■
A* it ^
THE WHITE PEACOCK
THE
WHITE PEACOCK
A NOVEL
BY
D. H. LAWRENCE
NEW YORK
DUFFIELD & COMPANY
1911
Copyright, 1911, by
DUFFIELD & COMPANY
THE TROW PRESS, NEW YORK
CONTENTS
PART I
CHAPTER PAGES
I. — The People of Nethermere .... 3
II. — Dangling the Apple 17
III. — A Vendor of Visions 32
IV. — The Father 49
V. — The Scent of Blood 67
VI. — The Education of George 87
VII. — Lettie Pulls Down the Small Gold Grapes . 114
VIII. — The Riot of Christmas 140
IX. — Lettie Comes of Age 158
PART II
I. — Strange Blossoms and Strange New Budding . 191
II. — A Shadow in Spring 223
III. — The Irony of Inspired Moments . . . 243
IV. — Kiss When She's Ripe for Tears . . . 270
V. — An Arrow from the Impatient God . . .291
VI. — The Courting 302
VII. — The Fascination of the Forbidden Apple . 313
VIII. — A Poem of Friendship 333
IX. — Pastorals and Peonies 344
PART III
I. — A New Start in Life 361
II. — Puffs of Wind in the Sail 380
III. — The First Pages of Several Romances . . 392
IV. — Domestic Life at the Ram 409
V. — The Dominant Motif of Suffering . . . 425
VI.— Pisgah 442
VII.— The Scarp Slope 465
VIII. — A Prospect Among the Marshes of Lethe 479
PART I
CHAPTEK I
THE PEOPLE OF NETHEEMERE
I stood watching the shadowy fish slide through the
gloom of the mill-pond. They were grey, descend-
ants of the silvery things that had darted away from
the monks, in the young days when the valley was
lusty. The whole place was gathered in the musing
of old age. The thick-piled trees on the far shore
were too dark and sober to dally with the sun; the
weeds stood crowded and motionless. Not even a
little wind flickered the willows of the islets. The
water lay softly, intensely still. Only the thin stream
falling through the mill-race murmured to itself
of the tumult of life which had once quickened the
valley.
I was almost startled into the water from my
perch on the alder roots by a voice saying :
" Well, what is there to look at ? " My friend was
a young farmer, stoutly built, brown eyed, with a
naturally fair skin burned dark and freckled in
patches. He laughed, seeing me start, and looked
down at me with lazy curiosity.
" I was thinking the place seemed old, brooding
over its past."
He looked at me with a lazy indulgent smile, and
lay down on his back on the bank, saying:
" It's all right for a doss — here."
s
4 THE WHITE PEACOCK
" Your life is nothing else but a doss. I shall
laugh when somebody jerks you awake," I replied.
He smiled comfortably and put his hands over his
eyes because of the light.
" Why shall you laugh ? " he drawled.
" Because you'll be amusing," said I.
We were silent for a long time, when he rolled
over and began to poke with his finger in the bank.
" I thought/' he said in his leisurely fashion,
" there was some cause for all this buzzing."
I looked, and saw that he had poked out an old,
papery nest of those pretty field bees which seem to
have dipped their tails into bright amber dust.
Some agitated insects ran round the cluster of eggs,
most of which were empty now, the crowns gone ; a
few young bees staggered about in uncertain flight
before they could gather power to wing away in a
strong course. He watched the little ones that ran in
and out among the shadows of the grass, hither and
thither in consternation.
" Come here — come here ! " he said, imprisoning
one poor little bee under a grass stalk, while with
another stalk he loosened the folded blue wings.
" Don't tease the little beggar," I said.
" It doesn't hurt him — I wanted to see if it was
because he couldn't spread his wings that he couldn't
fly. There he goes — no, he doesn't. Let's try an-
other."
" Leave them alone," said I. " Let them run in
the sun. They're only just out of the shells. Don't
torment them into flight."
He persisted, however, and broke the wing of the
next.
PEOPLE OF NETHERMERE 5
" Oh, dear — pity ! " said he, and he crushed the
little thing between his fingers. Then he examined
the eggs, and pulled out some silk from round the
dead larva, and investigated it all in a desultory
manner, asking of me all I knew about the insects.
When he had finished he flung the clustered eggs
into the water and rose, pulling out his watch from
the depth of his breeches' pocket.
" I thought it was about dinner-time," said he,
smiling at me. " I always know when it's about
twelve. Are you coming in ? "
" I'm coming down at any rate," said I as we
passed along the pond bank, and over the plank-
bridge that crossed the brow of the falling sluice.
The bankside where the grey orchard twisted its
trees, was a steep declivity, long and sharp, dropping
down to the garden.
The stones of the large house were burdened with
ivy and honey-suckle, and the great lilac-bush that
had once guarded the porch now almost blocked the
doorway. We passed out of the front garden into
the farm-yard, and walked along the brick path to
the back door.
" Shut the gate, will you ? " he said to me over his
shoulder, as he passed on first.
We went through the large scullery into the
kitchen. The servant-girl was just hurriedly snatch-
ing the table-cloth out of the table drawer, and his
mother, a quaint little woman with big, brown eyes,
was hovering round the wide fire-place with a fork.
" Dinner not ready ? " said he with a shade of re-
sentment.
" No, George," replied his mother apologetically,
6 THE WHITE PEACOCK
" it isn't. The fire wouldn't burn a bit. You shall
have it in a few minutes, though."
He dropped on the sofa and began to read a novel.
I wanted to go, but his mother insisted on my stay-
ing.
" Don't go," she pleaded. " Emily will be so glad
if you stay, — and father will, I'm sure. Sit down,
now."
I sat down on a rush chair by the long window
that looked out into the yard. As he was reading,
and as it took all his mother's powers to watch the
potatoes boil and the meat roast, I was left to my
thoughts. George, indifferent to all claims, con-
tinued to read. It was very annoying to watch him
pulling his brown moustache, and reading indolently
while the dog rubbed against his leggings and against
the knee of his old riding-breeches. He would not
even be at the trouble to play with Trip's ears, he
was so content with his novel and his moustache.
Round and round twirled his thick fingers, and the
muscles of his bare arm moved slightly under the
red-brown skin. The little square window above him
filtered a green light from the foliage of the great
horse-chestnut outside and the glimmer fell on his
dark hair, and trembled across the plates which
Annie was reaching down from the rack, and across
the face of the tall clock. The kitchen was very big ;
the table looked lonely, and the chairs mourned
darkly for the lost companionship of the sofa; the
chimney was a black cavern away at the back, and
the inglenook seats shut in another little compart-
ment ruddy with fire-light, where the mother hov-
ered. It was rather a desolate kitchen, such a bare
PEOPLE OF NETHERMERE 7
expanse of uneven grey flagstones, such far-away
dark corners and sober furniture. The only gay
things were the chintz coverings of the sofa and the
arm-chair cushions, bright red in the bare sombre
room ; some might smile at the old clock, adorned as
it was with remarkable and vivid poultry; in me it
only provoked wonder and contemplation.
In a little while we heard the scraping of heavy
boots outside, and the father entered. He was a big
burly farmer, with his half -bald head sprinkled with
crisp little curls.
" Hullo, Cyril," he said cheerfully. " You've not
forsaken us then," and turning to his son :
" Have you many more rows in the coppice close ?"
" Finished ! " replied George, continuing to read.
" That's all right — you've got on with 'em. The
rabbits has bitten them turnips down, mother."
" I expect so," replied his wife, whose soul was in
the saucepans. At last she deemed the potatoes
cooked and went out with the steaming pan.
The dinner was set on the table and the father
began to carve. George looked over his book to sur-
vey the fare then read until his plate was handed
him. The maid sat at her little table near the win-
dow, and we began the meal. There came the tread-
ing of four feet along the brick path, and a little
girl entered, followed by her grown-up sister. The
child's long brown hair was tossed wildly back be-
neath her sailor hat. She flung aside this article of
her attire and sat down to dinner, talking endlessly
to her mother. The elder sister, a girl of about
twenty-one, gave me a smile and a bright look from
her brown eyes, and went to wash her hands. Then
8 THE WHITE PEACOCK
she came and sat down, and looked disconsolately at
the underdone beef on her plate.
" I do hate this raw meat," she said.
" Good for you," replied her brother, who was eat-
ing industriously. " Give you some muscle to wallop
the nippers."
She pushed it aside, and began to eat the vege-
tables. Her brother re-charged his plate and con-
tinued to eat.
" Well, our George, I do think you might pass a
body that gravy," said Mollie, the younger sister, in
injured tones.
" Certainly," he replied. " Won't you have the
joint as well ? "
" No ! " retorted the young lady of twelve, " I
don't expect you've done with it yet."
" Clever ! " he exclaimed across a mouthful.
" Do you think so ? " said the elder sister Emily,
sarcastically.
" Yes," he replied complacently, " you've made
her as sharp as yourself, I see, since you've had her
in Standard Six. I'll try a potato, mother, if you
can find one that's done."
" Well, George, they seem mixed, I'm sure that
was done that I tried. There — they are mixed —
look at this one, it's soft enough. I'm sure they were
boiling long enough."
" Don't explain and apologise to him," said Emily
irritably.
" Perhaps the kids were too much for her this
morning," he said calmly, to nobody in particular.
" No," chimed in Mollie, " she knocked a lad
across his nose and made it bleed."
PEOPLE OF NETHERMERE 9
" Little wretch," said Emily, swallowing with dif-
ficulty. " I'm glad I did ! Some of my lads belong
to— to "
" To the devil," suggested George, but she would
not accept it from him.
Her father sat laughing ; her mother with distress
in her eyes, looked at her daughter, who hung her
head and made patterns on the table-cloth with her
finger.
" Are they worse than the last lot ? " asked the
mother, softly, fearfully.
" ISTo — nothing extra," was the curt answer.
" She merely felt like bashing 'em/' said George,
calling, as he looked at the sugar bowl and at his
pudding :
" Fetch some more sugar, Annie."
The maid rose from her little table in the corner,
and the mother also hurried to the cupboard. Emily
trifled with her dinner and said bitterly to him :
" I only wish you had a taste of teaching, it would
cure your self-satisfaction."
" Pf ! " he replied contemptuously, " I could easily
bleed the noses of a handful of kids."
" You wouldn't sit there bleating like a fatted
calf," she continued.
This speech so tickled Mollie that she went off into
a burst of laughter, much to the terror of her mother,
who stood up in trembling apprehension lest she
should choke.
" You made a joke, Emily," he said, looking at
his younger sister's contortions.
Emily was too impatient to speak to him further,
and left the table. Soon the two men went back to
10 THE WHITE PEACOCK
the fallow to the turnips, and I walked along the
path with the girls as they were going to school.
" He irritates me in everything he does and says,"
burst out Emily with much heat.
" He's a pig sometimes," said I.
" He is ! " she insisted. " He irritates me past
bearing, with his grand know-all way, and his heavy
smartness — I can't beat it. And the way mother
humbles herself to him ! "
" It makes you wild," said I.
" Wild ! " she echoed, her voice vibrating with
nervous passion. We walked on in silence, till she
asked.
" Have you brought me those verses of yours ? "
" ~No — I'm so sorry — I've forgotten them again.
As a matter of fact, I've sent them away."
" But you promised me."
" You know what my promises are. I'm as irre-
sponsible as a puff of wind."
She frowned with impatience and her disappoint-
ment was greater than necessary. When I left her at
the corner of the lane I felt a sting of her deep re-
proach in my mind. I always felt the reproach
when she had gone.
I ran over the little bright brook that came from
the weedy, bottom pond. The stepping-stones were
white in the sun, and the water slid sleepily among
them. One or two butterflies, indistinguishable
against the blue sky, trifled from flower to flower and
led me up the hill, across the field where the hot sun-
shine stood as in a bowl, and I was entering the cav-
erns of the wood, where the oaks bowed over and
saved us a grateful shade. Within, everything was
PEOPLE OF NETHERMERE 11
bo still and cool that my steps hung heavily along the
path. The bracken held out arms to me, and the
bosom of the wood was full of sweetness, but I jour-
neyed on, spurred by the attacks of an army of flies
which kept up a guerrilla warfare round my head till
I had passed the black rhododendron bushes in the
garden, where they left me, scenting no doubt, Ke-
becca's pots of vinegar and sugar.
The low red house, with its roof discoloured and
sunken, dozed in sunlight, and slept profoundly in
the shade thrown by the massive maples encroaching
from the wood.
There was no one in the dining-room, but I could
hear the whirr of a sewing-machine coming from the
little study, a sound as of some great, vindictive in-
sect buzzing about, now louder, now softer, now set-
tling. Then came a jingling of four or five keys
at the bottom of the keyboard of the drawing-room
piano, continuing till the whole range had been cov-
ered in little leaps, as if some very fat frog had
jumped from end to end.
" That must be mother dusting the drawing-room/'
I thought. The unaccustomed sound of the old piano
startled me. The vocal chords behind the green silk
bosom, — you only discovered it was not a bronze silk
bosom by poking a fold aside, — had become as thin
and tuneless as a dried old woman's. Age had yel-
lowed the teeth of my mother's little piano, and
shrunken its spindle legs. Poor old thing, it could
but screech in answer to Lettie's fingers flying across
it in scorn, so the prim, brown lips were always closed
save to admit the duster.
Now, however, the little old maidish piano began
12 THE WHITE PEACOCK
to sing a tinkling Victorian melody, and I fancied it
must be some demure little woman with curls like
bunches of hops on either side of her face, who was
touching it. The coy little tune teased me with old
sensations, but my memory would give me no as-
sistance. As I stood trying to fix my vague feelings,
Rebecca came in to remove the cloth from the table.
" Who is playing, Beck ? " I asked.
" Your mother, Cyril."
" But she never plays. I thought she couldn't."
" Ah," replied Rebecca, " you forget when you
was a little thing sitting playing against her frock
with the prayer-book, and she singing to you. You
can't remember her when her curls was long like a
piece of brown silk. You can't remember her when
she used to play and sing, before Lettie came and
your father was "
Rebecca turned and left the room. I went and
peeped in the drawing-room. Mother sat before the
little brown piano, with her plump, rather stiff fin-
gers moving across the keys, a faint smile on her lips.
At that moment Lettie came flying past me, and
flung her arms round mother's neck, kissing her and
saying:
" Oh, my Dear, fancy my Dear playing the piano !
Oh, Little Woman, we never knew you could ! "
" Nor can I," replied mother laughing, disengag-
ing herself. " I only wondered if I could just strum
out this old tune; I learned it when I was quite a
girl, on this piano. It was a cracked one then; the
only one I had."
" But play again, dearie, do play again. It was
like the clinking of lustre glasses, and you look so
PEOPLE OF NETHERMERE 13
quaint at the piano. Do play, my dear ! " pleaded
Lettie.
" Nay," said my mother, " the touch of the old
keys on my fingers is making me sentimental — you
wouldn't like to see me reduced to the tears of old
age?"
" Old age ! " scolded Lettie, kissing her again.
" You are young enough to play little romances.
Tell us about it mother."
" About what, child ? "
" When you used to play."
" Before my fingers were stiff with fifty odd years ?
Where have you been, Cyril, that you weren't in to
dinner ? "
" Only down to Strelley Mill," said I.
" Of course," said mother coldly.
" Why < of course ' ? " I asked.
" And you came away as soon as Em went to
school \ " said Lettie.
" I did," said I.
They were cross with me, these two women. After
I had swallowed my little resentment I said:
" They would have me stay to dinner."
My mother vouchsafed no reply.
" And has the great George found a girl yet ? "
asked Lettie.
" No," I replied, " he never will at this rate. No-
body will ever be good enough for him."
" I'm sure I don't know what you can find in any
of them to take you there so much," said my mother.
" Don't be so mean, Mater," I answered, nettled.
" You know I like them."
" I know you like her/' said my mother sarcastic-
14 THE WHITE PEACOCK
ally. " As for him — he's an unlicked cub. What
can you expect when his mother has spoiled him as
she has. But I wonder you are so interested in lick-
ing him." My mother sniffed contemptuously.
