breath:--"now out with thy teeth." the lady, having after this fashion thrice exorcised the bogey, went back to bed with her husband. federigo, disappointed of the supper that he was to have had with her, and apprehending the words of the orison aright, hied him to the garden, and having found the two capons and the wine and the eggs at the foot of the peach-tree, took them home with him, and supped very comfortably. and many a hearty laugh had he and the lady over the exorcism during their subsequent intercourse. now, true it is that some say that the lady had in fact turned the ass's head towards fiesole, but that a husbandman, passing through the vineyard, had given it a blow with his stick, whereby it had swung round, and remained fronting florence, and so it was that federigo thought that he was invited, and came to the house, and that the lady's orison was on this wise:- "bogey, a god's name, away thee hie, for whoe'er turned the ass's head, 'twas not i: another it was, foul fall his eyne; and here am i with gianni mine." wherefore federigo was fain to take himself off, having neither slept nor supped. but a neighbour of mine, a lady well advanced in years, tells me that, by what she heard when she was a girl, both stories are true; but that the latter concerned not gianni lotteringhi but one gianni di nello, that lived at porta san piero, and was no less a numskull than gianni lotteringhi. wherefore, dear my ladies, you are at liberty to choose which exorcism you prefer, or take both if you like. they are both of extraordinary and approved virtue in such cases, as you have heard: get them by heart, therefore, and they may yet stand you in good stead. novel ii. -her husband returning home, peronella bestows her lover in a tun; which, being sold by her husband, she avers to have been already sold by herself to one that is inside examining it to see if it be sound. whereupon the lover jumps out, and causes the husband to scour the tun for him, and afterwards to carry it to his house. -great indeed was the laughter with which emilia's story was received; which being ended, and her orison commended by all as good and salutary, the king bade filostrato follow suit; and thus filostrato began:--dearest my ladies, so many are the tricks that men play you, and most of all your husbands, that, when from time to time it so befalls that some lady plays her husband a trick, the circumstance, whether it come within your own cognizance or be told you by another, should not only give you joy but should incite you to publish it on all hands, that men may be ware, that, knowing as they are, their ladies also, on their part, know somewhat: which cannot but be serviceable to you, for that one does not rashly essay to take another with guile whom one wots not to lack that quality. can we doubt, then, that, should but the converse that we shall hold to-day touching this matter come to be bruited among men, 'twould serve to put a most notable check upon the tricks they play you, by doing them to wit of the tricks, which you, in like manner, when you are so minded, may play them? wherefore 'tis my intention to tell you in what manner a young girl, albeit she was but of low rank, did, on the spur of the moment, beguile her husband to her own deliverance. 'tis no long time since at naples a poor man, a mason by craft, took to wife a fair and amorous maiden--peronella was her name--who eked out by spinning what her husband made by his craft; and so the pair managed as best they might on very slender means. and as chance would have it, one of the gallants of the city, taking note of this peronella one day, and being mightily pleased with her, fell in love with her, and by this means and that so prevailed that he won her to accord him her intimacy. their times of forgathering they concerted as follows:--to wit, that, her husband being wont to rise betimes of a morning to go to work or seek for work, the gallant was to be where he might see him go forth, and, the street where she dwelt, which is called avorio, being scarce inhabited, was to come into the house as soon as her husband was well out of it; and so times not a few they did. but on one of these occasions it befell that, the good man being gone forth, and giannello sirignario--such was the gallant's name--being come into the house, and being with peronella, after a while, back came the good man, though 'twas not his wont to return until the day was done; and finding the door locked, he knocked, and after knocking, he fell a saying to himself:--o god, praised be thy name forever; for that, albeit thou hast ordained that i be poor, at least thou hast accorded me the consolation of a good and honest girl for wife. mark what haste she made to shut the door when i was gone forth, that none else might enter to give her trouble. now peronella knew by his knock that 'twas her husband; wherefore:--"alas, giannello mine," quoth she, "i am a dead woman, for lo, here is my husband, foul fall him! come back! what it may import, i know not, for he is never wont to come back at this hour; perchance he caught sight of thee as thou camest in. however, for the love of god, be it as it may, get thee into this tun that thou seest here, and i will go open to him, and we shall see what is the occasion of this sudden return this morning." so giannello forthwith got into the tun, and peronella went to the door, and let in her husband, and gave him black looks, saying:--"this is indeed a surprise that thou art back so soon this morning! by what i see thou hast a mind to make this a holiday, that thou returnest tools in hand; if so, what are we to live on? whence shall we get bread to eat? thinkest thou i will let thee pawn my gown and other bits of clothes? day and night i do nought else but spin, insomuch that the flesh is fallen away from my nails, that at least i may have oil enough to keep our lamp alight. husband, husband, there is never a woman in the neighbourhood but marvels and mocks at me, that i am at such labour and pains; and thou comest home to me with thy hands hanging idle, when thou shouldst be at work." which said, she fell a weeping and repeating:--"alas, alas, woe 's me, in what evil hour was i born? in what luckless moment came i hither, i, that might have had so goodly a young man, and i would not, to take up with one that bestows never a thought on her whom he has made his wife? other women have a good time with their lovers, and never a one have we here but has two or three; they take their pleasure, and make their husbands believe that the moon is the sun; and i, alas! for that i am an honest woman, and have no such casual amours, i suffer, and am hard bested. i know not why i provide not myself with one of these lovers, as others do. give good heed, husband, to what i say: were i disposed to dishonour thee, i were at no loss to find the man: for here are gallants enough, that love me, and court me, and have sent me many an offer of money--no stint--or dresses or jewels, should i prefer them; but my pride would never suffer it, because i was not born of a woman of that sort: and now thou comest home to me when thou oughtest to be at work." whereto the husband:--"wife, wife, for god's sake distress not thyself: thou shouldst give me credit for knowing what manner of woman thou art, as indeed i have partly seen this morning. true it is that i went out to work; but 'tis plain that thou knowest not, as indeed i knew not, that to-day 'tis the feast of san galeone, and a holiday, and that is why i am come home at this hour; but nevertheless i have found means to provide us with bread for more than a month; for i have sold to this gentleman, whom thou seest with me, the tun, thou wottest of, seeing that it has encumbered the house so long, and he will give me five gigliats for it." quoth then peronella:--"and all this but adds to my trouble: thou, that art a man, and goest abroad, and shouldst know affairs, hast sold for five gigliats a tun, which i, that am but a woman, and was scarce ever out of doors, have, for that it took up so much room in the house, sold for seven gigliats to a good man, that but now, as thou cam'st back, got therein, to see if 'twere sound." so hearing, the husband was overjoyed, and said to the man that was come to take it away:--"good man, i wish thee godspeed; for, as thou hearest, my wife has sold the tun for seven gigliats, whereas thou gavest me only five." whereupon:--"so be it," said the good man, and took himself off. then said peronella to her husband:--"now, as thou art here, come up, and arrange the matter with the good man." now giannello, who, meanwhile, had been all on the alert to discover if there were aught he had to fear or be on his guard against, no sooner heard peronella's last words, than he sprang out of the tun, and feigning to know nought of her husband's return, began thus:--"where art thou, good dame?" whereto the husband, coming up, answered:--"here am i: what wouldst thou of me?" quoth giannello:--"and who art thou? i would speak with the lady with whom i struck the bargain for this tun." then said the good man:--"have no fear, you can deal with me; for i am her husband." quoth then giannello:--"the tun seems to me sound enough; but i think you must have let the lees remain in it; for 'tis all encrusted with i know not what that is so dry, that i cannot raise it with the nail; wherefore i am not minded to take it unless i first see it scoured." whereupon peronella:--"to be sure: that shall not hinder the bargain; my husband will scour it clean." and:--"well and good," said the husband. so he laid down his tools, stripped himself to his vest, sent for a light and a rasp, and was in the tun, and scraping away, in a trice. whereupon peronella, as if she were curious to see what he did, thrust her head into the vent of the tun, which was of no great size, and therewithal one of her arms up to the shoulder, and fell a saying:--"scrape here, and here, and there too, and look, there is a bit left here." so, she being in this posture, directing