" He is rather good looking," said Lettie with a
smile.
" You could make a man of him, I am sure," I
said, bowing satirically to her.
" I am not interested," she replied, also satirical.
Then she tossed her head, and all the fine hairs
that were free from bonds made a mist of yellow
light in the sun.
" What frock shall I wear Mater ? " she asked.
" Nay, don't ask me," replied her mother.
" I think I'll wear the heliotrope — though this sun
will fade it," she said pensively. She was tall, nearly
six feet in height, but slenderly formed. Her hair
was yellow, tending towards a dun brown. She had
beautiful eyes and brows, but not a nice nose. Her
hands were very beautiful.
" Where are you going ? " I asked.
She did not answer me.
" To Tempest's 1 " I said. She did not reply.
" Well I don't know what you can see in him/' I
continued.
" Indeed ! " said she. " He's as good as most
folk " then we both began to laugh.
" Not," she continued blushing, " that I think any-
thing about him. I'm merely going for a game of
tennis. Are you coming ? "
" What shall you say if I agree ? " I asked.
" Oh ! " she tossed her head. " We shall all be
very pleased I'm sure."
PEOPLE OF NETHERMERE 15
" Ooray ! n said I with fine irony.
She laughed at me, blushed, and ran upstairs.
Half an hour afterwards she popped her head in
the study to bid me good-bye, wishing to see if I
appreciated her. She was so charming in her fresh
linen frock and flowered hat, that I could not but be
proud of her. She expected me to follow her to the
window, for from between the great purple rhodo-
dendrons she waved me a lace mitten, then glinted
on like a flower moving brightly through the green
hazels. Her path lay through the wood in the oppo-
site direction from Strelley Mill, down the red drive
across the tree-scattered space to the highroad. This
road ran along the end of our lakelet, Nethermere,
for about a quarter of a mile. Eethermere is the
lowest in a chain of three ponds. The other two are
the upper and lower mill ponds at Strelley: this is
the largest and most charming piece of water, a mile
long and about a quarter of a mile in width. Our
wood runs down to the water's edge. On the oppo-
site side, on a hill beyond the farthest corner of the
lake, stands Highclose. It looks across the water
at us in Woodside with one eye as it were,
while our cottage casts a side-long glance back
again at the proud house, and peeps coyly through
the trees.
I could see Lettie like a distant sail stealing along
the water's edge, her parasol flowing above. She
turned through the wicket under the pine clump,
climbed the steep field, and was enfolded again in
the trees beside Highclose.
Leslie was sprawled on a camp chair, under a cop-
per beech on the lawn, his cigar glowing. He
16 THE WHITE PEACOCK
watched the ash grow strange and grey in the warm
daylight, and he felt sorry for poor Nell Wycherley,
whom he had driven that morning to the station, for
would she not be frightfully cut up as the train
whirled her further and further away ? These girls
are so daft with a fellow ! But she was a nice little
thing — he'd get Marie to write to her.
At this point he caught sight of a parasol flutter-
ing along the drive, and immediately he fell into a
deep sleep, with just a tiny slit in his slumber to
allow him to see Lettie approach. She, finding her
watchman ungallantly asleep, and his cigar, instead
of his lamp untrimmed, broke off a twig of syringa
whose ivory buds had not yet burst with luscious
scent. I know not how the end of his nose tickled in
anticipation before she tickled him in reality, but he
kept bravely still until the petals swept him. Then,
starting from his sleep, he exclaimed :
" Lettie ! I was dreaming of kisses ! "
" On the bridge of your nose ? " laughed she —
" But whose were the kisses ? "
" Who produced the sensation ? " he smiled.
" Since I only tapped your nose you should dream
of "
" Go on ! " said he, expectantly.
" Of Doctor Slop," she replied, smiling to herself
as she closed her parasol.
" I do not know the gentleman," he said, afraid
that she was laughing at him.
" No — your nose is quite classic," she answered,
giving him one of those brief intimate glances with
which women flatter men so cleverly. He radiated
with pleasure.
CHAPTEK II
DANGLING THE APPLE
The long-drawn booming of the wind in the wood
and the sobbing and moaning in the maples and oaks
near the house, had made Lettie restless. She did not
want to go anywhere, she did not want to do any-
thing, so she insisted on my just going out with her
as far as the edge of the water. We crossed the
tangle of fern and bracken, bramble and wild rasp-
berry canes that spread in the open space before the
house, and we went down the grassy slope to the edge
of Nethermere. The wind whipped up noisy little
wavelets, and the cluck and clatter of these among
the pebbles, the swish of the rushes and the freshen-
ing of the breeze against our faces, roused us.
The tall meadow-sweet was in bud along the tiny
beach and we walked knee-deep among it, watching
the foamy race of the ripples and the whitening of
the willows on the far shore. At the place where
Nethermere narrows to the upper end, and receives
the brook from Strelley, the wood sweeps down and
stands with its feet washed round with waters. We
broke our way along the shore, crushing the sharp-
scented wild mint, whose odour checks the breath,
and examining here and there among the marshy
places ragged nests of water-fowl, now deserted.
Some slim young lap-wings started at our approach,
17
18 THE WHITE PEACOCK
and sped lightly from us, their necks outstretched in
straining fear of that which could not hurt them.
One, two, fled cheeping into cover of the wood; al-
most instantly they coursed back again to where we
stood, to dart off from us at an angle, in an ecstasy
of bewilderment and terror.
" What has frightened the crazy little things ? "
asked Lettie.
" I don't know. They've cheek enough sometimes ;
then they go whining, skelping off from a fancy as
if they had a snake under their wings."
Lettie however paid small attention to my elo-
quence. She pushed aside an elder bush, which
graciously showered down upon her myriad crumbs
from its flowers like slices of bread, and bathed her
in a medicinal scent. I followed her, taking my
dose, and was startled to hear her sudden, " Oh,
Cyril!"
On the bank before us lay a black cat, both hind-
paws torn and bloody in a trap. It had no doubt
been bounding forward after its prey when it was
caught. It was gaunt and wild ; no wonder it fright-
ened the poor lap-wings into cheeping hysteria. It
glared at us fiercely, growling low.
" How cruel — oh, how cruel ! " cried Lettie, shud-
dering.
I wrapped my cap and Lettie's scarf over my
hands and bent to open the trap. The cat struck
with her teeth, tearing the cloth convulsively. When
it was free, it sprang away with one bound, and fell
panting, watching us.
I wrapped the creature in my jacket, and picked
her up, murmuring:
DANGLING THE APPLE 19
" Poor Mrs. Nickie Ben — we always prophesied it
of you."
" What will you do with it ? " asked Lettie.
" It is one of the Strelley Mill cats," said I, " and
so I'll take her home."
The poor animal moved and murmured as I car-
ried her, but we brought her home. They stared, on
seeing me enter the kitchen coatless, carrying a
strange bundle, while Lettie followed me.
" I have brought poor Mrs. Nickie Ben," said I,
unfolding my burden.
" Oh, what a shame ! " cried Emily, putting out
her hand to touch the cat, but drawing quickly back,
like the pee-wits.
" This is how they all go," said the mother.
" I wish keepers had to sit two or three days with
their bare ankles in a trap," said Mollie in vindictive
tones.
We laid the poor brute on the rug, and gave it
warm milk. It drank very little, being too feeble,
Mollie, full of anger, fetched Mr. Nickie Ben, an-
other fine black cat, to survey his crippled mate. Mr.
Nickie Ben looked, shrugged his sleek shoulders, and
walked away with high steps. There was a general
feminine outcry on masculine callousness.
George came in for hot water. He exclaimed in
surprise on seeing us, and his eyes became animated.
" Look at Mrs. Nickie Ben," cried Mollie. He
dropped on his knees on the rug and lifted the
wounded paws.
" Broken," said he.
" How awful ! " said Emily, shuddering violently,
and leaving the room.
20 THE WHITE PEACOCK
" Both ? " I asked.
"Only one— look!"
" You are hurting her ! " cried Lettie.
" It's no good," said he.
Mollie and the mother hurried out of the kitchen
into the parlour.
" What are you going to do ? " asked Lettie.
" Put her out of her misery," he replied, taking
up the poor cat. We followed him into the barn.
" The quickest way," said he, " is to swing her
round and knock her head against the wall."
" You make me sick," exclaimed Lettie.
" I'll drown her then," he said with a smile. We
watched him morbidly, as he took a length of twine
and fastened a noose round the animal's neck, and
near it an iron goose; he kept a long piece of cord
attached to the goose.
" You're not coming, are you ? " said he. Lettie
looked at him ; she had grown rather white.
" It'll make you sick," he said. She did not an-
swer, but followed him across the yard to the garden.
On the bank of the lower mill-pond he turned again
to us and said:
" Now for it ! — you are chief mourners." As
neither of us replied, he smiled, and dropped the
poor writhing cat into the water, saying, " Good-bye,
Mrs. Nickie Ben."
We waited on the bank some time. He eyed us
curiously.
" Cyril," said Lettie quietly, " isn't it cruel ? —
isn't it awful I "
I had nothing to say.
" Do you mean me ? " asked George.
DANGLING THE APPLE 21
" Not you in particular — everything ! If we move
the blood rises in our heel-prints."
He looked at her seriously, with dark eyes.
" I had to drown her out of mercy," said he, fas-
tening the cord he held to an ash-pole. Then he went
to get a spade, and with it, he dug a grave in the old
black earth.
" If," said he, " the poor old cat had made a pret-
tier corpse, you'd have thrown violets on her."
He had struck the spade into the ground, and
hauled up the cat and the iron goose.
" Well," he said, surveying the hideous object,
" haven't her good looks gone ! She was a fine
cat."
" Bury it and have done," Lettie replied.
He did so asking : " Shall you have bad dreams
after it?"
" Dreams do not trouble me," she answered, turn-
ing away.
We went indoors, into the parlour, where Emily
sat by a window, biting her finger. The room was
long and not very high; there was a great rough
beam across the ceiling. On the mantel-piece, and
in the fireplace, and over the piano were wild flowers
and fresh leaves plentifully scattered; the room was
cool with the scent of the woods.
" Has he done it ? " asked Emily — " and did you
watch him? If I had seen it I should have hated
the sight of him, and Fd rather have touched a mag-
got than him."
" I shouldn't be particularly pleased if he touched
me," said Lettie.
" There is something so loathsome about callous-
WL THE WHITE PEACOCK
ness and brutality," said Emily. " He fills me with
disgust."
" Does he ? " said Lettie, smiling coldly. She went
across to the old piano. " He's only healthy. He's
never been sick, not anyway, yet." She sat down
and played at random, letting the numbed notes fall
like dead leaves from the haughty, ancient piano.
Emily and I talked on by the window, about books
and people. She was intensely serious, and gener-
ally succeeded in reducing me to the same state.
After a while, when the milking and feeding were
finished, George came in. Lettie was still playing
the piano. He asked her why she didn't play some-
thing with a tune in it, and this caused her to turn
round in her chair to give him a withering answer.
His appearance, however, scattered her words like
startled birds. He had come straight from washing
in the scullery, to the parlour, and he stood behind
Lettie's chair unconcernedly wiping the moisture
from his arms. His sleeves were rolled up to the
shoulder, and his shirt was opened wide at the breast.
Lettie was somewhat taken aback by the sight of him
standing with legs apart, dressed in dirty leggings
and boots, and breeches torn at the knee, naked at the
breast and arms.
" Why don't you play something with a tune in
it ? " he repeated, rubbing the towel over his shoul-
ders beneath the shirt.
" A tune ! " she echoed, watching the swelling of
his arms as he moved them, and the rise and fall of
his breasts, wonderfully solid and white. Then hav-
ing curiously examined the sudden meeting of the
sunhot skin with the white flesh in his throat, her
DANGLING THE APPLE 23
eyes met his, and she turned again to the piano,
while the colour grew in her ears, mercifully shel-
tered by a profusion of bright curls.
" What shall I play ? " she asked, fingering the
keys somewhat confusedly.
He dragged out a book of songs from a little heap
of music, and set it before her.
" Which do you want to sing ? " she asked thrill-
ing a little as she felt his arms so near her.
" Anything you like."
" A love song ? " she said.
" If you like — yes, a love song " he laughed
with clumsy insinuation that made the girl writhe.
She did not answer, but began to play Sullivan's
" Tit Willow." He had a passable bass voice, not of
any great depth, and he sang with gusto. Then she
gave him, " Drink to me only with thine eyes." At
the end she turned and asked him if he liked the
words. He replied that he thought them rather daft.
But he looked at her with glowing brown eyes, as if
in hesitating challenge.
" That's because you have no wine in your eyes to
pledge with," she replied, answering his challenge
with a blue blaze of her eyes. Then her eyelashes
drooped on to her cheek. He laughed with a faint
ring of consciousness, and asked her how could she
know.
" Because," she said slowly, looking up at him with
pretended scorn, " because there's no change in your
eyes when I look at you. I always think people who
are worth much talk with their eyes. That's why
you are forced to respect many quite uneducated
people. Their eyes are so eloquent, and full of
24 THE WHITE PEACOCK
knowledge." She had continued to look at him as
she spoke — watching his faint appreciation of her
upturned face, and her hair, where the light was
always tangled, watching his brief self-examination
to see if he could feel any truth in her words, watch-
ing till he broke into a little laugh which was rather
more awkward and less satisfied than usual. Then
she turned away, smiling also.
" There's nothing in this book nice to sing," she
said, turning over the leaves discontentedly. I found
her a volume, and she sang " Should he upbraid."
She had a fine soprano voice, and the song delighted
him. He moved nearer to her, and when at the fin-
ish she looked round with a flashing, mischievous air,
she found him pledging her with wonderful eyes.
" You like that," said she with the air of superior
knowledge, as if, dear me, all one had to do was to
turn over to the right page of the vast volume of
one's soul to suit these people.
" I do," he answered emphatically, thus acknowl-
edging her triumph.
" I'd rather ' dance and sing ' round * wrinkled
care ' than carefully shut the door on him, while I
slept in the chimney seat — wouldn't you ? " she asked.
He laughed, and began to consider what she meant
before he replied.
" As you do," she added.
"What?" he asked.
" Keep half your senses asleep — half alive."
" Do I ? " he asked.
" Of course you do ; — • bos-bovis ; an ox.' You are
like a stalled ox, food and comfort, no more. Don't
you love comfort ? " she smiled.
DANGLING THE APPLE 25
" Don't you \ H he replied, smiling shamefaced.
" Of course. Come and turn over for me while
I play this piece. Well, I'll nod when you must turn
— bring a chair."
She began to play a romance of Schubert's. He
leaned nearer to her to take hold of the leaf of
music; she felt her loose hair touch his face, and
turned to him a quick, laughing glance, while she
played. At the end of the page she nodded, but he
was oblivious ; " Yes ! " she said, suddenly impatient,
and he tried to get the leaf over ; she quickly pushed
his hand aside, turned the page herself and continued
playing.
" Sorry ! " said he, blushing actually.
" Don't bother," she said, continuing to play with-
out observing him. When she had finished:
" There ! " she said, " now tell me how you felt
while I was playing."
" Oh — a fool ! " — he replied, covered with con-
fusion.
" I'm glad to hear it," she said—" but I didn't
mean that. I meant how did the music make you
feel?"
" I don't know — whether — it made me feel any-
thing," he replied deliberately, pondering over his
answer, as usual.
" I tell you," she declared, " you're either asleep
or stupid. Did you really see nothing in the music ?
But what did you think about ? "
He laughed — and thought awhile — and laughed
again.
" Why ! " he admitted, laughing, and trying to tell
the exact truth, " I thought how pretty your hands
26 THE WHITE PEACOCK
are — and what they are like to touch — and I thought
it was a new experience to feel somebody's hair tick-
ling my cheek." When he had finished his delib-
erate account she gave his hand a little knock, and
left him saying:
" You are worse and worse."
She came across the room to the couch where I
was sitting talking to Emily, and put her arm around
my neck.
" Isn't it time to go home, Pat ? " she asked.
" Half past eight — quite early," said I.
" But I believe — I think I ought to be home now,"
she said.
" Don't go," said he.
"Why?" [Tasked.
" Stay to supper," urged Emily.
" But I believe " she hesitated.
" She has another fish to fry," I said.
" I am not sure " she hesitated again. Then
she flashed into sudden wrath, exclaiming, " Don't
be so mean and nasty, Cyril ! "
" Were you going somewhere ? " asked George
humbly.
" Why — no ! " she said, blushing.
" Then stay to supper — will you ? " he begged.
She laughed, and yielded. We went into the kitchen.
Mr. Saxton was sitting reading. Trip, the big bull
terrier, lay at his feet pretending to sleep; Mr.
Nickie Ben reposed calmly on the sofa ; Mrs. Saxton
and Mollie were just going to bed. We bade them
good-night, and sat down. Annie, the servant, had
gone home, so Emily prepared the supper.
" Nobody can touch that piano like you," said
DANGLING THE APPLE 27
Mr. Saxton to Lettie, beaming upon her with admi-
ration and deference. He was proud of the stately,
mumbling old thing, and used to say that it was full
of music for those that liked to ask for it. Lettie
laughed, and said that so few folks ever tried it, that
her honour was not great.
" What do you think of our George's singing ? "
asked the father proudly, but with a deprecating
laugh at the end.
" I tell him, when he's in love he'll sing quite
well," she said.
" When he's in love ! " echoed the father, laughing
aloud, very pleased.
" Yes," she said, " when he finds out something he
wants and can't have."
George thought about it, and he laughed also.
Emily, who was laying the table said, " There is
hardly any water in the pippin, George."
" Oh, dash ! " he exclaimed, " I've taken my boots
off."
" It's not a very big job to put them on again,"
said his sister.
" Why couldn't Annie fetch it — what's she here
for ? " he said angrily.
Emily looked at us, tossed her head, and turned
her back on him.
" I'll go, I'll go, after supper," said the father in a
comforting tone.
" After supper ! " laughed Emily.
George got up and shuffled out. He had to go into
the spinney near the house to a well, and being warm
disliked turning out.
We had just sat down to supper when Trip rushed
28 THE WHITE PEACOCK
barking to the door. " Be quiet," ordered the father,
thinking of those in bed, and he followed the dog.
It was Leslie. He wanted Lettie to go home with
him at once. This she refused to do, so he came
indoors, and was persuaded to sit down at table. He
swallowed a morsel of bread and cheese, and a cup
of coffee, talking to Lettie of a garden party which
was going to be arranged at Highclose for the follow-
ing week.
" What is it for then ? " interrupted Mr. Saxton.
" For ? " echoed Leslie.
" Is it for the missionaries, or the unemployed, or
something ? " explained Mr. Saxton.
" It's a garden-party, not a bazaar," said Leslie.
" Oh — a private affair. I thought it would be
some church matter of your mother's. She's very big
at the church, isn't she I "
" She is interested in the church — yes ! " said Les-
lie, then proceeding to explain to Lettie that he was
arranging a tennis tournament in which she was to
take part. At this point he became aware that he
was monopolising the conversation, and turned to
George, just as the latter was taking a piece of cheese
from his knife with his teeth, asking:
" Do you play tennis, Mr. Saxton ? — I know Miss
Saxton does not."
" No," said George, working the piece of cheese
into his cheek. " I never learned any ladies' accom-
plishments."
Leslie turned to Emily, who had nervously been
pushing two plates over a stain in the cloth, and who
was very startled when she found herself ad-
dressed.
DANGLING THE APPLE 29
" My mother would be so glad if you would come
to the party, Miss Saxton."
" I cannot. I shall be at school. Thanks very
much."
" Ah — it's very good of you," said the father,
beaming. But George smiled contemptuously.
When supper was over Leslie looked at Lettie to
inform her that he was ready to go. She, however,
refused to see his look, but talked brightly to Mr.
Saxton, who was delighted. George, nattered, joined
in the talk with gusto. Then Leslie's angry silence
began to tell on us all. After a dull lapse, George
lifted his head and said to his father :
" Oh, I shouldn't be surprised if that little red
heifer calved to-night."
Lettie's eyes flashed with a sparkle of amusement
at this thrust.
" No," assented the father, " I thought so my-
self."
After a moment's silence, George continued delib-
erately, " I felt her gristles "
" George ! " said Emily sharply.
" We will go," said Leslie.
George looked up sideways at Lettie and his black
eyes were full of sardonic mischief.
" Lend me a shawl, will you, Emily ? " said Let-
tie. " I brought nothing, and I think the wind is
cold."
Emily, however, regretted that she had no shawl,
and so Lettie must needs wear a black coat over her
summer dress. It fitted so absurdly that we all
laughed, but Leslie was very angry that she should
appear ludicrous before them. He showed her all
30 THE WHITE PEACOCK
the polite attentions possible, fastened the neck of her
coat with his pearl scarf-pin, refusing the pin Emily
discovered, after some search. Then we sallied forth.
When we were outside, he offered Lettie his arm
with an air of injured dignity. She refused it and
he began to remonstrate.
" I consider you ought to have been home as you
promised."
" Pardon me," she replied, " but I did not prom-
ise."
" But you knew I was coming," said he.
" Well — you found me," she retorted.
" Yes," he assented. " I did find you ; flirting
with a common fellow," he sneered.
" Well," she returned. " He did — it is true — call
a heifer, a heifer."
" And I should think you liked it," he said.
" I didn't mind," she said, with galling negligence.
" I thought your taste was more refined," he re-
plied, sarcastically. " But I suppose you thought it
romantic."
" Very ! Kuddy, dark, and really thrilling eyes,"
said she.
" I hate to hear a girl talk rot," said Leslie. He
himself had crisp hair of the " ginger " class.
" But I mean it," she insisted, aggravating his
anger.
Leslie was angry. " I'm glad he amuses you ! "
" Of course, I'm not hard to please," she said
pointedly. He was stung to the quick.
" Then there's some comfort in knowing I don't
please you," he said coldly.
" Oh ! but you do ! You amuse me also," she said.
DANGLING THE APPLE 31
After that he would not speak, preferring, I sup-
pose, not to amuse her.
Lettie took my arm, and with her disengaged hand
held her skirts above the wet grass. When he had
left us at the end of the riding in the wood, Lettie
said:
" What an infant he is ! "
" A bit of an ass," I admitted.
" But really ! " she said, " he's more agreeable on
the whole than — than my Taurus."
" Your bull ! " I repeated laughing.
CHAPTER III
A VENDOR OF VISIONS
The Sunday following Lettie's visit to the mill, Les-
lie came up in the morning, admirably dressed, and
perfected by a grand air. I showed him into the
dark drawing-room, and left him. Ordinarily he
would have wandered to the stairs, and sat there call-
ing to Lettie; to-day he was silent. I carried the
news of his arrival to my sister, who was pinning on
her brooch.
" And how is the dear boy ? " she asked.
" I have not inquired,'' said I.
She laughed, and loitered about till it was time to
set off for church before she came downstairs. Then
she also assumed the grand air and bowed to him
with a beautiful bow. He was somewhat taken aback
and had nothing to say. She rustled across the room
to the window, where the white geraniums grew
magnificently. " I must adorn myself," she said.
It was Leslie's custom to bring her flowers. As
he had not done so this day, she was piqued. He
hated the scent and chalky whiteness of the gera-
niums. So she smiled at him as she pinned them
into the bosom of her dress, saying:
" They are very fine, are they not ? "
He muttered that they were. Mother came down-
stairs, greeted him warmly, and asked him if he
would take her to church.
A VENDOR OF VISIONS 33
" If you will allow me/' said he.
" You are modest to-day," laughed mother.
" To-day ! " he repeated.
" I hate modesty in a young man," said mother —
" Come, we shall he late." Lettie wore the gera-
niums all day — till evening. She brought Alice Gall
home to tea, and bade me bring up " Mon Taureau,"
when his farm work was over.
The day had been hot and close. The sun was
reddening in the west as we leaped across the lesser
brook. The evening scents began to awake, and wan-
der unseen through the still air. An occasional yel-
low sunbeam would slant through the thick roof of
leaves and cling passionately to the orange clusters
of mountain-ash berries. The trees were silent,
drawing together to sleep. Only a few pink orchids
stood palely by the path, looking wistfully out at the
ranks of red-purple bugle, whose last flowers, glow-
ing from the top of the bronze column, yearned
darkly for the sun.
We sauntered on in silence, not breaking the first
hush of the woodlands. As we drew near home we
heard a murmur from among the trees, from the lov-
er's seat, where a great tree had fallen and remained
mossed and covered with fragile growth. There a
crooked bough made a beautiful seat for two.
" Fancy being in love and making a row in such
a twilight," said I as we continued our way. But
when we came opposite the fallen tree, we saw no
lovers there, but a man sleeping, and muttering
through his sleep. The cap had fallen from his
grizzled hair, and his head leaned back against a pro-
fusion of the little wild geraniums that decorated the
34 THE WHITE PEACOCK
dead bough so delicately. The man's clothing was
good, but slovenly and neglected. His face was pale
and worn with sickness and dissipation. As he
slept, his grey beard wagged, and his loose unlovely
mouth moved in indistinct speech. He was acting
over again some part of his life, and his features
twitched during the unnatural sleep. He would give
a little groan, gruesome to hear and then talk to some
woman. His features twitched as if with pain, and
he moaned slightly.
The lips opened in a grimace showing the yellow
teeth behind the beard. Then he began again talk-
ing in his throat, thickly, so that we could only tell
part of what he said. It was very unpleasant. I
wondered how we should end it. Suddenly through
the gloom of the twilight-haunted woods came the
scream of a rabbit caught by a weasel. The man
awoke with a sharp " Ah ! " — he looked round in
consternation, then sinking down again wearily, said,
" I was dreaming again."
" You don't seem to have nice dreams," said
George.
The man winced, then looking at us said, almost
sneering :
" And who are you ? "
We did not answer, but waited for him to move.
He sat still, looking at us.
" So ! " he said at last, wearily, " I do dream. I
do, I do." He sighed heavily. Then he added, sar-
castically : " Were you interested ? "
" No," said I. " But you are out of your way
surely. Which road did you want ? "
" You want me to clear out," he said.
A VENDOR OF VISIONS 35
" Well," I said laughing in deprecation. " I don't
mind your dreaming. But this is not the way to
anywhere."
" Where may you be going then ? " he asked.
" I ? Home," I replied with dignity.
" You are a Beardsall ? " he queried, eyeing me
with bloodshot eyes.
" I am ! " I replied with more dignity, wondering
who the fellow could be.
He sat a few moments looking at me. It was get-
ting dark in the wood. Then he took up an ebony
stick with a gold head, and rose. The stick seemed
to catch at my imagination. I watched it curiously
as we walked with the old man along the path to
the gate. We went with him into the open road.
When we reached the clear sky where the light from
the west fell full on our faces, he turned again and
looked at us closely. His mouth opened sharply, as
if he would speak, but he stopped himself, and only
said " Good-bye — Good-bye."
" Shall you be all right ? " I asked, seeing him
totter.
" Yes — all right — good-bye, lad."
He walked away feebly into the darkness. We
saw the lights of a vehicle on the high-road : after a
while we heard the bang of a door, and a cab rattled
away.
" Well — whoever* s he ? " said George laughing.
" Do you know," said I, " it's made me feel a bit
rotten."
" Ay ? " he laughed, turning up the end of the ex-
clamation with indulgent surprise.
We went back home, deciding to say nothing to
36 THE WHITE PEACOCK
the women. They were sitting in the window seat
watching for us, mother and Alice and Lettie.
" You have been a long time ! " said Lettie.
u We've watched the sun go down — it set splendidly
— look — the rim of the hill is smouldering yet.
What have you been doing ? "
" Waiting till your Taurus finished work."
" Now be quiet," she said hastily, and — turning
to him, " You have come to sing hymns \ "
" Anything you like," he replied.
" How nice of you, George ! " exclaimed Alice,
ironically. She was a short, plump girl, pale, with
daring, rebellious eyes. Her mother was a Wyld, a
family famous either for shocking lawlessness, or for
extreme uprightness. Alice, with an admirable
father, and a mother who loved her husband pas-
sionately, was wild and lawless on the surface, but
at heart very upright and amenable. My mother and
she were fast friends, and Lettie had a good deal of
sympathy with her. But Lettie generally deplored
Alice's outrageous behaviour, though she relished it
— if " superior " friends were not present. Most
men enjoyed Alice in company, but they fought shy
of being alone with her.
" Would you say the same to me ? " she asked.
" It depends what you'd answer," he said, laugh-
ingly.
" Oh, you're so bloomin' cautious. I'd rather have
a tack in my shoe than a cautious man, wouldn't
you Lettie ? "
" Well — it depends how far I had to walk,"
was Lettie's reply — " but if I hadn't to limp too
far "
A VENDOR OF VISIONS 37
Alice turned away from Lettie, whom she often
found rather irritating.
" You do look glum, Sybil," she said to me, " did
somebody want to kiss you ? "
I laughed — on the wrong side, understanding her
malicious feminine reference — and answered:
" If they had, I should have looked happy."
" Dear boy, smile now then," — and she tipped me
under the chin. I drew away.
" Oh, Gum — we are solemn ! What's the matter
with you ? Georgy — say something — else I's'll begin
to feel nervous."
" What shall I say ? " he asked, shifting his feet
and resting his elbows on his knees. " Oh, Lor ! " she
cried in great impatience. He did not help her, but
sat clasping his hands, smiling on one side of his
face. He was nervous. He looked at the pictures,
the ornaments, and everything in the room; Lettie
got up to settle some flowers on the mantel-piece, and
he scrutinised her closely. She was dressed in some
blue foulard stuff, with lace at the throat, and lace
cuffs to the elbow. She was tall and supple ; her hair
had a curling fluffiness very charming. He was no
taller than she, and looked shorter, being strongly
built. He too had a grace of his own, but not as he
sat stiffly on a horse-hair chair. She was elegant in
her movements.
After a little while mother called us in to supper.
" Come," said Lettie to him, " take me in to sup-
per."
He rose, feeling very awkward.
" Give me your arm," said she to tease him. He
did so, and flushed under his tan, afraid of her
38 THE WHITE PEACOCK
round arm half hidden by lace, which lay among his
sleeve.
When we were seated she flourished her spoon and
asked him what he would have. He hesitated, looked
at the strange dishes and said he would have some
cheese. They insisted on his eating new, complicated
meats.
"I'm sure you like tantafflins, don't you Georgie ?"
said Alice, in her mocking fashion. He was not
sure. He could not analyse the flavours, he felt con-
fused and bewildered even through his sense of taste !
Alice begged him to have salad.
" No, thanks," said he. " I don't like it."
" Oh, George ! " she said, " How can you say so
when I'm offering it you."
" Well — I've only had it once," said he, " and that
was when I was working with Flint, and he gave us
fat bacon and bits of lettuce soaked in vinegar —
' 'Ave a bit more salit,' he kept saying, but I'd had
enough."
" But all our lettuce," said Alice with a wink, " is
as sweet as a nut, no vinegar about our lettuce."
George laughed in much confusion at her pun on my
sister's name.
" I believe you," he said, with pompous gallantry.
"Think of that!" cried Alice. "Our Georgie
believes me. Oh, I am so, so pleased ! "
He smiled painfully. His hand was resting on
the table, the thumb tucked tight under the fingers,
his knuckles white as he nervously gripped his
thumb. At last supper was finished, and he picked
up his serviette from the floor and began to fold it.