and admonishing her husband, giannello, who had not, that morning, fully satisfied his desire, when the husband arrived, now seeing that as he would, he might not, brought his mind to his circumstances, and resolved to take his pleasure as he might: wherefore he made up to the lady, who completely blocked the vent of the tun; and even on such wise as on the open champaign the wild and lusty horses do amorously assail the mares of parthia, he sated his youthful appetite; and so it was that almost at the same moment that he did so, and was off, the tun was scoured, the husband came forth of it, and peronella withdrew her head from the vent, and turning to giannello, said:--"take this light, good man, and see if 'tis scoured to thy mind." whereupon giannello, looking into the tun, said that 'twas in good trim, and that he was well content, and paid the husband the seven gigliats, and caused him carry the tun to his house. novel iii. -fra rinaldo lies with his gossip: her husband finds him in the room with her; and they make him believe that he was curing his godson of worms by a charm. -filostrato knew not how so to veil what he said touching the mares of parthia, but that the keen-witted ladies laughed thereat, making as if 'twas at somewhat else. however, his story being ended, the king called for one from elisa, who, all obedience, thus began:--debonair my ladies, we heard from emilia how the bogey is exorcised, and it brought to my mind a story of another incantation: 'tis not indeed so good a story as hers; but, as no other, germane to our theme, occurs to me at present, i will relate it. you are to know, then, that there dwelt aforetime at siena a young man, right gallant and of honourable family, his name rinaldo; who, being in the last degree enamoured of one of his neighbours, a most beautiful gentlewoman and the wife of a rich man, was not without hopes that, if he could but find means to speak with her privately, he might have of her all that he desired; but seeing no way, and the lady being pregnant, he cast about how he might become her child's godfather. wherefore, having ingratiated himself with her husband, he broached the matter to him in as graceful a manner as he might; and 'twas arranged. so rinaldo, being now godfather to madonna agnesa's child, and having a more colourable pretext for speaking to her, took courage, and told her in words that message of his heart which she had long before read in his eyes; but though 'twas not displeasing to the lady to hear, it availed him but little. now not long afterwards it so befell that, whatever may have been his reason, rinaldo betook him to friarage; and whether it was that he found good pasture therein, or what not, he persevered in that way of life. and though for a while after he was turned friar, he laid aside the love he bore his gossip, and certain other vanities, yet in course of time, without putting off the habit, he resumed them, and began to take a pride in his appearance, and to go dressed in fine clothes, and to be quite the trim gallant, and to compose songs and sonnets and ballades, and to sing them, and to make a brave shew in all else that pertained to his new character. but why enlarge upon our fra rinaldo, of whom we speak? what friars are there that do not the like? ah! opprobrium of a corrupt world! sleek-faced and sanguine, daintily clad, dainty in all their accessories, they ruffle it shamelessly before the eyes of all, shewing not as doves but as insolent cocks with raised crest and swelling bosom, and, what is worse (to say nought of the vases full of electuaries and unguents, the boxes packed with divers comfits, the pitchers and phials of artificial waters, and oils, the flagons brimming with malmsey and greek and other wines of finest quality, with which their cells are so packed that they shew not as the cells of friars, but rather as apothecaries' or perfumers' shops), they blush not to be known to be gouty, flattering themselves that other folk wot not that long fasts and many of them, and coarse fare and little of it, and sober living, make men lean and thin and for the most part healthy; or if any malady come thereof, at any rate 'tis not the gout, the wonted remedy for which is chastity and all beside that belongs to the regimen of a humble friar. they flatter themselves, too, that others wot not that over and above the meagre diet, long vigils and orisons and strict discipline ought to mortify men and make them pale, and that neither st. dominic nor st. francis went clad in stuff dyed in grain or any other goodly garb, but in coarse woollen habits innocent of the dyer's art, made to keep out the cold, and not for shew. to which matters 'twere well god had a care, no less than to the souls of the simple folk by whom our friars are nourished. fra rinaldo, then, being come back to his first affections, took to visiting his gossip very frequently; and gaining confidence, began with more insistence than before to solicit her to that which he craved of her. so, being much urged, the good lady, to whom fra rinaldo, perhaps, seemed now more handsome than of yore, had recourse one day, when she felt herself unusually hard pressed by him, to the common expedient of all that would fain concede what is asked of them, and said:--"oh! but fra rinaldo, do friars then do this sort of thing?" "madam," replied fra rinaldo, "when i divest myself of this habit, which i shall do easily enough, you will see that i am a man furnished as other men, and no friar." whereto with a truly comical air the lady made answer:--"alas! woe's me! you are my child's godfather: how might it be? nay, but 'twere a very great mischief; and many a time i have heard that 'tis a most heinous sin; and without a doubt, were it not so, i would do as you wish." "if," said fra rinaldo, "you forego it for such a scruple as this, you are a fool for your pains. i say not that 'tis no sin; but there is no sin so great but god pardons it, if one repent. now tell me: whether is more truly father to your son, i that held him at the font, or your husband that begot him?" "my husband," replied the lady. "sooth say you," returned the friar, "and does not your husband lie with you?" "why, yes," said the lady. "then," rejoined the friar, "i that am less truly your son's father than your husband, ought also to lie with you, as does your husband." the lady was no logician, and needed little to sway her: she therefore believed or feigned to believe that what the friar said was true. so:-"who might avail to answer your words of wisdom?" quoth she; and presently forgot the godfather in the lover, and complied with his desires. nor had they begun their course to end it forthwith: but under cover of the friar's sponsorship, which set them more at ease, as it rendered them less open to suspicion, they forgathered again and again. but on one of these occasions it so befell that fra rinaldo, being come to the lady's house, where he espied none else save a very pretty and dainty little maid that waited on the lady, sent his companion away with her into the pigeon-house, there to teach her the paternoster, while he and the lady, holding her little boy by the hand, went into the bedroom, locked themselves in, got them on to a divan that was there, and began to disport them. and while thus they sped the time, it chanced that the father returned, and, before any was ware of him, was at the bedroom door, and knocked, and called the lady by her name. whereupon:--"'tis as much as my life is worth," quoth madonna agnesa; "lo, here is my husband; and the occasion of our intimacy cannot but be now apparent to him." "sooth say you," returned fra rinaldo, who was undressed, that is to say, had thrown off his habit and hood, and was in his tunic; "if i had but my habit and hood on me in any sort, 'twould be another matter; but if you let him in, and he find me thus, 'twill not be possible to put any face on it." but with an inspiration as happy as sudden:--"now get them on you," quoth the lady; "and when you have them on, take your godson in your arms, and give good heed to what i shall say to him, that your words may accord with mine; and leave the rest to me." the good man was still knocking, when his wife made answer:-"coming, coming." and so up she got, and put on a cheerful countenance and hied her to the door, and opened it and said:--"husband mine: well indeed was it for us that in came fra rinaldo, our sponsor; 'twas god that sent him to us; for in sooth, but for that, we had to-day lost our boy." which the poor simpleton almost swooned to hear; and:--"how so?" quoth he. "o husband mine," replied the lady, "he was taken but now, all of a sudden, with a fainting fit, so that i thought he was dead: and what to do or say i knew not, had not fra rinaldo, our sponsor, come just in the nick of time, and set him on his shoulder, and said:--'gossip, 'tis that he has worms in his body, and getting, as they do, about the heart, they might only too readily be the death of him; but fear not; i will say a charm that will kill them all; and before i take my leave, you will see your boy as whole as you ever saw him.' and because to say certain of the prayers thou shouldst have been with us, and the maid knew not where to find thee, he caused his companion to say them at the top of the house, and he and i came in here. and for that 'tis not meet for any but the boy's mother to assist at such a service, that we might not be troubled with any one else, we locked the door; and he yet has him in his arms; and i doubt not that he only waits till his companion have said his prayers, and then the charm will be complete; for the boy is already quite himself again." the good simple soul, taking all this for sooth, and overwrought by the love he bore his son, was entirely without suspicion of the trick his wife was playing him, and heaving a great sigh, said:--"i will go look for him." "nay," replied the wife, "go not: thou wouldst spoil the efficacy of the charm: wait here; i will go see if thou mayst safely go; and will call