Lettie also seemed ill at ease. She had teased him
A VENDOR OF VISIONS 39
till the sense of his awkwardness had become uncom-
fortable. Now she felt sorry, and a trifle repentant,
so she went to the piano, as she always did to dispel
her moods. When she was angry she played tender
fragments of Tschai'kowsky, when she was miserable,
Mozart. Now she played Handel in a manner that
suggested the plains of heaven in the long notes, and
in the little trills as if she were waltzing up the
ladder of Jacob's dream like the damsels in Blake's
pictures. I often told her she flattered herself scan-
dalously through the piano; but generally she pre-
tended not to understand me, and occasionally she
surprised me by a sudden rush of tears to her
eyes. For George's sake, she played Gounod's " Ave
Maria," knowing that the sentiment of the chant
would appeal to him, and make him sad, forgetful of
the petty evils of this life. I smiled as I watched the
cheap spell working. When she had finished, her
fingers lay motionless for a minute on the keys, then
she spun round, and looked him straight in the eyes,
giving promise of a smile. But she glanced down at
her knee.
" You are tired of music," she said.
" No," he replied, shaking his head.
" Like it better than salad ? " she asked with a
flash of raillery.
He looked up at her with a sudden smile, but did
not reply. He was not handsome ; his features were
too often in a heavy repose; but when he looked up
and smiled unexpectedly, he flooded her with an
access of tenderness.
" Then you'll have a little more," said she, and
she turned again to the piano. She played soft, wist-
40 THE WHITE PEACOCK
ful morsels, then suddenly broke off in the midst of
one sentimental plaint, and left the piano, dropping
into a l6w chair by the fire. There she sat and looked
at him. He was conscious that her eyes were fixed
on him, but he dared not look back at her, so he
pulled his moustache.
" You are only a boy, after all," she said to him
quietly. Then he turned and asked her why.
" It is a boy that you are," she repeated, leaning
back in her chair, and smiling lazily at him.
" I never thought so," he replied seriously.
" Really ? " she said, chuckling.
" No," said he, trying to recall his previous im-
pressions.
She laughed heartily, saying:
" You're growing up."
"How?" he asked.
" Growing up," she repeated, still laughing.
" But I'm sure I was never boyish," said he.
" I'm teaching you," said she, " and when you're
boyish you'll be a very decent man. A mere man
daren't be a boy for fear of tumbling off his manly
dignity, and then he'd be a fool, poor thing."
He laughed, and sat still to think about it, as was
his way.
" Do you like pictures ? " she asked suddenly,
being tired of looking at him.
" Better than anything," he replied.
" Except dinner, and a warm hearth and a lazy
evening," she said.
He looked at her suddenly, hardening at her insult,
and biting his lips at the taste of this humiliation.
She repented, and smiled her plaintive regret to him.
A VENDOR OF VISIONS 41
" I'll show you some," she said, rising and going
out of the room. He felt he was nearer her. She
returned, carrying a pile of great books.
" Jove — you're pretty strong ! " said he.
" You are charming in your compliment," she
said.
He glanced at her to see if she were mocking.
" That's the highest you could say of me, isn't
it ? " she insisted.
" Is it ? " he asked, unwilling to compromise him-
self.
" For sure," she answered — and then, laying the
books on the table, " I know how a man will com-
pliment me by the way he looks at me " — she kneeled
before the fire. " Some look at my hair, some watch
the rise and fall of my breathing, some look at my
neck, and a few, — not you among them, — look me
in the eyes for my thoughts. To you, I'm a fine
specimen, strong! Pretty strong! You primitive
man!"
He sat twisting his fingers ; she was very contrary.
" Bring your chair up," she said, sitting down at
the table and opening a book. She talked to him of
each picture, insisting on hearing his opinion. Some-
times he disagreed with her and would not be per-
suaded. At such times she was piqued.
" If," said she, " an ancient Briton in his skins
came and contradicted me as you do, wouldn't you
tell him not to make an ass of himself ? "
" I don't know," said he.
" Then you ought to," she replied. " You know
nothing."
" How is it you ask me then ? " he said.
42 THE WHITE PEACOCK
She began to laugh.
" Why — that's a pertinent question. I think you
might be rather nice, you know."
" Thank you," he said, smiling ironically.
" Oh ! " she said. " I know, you think you're per-
fect, but you're not, you're very annoying."
" Yes," exclaimed Alice, who had entered the
room again, dressed ready to depart. " He's so
blooming slow! Great whizz! Who wants fellows
to carry cold dinners ? Shouldn't you like to shake
him Lettie ? "
" I don't feel concerned enough," replied the other,
calmly.
" Did you ever carry a boiled pudding Georgy ? "
asked Alice with innocent interest, punching me
slyly.
" Me ! — why ? — what makes you ask ? " he replied,
quite at a loss.
" Oh, I only wondered if your people needed
any indigestion mixture — pa mixes it — 1/1 \ a
bottle."
" I don't see " he began.
" Ta — ta, old boy, I'll give you time to think about
it. Good-night, Lettie. Absence makes the heart
grow fonder — Georgy — of someone else. Farewell.
Come along, Sybil love, the moon is shining — Good-
night all, good-night ! "
I escorted her home, while they continued to look
at the pictures. He was a romanticist. He liked
Copley, Fielding, Cattermole and Birket Foster; he
could see nothing whatsoever in Girtin or David Cox.
They fell out decidedly over George Clausen.
" But," said Lettie, " he is a real realist, he makes
A VENDOR OF VISIONS 43
common things beautiful, he sees the mystery and
magnificence that envelops us even when we work
menially. I do know and I can speak. If I hoed in
the fields beside you " This was a very new
idea for him, almost a shock to his imagination, and
she talked unheeded. The picture under discussion
was a water colour — " Hoeing " by Clausen.
" You'd be just that colour in the sunset," she
said, thus bringing him back to the subject, " and if
you looked at the ground you'd find there was a sense
of warm gold fire in it, and once you'd perceived the
colour, it would strengthen till you'd see nothing else.
You are blind ; you are only half -born ; you are gross
with good living and heavy sleeping. You are a
piano which will only play a dozen common notes.
Sunset is nothing to you — it merely happens any-
where. Oh, but you make me feel as if I'd like to
make you suffer. If you'd ever been sick; if you'd
ever been born into a home where there was some-
thing oppressed you, and you couldn't understand;
if ever you'd believed, or even doubted, you might
have been a man by now. You never grow up, like
bulbs which spend all summer getting fat and fleshy,
but never wakening the germ of a flower. As for me,
the flower is born in me, but it wants bringing forth.
Things don't flower if they're overfed. You have to
suffer before you blossom in this life. When death
is just touching a plant, it forces it into a passion of
flowering. You wonder how I have touched death.
You don't know. There's aways a sense of death in
this home. I believe my mother hated my father
before I was born. That was death in her veins for
me before I was born. It makes a difference "
44 THE WHITE PEACOCK
As he sat listening, his eyes grew wide and his
lips were parted, like a child who feels the tale but
does not understand the words. She, looking away
from herself at last, saw him, began to laugh gently,
and patted his hand saying:
" Oh ! my dear heart, are you bewildered ? How
amiable of you to listen to me — there isn't any mean-
ing in it all — there isn't really ! "
" But," said he, " why do you say it ? "
" Oh, the question ! " she laughed. " Let us go
back to our muttons, we're gazing at each other like
two dazed images."
They turned on, chatting casually, till George sud-
denly exclaimed, " There ! "
It was Maurice Grifhnhagen's " Idyll."
" What of it ? " she asked, gradually flushing.
She remembered her own enthusiasm over the pic-
ture.
" Wouldn't it be fine ? " he exclaimed, looking at
her with glowing eyes, his teeth showing white in a
smile that was not amusement.
" What ? " she asked, dropping her head in con-
fusion.
" That — a girl like that — half afraid — and pas-
sion ! " He lit up curiously.
" She may well be half afraid, when the barbarian
comes out in his glory, skins and all."
" But don't you like it ? " he asked.
She shrugged her shoulders, saying, " Make love
to the next girl you meet, and by the time the pop-
pies redden the field, she'll hang in your arms.
She'll have need to be more than half afraid, won't
she?"
A VENDOR OF VISIONS 45
She played with the leaves of the book, and did
not look at him.
" But," he faltered, his eyes glowing, " it would be
— rather "
" Don't, sweet lad, don't ! " she cried laughing.
" But I shouldn't " — he insisted, " I don't know
whether I should like any girl I know to "
" Precious Sir Galahad," she said in a mock ca-
ressing voice, and stroking his cheek with her finger,
" You ought to have been a monk — a martyr, a Car-
thusian."
He laughed, taking no notice. He was breath-
lessly quivering under the new sensation of heavy,
unappeased fire in his breast, and in the muscles of
his arms. He glanced at her bosom and shivered.
" Are you studying just how to play the part % "
she asked.
" No — but " he tried to look at her, but failed.
He shrank, laughing, and dropped his head.
" What ? " she asked with vibrant curiosity.
Having become a few degrees calmer, he looked up
at her now, his eyes wide and vivid with a declara-
tion that made her shrink back as if flame had leaped
towards her face. She bent down her head, and
picked at her dress.
" Didn't you know the picture before ? " she said,
in a low, toneless voice.
He shut his eyes and shrank with shame.
" No, I've never seen it before," he said.
" I'm surprised," she said. " It is a very com-
mon one."
" Is it ? " he answered, and this make-belief con-
versation fell. She looked up, and found his eyes.
46 THE WHITE PEACOCK
They gazed at each other for a moment before they
hid their faces again. It was a torture to each of
them to look thus nakedly at the other, a dazzled,
shrinking pain that they forced themselves to un-
dergo for a moment, that they might the moment
after tremble with a fierce sensation that filled their
veins with fluid, fiery electricity. She sought almost
in panic, for something to say.
" I believe it's in Liverpool, the picture," she con-
trived to say.
He dared not kill this conversation, he was too
self-conscious. He forced himself to reply, " I didn't
know there was a gallery in Liverpool."
" Oh, yes, a very good one," she said.
Their eyes met in the briefest flash of a glance,
then both turned their faces aside. Thus averted,
one from the other, they made talk. At last she rose,
gathered the books together, and carried them off.
At the door she turned. She must steal another keen
moment : " Are you admiring my strength % " she
asked. Her pose was fine. With her head thrown
back, the roundness of her throat ran finely down to
the bosom which swelled above the pile of books, held
by her straight arms. He looked at her. Their lips
smiled curiously. She put back her throat as if she
were drinking. They felt the blood beating mad-
ly in their necks. Then, suddenly breaking into
a slight trembling, she turned round and left the
room.
While she was out, he sat twisting his moustache.
She came back along the hall talking madly to her-
self in French. Having been much impressed by
Sarah Bernhardt' s " Dame aux Camelias " and
A VENDOR OF VISIONS 47
" Adrienne Lecouvreur," Lettie had caught some-
thing of the weird tone of this great actress, and her
raillery and mockery came out in little wild waves.
She laughed at him, and at herself, and at men in
general, and at love in particular. Whatever he said
to her, she answered in the same mad clatter of
French, speaking high and harshly. The sound was
strange and uncomfortable. There was a painful
perplexity in his brow, such as I often perceived
afterwards, a sense of something hurting, something
he could not understand.
" Well, well, well, well ! " she exclaimed at last.
" We must be mad sometimes, or we should be get-
ting aged, Hein ? "
" I wish I could understand," he said plaintively.
" Poor dear ! " she laughed. " How sober he is !
And will you really go ? They will think we've given
you no supper, you look so sad."
" I have supped — full " he began, his eyes
dancing with a smile as he ventured upon a quota-
tion. He was very much excited.
" Of horrors ! " she cried completing it. " Now
that is worse than anything I have given you."
" Is it?" he replied, and they smiled at each other.
" Far worse," she answered. They waited in sus-
pense for some moments. He looked at her.
" Good-bye," she said, holding out her hand. Her
voice was full of insurgent tenderness. He looked
at her again, his eyes nickering. Then he took her
hand. She pressed his fingers, holding them a little
while. Then ashamed of her display of feeling, she
looked down. He had a deep cut across his thumb.
" What a gash ! " she exclaimed, shivering, and
48 THE WHITE PEACOCK
clinging a little tighter to his fingers before she re-
leased them. He gave a little laugh.
" Does it hurt you ? " she asked very gently.
He laughed again — " No ! " he said softly, as if
his thumb were not worthy of consideration.
They smiled again at each other, and, with a blind
movement, he broke the spell and was gone.
CHAPTEK IV
THE FATHER
Autumn" set in, and the red dahlias which kept the
warm light alive in their bosoms so late into the
evening died in the night, and the morning had noth-
ing but brown balls of rottenness to show.
They called me as I passed the post-office door in
Eberwich one evening, and they gave me a letter for
my mother. The distorted, sprawling handwriting
perplexed me with a dim uneasiness ; I put the letter
away, and forgot it. I remembered it later in the
evening, when I wished to recall something to in-
terest my mother. She looked at the handwriting,
and began hastily and nervously to tear open the en-
velope ; she held it away from her in the light of the
lamp, and with eyes drawn half closed, tried to scan
it. So I found her spectacles, but she did not speak
her thanks, and her hand trembled. She read the
short letter quickly ; then she sat down, and read it
again, and continued to look at it.
" What is it mother I " I asked.
She did not answer, but continued staring at the
letter. I went up to her, and put my hand on her
shoulder, feeling very uncomfortable. She took no
notice of me, beginning to murmur : " Poor Frank —
Poor Prank." That was my father's name.
" But what is it mother % — tell me what's the mat-
ter!"
49
50 THE WHITE PEACOCK
She turned and looked at me as if I were a
stranger; she got up, and began to walk about the
room ; then she left the room, and I heard her go out
of the house.
The letter had fallen on to the floor. I picked it
up. The handwriting was very broken. The address
gave a village some few miles away; the date was
three days before.
u My Dear Lettice :
" You will want to know I am gone. I can hardly
last a day or two — my kidneys are nearly gone.
" I came over one day. I didn't see you, but I
saw the girl by the window, and I had a few words
with the lad. He never knew, and he felt nothing.
I think the girl might have done. If you knew how
awfully lonely I am, Lettice — how awfully I have
been, you might feel sorry.
" I have saved what I could, to pay you back. I
have had the worst of it Lettice, and I'm glad the
end has come. I have had the worst of it.
" Good-bye — for ever — your husband,
" Frank Beardsall."
I was numbed by this letter of my father's. With
almost agonised effort I strove to recall him, but I
knew that my image of a tall, handsome, dark man
with pale grey eyes was made up from my mother's
few words, and from a portrait I had once seen.
The marriage had been unhappy. My father was
of frivolous, rather vulgar character, but plausible,
having a good deal of charm. He was a liar, without
notion of honesty, and he had deceived my mother
THE FATHER 51
thoroughly. One after another she discovered his
mean dishonesties and deceits, and her soul revolted
from him, and hecause the illusion of him had broken
into a thousand vulgar fragments, she turned away
with the scorn of a woman who finds her romance
has been a trumpery tale. When he left her for other
pleasures — Lettie being a baby of three years, while
I was five — she rejoiced bitterly. She had heard of
him indirectly — and of him nothing good, although
he prospered — but he had never come to see her or
written to her in all the eighteen years.
In a while my mother came in. She sat down,
pleating up the hem of her black apron, and smooth-
ing it out again.
" You know," she said, " he had a right to the
children, and I've kept them all the time."
" He could have come," said I.
" I set them against him, I have kept them from
him, and he wanted them. I ought to be by him
now — I ought to have taken you to him long ago."
" But how could you, when you knew nothing of
him?"
" He would have come — he wanted to come — I
have felt it for years. But I kept him away. I
know I have kept him away. I have felt it, and he
has. Poor Frank — he'll see his mistakes now. He
would not have been as cruel as I have been "
" ISTay, mother, it is only the shock that makes you
say so."
" This makes me know. I have felt in myself a
long time that he was suffering ; I have had the feel-
ing of him in me. I knew, yes, I did know he wanted
me, and you, I felt it. I have had the feeling of him
52 THE WHITE PEACOCK
upon me this last three months especially ... I
have been cruel to him."
" Well — we'll go to him now, shall we?" I said.
" To-morrow — to-morrow," she replied, noticing
me really for the first time. " I go in the morning."
" And I'll go with you. v
" Yes — in the morning. Lettie has her party to
Chatsworth — don't tell her — we won't tell her."