thee." whereupon fra rinaldo, who had heard all that passed, and was in his canonicals, and quite at his ease, and had the boy in his arms, having made sure that all was as it should be, cried out:--"gossip, do i not hear the father's voice out there?" "ay indeed, sir," replied the simpleton. "come in then," said fra rinaldo. so in came the simpleton. whereupon quoth fra rinaldo:--"i restore to you your boy made whole by the grace of god, whom but now i scarce thought you would see alive at vespers. you will do well to have his image fashioned in wax, not less than life-size, and set it for a thanksgiving to god, before the statue of master st. ambrose, by whose merits you have this favour of god." the boy, catching sight of his father, ran to him with joyous greetings, as little children are wont; and the father, taking him in his arms, and weeping as if he were restored to him from the grave, fell by turns a kissing him and thanking his godfather, that he had cured him. fra rinaldo's companion, who had taught the maid not one paternoster only, but peradventure four or more, and by giving her a little purse of white thread that a nun had given him, had made her his devotee, no sooner heard fra rinaldo call the simpleton into his wife's room, than he stealthily got him to a place whence he might see and hear what was going on. observing that the affair was now excellently arranged, he came down, and entered the chamber, saying:--"fra rinaldo, those four prayers that you bade me say, i have said them all." "then well done, my brother," quoth fra rinaldo, "well-breathed must thou be. for my part, i had but said two, when my gossip came in; but what with thy travail and mine, god of his grace has vouchsafed-us the healing or the boy." the simpleton then had good wine and comfits brought in, and did the honours to the godfather and his companion in such sort as their occasions did most demand. he then ushered them forth of the house, commending them to god; and without delay had the waxen image made, and directed it to be set up with the others in front of the statue of st. ambrose, not, be it understood, st. ambrose of milan.(1) (1) the statue would doubtless be that of st. ambrose of siena, of the dominican order. novel iv. -tofano one night locks his wife out of the house: she, finding that by no entreaties may she prevail upon him to let her in, feigns to throw herself into a well, throwing therein a great stone. tofano hies him forth of the house, and runs to the spot: she goes into the house, and locks him out, and hurls abuse at him from within. -the king no sooner wist that elisa's story was ended, than, turning to lauretta, he signified his will that she should tell somewhat: wherefore without delay she began:--o love, how great and signal is thy potency! how notable thy stratagems, thy devices! was there ever, shall there ever be, philosopher or adept competent to inspire, counsel and teach in such sort as thou by thine unpremeditated art dost tutor those that follow thy lead? verily laggard teachers are they all in comparison of thee, as by the matters heretofore set forth may very well be understood. to which store i will add, loving ladies, a stratagem used by a woman of quite ordinary understanding, and of such a sort that i know not by whom she could have been taught it save by love. know, then, that there dwelt aforetime at arezzo a rich man, tofano by name, who took to wife monna ghita, a lady exceeding fair, of whom, for what cause he knew not, he presently grew jealous. whereof the lady being ware, waxed resentful, and having on divers occasions demanded of him the reason of his jealousy, and gotten from him nought precise, but only generalities and trivialities, resolved at last to give him cause enough to die of that evil which without cause he so much dreaded. and being ware that a gallant, whom she deemed well worthy of her, was enamoured of her, she, using due discretion, came to an understanding with him; which being brought to the point that it only remained to give effect to their words in act, the lady cast about to devise how this might be. and witting that, among other bad habits that her husband had, he was too fond of his cups, she would not only commend indulgence, but cunningly and not seldom incite him thereto; insomuch that, well-nigh as often as she was so minded, she led him to drink to excess; and when she saw that he was well drunken, she would put him to bed; and so not once only but divers times without any manner of risk she forgathered with her lover; nay, presuming upon her husband's intoxication, she grew so bold that, not content with bringing her lover into her house, she would at times go spend a great part of the night with him at his house, which was not far off. now such being the enamoured lady's constant practice, it so befell that the dishonoured husband took note that, while she egged him on to drink, she herself drank never a drop; whereby he came to suspect the truth, to wit, that the lady was making him drunk, that afterwards she might take her pleasure while he slept. and being minded to put his surmise to the proof, one evening, having drunken nought all day, he mimicked never so drunken a sot both in speech and in carriage. the lady, deeming him to be really as he appeared, and that 'twas needless to ply him with liquor, presently put him to bed. which done, she, as she at times was wont, hied her forth to her lover's house, where she tarried until midnight. tofano no sooner perceived that his wife was gone, than up he got, hied him to the door, locked it, and then posted himself at the window to observe her return, and let her know that he was ware of her misconduct. so there he stood until the lady returned, and finding herself locked out, was annoyed beyond measure, and sought to force the door open. tofano let her try her strength upon it a while, and then:--"madam," quoth he, "'tis all to no purpose: thou canst not get in. go get thee back thither where thou hast tarried all this while, and rest assured that thou shalt never recross this threshold, until i have done thee such honour as is meet for thee in the presence of thy kinsfolk and neighbours." thereupon the lady fell entreating him to be pleased to open to her for the love of god, for that she was not come whence he supposed, but had only been passing the time with one of her gossips, because the nights were long, and she could not spend the whole time either in sleep or in solitary watching. but her supplications availed her nothing, for the fool was determined that all arezzo should know their shame, whereof as yet none wist aught. so as 'twas idle to entreat, the lady assumed a menacing tone, saying:--"so thou open not to me, i will make thee the saddest man alive." whereto tofano made answer:--"and what then canst thou do?" the lady, her wits sharpened by love, rejoined:--"rather than endure the indignity to which thou wouldst unjustly subject me, i will cast myself into the well hard by here, and when i am found dead there, all the world will believe that 'twas thou that didst it in thy cups, and so thou wilt either have to flee and lose all that thou hast and be outlawed, or forfeit thy head as guilty of my death, as indeed thou wilt be." but, for all she said, tofano wavered not a jot in his foolish purpose. so at last:--"lo, now," quoth the lady, "i can no more abide thy surly humour: god forgive thee: i leave thee my distaff here, which be careful to bestow in a safe place." so saying, away she hied her to the well, and, the night being so dark that wayfarers could scarce see one another as they passed, she took up a huge stone that was by the well, and ejaculating, "god forgive me!" dropped it therein. tofano, hearing the mighty splash that the stone made as it struck the water, never doubted that she had cast herself in: so, bucket and rope in hand, he flung himself out of the house, and came running to the well to her rescue. the lady had meanwhile hidden herself hard by the door, and seeing him make for the well, was in the house in a trice, and having locked the door, hied her to the window, and greeted him with:--"'tis while thou art drinking, not now, when the night is far spent, that thou shouldst temper thy wine with water." thus derided, tofano came back to the door, and finding his ingress barred, began adjuring her to let him in. whereupon, changing the low tone she had hitherto used for one so shrill that 'twas well-nigh a shriek, she broke out with:--"by the holy rood, tedious drunken sot that thou art, thou gettest no admittance here to-night; thy ways are more than i can endure: 'tis time i let all the world know what manner of man thou art, and at what hour of the night thou comest home." tofano, on his part, now grew angry, and began loudly to upbraid her; insomuch that the neighbours, aroused by the noise, got up, men and women alike, and looked out of the windows, and asked what was the matter. whereupon the lady fell a weeping and saying:--"'tis this wicked man, who comes home drunk at even, or falls asleep in some tavern, and then returns at this hour. long and to no purpose have i borne with him; but 'tis now past endurance, and i have done him this indignity of locking him out of the house in the hope that perchance it may cause him to mend his ways." tofano, on his part, told, dolt that he was, just what had happened, and was mighty menacing. whereupon:--"now mark," quoth the lady to the neighbours, "the sort of man he is! what would you say if i were, as he is, in the street, and he were in the house, as i am? god's faith, i doubt you would believe what he said. hereby you may gauge his sense. he tells you that i have done just what, i doubt not, he has done himself. he thought to terrify me by throwing i know not what into the well, wherein would to god he had thrown himself indeed, and drowned himself, whereby the wine of which he has taken more than enough, had been watered to some purpose!" the neighbours, men and women alike, now with one accord gave tongue, censuring tofano, throwing all the blame upon him, and answering what he alleged against the lady with loud recrimination; and in short the bruit, passing from neighbour to neighbour, reached at last the ears of the lady's kinsfolk; who hied them to the spot, and being apprised of the affair from this, that and the other of the neighbours, laid hands on tofano, and beat him till he was black and blue from head to foot. which done, they entered his house, stripped it of all that belonged to the lady, and took her home with them, bidding tofano look for worse to come. thus hard bested, and ruing the plight in which his jealousy had landed him, tofano, who loved his wife with all his heart, set some friends to work to patch matters up, whereby he did in fact induce his lady to forgive him and live with him again, albeit he was fain to promise her never again to be jealous, and to give her leave to amuse herself to her heart's content, provided she used such discretion that he should not be ware of it. on such wise, like the churl and booby that he was, being despoiled, he made terms. now long live love, and perish war, and all that wage it! novel v. -a jealous husband disguises himself as a priest, and hears his own wife's confession: she tells him that she loves a priest, who comes to her every night. the husband posts himself at the door to watch for the priest, and meanwhile the lady brings her lover in by the roof, and tarries with him. -when lauretta had done speaking, and all had commended the lady, for that she had done well, and treated her caitiff husband as he had deserved, the king, not to lose time, turned to fiammetta, and graciously bade her take up her parable; which she did on this wise:--most noble ladies, the foregoing story prompts me likewise to discourse of one of these jealous husbands, deeming that they are justly requited by their wives, more especially when they grow jealous without due cause. and had our legislators taken account of everything, i am of opinion that they would have visited ladies in such a case with no other penalty than such as they provide for those that offend in self-defence, seeing that a jealous husband does cunningly practise against the life of his lady, and most assiduously machinate her death. all the week the wife stays at home, occupied with her domestic duties; after which, on the day that is sacred to joy, she, like every one else, craves some solace, some peace, some recreation, not unreasonably, for she craves but what the husbandmen take in the fields, the craftsmen in the city, the magistrates in the courts, nay what god himself took, when he rested from all his labours on the seventh day, and which laws human and divine, mindful alike of the honour of god and the common well-being, have ordained, appropriating certain days to work, and others to repose. to which ordinance these jealous husbands will in no wise conform; on the contrary by then most sedulously secluding their wives, they make those days which to all other women are gladsome, to them most grievous and dolorous. and what an affliction it is to the poor creatures, they alone know, who have proved it; for which reason, to sum up, i say that a wife is rather to be commended than censured, if she take her revenge upon a husband that is jealous without cause. know then that at rimini there dwelt a merchant, a man of great substance in lands and goods and money, who, having a most beautiful woman to wife, waxed inordinately jealous of her, and that for no better reason than that, loving her greatly, and esteeming her exceeding fair, and knowing that she did her utmost endeavour to pleasure him, he must needs suppose that every man loved her, and esteemed her fair, and that she, moreover, was as zealous to stand well with every other man as with himself; whereby you may see that he was a poor creature, and of little sense. being thus so deeply infected with jealousy, he kept so strict and close watch over her, that some, maybe, have lain under sentence of death and been less rigorously confined by their warders. 'twas not merely that the lady might not go to a wedding, or a festal gathering, or even to church, or indeed set foot out of doors in any sort; but she dared not so much as shew herself at a window, or cast a glance outside the house, no matter for what purpose. wherefore she led a most woeful life of it, and found it all the harder to bear because she knew herself to be innocent. accordingly, seeing herself evilly entreated by her husband without good cause, she cast about how for her own consolation she might devise means to justify his usage of her. and for that, as she might not shew herself at the window, there could be no interchange of amorous glances between her and any man that passed along the street, but she wist that in the next house there was a goodly and debonair gallant, she bethought her, that, if there were but a hole in the wall that divided the two houses, she might watch thereat, until she should have sight of the gallant on such wise that she might speak to him, and give him her love, if he cared to have it, and, if so it might be contrived, forgather with him now and again, and after this fashion relieve the burden of her woeful life, until such time as the evil spirit should depart from her husband. so peering about, now here, now there, when her husband was away, she found in a very remote part of the house a place, where, by chance, the wall had a little chink in it. peering through which, she made out, though not without great difficulty, that on the other side was a room, and said to herself:--if this were filippo's room--filippo was the name of the gallant, her neighbour--i should be already halfway to my goal. so cautiously, through her maid, who was grieved to see her thus languish, she made quest, and discovered that it was indeed the gallant's room, where he slept quite alone. wherefore she now betook her frequently to the aperture, and whenever she was ware that the gallant was in the room, she would let fall a pebble or the like trifle; whereby at length she brought the gallant to the other side of the aperture to see what the matter was. whereupon she softly called him, and he knowing her voice, answered; and so, having now the opportunity she had sought, she in few words opened to him all her mind. the gallant, being overjoyed, wrought at the aperture on such wise that albeit none might be ware thereof, he enlarged it; and there many a time they held converse together, and touched hands, though further they might not go by reason of the assiduous watch that the jealous husband kept. now towards christmas the lady told her husband that, if he approved, she would fain go on christmas morning to church, and confess and communicate, like other christians. "and what sins," quoth he, "hast thou committed, that wouldst be shriven?" "how?" returned the lady; "dost thou take me for a saint? for all thou keepest me so close, thou must know very well that i am like all other mortals. however, i am not minded to confess to thee, for that thou art no priest." her husband, whose suspicions were excited by what she had said, cast about how he might discover these sins of hers, and having bethought him of what seemed an apt expedient, made answer that she had his consent, but he would not have her go to any church but their own chapel, where she might hie her betimes in the morning, and confess either to their own chaplain or some other priest that the chaplain might assign her, but to none other, and presently return to the house. the lady thought she half understood him, but she answered only that she would do as he required. christmas morning came, and with the dawn the lady rose, dressed herself, and hied her to the church appointed by her husband, who also rose, and hied him to the same church, where he arrived before her; and having already concerted matters with the priest that was in charge, he forthwith put on one of the priest's robes with a great hood, overshadowing the face, such as we see priests wear, and which he pulled somewhat forward; and so disguised he seated himself in the choir. on entering the church the lady asked for the priest, who came, and learning that she was minded to confess, said that he could not hear her himself, but would send her one of his brethren; so away he hied him and sent her, in an evil hour for him, her husband. for though he wore an air of great solemnity, and 'twas not yet broad day, and he had pulled the hood well over his eyes, yet all did not avail, but that his lady forthwith recognized him, and said to herself:--god be praised! why, the jealous rogue is turned priest: but leave it me to give him that whereof he is in quest. so she feigned not to know him, and seated herself at his feet. (i should tell you that he had put some pebbles in his mouth, that his speech, being impeded, might not betray him to his wife, and in all other respects he deemed himself so thoroughly disguised that there was nought whereby she might recognize him.) now, to come to the confession, the lady, after informing him that she was married, told him among other matters that she was enamoured of a priest, who came every night to lie with her. which to hear was to her husband as if he were stricken through the heart with a knife; and had it not been that he was bent on knowing more, he would have forthwith given over the confession, and taken himself off. however he kept his place, and:--"how?" said he to the lady, "does not your husband lie with you?" the lady replied in the affirmative. "how, then," quoth the husband, "can the priest also lie with you?" "sir," replied she, "what art the priest employs i know not; but door there is none, however well locked, in the house, that comes not open at his touch; and he tells me that, being come to the door of my room, before he opens it, he says certain words, whereby my husband forthwith falls asleep; whereupon he opens the door, and enters the room, and lies with me; and so 'tis always, without fail." "then 'tis