" No," said I.
Shortly after, my mother went upstairs. Lettie
came in rather late from Highclose; Leslie did not
come in. In the morning they were going with a
motor party into Matloch and Chatsworth, and she
was excited, and did not observe anything.
After all, mother and I could not set out until the
warm, tempered afternoon. The air was full of a
soft yellowness when we stepped down from the train
at Cossethay. My mother insisted on walking the
long two miles to the village. We went slowly along
the road, lingering over the little red flowers in the
high hedge-bottom up the hillside. We were reluc-
tant to come to our destination. As we came in sight
of the little grey tower of the church, we heard the
sound of braying, brassy music. Before us, filling a
little croft, the Wakes was in full swing.
Some wooden horses careered gaily round, and
the swingboats leaped into the mild blue sky. We
sat upon the stile, my mother and I, and watched.
There were booths, and cocoanut shies and round-
abouts scattered in the small field. Groups of chil-
dren moved quietly from attraction to attraction. A
deeply tanned man came across the field swinging
two dripping buckets of water. Women looked from
THE FATHER 53
the doors of their brilliant caravans, and lean dogs
rose lazily and settled down again under the steps.
The fair moved slowly, for all its noise. A stout
lady, with a husky masculine voice invited the ex-
cited children into her peep show. A swarthy man
stood with his thin legs astride on the platform of the
roundabouts, and sloping backwards, his mouth dis-
tended with a row of fingers, he whistled astonish-
ingly to the coarse row of the organ, and his whis-
tling sounded clear, like the flight of a wild goose
high over the chimney tops, as he was carried round
and round. A little fat man with an ugly swelling
on his chest stood screaming from a filthy booth to
a crowd of urchins, bidding them challenge a big,
stolid young man who stood with folded arms, his
fists pushing out his biceps. On being asked if he
would undertake any of these prospective challenges,
this young man nodded, not having yet attained a
talking stage: — yes he would take two at a time,
screamed the little fat man with the big excrescence
on his chest, pointing at the cowering lads and girls.
Further off, Punch's quaint voice could be heard
when the cocoanut man ceased grinding out screeches
from his rattle. The cocoanut man was wroth, for
these youngsters would not risk a penny shy, and the
rattle yelled like a fiend. A little girl came along to
look at us ; daintily licking an ice-cream sandwich.
We were uninteresting, however, so she passed on to
stare at the caravans.
We had almost gathered courage to cross the
wakes, when the cracked bell of the church sent its
note falling over the babble.
" One — two — three " — had it really sounded
54 THE WHITE PEACOCK
three ! Then it rang on a lower bell — " One — two
— three." A passing bell for a man! I looked at
my mother — she turned away from me.
The organ flared on — the husky woman came for-
ward to make another appeal. Then there was a
lull. The man with the lump on his chest had gone
inside the rag to spar with the solid fellow. The
cocoanut man had gone to the " Three Tunns " in
fury, and a brazen girl of seventeen or so was in
charge of the nuts. The horses careered round, car-
rying two frightened boys.
Suddenly the quick, throbbing note of the low bell
struck again through the din. I listened — but could
not keep count. One, two, three, four — for the third
time that great lad had determined to go on the
horses, and they had started while his foot was on the
step, and he had been foiled — eight, nine, ten — no
wonder that whistling man had such a big Adam's
apple — I wondered if it hurt his neck when he
talked, being so pointed — nineteen, twenty — the girl
was licking more ice-cream, with precious, tiny licks
— twenty-five, twenty-six — I wondered if I did count
to twenty-six mechanically. At this point I gave it
up, and watched for Lord Tennyson's bald head to
come spinning round on the painted rim of the round-
abouts, followed by a red-faced Lord Roberts, and
a villainous looking Disraeli.
" Fifty-one " said my mother. " Come — come
along."
We hurried through the fair, towards the church;
towards a garden where the last red sentinels looked
out from the top of the holly-hock spires. The gar-
den was a tousled mass of faded pink chrysanthe-
THE FATHER 55
mums, and weak-eyed Michaelmas daisies, and spec-
tre stalks of holly-hock. It belonged to a low, dark
house, which crouched behind a screen of yews. We
waked along to the front. The blinds were down,
and in one room we could see the stale light of can-
dles burning.
" Is this Yew Cottage ? " asked my mother of a
curious lad.
" It's Mrs. May's," replied the boy.
" Does she live alone ? " I asked.
" She 'ad French Carlin — but he's dead — an she's
letten th' candles ter keep th' owd lad off'n 'im."
We went to the house and knocked.
" An ye come about him ? " hoarsely whispered a
bent old woman, looking up with very blue eyes, nod-
ding her old head with its velvet net significantly to-
wards the inner room.
" Yes " said my mother, " we had a letter."
" Ay, poor fellow — he's gone, missis," and the old
lady shook her head. Then she looked at us curi-
ously, leaned forward, and, putting her withered old
hand on my mother's arm, her hand with its dark
blue veins, she whispered in confidence, " and the
candles 'as gone out twice. 'E wor a funny feller,
very funny ! "
" I must come in and settle things — I am his near-
est relative," said my mother, trembling.
" Yes — I must 'a dozed, for when I looked up, it
wor black darkness. Missis, I dursn't sit up wi' 'im
no more, an' many a one I've laid out. Eh, but his
sufferin's, Missis — poor feller — eh, Missis ! " — she
lifted her ancient hands, and looked up at my mother,
with her eyes so intensely blue.
56 THE WHITE PEACOCK
" Do you know where lie kept his papers 8 " asked
my mother.
" Yis, I axed Father Burns about it ; he said we
mun pray for 'im. I bought him candles out o' my
own pocket. He wor a rum feller, he wor ! " and
again she shook her grey head mournfully. My
mother took a step forward.
" Did ye want to see 'im ? " asked the old woman
with half timid questioning.
" Yes," replied my mother, with a vigorous nod.
She perceived now that the old lady was deaf.
We followed the woman into the kitchen, a long,
low room, dark, with drawn blinds.
" Sit ye down," said the old lady in the same low
tone, as if she were speaking to herself :
" Ye are his sister, 'appen % "
My mother shook her head.
" Oh — his brother's wife ! " persisted the old lady.
We shook our heads.
" Only a cousin ? " she guessed, and looked at us
appealingly. I nodded assent.
" Sit ye there a minute," she said, and trotted off.
She banged the door, and jarred a chair as she went.
When she returned, she set down a bottle and two
glasses with a thump on the table in front of us.
Her thin, skinny wrist seemed hardly capable of
carrying the bottle.
" It's one as he'd only just begun of — 'ave a drop
to keep ye up — do now, poor thing," she said, push-
ing the bottle to my mother, and hurrying off, re-
turning with the sugar and the kettle. We refused.
" 'E won't want it no more, poor feller — an it's
good, Missis, he allers drank it good. Ay — an' 'e
THE FATHER 57
'adn't a drop the last three days, poor man, poor
feller, not a drop. Come now, it'll stay ye, come
now." We refused.
" 'T's in there," she whispered, pointing to a
closed door in a dark corner of the gloomy kitchen.
I stumbled up a little step, and went plunging
against a rickety table on which was a candle in a tall
brass candlestick. Over went the candle, and it
rolled on the floor, and the brass holder fell with
much clanging.
"Eh!— Eh! Dear— Lord, Dear— Heart. Dear
— Heart ! " wailed the old woman. She hastened
trembling round to the other side of the bed, and
relit the extinguished candle at the taper which was
still burning. As she returned, the light glowed
on her old, wrinkled face, and on the burnished
knobs of the dark mahogany bedstead, while a stream
of wax dripped down on to the floor. By the glim-
mering light of the two tapers we could see the
outlined form under the counterpane. She turned
back the hem and began to make painful wailing
sounds. My heart was beating heavily, and I felt
choked. I did not want to look — but I must. It was
the man I had seen in the woods — with the puffiness
gone from his face. I felt the great wild pity, and a
sense of terror, and a sense of horror, and a sense of
awful littleness and loneliness among a great empty
space. I felt beyond myself as if I were a mere fleck
drifting unconsciously through the dark. Then I
felt my mother's arm round my shoulders, and she
cried pitifully, " Oh, my son, my son ! "
I shivered, and came back to myself. There were
no tears in my mother's face, only a great pleading.
58 THE WHITE PEACOCK
"Never mind, mother — never mind," I said inco-
herently.
She rose and covered the face again, and went
round to the old lady, and held her still, and stayed
her little wailings. The woman wiped from her
cheeks the few tears of old age, and pushed her grey
hair smooth under the velvet network.
" Where are all his things?" asked mother.
" Eh?" said the old lady, lifting up her ear.
"Are all his things here?" repeated mother in a
louder tone.
"Here?" — the woman waved her hand round the
room. It contained the great mahogany bedstead,
naked of hangings, a desk, and an oak chest, and
two or three mahogany chairs. "I couldn't get him
upstairs; he's only been here about a three week."
"Where's the key to the desk?" said my mother
loudly in the woman's ear.
"Yes," she replied— " it's his desk." She looked
at us, perplexed and doubtful, fearing she had mis-
understood us. This was dreadful.
" Key!" I shouted. " Where is the key?"
Her old face was full of trouble as she shook her
head. I took it that she did not know.
"Where are his clothes? Clothes" I repeated
pointing to my coat. She understood, and muttered,
" I'll fetch 'em ye."
We should have followed her as she hurried up-
stairs through a door near the head of the bed, had
we not heard a heavy footstep in the kitchen, and a
voice saying: "Is the old lady going to drink with
the Devil? Hullo, Mrs. May, come and drink with
me!" We heard the tinkle of the liquor poured into
THE FATHER 59
a glass, and almost immediately the light tap of the
empty tumbler on the table.
" I'll see what the old girl's up to," he said, and
the heavy tread came towards us. Like me, he
stumbled at the little step, but escaped collision with
the table.
" Damn that fool's step," he said heartily. It was
the doctor — for he kept his hat on his head, and did
not hesitate to stroll about the house. He was a big,
burly, red-faced man.
" I beg your pardon," he said, observing my
mother. My mother bowed.
" Mrs. Beardsall ? " he asked, taking off his hat.
My mother bowed.
" I posted a letter to you. You are a relative of
his — of poor old Carlin's ? " — he nodded sideways
towards the bed.
" The nearest," said my mother.
" Poor fellow — he was a bit stranded. Comes of
being a bachelor, Ma'am."
" I was very much surprised to hear from him,"
said my mother.
" Yes, I guess he's not been much of a one for
writing to his friends. He's had a bad time lately.
You have to pay some time or other. We bring them
on ourselves — silly devils as we are. — I beg your
pardon."
There was a moment of silence, during which the
doctor sighed, and then began to whistle softly.
" Well — we might be more comfortable if we had
the blind up," he said, letting daylight in among the
glimmer of the tapers as he spoke.
" At any rate," he said, " you won't have any
60 THE WHITE PEACOCK
trouble settling up — no debts or anything of tbat. I
believe there's a bit to leave — so it's not so bad. Poor
devil — he was very down at the last ; but we have to
pay at one end or the other. What on earth is the
old girl after ? " he asked, looking up at the raftered
ceiling, which was rumbling and thundering with the
old lady's violent rummaging.
" We wanted the key of his desk," said my mother.
" Oh — I can find you that — and the will. He told
me where they were, and to give them you when you
came. He seemed to think a lot of you. Perhaps
he might ha' done better for himself "
Here we heard the heavy tread of the old lady
coming downstairs. The doctor went to the foot of
the stairs.
" Hello, now — be careful ! " he bawled. The poor
old woman did as he expected, and trod on the braces
of the trousers she was trailing, and came crashing
into his arms. He set her tenderly down, saying,
" Not hurt, are you ? — no ! " and he smiled at her
and shook his head.
" Eh, doctor — Eh, doctor — bless ye, I'm thankful
ye've come. Ye'll see to 'em now, will ye ? "
" Yes — " he nodded in his bluff, winning way,
and hurrying into the kitchen, he mixed her a glass
of whisky, and brought one for himself, saying
to her, " There you are — 'twas a nasty shaking for
you."
The poor old woman sat in a chair by the open
door of the staircase, the pile of clothing tumbled
about her feet. She looked round pitifully, at us
and at the daylight struggling among the candle
light, making a ghostly gleam on the bed where the
THE FATHER 61
rigid figure lay unmoved ; her hand trembled so that
she could scarcely hold her glass.
The doctor gave us the keys, and we rifled the
desk and the drawers, sorting out all the papers.
The doctor sat sipping and talking to us all the
time.
" Yes," he said, " he's only been here about two
years. Felt himself beginning to break up then, I
think. He'd been a long time abroad; they always
called him Frenchy." The doctor sipped and re-
flected, and sipped again, " Ay — he'd run the rig in
his day — used to dream dreadfully. Good thing the
old woman was so deaf. Awful, when a man gives
himself away in his sleep; played the deuce with
him, knowing it." Sip, sip, sip — and more reflec-
tions — and another glass to be mixed.
" But he was a jolly decent fellow — generous,
open-handed. The folks didn't like him, because
they couldn't get to the bottom of him ; they always
hate a thing they can't fathom. He was close, there's
no mistake — save when he was asleep sometimes."
The doctor looked at his glass, and sighed.
" However — we shall miss him — shan't we, Mrs.
May ? " he bawled suddenly, startling us, making us
glance at the bed.
He lit his pipe and puffed voluminously in order
to obscure the attraction of his glass. Meanwhile we
examined the papers. There were very few letters —
one or two addressed to Paris. There were many
bills, and receipts, and notes — business, all business.
There was hardly a trace of sentiment among all
the litter. My mother sorted out such papers as she
considered valuable; the others, letters and missives
62 THE WHITE PEACOCK
which she glanced at cursorily and put aside, she took
into the kitchen and burned. She seemed afraid to
find out too much.
The doctor continued to colour his tobacco smoke
with a few pensive words.
" Ay," he said, " there are two ways. You can
burn your lamp with a big draught, and it'll flare
away, till the oil's gone, then it'll stink and smoke
itself out. Or you can keep it trim on the kitchen
table, dirty your fingers occasionally trimming it up,
and it'll last a long time, and sink out mildly." Here
he turned to his glass, and finding it empty, was
awakened to reality.
" Anything I can do, Madam ? " he asked.
" No, thank you."
" Ay, I don't suppose there's much to settle. Nor
many tears to shed — when a fellow spends his years
an' his prime on the Lord knows who, you can't
expect those that remember him young to feel his loss
too keenly. He'd had his fling in his day, though,
ma'am. Ay — must ha' had some rich times. No
lasting satisfaction in it though — always wanting,
craving. There's nothing like marrying — you've got
your dish before you then, and you've got to eat it."
He lapsed again into reflection, from which he did
not rouse till we had locked up the desk, burned the
useless papers, put the others into my pockets and the
black bag, and were standing ready to depart. Then
the doctor looked up suddenly and said :
" But what about the funeral ? "
Then he noticed the weariness of my mother's
look, and he jumped up, and quickly seized his hat,
saying:
THE FATHER 63
" Come across to my wife and have a cup of tea.
Buried in these dam holes a fellow gets such a boor.
Do come — my little wife is lonely — come just to see
her."
My mother smiled and thanked him. We turned
to go. My mother hesitated in her walk; on the
threshold of the room she glanced round at the bed,
but she went on.
Outside, in the fresh air of the fading afternoon,
I could not believe it was true. It was not true, that
sad, colourless face with grey beard, wavering in the
yellow candle-light. It was a lie, — that wooden bed-
stead, that deaf woman, they were fading phrases of
the untruth. That yellow blaze of little sunflowers
was true, and the shadow from the sun-dial on the
warm old almshouses — that was real. The heavy
afternoon sunlight came round us warm and reviv-
ing; we shivered, and the untruth went out of our
veins, and we were no longer chilled.