very wrong, madam, and you must give it up altogether," said the husband. "that, sir," returned the lady, "i doubt i can never do; for i love him too much." "in that case," quoth the husband, "i cannot give you absolution." "the pity of it!" ejaculated the lady; "i came not hither to tell you falsehoods: if i could give it up, i would." "madam," replied the husband, "indeed i am sorry for you; for i see that you are in a fair way to lose your soul. however, this i will do for you; i will make special supplication to god on your behalf; and perchance you may be profited thereby. and from time to time i will send you one of my young clerks; and you will tell him whether my prayers have been of any help to you, or no, and if they have been so, i shall know what to do next." "nay, sir," quoth the lady, "do not so; send no man to me at home; for, should my husband come to know it, he is so jealous that nothing in the world would ever disabuse him of the idea that he came but for an evil purpose, and so i should have no peace with him all the year long." madam, returned the husband, "have no fear; rest assured that i will so order matters that you shall never hear a word about it from him." "if you can make sure of that," quoth the lady, "i have no more to say." and so, her confession ended, and her penance enjoined, she rose, and went to mass, while the luckless husband, fuming and fretting, hasted to divest himself of his priest's trappings, and then went home bent upon devising some means to bring the priest and his wife together, and take his revenge upon them both. when the lady came home from church she read in her husband's face that she had spoiled his christmas for him, albeit he dissembled to the uttermost, lest she should discover what he had done, and supposed himself to have learned. his mind was made up to keep watch for the priest that very night by his own front door. so to the lady he said:--"i have to go out to-night to sup and sleep; so thou wilt take care that the front door, and the mid-stair door, and the bedroom door are well locked; and for the rest thou mayst go to bed, at thine own time." "well and good," replied the lady: and as soon as she was able, off she hied her to the aperture, and gave the wonted signal, which filippo no sooner heard, than he was at the spot. the lady then told him what she had done in the morning, and what her husband had said to her after breakfast, adding:--"sure i am that he will not stir out of the house, but will keep watch beside the door; wherefore contrive to come in to-night by the roof, that we may be together." "madam," replied the gallant, nothing loath, "trust me for that." night came, the husband armed, and noiselessly hid himself in a room on the ground floor: the lady locked all the doors, being especially careful to secure the mid-stair door, to bar her husband's ascent; and in due time the gallant, having found his way cautiously enough over the roof, they got them to bed, and there had solace of one another and a good time; and at daybreak the gallant hied him back to his house. meanwhile the husband, rueful and supperless, half dead with cold, kept his armed watch beside his door, momently expecting the priest, for the best part of the night; but towards daybreak, his powers failing him, he lay down and slept in the ground-floor room. 'twas hard upon tierce when he awoke, and the front door was then open; so, making as if he had just come in, he went upstairs and breakfasted. not long afterwards he sent to his wife a young fellow, disguised as the priest's underling, who asked her if he of whom she wist had been with her again. the lady, who quite understood what that meant, made answer that he had not come that night, and that, if he continued to neglect her so, 'twas possible he might be forgotten, though she had no mind to forget him. now, to make a long story short, the husband passed many a night in the same way, hoping to catch the priest as he came in, the lady and her gallant meanwhile having a good time. but at last the husband, being able to stand it no longer, sternly demanded of his wife what she had said to the priest the morning when she was confessed. the lady answered that she was not minded to tell him, for that 'twas not seemly or proper so to do. whereupon:--"sinful woman," quoth the husband, "in thy despite i know what thou saidst to him, and know i must and will who this priest is, of whom thou art enamoured, and who by dint of his incantations lies with thee a nights, or i will sluice thy veins for thee." "'tis not true," replied the lady, "that i am enamoured of a priest." "how?" quoth the husband, "saidst thou not as much to the priest that confessed thee?" "thou canst not have had it from him," rejoined the lady. "wast thou then present thyself? for sure i never told him so." "then tell me," quoth the husband, "who this priest is; and lose no time about it." whereat the lady began to smile, and:--"i find it not a little diverting," quoth she, "that a wise man should suffer himself to be led by a simple woman as a ram is led by the horns to the shambles; albeit no wise man art thou: not since that fatal hour when thou gavest harbourage in thy breast, thou wist not why, to the evil spirit of jealousy; and the more foolish and insensate thou art, the less glory have i. deemest thou, my husband, that i am as blind of the bodily eye as thou art of the mind's eye? nay, but for sure i am not so. i knew at a glance the priest that confessed me, and that 'twas even thyself. but i was minded to give thee that of which thou wast in quest, and i gave it thee. howbeit, if thou hadst been the wise man thou takest thyself to be, thou wouldst not have chosen such a way as that to worm out thy good lady's secrets, nor wouldst thou have fallen a prey to a baseless suspicion, but wouldst have understood that what she confessed was true, and she all the while guiltless. i told thee that i loved a priest; and wast not thou, whom i love, though ill enough dost thou deserve it, turned priest? i told thee that there was no door in my house but would open when he was minded to lie with me: and when thou wouldst fain have access to me, what door was ever closed against thee? i told thee that the priest lay nightly with me: and what night was there that thou didst not lie with me? thou sentest thy young clerk to me: and thou knowest that, as often as thou hadst not been with me, i sent word that the priest had not been with me. who but thou, that hast suffered jealousy to blind thee, would have been so witless as not to read such a riddle? but thou must needs mount guard at night beside the door, and think to make me believe that thou hadst gone out to sup and sleep. consider thy ways, and court not the mockery of those that know them as i do, but turn a man again as thou wast wont to be: and let there be no more of this strict restraint in which thou keepest me; for i swear to thee by god that, if i were minded to set horns on thy brow, i should not fail so to take my pastime that thou wouldst never find it out, though thou hadst a hundred eyes, as thou hast but two." thus admonished, the jealous caitiff, who had flattered himself that he had very cunningly discovered his wife's secret, was ashamed, and made no answer save to commend his wife's wit and honour; and thus, having cause for jealousy, he discarded it, as he had erstwhile been jealous without cause. and so the adroit lady had, as it were, a charter of indulgence, and needed no more to contrive for her lover to come to her over the roof like a cat, but admitted him by the door, and using due discretion, had many a good time with him, and sped her life gaily. novel vi. -madonna isabella has with her leonetto, her accepted lover, when she is surprised by one messer lambertuccio, by whom she is beloved: her husband coming home about the same time, she sends messer lambertuccio forth of the house drawn sword in hand, and the husband afterwards escorts leonetto home. -wondrous was the delight that all the company had of fiammetta's story, nor was there any but affirmed that the lady had done excellent well, and dealt with her insensate husband as he deserved. however, it being ended, the king bade pampinea follow suit; which she did on this wise:--not a few there are that in their simplicity aver that love deranges the mind, insomuch that whoso loves becomes as it were witless: the folly of which opinion, albeit i doubt it not, and deem it abundantly proven by what has been already said, i purpose once again to demonstrate. in our city, rich in all manner of good things, there dwelt a young gentlewoman, fair exceedingly, and wedded to a most worthy and excellent gentleman. and as it not seldom happens that one cannot keep ever to the same diet, but would fain at times vary it, so this lady, finding her husband not altogether to her mind, became enamoured of a gallant, leonetto by name, who, though of no high rank, was not a little debonair and courteous, and he in like manner fell in love with her; and (as you know that 'tis seldom that what is mutually desired fails to come about) 'twas not long before they had fruition of their love. now the lady being, as i said, fair and winsome, it so befell that a gentleman, messer lambertuccio by name, grew mightily enamoured of her, but so tiresome and odious did she find him, that for the world she could not bring herself to love him. so, growing tired of fruitlessly soliciting her favour by ambassage, messer lambertuccio, who was a powerful signior, sent her at last another sort of message in which he threatened to defame her if she complied not with his wishes. wherefore the lady, knowing her man, was terrified, and disposed herself to pleasure him. now it so chanced that madonna isabella, for such was the lady's name, being gone, as is our florentine custom in the summer, to spend some time on a very goodly estate that she had in the contado, one morning finding herself alone, for her husband had ridden off to tarry some days elsewhere, she sent for leonetto to come and keep her company; and leonetto came forthwith in high glee. but while they were together, messer lambertuccio, who, having got wind that the husband was away, had mounted his horse and ridden thither quite alone, knocked at the door. whereupon the lady's maid hied her forthwith to her mistress, who was alone with leonetto, and called her, saying:--"madam, messer lambertuccio is here below, quite alone." whereat the lady was vexed beyond measure; and being also not a little dismayed, she said to leonetto:--"prithee, let it not irk thee to withdraw behind the curtain, and there keep close until messer lambertuccio be gone." leonetto, who stood in no less fear of messer lambertuccio than did the lady, got into his hiding-place; and the lady bade the maid go open to messer lambertuccio: she did so; and having dismounted and fastened his palfrey to a pin, he ascended the stairs; at the head of which the lady received him with a smile and as gladsome a greeting as she could find words for, and asked him on what errand he was come. the gentleman embraced and kissed her, saying:--"my soul, i am informed that your husband is not here, and therefore i am come to stay a while with you." which said, they went into the room, and locked them in, and messer lambertuccio fell a toying with her. now, while thus he sped the time with her, it befell that the lady's husband, albeit she nowise expected him, came home, and, as he drew nigh the palace, was observed by the maid, who forthwith ran to the lady's chamber, and said:--"madam, the master will be here anon; i doubt he is already in the courtyard." whereupon, for that she had two men in the house, and the knight's palfrey, that was in the courtyard, made it impossible to hide him, the lady gave herself up for dead. nevertheless she made up her mind on the spur of the moment, and springing out of bed "sir," quoth she to messer lambertuccio, "if you have any regard for me, and would save my life, you will do as i bid you: that is to say, you will draw your blade, and put on a fell and wrathful countenance, and hie you downstairs, saying:--'by god, he shall not escape me elsewhere.' and if my husband would stop you, or ask you aught, say nought but what i have told you, and get you on horseback and tarry with him on no account." "to hear is to obey," quoth messer lambertuccio, who, with the flush of his recent exertion and the rage that he felt at the husband's return still on his face, and drawn sword in hand, did as she bade him. the lady's husband, being now dismounted in the courtyard, and not a little surprised to see the palfrey there, was about to go up the stairs, when he saw messer lambertuccio coming down them, and marvelling both at his words and at his mien:--"what means this, sir?" quoth he. but messer lambertuccio clapped foot in stirrup, and mounted, saying nought but:--"zounds, but i will meet him elsewhere;" and so he rode off. the gentleman then ascended the stairs, at the head of which he found his lady distraught with terror, to whom he said:--"what manner of thing is this? after whom goes messer lambertuccio, so wrathful and menacing?" whereto the lady, drawing nigher the room, that leonetto might hear her, made answer:--"never, sir, had i such a fright as this. there came running in here a young man, who to me is quite a stranger, and at his heels messer lambertuccio with a drawn sword in his hand; and as it happened the young man found the door of this room open, and trembling in every limb, cried out:--'madam, your succour, for god's sake, that i die not in your arms.' so up i got, and would have asked him who he was, and how bested, when up came messer lambertuccio, exclaiming:--'where art thou, traitor?' i planted myself in the doorway, and kept him from entering, and seeing that i was not minded to give him admittance, he was courteous enough, after not a little parley, to take himself off, as you saw." whereupon:--"wife," quoth the husband, "thou didst very right. great indeed had been the scandal, had some one been slain here, and 'twas a gross affront on messer lambertuccio's part to pursue a fugitive within the house." he then asked where the young man was. whereto the lady answered:--"nay, where he may be hiding, sir, i wot not." so:--"where art thou?" quoth the knight. "fear not to shew thyself." then forth of his hiding-place, all of a tremble, for in truth he had been thoroughly terrified, crept leonetto, who had heard all that had passed. to whom:--"what hast thou to do with messer lambertuccio?" quoth the knight. "nothing in the world," replied the young man: "wherefore, i doubt he must either be out of his mind, or have mistaken me for another; for no sooner had he sight of me in the street hard by the palace, than he laid his hand on his sword, and exclaimed:--'traitor, thou art a dead man.' whereupon i sought not to know why, but fled with all speed, and got me here, and so, thanks to god and this gentlewoman, i escaped his hands." "now away with thy fears," quoth the knight; "i will see thee home safe and sound; and then 'twill be for thee to determine how thou shalt deal with him." and so, when they had supped, he set him on horseback, and escorted him to florence, and left him not until he was safe in his own house. and the very same evening, following the lady's instructions, leonetto spoke privily with messer lambertuccio, and so composed the affair with him, that, though it occasioned not a little talk, the knight never wist how he had been tricked by his wife. novel vii. -lodovico discovers to madonna beatrice the love that he bears her: she sends egano, her husband, into a garden disguised as herself, and lies with lodovico; who thereafter, being risen, hies him to the garden and cudgels egano. -this device of madonna isabella, thus recounted by pampinea, was held nothing short of marvellous by all the company. but, being bidden by the king to tell the next story, thus spake filomena:--loving ladies, if i mistake not, the device, of which you shall presently hear from me, will prove to be no less excellent than the last. you are to know, then, that there dwelt aforetime at paris a florentine gentleman, who, being by reason of poverty turned merchant, had prospered so well in his affairs that he was become very wealthy; and having by his lady an only son, lodovico by name, whose nobility disrelished trade, he would not put him in any shop; but that he might be with other gentlemen, he caused him to enter the service of the king of france, whereby he acquired very fine manners and other accomplishments. being in this service, lodovico was one day with some other young gallants that talked of the fair ladies of france, and england, and other parts of the world, when they were joined by certain knights that were returned from the holy sepulchre; and hearing their discourse, one of the knights fell a saying, that of a surety in the whole world, so far as he had explored it, there was not any lady, of all that he had ever seen, that might compare for beauty with madonna beatrice, the wife of egano de' galluzzi, of bologna: wherein all his companions, who in common with him had seen the lady at bologna, concurred. which report lodovico, who was as yet fancy-free, no sooner heard, than he burned with such a yearning to see the lady that he was able to think of nought else: insomuch that he made up his mind to betake him to bologna to see her, and if she pleased him, to remain there; to which end he gave his father to understand that he would fain visit the holy sepulchre, whereto his father after no little demur consented. so to bologna anichino--for so he now called himself--came; and, as fortune would have it, the very next day, he saw the lady at a festal gathering, and deemed her vastly more beautiful than he had expected: wherefore he waxed most ardently enamoured of her, and resolved never to quit bologna, until he had gained her love. so, casting about how he should proceed, he could devise no other way but to enter her husband's service, which was the more easy that he kept not a few retainers: on this wise lodovico surmised that, peradventure, he might compass his end. he therefore sold his horses and meetly bestowed his servants, bidding them make as if they knew him not; and being pretty familiar with his host, he told him that he was minded to take service with some worthy lord, it any such he might find. "thou wouldst make," quoth the host, "the very sort of retainer to suit a gentleman of this city, egano by name, who keeps not a few of them, and will have all of them presentable like thee: i will mention the matter to him." and so he accordingly did, and before he took leave of egano had placed anichino with him, to egano's complete satisfaction. being thus resident with egano, and having abundant opportunities of seeing the fair lady, anichino set himself to serve egano with no little zeal; wherein he succeeded so well, that egano was more than satisfied, insomuch that by and by there was nought he could do without his advice, and he entrusted to him the guidance not only of himself, but of all his affairs. now it so befell that one day when egano was gone a hawking, having left anichino at home, madonna beatrice, who as yet wist not of his love, albeit she had from time to time taken note of him and his manners, and had not a little approved and commended them, sat herself down with him to a game of chess, which, to please her, anichino most dexterously contrived to lose, to the lady's prodigious delight. after a while, the lady's women, one and all, gave over watching their play, and left them to it; whereupon anichino heaved a mighty sigh. the lady, looking hard at him, said:--"what ails thee, anichino? is it, then, such a mortification to thee to be conquered by me?" "nay, madam," replied anichino, "my sigh was prompted by a much graver matter." "then, if thou hast any regard for me," quoth the lady, "tell me what it is." hearing himself thus adjured by "any regard" he had for her whom he loved more than aught else, anichino