The doctor's house stood sweetly among the beech
trees, and at the iron fence in front of the little lawn
a woman was talking to a beautiful Jersey cow that
pushed its dark nose through the fence from the field
beyond. She was a little, dark woman with vivid
colouring; she rubbed the nose of the delicate ani-
mal, peeped right into the dark eyes, and talked in
a lovable Scottish speech; talked as a mother talks
softly to her child.
When she turned round in surprise to greet us
there was still the softness of a rich affection in her
eyes. She gave us tea, and scones, and apply jelly,
and all the time we listened with delight to her voice,
which was musical as bees humming in the lime
64 THE WHITE PEACOCK
trees. Though she said nothing significant we lis-
tened to her attentively.
Her husband was merry and kind. She glanced
at him with quick glances of apprehension, and her
eyes avoided him. He, in his merry, frank way,
chaffed her, and praised her extravagantly, and teased
her again. Then he became a trifle uneasy. I think
she was afraid he had been drinking; I think she
was shaken with horror when she found him tipsy,
and bewildered and terrified when she saw him
drunk. They had no children. I noticed he ceased
to joke when she became a little constrained. He
glanced at her often, and looked somewhat pitiful
when she avoided his looks, and he grew uneasy, and
I could see he wanted to go away.
" I had better go with you to see the vicar, then,"
he said to me, and we left the room, whose windows
looked south, over the meadows, the room where
dainty little water-colours, and beautiful bits of em-
broidery, and empty flower vases, and two dirty
novels from the town library, and the closed piano,
and the odd cups, and the chipped spout of the tea-
pot causing stains on the cloth — all told one story.
We went to the joiner's and ordered the coffin, and
the doctor had a glass of whisky on it ; the graveyard
fees were paid, and the doctor sealed the engagement
with a drop of brandy ; the vicar's port completed the
doctor's joviality, and we went home.
This time the disquiet in the little woman's dark
eyes could not dispel the doctor's merriment. He
rattled away, and she nervously twisted her wedding
ring. He insisted on driving us to the station, in
spite of our alarm.
THE FATHER 65
" But you will be quite safe with him," said his
wife, in her caressing Highland speech. When she
shook hands at parting I noticed the hardness of the
little palm; — and I have always hated an old, black
alpaca dress.
It is such a long way home from the station at
Eberwich. We rode part way in the bus; then we
walked. It is a very long way for my mother, when
her steps are heavy with trouble.
Rebecca was out by the rhododendrons looking for
us. She hurried to us all solicitous, and asked
mother if she had had tea.
" But you'll do with another cup," she said, and
ran back into the house.
She came into the dining-room to take my mother's
bonnet and coat. She wanted us to talk ; she was dis-
tressed on my mother's behalf ; she noticed the black-
ness that lay under her eyes, and she fidgeted about,
unwilling to ask anything, yet uneasy and anxious to
know.
" Lettie has been home," she said.
" And gone back again ? " asked mother.
" She only came to change her dress. She put the
green poplin on. She wondered where you'd gone."
" What did you tell her ? "
" I said you'd just gone out a bit. She said she
was glad. She was as lively as a squirrel."
Rebecca looked wistfully at my mother. At length
the latter said:
" He's dead, Rebecca. I have seen him."
" Now thank God for that — no more need to
worry over him."
" Well ! — He died all alone, Rebecca — all alone."
66 THE WHITE PEACOCK
" He died as you've lived," said Becky with some
asperity.
" But I've had the children, I've had the children
— we won't tell Lettie, Rebecca."
" No 'm." Rebecca left the room.
" You and Lettie will have the money," said
mother to me. There was a sum of four thousand
pounds or so. It was left to my mother; or, in de-
fault to Lettie and me.
" Well, mother — if it's ours, it's yours."
There was silence for some minutes, then she said,
" You might have had a father "
" We're thankful we hadn't, mother. You spared
us that."
" But how can you tell ? " said my mother.
" I can," I replied. " And I am thankful to you."
" If ever you feel scorn for one who is near you
rising in your throat, try and be generous, my lad."
"Well "said I.
" Yes," she replied, " we'll say no more. Some-
time you must tell Lettie — you tell her."
I did tell her, a week or so afterwards.
" Who knows I " she asked, her face hardening.
" Mother, Becky, and ourselves."
" Nobody else ! "
" No."
" Then it's a good thing he is out of the way if he
was such a nuisance to mother. Where is she ? "
" Upstairs."
Lettie ran to her.
CHAPTER V
THE SCENT OF BLOOD
The death of the man who was our father changed
our lives. It was not that we suffered a great grief ;
the chief trouble was the unanswered crying of fail-
ure. But we were changed in our feelings and in
our relations ; there was a new consciousness, a new
carefulness.
We had lived between the woods and the water all
our lives, Lettie and I, and she had sought the bright
notes in everything. She seemed to hear the water
laughing, and the leaves tittering and giggling like
young girls ; the aspen fluttered like the draperies of
a flirt, and the sound of the wood-pigeons was almost
foolish in its sentimentality.
Lately, however, she had noticed again the cruel
pitiful crying of a hedgehog caught in a gin, and
she had noticed the traps for the fierce little murder-
ers, traps walled in with a small fence of fir, and
baited with the guts of a killed rabbit.
On an afternoon a short time after our visit to
Cossethay, Lettie sat in the window seat. The sun
clung to her hair, and kissed her with passionate
splashes of colour brought from the vermilion, dying
creeper outside. The sun loved Lettie, and was
loath to leave her. She looked out over Nethermere
to Highclose, vague in the September mist. Had it
67
68 THE WHITE PEACOCK
not been for the scarlet light on her face, I should
have thought her look was sad and serious. She nes-
tled up to the window, and leaned her head against
the wooden shaft. Gradually she drooped into sleep.
Then she became wonderfully childish again — it was
the girl of seventeen sleeping there, with her full
pouting lips slightly apart, and the breath coming
lightly. I felt the old feeling of responsibility; I
must protect her, and take care of her.
There was a crunch of the gravel. It was Leslie
coming. He lifted his hat to her, thinking she was
looking. He had that fine, lithe physique, suggestive
of much animal vigour; his person was exceedingly
attractive; one watched him move about, and felt
pleasure. His face was less pleasing than his per-
son. He was not handsome; his eyebrows were too
light, his nose was large and ugly, and his forehead,
though high and fair, was without dignity. But he
had a frank, good-natured expression, and a fine,
wholesome laugh.
He wondered why she did not move. As he came
nearer he saw. Then he winked at me and came in.
He tip-toed across the room to look at her. The
sweet carelessness of her attitude, the appealing, half-
pitiful girlishness of her face touched his respon-
sive heart, and he leaned forward and kissed her
cheek where already was a crimson stain of sun-
shine.
She roused half out of her sleep with a little,
petulant " Oh ! " as an awakened child. He sat down
behind her, and gently drew her head against him,
looking down at her with a tender, soothing smile. I
thought she was going to fall asleep thus. But her
THE SCENT OF BLOOD 69
eyelids quivered, and her eyes beneath them nickered
into consciousness.
" Leslie ! — oh ! — Let me go ! " she exclaimed, push-
ing him away. He loosed her, and rose, looking at
her reproachfully. She shook her dress, and went
quickly to the mirror to arrange her hair.
" You are mean ! " she exclaimed, looking very
flushed, vexed, and dishevelled.
He laughed indulgently, saying, " You shouldn't
go to sleep then and look so pretty. Who could
help?"
" It is not nice ! " she said, frowning with irrita-
tion.
" We are not * nice ' — are we ? I thought we were
proud of our unconventionality. Why shouldn't I
kiss you ? "
" Because it is a question of me, not of you alone."
" Dear me, you are in a way ! "
" Mother is coming."
" Is she ? You had better tell her."
Mother was very fond of Leslie.
" Well, sir," she said, " why are you frowning J "
He broke into a laugh.
" Lettie is scolding me for kissing her when she
was playing l Sleeping Beauty.' "
" The conceit of the boy, to play Prince ! " said
my mother.
" Oh, but it appears I was sadly out of character,"
he said ruefully.
Lettie laughed and forgave him.
" Well," he said, looking at her, and smiling, " I
came to ask you to go out."
" It is a lovely afternoon," said mother.
70 THE WHITE PEACOCK
She glanced at him, and said :
" I feel dreadfully lazy."
" Never mind ! " he replied, " you'll wake up. Go
and put your hat on."
He sounded impatient. She looked at him.
He seemed to be smiling peculiarly.
She lowered her eyes and went out of the room.
" She'll come all right," he said, to himself, and
to me. " She likes to play you on a string."
She must have heard him. When she came in
again, drawing on her gloves, she said quietly :
" You come as well, Pat."
He swung round and stared at her in angry amaze-
ment.
" I had rather stay and finish this sketch," I said,
feeling uncomfortable.
" No, but do come, there's a dear." She took the
brush from my hand, and drew me from my chair.
The blood flushed into his cheeks. He went quietly
into the hall and brought my cap.
" All right ! " he said angrily. " Women like to
fancy themselves Napoleons."
" They do, dear Iron Duke, they do," she mocked.
" Yet, there's a Waterloo in all their histories," he
said, since she had supplied him with the idea.
" Say Peterloo, my general, say Peterloo."
"Ay, Peterloo," he replied, with a splendid curl
of the lip — " Easy conquests ! "
" ' He came, he saw, he conquered,' " Lettie re-
cited.
" Are you coming I " he said, getting more angry.
" When you bid me," she replied, taking my arm.
We went through the wood, and through the dis-
THE SCENT OF BLOOD 71
hevelled border-land to the high road, through the
border-land that should have been park-like, but
which was shaggy with loose grass and yellow mole-
hills, ragged with gorse and bramble and briar, with
wandering old thorn-trees, and a queer clump of
Scotch firs.
On the highway the leaves were falling, and they
chattered under our steps. The water was mild and
blue, and the corn stood drowsily in " stook."
We climbed the hill behind Highclose, and walked
on along the upland, looking across towards the hills
of arid Derbyshire, and seeing them not, because it
was autumn. We came in sight of the head-stocks
of the pit at Selsby, and of the ugly village standing
blank and naked on the brow of the hill.
Lettie was in very high spirits. She laughed and
joked continually. She picked bunches of hips and
stuck them in her dress. Having got a thorn in her
finger from a spray of blackberries, she went to Les-
lie to have it squeezed out. We were all quite gay as
we turned off the high road and went along the bridle
path, with the woods on our right, the high Strelley
hills shutting in our small valley in front, and the
fields and the common to the left. About half way
down the lane we heard the slurr of the scythestone
on the scythe. Lettie went to the hedge to see. It
was George mowing the oats on the steep hillside
where the machine could not go. His father was
tying up the corn into sheaves.
Straightening his back, Mr. Saxton saw us, and
called to us to come and help. We pushed through
a gap in the hedge and went up to him.
" Now then," said the father to me, " take that
72 THE WHITE PEACOCK
coat off," and to Lettie : " Have you brought us a
drink ? No ; — come, that sounds bad ! Going a walk,
I guess. You see what it is to get fat," and he
pulled a wry face as he bent over to tie the corn. He
was a man beautifully ruddy and burly, in the prime
of life.
" Show me, I'll do some," said Lettie.
" Nay," he answered gently, " it would scratch
your wrists and break your stays. Hark at my
hands " — he rubbed them together — " like sand-
paper ! "
George had his back to us, and had not noticed us.
He continued to mow. Leslie watched him.
" That's a fine movement ! " he exclaimed.
" Yes," replied the father, rising very red in the
face from the tying, " and our George enjoys a bit o'
mowing. It puts you in fine condition when you get
over the first stiffness."
We moved across to the standing corn. The sun
being mild, George had thrown off his hat, and his
black hair was moist and twisted into confused half-
curls. Firmly planted, he swung with a beautiful
rhythm from the waist. On the hip of his belted
breeches hung the scythestone; his shirt, faded al-
most white, was torn just above the belt, and showed
the muscles of his back playing like lights upon the
white sand of a brook. There was something exceed-
ingly attractive in the rhythmic body.
I spoke to him, and he turned round. He looked
straight at Lettie with a flashing, betraying smile.
He was remarkably handsome. He tried to say some
words of greeting, then he bent down and gathered
an armful of corn, and deliberately bound it up.
THE SCENT OF BLOOD 73
Like him, Lettie had found nothing to say. Leslie,
however, remarked:
" I should think mowing is a nice exercise."
" It is," he replied, and continued, as Leslie picked
up the scythe, " but it will make you sweat, and your
hands will be sore."
Leslie tossed his head a little, threw off his coat,
and said briefly:
" How do you do it ? " Without waiting for a
reply he proceeded. George said nothing, but turned
to Lettie.
" You are picturesque," she said, a trifle awk-
wardly, " Quite fit for an Idyll."
" And you ? " he said.
She shrugged her shoulders, laughed, and turned
to pick up a scarlet pimpernel.
" How do you bind the corn ? " she asked.
He took some long straws, cleaned them, and
showed her the way to hold them. Instead of attend-
ing, she looked at his hands, big, hard, inflamed by
the snaith of the scythe.
" I don't think I could do it," she said.
" No," he replied quietly, and watched Leslie
mowing. The latter, who was wonderfully ready at
everything, was doing fairly well, but he had not the
invincible sweep of the other, nor did he make the
same crisp crunching music.
" I bet he'll sweat," said George.
" Don't you % " she replied.
"A bit — but I'm not dressed up."
" Do you know," she said suddenly, " your arms
tempt me to touch them. They are such a fine brown
colour, and they look so hard."
74 THE WHITE PEACOCK
He held out one arm to her. She hesitated, then
she swiftly put her finger tips on the smooth brown
muscle, and drew them along. Quickly she hid her
hand into the folds of her skirt, blushing.
He laughed a low, quiet laugh, at once pleasant
and startling to hear.
" I wish I could work here," she said, looking
away at the standing corn, and the dim blue woods.
He followed her look, and laughed quietly, with in-
dulgent resignation.
" I do ! " she said emphatically.
" You feel so fine," he said, pushing his hand
through his open shirt front, and gently rubbing the
muscles of his side. " It's a pleasure to work or to
stand still. It's a pleasure to yourself — your own
physique."
She looked at him, full at his physical beauty, as
if he were some great firm bud of life.
Leslie came up, wiping his brow.
" Jove," said he, " I do perspire."
George picked up his coat and helped him into it ;
saying:
" You may take a chill."
" It's a jolly nice form of exercise," said he.
George, who had been feeling one finger tip, now
took out his pen-knife and proceeded to dig a thorn
from his hand.
" What a hide you must have," said Leslie.
Lettie said nothing, but she recoiled slightly.
The father, glad of an excuse to straighten his
back and to chat, came to us.
"You'd soon had enough," he said, laughing to
Leslie.
THE SCENT OF BLOOD 75
George startled us with a sudden, " Holloa." We
turned, and saw a rabbit, which had burst from the
corn, go coursing through the hedge, dodging and
bounding the sheaves. The standing corn was a
patch along the hill-side some fifty paces in length,
and ten or so in width.
" I didn't think there' d have been any in," said
the father, picking up a short rake, and going to the
low wall of the corn. We all followed.
" Watch ! " said the father, " if you see the heads
of the corn shake ! "
We prowled round the patch of corn.
" Hold ! Look out ! " shouted the father excitedly,
and immediately after a rabbit broke from the cover.
" Ay — Ay — Ay," was the shout, " turn him — turn
him! " We set off full pelt. The bewildered little
brute, scared by Leslie's wild running and crying,
turned from its course, and dodged across the hill,
threading its terrified course through the maze of
lying sheaves, spurting on in a painful zigzag, now
bounding over an untied bundle of corn, now swerv-
ing from the sound of a shout. The little wretch was
hard pressed ; George rushed upon it. It darted into
some fallen corn, but he had seen it, and had fallen
on it. In an instant he was up again, and the little
creature was dangling from his hand.
We returned, panting, sweating, our eyes flashing,
to the edge of the standing corn. I heard Lettie call-
ing, and turning round saw Emily and the two chil-
dren entering the field as they passed from school.
" There's another ! " shouted Leslie.