heaved a yet mightier sigh, which caused the lady to renew her request that he would be pleased to tell her the occasion of his sighs. whereupon:--"madam," said anichino, "i greatly fear me, that, were i to tell it you, 'twould but vex you; and, moreover, i doubt you might repeat it to some one else." "rest assured," returned the lady, "that i shall neither be annoyed, nor, without thy leave, ever repeat to any other soul aught that thou mayst say." "then," said anichino, "having this pledge from you, i will tell it you." and, while the tears all but stood in his eyes, he told her, who he was, the report he had heard of her, and where and how he had become enamoured of her, and with what intent he had taken service with her husband: after which, he humbly besought her, that, if it might be, she would have pity on him, and gratify this his secret and ardent desire; and that, if she were not minded so to do, she would suffer him to retain his place there, and love her. ah! bologna! how sweetly mixed are the elements in thy women! how commendable in such a case are they all! no delight have they in sighs and tears, but are ever inclinable to prayers, and ready to yield to the solicitations of love. had i but words apt to praise them as they deserve, my eloquence were inexhaustible. the gentlewoman's gaze was fixed on anichino as he spoke; she made no doubt that all he said was true, and yielding to his appeal, she entertained his love within her heart in such measure that she too began to sigh, and after a sigh or two made answer:--"sweet my anichino, be of good cheer; neither presents nor promises, nor any courting by gentleman, or lord, or whoso else (for i have been and am still courted by not a few) was ever able to sway my soul to love any of them: but thou, by the few words that thou hast said, hast so wrought with me that, brief though the time has been, i am already in far greater measure thine than mine. my love i deem thee to have won right worthily; and so i give it thee, and vow to give thee joyance thereof before the coming night be past. to which end thou wilt come to my room about midnight; i will leave the door open; thou knowest the side of the bed on which i sleep; thou wilt come there; should i be asleep, thou hast but to touch me, and i shall awake, and give thee solace of thy long-pent desire. in earnest whereof i will even give thee a kiss." so saying, she threw her arms about his neck, and lovingly kissed him, as anichino her. their colloquy thus ended, anichino betook him elsewhere about some matters which he had to attend to, looking forward to midnight with boundless exultation. egano came in from his hawking; and after supper, being weary, went straight to bed, whither the lady soon followed him, leaving, as she had promised, the door of the chamber open. thither accordingly, at the appointed hour, came anichino, and having softly entered the chamber, and closed the door behind him, stole up to where the lady lay, and laying his hand upon her breast, found that she was awake. now, as soon as she wist that anichino was come, she took his hand in both her own; and keeping fast hold of him, she turned about in the bed, until she awoke egano; whereupon:--"husband," quoth she, "i would not say aught of this to thee, yestereve, because i judged thou wast weary; but tell me, upon thy hope of salvation, egano, whom deemest thou thy best and most loyal retainer, and the most attached to thee, of all that thou hast in the house?" "what a question is this, wife?" returned egano. "dost not know him? retainer i have none, nor ever had, so trusted, or loved, as anichino. but wherefore put such a question?" now, when anichino wist that egano was awake, and heard them talk of himself, he more than once tried to withdraw his hand, being mightily afraid lest the lady meant to play him false; but she held it so tightly that he might not get free, while thus she made answer to egano:--"i will tell thee what he is. i thought that he was all thou sayst, and that none was so loyal to thee as he, but he has undeceived me, for that yesterday, when thou wast out a hawking, he, being here, chose his time, and had the shamelessness to crave of me compliance with his wanton desires: and i, that i might not need other evidence than that of thine own senses to prove his guilt to thee, i made answer, that i was well content, and that to-night, after midnight, i would get me into the garden, and await him there at the foot of the pine. now go thither i shall certainly not; but, if thou wouldst prove the loyalty of thy retainer, thou canst readily do so, if thou but slip on one of my loose robes, and cover thy face with a veil, and go down and attend his coming, for come, i doubt not, he will." whereto egano:--"meet indeed it is," quoth he, "that i should go see;" and straightway up he got, and, as best he might in the dark, he put on one of the lady's loose robes and veiled his face, and then hied him to the garden, and sate down at the foot of the pine to await anichino. the lady no sooner wist that he was out of the room, than she rose, and locked the door. anichino, who had never been so terrified in all his life, and had struggled with all his might to disengage his hand from the lady's clasp, and had inwardly cursed her and his love, and himself for trusting her, a hundred thousand times, was overjoyed beyond measure at this last turn that she had given the affair. and so, the lady having got her to bed again, and he, at her bidding, having stripped and laid him down beside her, they had solace and joyance of one another for a good while. then, the lady, deeming it unmeet for anichino to tarry longer with her, caused him to get up and resume his clothes, saying to him:--"sweet my mouth, thou wilt take a stout cudgel, and get thee to the garden, and making as if i were there, and thy suit to me had been but to try me, thou wilt give egano a sound rating with thy tongue and a sound belabouring with thy cudgel, the sequel whereof will be wondrously gladsome and delightful." whereupon anichino hied him off to the garden, armed with a staff of wild willow; and as he drew nigh the pine, egano saw him, and rose and came forward to meet him as if he would receive him with the heartiest of cheer. but:--"ah! wicked woman!" quoth anichino; "so thou art come! thou didst verily believe, then, that i was, that i am, minded thus to wrong my lord? foul fall thee a thousand times!" and therewith he raised his cudgel, and began to lay about him. egano, however, had heard and seen enough, and without a word took to flight, while anichino pursued him, crying out:--"away with thee! god send thee a bad year, lewd woman that thou art; nor doubt that egano shall hear of this to-morrow." egano, having received sundry round knocks, got him back to his chamber with what speed he might; and being asked by the lady, whether anichino had come into the garden:--"would to god he had not!" quoth he, "for that, taking me for thee, he has beaten me black and blue with his cudgel, and rated me like the vilest woman that ever was: passing strange, indeed, it had seemed to me that he should have said those words to thee with intent to dishonour me; and now 'tis plain that 'twas but that, seeing thee so blithe and frolicsome, he was minded to prove thee." whereto:--"god be praised," returned the lady, "that he proved me by words, as thee by acts: and i doubt not he may say that i bear his words with more patience than thou his acts. but since he is so loyal to thee, we must make much of him and do him honour." "ay, indeed," quoth egano, "thou sayst sooth." thus was egano fortified in the belief that never had any gentleman wife so true, or retainer so loyal, as he; and many a hearty laugh had he with anichino and his lady over this affair, which to them was the occasion that, with far less let than might else have been, they were able to have solace and joyance of one another, so long as it pleased anichino to tarry at bologna. novel viii. -a husband grows jealous of his wife, and discovers that she has warning of her lover's approach by a piece of pack-thread, which she ties to her great toe a nights. while he is pursuing her lover, she puts another woman in bed in her place. the husband, finding her there, beats her, and cuts off her hair. he then goes and calls his wife's brothers, who, holding his accusation to be false, give him a rating. -rare indeed was deemed by common consent the subtlety shewn by madonna beatrice in the beguilement of her husband, and all affirmed that the terror of anichino must have been prodigious, when, the lady still keeping fast hold of him, he had heard her say that he had made suit of love to her. however, filomena being silent, the king turned to neifile, saying:--"'tis now for you to tell." whereupon neifile, while a slight smile died away upon her lips, thus began:--fair ladies, to entertain you with a goodly story, such as those which my predecessors have delighted you withal, is indeed a heavy burden, but, god helping me, i trust fairly well to acquit myself thereof. you are to know, then, that there dwelt aforetime in our city a most wealthy merchant, arriguccio berlinghieri by name, who foolishly, as we wot by daily experience is the way of merchants, thinking to compass gentility by matrimony, took to wife a young gentlewoman, by no means suited to him, whose name was monna sismonda. now monna sismonda, seeing that her husband was much abroad, and gave her little of his company, became enamoured of a young gallant, ruberto by name, who had long courted her: and she being grown pretty familiar with him, and using, perchance, too little discretion, for she affected him extremely, it so befell that arriguccio, whether it was that he detected somewhat, or howsoever, waxed of all men the most jealous, and gave up going abroad, and changed his way of life altogether, and made it his sole care to watch over his wife, insomuch that he never allowed himself a wink of sleep until he had seen her to bed: which occasioned the lady the most grievous dumps, because 'twas on no wise possible for her to be with her ruberto. so, casting about in many ways how she might contrive to meet him, and being thereto not a little plied by ruberto himself, she bethought her at last of the following expedient: to wit, her room fronting the street, and arriguccio, as she had often observed, being very hard put to it to get him to sleep, but thereafter sleeping very soundly, she resolved to arrange with ruberto that he should come to the front door about midnight, whereupon she would get her down, and open the door, and stay some time with him while her husband was in his deep sleep. and that she might have tidings of his arrival, yet so as that none else might wot aught thereof, she adopted the device of lowering a pack-thread from the bedroom window on such wise that, while with one end it should all but touch the ground, it should traverse the floor of the room, until it reached the bed, and then be brought under the clothes, so that, when she was abed, she might attach it to her great toe. having so done, she sent word to ruberto, that when he came, he must be sure to jerk the pack-thread, and, if her husband were asleep, she would loose it, and go open to him; but, if he were awake, she would hold it taut and draw it to herself, to let him know that he must not expect her. ruberto fell in with the idea, came there many times, and now forgathered with her and again did not. but at last, they still using this cunning practice, it so befell that one night, while the lady slept, arriguccio, letting his foot stray more than he was wont about the bed, came upon the pack-thread, and laying his hand upon it, found that it was attached to his lady's great toe, and said to himself:--this must be some trick: and afterwards discovering that the thread passed out of the window, was confirmed in his surmise. wherefore, he softly severed it from the lady's toe, and affixed it to his own; and waited, all attention, to learn the result of his experiment. nor had he long to wait before ruberto came, and arriguccio felt him jerk the thread according to his wont: and as arriguccio had not known how to attach the thread securely, and ruberto jerked it with some force, it gave way, whereby he understood that he was to wait, and did so. arriguccio straightway arose, caught up his arms, and hasted to the door to see who might be there, intent to do him a mischief. now arriguccio, for all he was a merchant, was a man of spirit, and of thews and sinews; and being come to the door, he opened it by no means gingerly, as the lady was wont; whereby ruberto, who was in waiting, surmised the truth, to wit, that 'twas arriguccio by whom the door was opened. wherefore he forthwith took to flight, followed by arriguccio. but at length, when he had run a long way, as arriguccio gave not up the pursuit, he being also armed, drew his sword, and faced about; and so they fell to, arriguccio attacking, and ruberto defending himself. now when arriguccio undid the bedroom door, the lady awoke, and finding the pack-thread cut loose from her toe, saw at a glance that her trick was discovered; and hearing arriguccio running after ruberto, she forthwith got up, foreboding what the result was like to be, and called her maid, who was entirely in her confidence: whom she so plied with her obsecrations that at last she got her into bed in her room, beseeching her not to say who she was, but to bear patiently all the blows that arriguccio might give her; and she would so reward her that she should have no reason to complain. then, extinguishing the light that was in the room, forth she hied her, and having found a convenient hiding-place in the house, awaited the turn of events. now arriguccio and ruberto being hotly engaged in the street, the neighbours, roused by the din of the combat, got up and launched their curses upon them. wherefore arriguccio, fearing lest he should be recognized, drew off before he had so much as discovered who the young gallant was, or done him any scathe, and in a fell and wrathful mood betook him home. stumbling into the bedroom, he cried out angrily:--"where art thou, lewd woman? thou hast put out the light, that i may not be able to find thee; but thou hast miscalculated." and going to the bedside, he laid hold of the maid, taking her to be his wife, and fell a pummelling and kicking her with all the strength he had in his hands and feet, insomuch that he pounded her face well-nigh to pulp, rating her the while like the vilest woman that ever was; and last of all he cut off her hair. the maid wept bitterly, as indeed she well might; and though from time to time she ejaculated an "alas! mercy, for god's sake!" or "spare me, spare me;" yet her voice was so broken by her sobs, and arriguccio's hearing so dulled by his wrath, that he was not able to discern that 'twas not his wife's voice but that of another woman. so, having soundly thrashed her, and cut off her hair, as we said:--"wicked woman," quoth he, "i touch thee no more; but i go to find thy brothers, and shall do them to wit of thy good works; and then they may come here, and deal with thee as they may deem their honour demands, and take thee hence, for be sure thou shalt no more abide in this house." with this he was gone, locking the door of the room behind him, and quitted the house alone. now no sooner did monna sismonda, who had heard all that passed, perceive that her husband was gone, than she opened the door of the bedroom, rekindled the light, and finding her maid all bruises and tears, did what she could to comfort her, and carried her back to her own room, where, causing her to be privily waited on and tended, she helped her so liberally from arriguccio's own store, that she confessed herself content. the maid thus bestowed in her room, the lady presently hied her back to her own, which she set all in neat and trim order, remaking the bed, so that it might appear as if it had not been slept in, relighting the lamp, and dressing and tiring herself, until she looked as if she had not been abed that night; then, taking with her a lighted lamp and some work, she sat her down at the head of the stairs, and began sewing, while she waited to see how the affair would end. arriguccio meanwhile had hied him with all speed straight from the house to that of his wife's brothers, where by dint of much knocking he made himself heard, and was admitted. the lady's three brothers, and her mother, being informed that 'twas arriguccio, got up, and having set lights a burning, came to him and asked him on what errand he was come there at that hour, and alone. whereupon arriguccio, beginning with the discovery of the pack-thread attached to his lady's great toe, gave them the whole narrative of his discoveries and doings down to the very end; and to clinch the whole matter, he put in their hands the locks which he had cut, as he believed, from his wife's head, adding that 'twas now for them to come for her and deal with her on such wise as they might deem their honour required, seeing that he would nevermore have her in his house. firmly believing what he told them, the lady's brothers were very wroth with her, and having provided themselves with lighted torches, set out with arriguccio, and hied them to his house with intent to scorn her, while their mother followed, weeping and beseeching now one, now another, not to credit these matters so hastily, until they had seen or heard somewhat more thereof; for that the husband might have some other reason to be wroth with her, and having ill-treated her, might have trumped up this charge by way of exculpation, adding that, if true, 'twas passing strange, for well she knew her daughter, whom she had brought up from her tenderest years, and much more to the like effect. however, being come to arriguccio's house, they entered, and were mounting the stairs, when monna sismonda, hearing them, called out:--"who is there?" whereto one of the brothers responded:--"lewd woman, thou shalt soon have cause enough to know who it is." "now lord love us!" quoth monna sismonda, "what would he be at?" then, rising, she greeted them with:--"welcome, my brothers but what seek ye abroad at this hour, all three of you?" they had seen her sitting and sewing with never a sign of a blow on her face, whereas arriguccio had averred that he had pummelled her all over: wherefore their first impression was one of wonder, and refraining the vehemence of their wrath, they asked her what might be the truth of the matter which arriguccio laid to her charge, and threatened her with direful consequences, if she should conceal aught. whereto the lady:--"what you would have me tell you," quoth she, "or what arriguccio may have laid to my charge, that know not i." arriguccio could but gaze upon her, as one that had taken leave of his wits, calling to mind how he had pummelled her about the face times without number, and scratched it for her, and mishandled her in all manner of ways, and there he now saw her with no trace of aught of it all upon her. however, to make a long story short, the lady's brothers told her what arriguccio had told them touching the pack-thread and the beating and all the rest of it. whereupon the lady turned to him with:--"alas, my husband, what is this that i hear? why givest thou me, to thy own great shame, the reputation of a lewd woman, when such i am not, and thyself the reputation of a wicked and cruel man, which thou art not? wast thou ever to-night, i say not in my company, but so much as in the house until now? or when didst thou beat me? for my part i mind me not of it." arriguccio began:--"how sayst thou, lewd woman? did we not go to bed together? did i not come back, after chasing thy lover? did i not give thee bruises not a few, and cut thy hair for thee?" but the lady interrupted him, saying:--"nay, thou didst not lie here to-night. but leave we this, of which my true words are my sole witness, and pass we to this of the beating thou sayst thou gavest me, and how thou didst cut my h