I saw the oat-tops quiver. " Here ! Here ! " I
yelled. The animal leaped out, and made for the
76 THE WHITE PEACOCK
hedge. George and Leslie, who were on that side,
dashed off, turned him, and he coursed back our way.
I headed him off to the father who swept in pursuit
for a short distance, but who was too heavy for the
work. The little beast made towards the gate, but
this time Mollie, with her hat in her hand and her
hair flying, whirled upon him, and she and the little
fragile lad sent him back again. The rabbit was
getting tired. It dodged the sheaves badly, running
towards the top hedge. I went after it. If I could
have let myself fall on it I could have caught it, but
this was impossible to me, and I merely prevented its
dashing through the hole into safety. It raced along
the hedge bottom. George tore after it. As he was
upon it, it darted into the hedge. He fell flat, and
shot his hand into the gap. But it had escaped. He
lay there, panting in great sobs, and looking at me
with eyes in which excitement and exhaustion strug-
gled like flickering light and darkness. When he
could speak, he said, " Why didn't you fall on top
of it?"
" I couldn't," said I.
We returned again. The two children were peer-
ing into the thick corn also. We thought there was
nothing more. George began to mow. As I walked
round I caught sight of a rabbit skulking near the
bottom corner of the patch. Its ears lay pressed
against its back; I could see the palpitation of the
heart under the brown fur, and I could see the shin-
ing dark eyes looking at me. I felt no pity for it,
but still I could not actually hurt it. I beckoned to
the father. He ran up, and aimed a blow with the
rake. There was a sharp little cry which sent a hot
THE SCENT OF BLOOD 77
pain through me as if I had been cut. But the rab-
bit ran out, and instantly I forgot the cry, and gave
pursuit, fairly feeling my fingers stiffen to choke it.
It was all lame. Leslie was upon it in a moment,
and he almost pulled its head off in his excitement
to kill it.
I looked up. The girls were at the gate, just turn-
ing away.
" There are no more," said the father.
At that instant Mary shouted.
" There's one down this hole."
The hole was too small for George to get his hand
in, so we dug it out with the rake handle. The stick
went savagely down the hole, and there came a
squeak.
" Mice ! " said George, and as he said it the mother
slid out. Somebody knocked her on the back, and the
hole was opened out. Little mice seemed to swarm
everywhere. It was like killing insects. We counted
nine little ones lying dead.
" Poor brute," said George, looking at the mother,
" What a job she must have had rearing that lot ! "
He picked her up, handled her curiously and with
pity. Then he said, " Well, I may as well finish this
to-night ! "
His father took another scythe from off the hedge,
and together they soon laid the proud, quivering
heads low. Leslie and I tied up as they mowed, and
soon all was finished.
The beautiful day was flushing to die. Over in
the west the mist was gathering bluer. The intense
stillness was broken by the rhythmic hum of the
engines at the distant coal-mine, as they drew up the
78 THE WHITE PEACOCK
last bantles of men. As we walked across the fields
the tubes of stubble tinkled like dulcimers. The
scent of the corn began to rise gently. The last cry
of the pheasants came from the wood, and the little
clouds of birds were gone.
I carried a scythe, and we walked, pleasantly
weary, down the hill towards the farm. The chil-
dren had gone home with the rabbits.
When we reached the mill, we found the girls just
rising from the table. Emily began to carry away
the used pots, and to set clean ones for us. She
merely glanced at us and said her formal greeting.
Lettie picked up a book that lay in the ingle seat, and
went to the window. George dropped into a chair.
He had flung off his coat, and had pushed back his
hair. He rested his great brown arms on the table
and was silent for a moment.
" Running like that," he said to me, passing his
hand over his eyes, "makes you more tired than a
whole day's work. I don't think I shall do it
again."
" The sport's exciting while it lasts," said Leslie.
" It does you more harm than the rabbits do us
good," said Mrs. Saxton.
" Oh, I don't know, mother," drawled her son,
" it's a couple of shillings."
" And a couple of days off your life."
" What be that ! " he replied, taking a piece of
bread and butter, and biting a large piece from it.
" Pour us a drop of tea," he said to Emily.
" I don't know that I shall wait on such brutes,"
she replied, relenting, and flourishing the teapot.
" Oh," said he, taking another piece of bread and
THE SCENT OF BLOOD 79
butter, " I'm not all alone in my savageness this
time."
" Men are all brutes," said Lettie, hotly, without
looking up from her book.
" You can tame us," said Leslie, in mighty good
humour.
She did not reply. George began, in that delib-
erate voice that so annoyed Emily :
" It does make you mad, though, to touch the fur,
and not be able to grab him " — he laughed quietly.
Emily moved off in disgust. Lettie opened her
mouth sharply to speak, but remained silent.
" I don't know," said Leslie. " When it comes to
killing it goes against the stomach."
" If you can run," said George, " you should be
able to run to death. When your blood's up, you
don't hang half way."
" I think a man is horrible," said Lettie, " who
can tear the head off a little mite of a thing like a
rabbit, after running it in torture over a field."
" When he is nothing but a barbarian to begin
with " said Emily.
" If you began to run yourself — you'd be the
same," said George.
" Why, women are cruel enough," said Leslie,
with a glance at Lettie. " Yes," he continued,
" they're cruel enough in their way " — another look,
and a comical little smile.
" Well," said George, " what's the good finick-
ing! If you feel like doing a thing — you'd better
do it."
" Unless you haven't courage," said Emily, bit-
80 THE WHITE PEACOCK
He looked up at her with dark eyes, suddenly full
of anger.
" But," said Lettie — she could not hold herself
from asking, " Don't you think it's brutal, now —
now that you do think — isn't it degrading and mean
to run the poor little things down 1 "
" Perhaps it is," he replied, " but it wasn't an
hour ago."
" You have no feeling," she said bitterly.
He laughed deprecatingly, but said nothing.
We finished tea in silence, Lettie reading, Emily
moving about the house. George got up and went
out at the end. A moment or two after we heard
him across the yard with the milk-buckets, singing:
" The Ash Grove."
" He doesn't care a scrap for anything," said
Emily with accumulated bitterness. Lettie looked
out of the window across the yard, thinking. She
looked very glum.
After a while we went out also, before the light
faded altogether from the pond. Emily took us into
the lower garden to get some ripe plums. The old
garden was very low. The soil was black. The
cornbind and goosegrass were clutching at the ancient
gooseberry bushes, which sprawled by the paths.
The garden was not very productive, save of weeds,
and perhaps, tremendous lank artichokes or swollen
marrows. But at the bottom, where the end of the
farm buildings rose high and grey, there was a plum-
tree which had been crucified to the wall, and which
had broken away and leaned forward from bondage.
Now under the boughs were hidden great mist-
bloomed, crimson treasures, splendid globes. I shook
THE SCENT OF BLOOD 81
the old, ragged trunk, green, with even the fresh gum
dulled over, and the treasures fell heavily, thudding
down among the immense rhubarb leaves below. The
girls laughed, and we divided the spoil, and turned
back to the yard. We went down to the edge of the
garden, which skirted the bottom pond, a pool chained
in a heavy growth of weeds. It was moving with
rats, the father had said. The rushes were thick
below us; opposite, the great bank fronted us, with
orchard trees climbing it like a hillside. The lower
pond received the overflow from the upper by a tun-
nel from the deep black sluice.
Two rats ran into the black culvert at our ap-
proach. We sat on some piled, mossy stones, to
watch. The rats came out again, ran a little way,
stopped, ran again, listened, were reassured, and slid
about freely, dragging their long naked tails. Soon
six or seven grey beasts were playing round the
mouth of the culvert, in the gloom. They sat and
wiped their sharp faces, stroking their whiskers.
Then one would give a little rush and a little squirm
of excitement and would jump vertically into the air,
alighting on four feet, running, sliding into the
black shadow. One dropped with an ugly plop into
the water, and swam toward us, the hoary imp, his
sharp snout and his wicked little eyes moving at us.
Lettie shuddered. I threw a stone into the dead pool,
and frightened them all. But we had frightened
ourselves more, so we hurried away, and stamped our
feet in relief on the free pavement of the yard.
Leslie was looking for us. He had been inspecting
the yard and the stock under Mr. Saxton's super-
vision.
82 THE WHITE PEACOCK
" Were you running away from me ? " he asked.
" No," she replied. " I have been to fetch you a
plum. Look ! " And she showed him two in a
leaf.
" They are too pretty to eat ! " said he.
" You have not tasted yet," she laughed.
" Come," he said, offering her his arm. " Let us
go up to the water." She took his arm.
It was a splendid evening, with the light all thick
and yellow lying on the smooth pond. Lettie made
him lift her on to a leaning bough of willow. He
sat with his head resting against her skirts. Emily
and I moved on. We heard him murmur something,
and her voice reply, gently, caressingly:
" No — let us be still — it is all so still — I love it
best of all now."
Emily and I talked, sitting at the base of the
alders, a little way on. After an excitement, and in
the evening, especially in autumn, one is inclined to
be sad and sentimental. We had forgotten that the
darkness was weaving. I heard in the little distance
Leslie's voice begin to murmur like a flying beetle
that comes not too near. Then, away down in the
yard George began singing the old song, " I sowed
the seeds of love."
This interrupted the flight of Leslie's voice, and as
the singing came nearer, the hum of low words
ceased. We went forward to meet George. Leslie
sat up, clasping his knees, and did not speak. George
came near, saying:
" The moon is going to rise."
" Let me get down," said Lettie, lifting her hands
to him to help her. He, mistaking her wish, put his
THE SCENT OF BLOOD 83
hands under her arms, and set her gently down,
as one would a child. Leslie got up quickly, and
seemed to hold himself separate, resenting the in-
trusion.
" I thought you were all four together," said
George quietly. Lettie turned quickly at the apol-
ogy:
" So we were. So we are — five now. Is it there
the moon will rise ? "
" Yes — I like to see it come over the wood. It
lifts slowly up to stare at you. I always think it
wants to know something, and I always think I have
something to answer, only I don't know what it is,"
said Emily.
Where the sky was pale in the east over the rim
of wood came the forehead of the yellow moon. We
stood and watched in silence. Then, as the great
disc, nearly full, lifted and looked straight upon us,
we were washed off our feet in a vague sea of moon-
light. We stood with the light like water on our
faces. Lettie was glad, a little bit exalted; Emily
was passionately troubled; her lips were parted,
almost beseeching; Leslie was frowning, oblivious,
and George was thinking, and the terrible, immense
moonbeams braided through his feeling. At length
Leslie said softly, mistakenly:
" Come along, dear " — and he took her arm.
She let him lead her along the bank of the pond,
and across the plank over the sluice.
" Do you know," she said, as we were carefully
descending the steep bank of the orchard, " I feel
as if I wanted to laugh, or dance — something rather
outrageous."
84 THE WHITE PEACOCK
" Surely not like that now" Leslie replied in a low
voice, feeling really hurt.
" I do though ! I will race you to the bottom."
" No, no, dear ! " He held her back. When he
came to the wicket leading on to the front lawns,
he said something to her softly, as he held the
gate.
I think he wanted to utter his half finished pro-
posal, and so bind her.
She broke free, and, observing the long lawn
which lay in grey shadow between the eastern and
western glows, she cried :
" Polka ! — a polka — one can dance a polka when
the grass is smooth and short — even if there are some
fallen leaves. Yes, yes — how jolly ! "
She held out her hand to Leslie, but it was too
great a shock to his mood. So she called to me, and
there was a shade of anxiety in her voice, lest after
all she should be caught in the toils of the night's
sentiment.
" Pat — you'll dance with me — Leslie hates a
polka." I danced with her. I do not know the time
when I could not polka — it seems innate in one's
feet, to dance that dance. We went flying round,
hissing through the dead leaves. The night, the low
hung yellow moon, the pallor of the west, the blue
cloud of evening overhead went round and through
the fantastic branches of the old laburnum, spinning
a little madness. You cannot tire Lettie; her feet
are wings that beat the air. When at last I stayed
her she laughed as fresh as ever, as she bound her
hair.
" There ! " she said to Leslie, in tones of extreme
THE SCENT OF BLOOD 85
satisfaction, " that was lovely. Do you come and
dance now."
" Not a polka," said he, sadly, feeling the poetry
in his heart insulted by the jigging measure.
" But one cannot dance anything else on wet grass,
and through shuffling dead leaves. You, George I "
" Emily says I jump," he replied.
" Come on — come on " — and in a moment they
were bounding across the grass. After a few steps
she fell in with him, and they spun round the grass.
It was true, he leaped, sprang with large strides,
carrying her with him. It was a tremendous, irre-
sistible dancing. Emily and I must join, making an
inner ring. Now and again there was a sense of
something white flying near, and wild rustle of drap-
eries, and a swish of disturbed leaves as they whirled
past us. Long after we were tired they danced on.
At the end, he looked big, erect, nerved with
triumph, and she was exhilarated like a Bacchante.
" Have you finished ? " Leslie asked.
She knew she was safe from his question that day.
" Yes," she panted. " You should have danced.
Give me my hat, please. Do I look very disgrace-
ful?"
He took her hat and gave it to her.
" Disgraceful ? " he repeated.
" Oh, you are solemn to-night ! What is it ? "
" Yes, what is it ? " he repeated ironically.
" It must be the moon. Now, is my hat straight %
Tell me now — you're not looking. Then put it level.
Now then! Why, your hands are quite cold, and
mine so hot ! I feel so impish," and she laughed.
" There — now I'm ready. Do you notice those
86 THE WHITE PEACOCK
little chrysanthemums trying to smell sadly; when
the old moon is laughing and winking through those
boughs. What business have they with their sad-
ness ! " She took a handful of petals and flung them
into the air : " There — if they sigh they ask for sor-
row — I like things to wink and look wild."
CHAPTEE VI
THE EDUCATION OF GEORGE
As T have said, Strelley Mill lies at the north end of
the long Nethermere valley. On the northern slopes
lay its pasture and arable lands. The shaggy com-
mon, now closed and part of the estate, covered the
western slope, and the cultivated land was bounded
on the east by the sharp dip of the brook course, a
thread of woodland broadening into a spinney and
ending at the upper pond ; beyond this, on the east,
rose the sharp, wild, grassy hillside, scattered with
old trees, ruinous with the gaunt, ragged bones of
old hedge-rows, grown into thorn trees. Along the
rim of the hills, beginning in the northwest, were
dark woodlands, which swept round east and south
till they raced down in riot to the very edge of south-
ern Nethermere, surrounding our house. From the
eastern hill crest, looking straight across, you could
see the spire of Selsby Church, and a few roofs, and
the head-stocks of the pit.
So on three sides the farm was skirted by woods,
the dens of rabbits, and the common held another
warren.
Now the squire of the estate, head of an ancient,
once even famous, but now decayed house, loved his
rabbits. Unlike the family fortunes, the family tree
nourished amazingly; Sherwood could show nothing
87
88 THE WHITE PEACOCK
comparable. Its ramifications were stupendous; it
was more like a banyan than a British oak. How
was the good squire to nourish himself and his
lady, his name, his tradition, and his thirteen lusty
branches on his meagre estates ? An evil fortune dis-
covered to him that he could sell each of his rabbits,
those bits of furry vermin, for a shilling or there-
abouts in Nottingham; since which time the noble
family subsisted by rabbits.
Farms were gnawed away; corn and sweet grass
departed from the face of the hills ; cattle grew lean,
unable to eat the defiled herbage. Then the farm
became the home of a keeper, and the country was
silent, with no sound of cattle, no clink of horses, no
barking of lusty dogs.
But the squire loved his rabbits. He defended
them against the snares of the despairing farmer,
protected them with gun and notices to quit. How
he glowed with thankfulness as he saw the dis-
hevelled hillside heave when the gnawing hosts
moved on!
" Are they not quails and manna ? " said he to his
sporting guest, early one Monday morning, as the
high meadow broke into life at the sound of his gun.
" Quails and manna — in this wilderness ? "
" They are, by Jove ! " assented the sporting guest
as he took another gun, while the saturnine keeper
smiled grimly.
Meanwhile, Strelley Mill began to suffer under
this gangrene. It was the outpost in the wilderness.
It was an understood thing that none of the squire's
tenants had a gun.
" Well," said the squire to Mr. Saxton, " you
EDUCATION OF GEORGE 89
have the land for next to nothing — next to nothing
— at a rent really absurd. Surely the little that the
rabbits eat "
" It's not a little — come and look for yourself,"
replied the farmer. The squire made a gesture of
impatience.
" What do you want ? " he inquired.
"Will you wire me off ?" was the repeated request.
" Wire is — what does Halkett say — so much per
yard — and it would come to — what did Halkett tell
me now ? — but a large sum. No, I can't do it."
" Well, I can't live like this."
" Have another glass of whisky ? Yes, yes, I
want another glass myself, and I can't drink alone —
so if I am to enjoy my glass. — That's it! Now
surely you exaggerate a little. It's not so bad."
" I can't go on like it, I'm sure."
" Well, we'll see about compensation — we'll see.
I'll have a talk with Halkett, and I'll come down and
have a look at you. We all find a pinch somewhere
— it's nothing but humanity's heritage."
I was born in September, and love it best of all the
months. There is no heat, no hurry, no thirst and
weariness in corn harvest as there is in the hay. If
the season is late, as is usual with us, then mid-Sep-
tember sees the corn still standing in stook. The
mornings come slowly. The earth is like a woman
married and fading; she does not leap up with a
laugh for the first fresh kiss of dawn, but slowly,
quietly, unexpectantly lies watching the waking of
each new day. The blue mist, like memory in the
90 THE WHITE PEACOCK
eyes of a neglected wife, never goes from the wooded
hill, and only at noon creeps from the near hedges.
There is no bird to put a song in the throat of morn-
ing; only the crow's voice speaks during the day.
Perhaps there is the regular breathing hush of the
scythe — even the fretful jar of the mowing machine.
But next day, in the morning, all is still again. The
lying corn is wet, and when you have bound it, and
lift the heavy sheaf to make the stook, the tresses of
oats wreathe round each other and droop mournfully.
As I worked with my friend through the still
mornings we talked endlessly. I would give him the
gist of what I knew of chemistry, and botany, and
psychology. Day after day I told him what the pro-
fessors had told me ; of life, of sex and its origins ;
of Schopenhauer and William James. We had been
friends for years, and he was accustomed to my talk.
But this autumn fruited the first crop of intimacy
between us. I talked a great deal of poetry to him,
and of rudimentary metaphysics. He was very good
stuff. He had hardly a single dogma, save that of
pleasing himself. Religion was nothing to him. So
he heard all I had to say with an open mind, and
understood the drift of things very rapidly, and
quickly made these ideas part of himself.
We tramped down to dinner with only the clinging
warmth of the sunshine for a coat. In this still, en-
folding weather a quiet companionship is very grate-
ful. Autumn creeps through everything. The little
damsons in the pudding taste of September, and are
fragrant with memory. The voices of those at table
are softer and more reminiscent than at haytime.
Afternoon is all warm and golden. Oat sheaves
EDUCATION OF GEORGE 91
are lighter ; they whisper to each other as they freely
embrace. The long, stout stubble tinkles as the foot
brushes over it; the scent of the straw is sweet.
When the poor, bleached sheaves are lifted out of the
hedge, a spray of nodding wild raspberries is dis-
closed, with belated berries ready to drop ; among the
damp grass lush blackberries may be discovered.
Then one notices that the last bell hangs from the
ragged spire of fox-glove. The talk is of people, an
odd book; of one's hopes — and the future; of Can-
ada, where work is strenuous, but not life ; where the
plains are wide, and one is not lapped in a soft val-
ley, like an apple that falls in a secluded orchard.
The mist steals over the face of the warm afternoon.
The tying-up is all finished, and it only remains to
rear up the fallen bundles into shocks. The sun
sinks into a golden glow in the west. The gold turns
to red, the red darkens, like a fire burning low, the
sun disappears behind the bank of milky mist, pur-
ple like the pale bloom on blue plums, and we put on
our coats and go home.
In the evening, when the milking was finished,
and all the things fed, then we went out to look at
the snares. We wandered on across the stream and
up the wild hillside. Our feet rattled through black
patches of devil's-bit scabius; we skirted a swim of
thistle-down, which glistened when the moon touched
it. We stumbled on through wet, coarse grass, over
soft mole-hills and black rabbit-holes. The hills and
woods cast shadows ; the pools of mist in the valleys
gathered the moonbeams in cold, shivery light.
92 THE WHITE PEACOCK
We came to an old farm that stood on the level
brow of the hill. The woods swept away from it,
leaving a great clearing of what was once cultivated
land. The handsome chimneys of the house, sil-
houetted against a light sky, drew my admiration. I
noticed that there was no light or glow in any win-
dow, though the house had only the width of one
room, and though the night was only at eight o'clock.
We looked at the long, impressive front. Several of
the windows had been bricked in, giving a pitiful
impression of blindness ; the places where the plaster
had fallen off the walls showed blacker in the shadow.
We pushed open the gate, and as we walked down the
path, weeds and dead plants brushed our ankles. We
looked in at a window. The room was lighted also
by a window from the other side, through which the
moonlight streamed on to the nagged floor, dirty,
littered with paper, and wisps of straw. The hearth
lay in the light, with all its distress of grey ashes,
and piled cinders of burnt paper, and a child's head-
less doll, charred and pitiful. On the border-line of
shadow lay a round fur cap — a game-keeper's cap.
I blamed the moonlight for entering the desolate
room ; the darkness alone was decent and reticent. I
hated the little roses on the illuminated piece of wall-
paper, I hated that fireside.
With farmer's instinct George turned to the out-
house. The cow-yard startled me. It was a forest
of the tallest nettles I have ever seen — nettles far
taller than my six feet. The air was soddened with
the dank scent of nettles. As I followed George
along the obscure brick path, I felt my flesh creep.
But the buildings, when we entered them, were in
EDUCATION OF GEORGE 93
splendid condition; they had been restored within a
small number of years; they were well-timbered,
neat, and cosy. Here and there we saw feathers, bits
of animal wreckage, even the remnants of a cat,
which we hastily examined by the light of a match.
As we entered the stable there was an ngly noise, and
three great rats half rushed at us and threatened us
with their vicious teeth. I shuddered, and hurried
back, stumbling over a bucket, rotten with rust, and
so filled with weeds that I thought it part of the jun-
gle. There was a silence made horrible by the faint
noises that rats and flying bats give out. The place
was bare of any vestige of corn or straw or hay, only
choked with a growth of abnormal weeds. When I
found myself free in the orchard I could not stop
shivering. There were no apples to be seen overhead
between us and the clear sky. Either the birds had
caused them to fall, when the rabbits had devoured
them, or someone had gathered the crop.
" This," said George bitterly, " is what the mill
will come to."
" After your time," I said.
" My time — my time. I shall never have a time.
And I shouldn't be surprised if father's time isn't
short — with rabbits and one thing and another. As
it is, we depend on the milk-round, and on the cart-
ing which I do for the council. You can't call it
farming. We're a miserable mixture of farmer,
milkman, greengrocer, and carting contractor. It's
a shabby business."
" You have to live," I retorted.
" Yes — but it's rotten. And father won't move —
and he won't change his methods."
94 THE WHITE PEACOCK
" Well— what about you ? "
" Me ! What should I change for ? — I'm comfort-
able at home. As for my future, it can look after
itself, so long as nobody depends on me."
" Laissez f aire," said I, smiling.
" This is no laissez faire," he replied, glanc-
ing round, " this is pulling the nipple out of your
lips, and letting the milk run away sour. Look
there ! "
Through the thin veil of moonlit mist that slid
over the hillside we could see an army of rabbits
bunched up, or hopping a few paces forward, feed-
ing.
We set off at a swinging pace down the hill, scat-
tering the hosts. As we approached the fence that
bounded the Mill fields, he exclaimed, " Hullo ! " —
and hurried forward. I followed him, and observed
the dark figure of a man rise from the hedge. It was
a game-keeper. He pretended to be examining his
gun. As we came up he greeted us with a calm
" Good-evenin' ! "
George replied by investigating the little gap in
the hedge.
" I'll trouble you for that snare," he said.
" Will yer ? " answered Annable, a broad, burly,
black-faced fellow. " An' I should like ter know
what you're doin' on th' wrong side th' 'edge ? "
" You can see what we're doing — hand over my
snare — and the rabbit," said George angrily.
" What rabbit ? " said Annable, turning sarcastic-
ally to me.
" You know well enough — an' you can hand it
over — or " George replied.
EDUCATION OF GEORGE 95
" Or what? Spit it out! The sound won't kill
me " — the man grinned with contempt.
" Hand over here ! " said George, stepping up to
the man in a rage.
" Now don't ! " said the keeper, standing stock
still, and looking unmovedly at the proximity of
George :
" You'd better get off home — both you an' 'im.
You'll get neither snare nor rabbit — see I "
" We will see ! " said George, and he made a sud-
den move to get hold of the man's coat. Instantly he
went staggering back with a heavy blow under the
left ear.
"Damn brute !" I ejaculated, bruising my knuckles
against the fellow's jaw. Then I too found myself
sitting dazedly on the grass, watching the great skirts
of his velveteens flinging round him as if he had
been a demon, as he strode away. I got up, pressing
my chest where I had been struck. George was lying
in the hedge-bottom. I turned him over, and rubbed
his temples, and shook the drenched grass on his
face. He opened his eyes, and looked at me, dazed.
Then he drew his breath quickly, and put his hand
to his head.
" He — he nearly stunned me," he said.
" The devil ! " I answered.
" I wasn't ready."
" No."
" Did he knock me down ? "
" Ay — me too."
He was silent for some time, sitting limply. Then
he pressed his hand against the back of his head, say-
ing, " My head does sing ! " He tried to get up, but
96 THE WHITE PEACOCK
failed. " Good God ! — being knocked into this state
by a damned keeper ! "
" Come on," I said, " let's see if we can't get in-
doors."
" No ! " he said quickly, " we needn't tell them —
don't let them know."
I sat thinking of the pain in my own chest, and
wishing I could remember hearing Annable's jaw
smash, and wishing that my knuckles were more
bruised than they were — though that was bad enough.
I got up, and helped George to rise. He swayed, al-
most pulling me over. But in a while he could walk
unevenly.
" Am I/' he said, " covered with clay and stuff ? "
" Not much," I replied, troubled by the shame and
confusion with which he spoke.
" Get it off," he said, standing still to be cleaned.
I did my best. Then we walked about the fields
for a time, gloomy, silent, and sore.
Suddenly, as we went by the pond-side, we were
startled by great, swishing black shadows that swept
just above our heads. The swans were flying up for
shelter, now that a cold wind had begun to fret
Nethermore. They swung down on to the glassy
mill-pond, shaking the moonlight in flecks across the
deep shadows; the night rang with the clacking of
their wings on the water ; the stillness and calm were
broken; the moonlight was furrowed and scattered,
and broken. The swans, as they sailed into shadow,
were dim, haunting spectres ; the wind found us shiv-
ering.
" Don't — you won't say anything ? " he asked as I
was leaving him.
EDUCATION OF GEORGE 97
" No."
" Nothing at all — not to anybody ? "
" No."
" Good-night"
About the end of September, our countryside was
alarmed by the harrying of sheep by strange dogs.
One morning, the squire, going the round of his
fields as was his custom, to his grief and horror found
two of his sheep torn and dead in the hedge-bottom,
and the rest huddled in a corner swaying about in
terror, smeared with blood. The squire did not re-
cover his spirits for days.
There was a report of two grey wolvish dogs.
The squire's keeper had heard yelping in the fields
of Dr. Collins, of the Abbey, about dawn. Three
sheep lay soaked in blood when the labourer went to
tend the flocks.
Then the farmers took alarm. Lord, of the White
House farm, intended to put his sheep in pen, with
his dogs in charge. It was Saturday, however, and
the lads ran off to the little travelling theatre that
had halted at Westwold. While they sat open-
mouthed in the theatre, gloriously nicknamed the
" Blood-Tub," watching heroes die with much writh-
ing, and heaving, and struggling up to say a word,
and collapsing without having said it, six of their
silly sheep were slaughtered in the field. At every
house it was enquired of the dog; nowhere had one
been loose.
Mr. Saxton had some thirty sheep on the Com-
mon. George determined that the easiest thing was
98 THE WHITE PEACOCK
for him to sleep out with them. He built a shelter
of hurdles interlaced with brushwood, and in the
sunny afternoon we collected piles of bracken, brown-
ing to the ruddy winter-brown now. He slept there
for a week, but that week aged his mother like a year.
She was out in the cold morning twilight watching,
with her apron over her head, for his approach. She
did not rest with the thought of him out on the
Common.
Therefore, on Saturday night he brought down his
rugs, and took up Gyp to watch in his stead. For
some time we sat looking at the stars over the dark
hills. Now and then a sheep coughed, or a rabbit
rustled beneath the brambles, and Gyp whined. The
mist crept over the gorse-bushes, and the webs on
the brambles were white; — the devil throws his net
over the blackberries as soon as September's back is
turned, they say.
" I saw two fellows go by with bags and nets,"
said George, as we sat looking out of his little shelter.
" Poachers," said I. " Did you speak to them ? "
" No — they didn't see me. I was dropping asleep
when a rabbit rushed under the blanket, all of
a shiver, and a whippet dog after it. I gave the
whippet a punch in the neck, and he yelped off. The
rabbit stopped with me quite a long time — then it
went."
"How did you feel?"
" I didn't care. I don't care much what happens
just now. Father could get along without me, and
mother has the children. I think I shall emigrate."
"Why didn't you before?"
" Oh, I don't know. There are a lot of little com-
EDUCATION OF GEORGE 99
forts and interests at home that one would miss. Be-
sides, you feel somebody in your own countryside,
and you're nothing in a foreign part, I expect."
" But you're going 1 "
" What is there to stop here for ? The valley is
all running wild and unprofitable. You've no free-
dom for thinking of what the other folks think of
you, and everything round you keeps the same, and
so you can't change yourself — because everything
you look at brings up the same old feeling, and stops
you from feeling fresh things. And what is there
that's worth anything ? — What's worth having in my
life?"
" I thought," said I, " your comfort was worth
having."
He sat still and did not answer.
" What's shaken you out of your nest ? " I asked.
" I don't know. I've not felt the same since that
row with Annable. And Lettie said tome: ( Here,
you can't live as you like — in any way or circum-
stance. You're like a bit out of those coloured mar-
ble mosaics in the hall, you have to fit in your own
set, fit into your own pattern, because you're put
there from the first. But you don't want to be- like
a fixed bit of a mosaic — you want to fuse into life,
and melt and mix with the rest of folk, to have some
things burned out of you ' She was downright
serious."
" Well, you need not believe her. When did you
see her ? "
" She came down on Wednesday, when I was get-
ting the apples in the morning. She climbed a tree
with me, and there was a wind, that was why I was
100 THE WHITE PEACOCK
getting all the apples, and it rocked us, me right up
at the top, she sitting half way down holding the
basket. I asked her didn't she think that free kind
of life was the best, and that was how she answered
me."
" You should have contradicted her."
" It seemed true. I never thought of it being
wrong, in fact."
" Come — that sounds bad."
" No — I thought she looked down on us — on our
way of life. I thought she meant I was like a toad
in a hole."
" You should have shown her different."
" How could I when I could see no different ? "
" It strikes me you're in love."
He laughed at the idea, saying, " No, but it is
rotten to find that there isn't a single thing you have
to be proud of."
" This is a new tune for you."
He pulled the grass moodily.
" And when do you think of going ? "
" Oh — I don't know — I've said nothing to mother.
Not yet, — at any rate not till spring."
" Not till something has happened," said I.
"What?" he asked.
" Something decisive."
" I don't know what can happen — unless the
Squire turns us out."
" No ? " I said. j
He did not speak.
" You should make things happen," said I.
" Don't make me feel a worse fool, Cyril," he re-
plied despairingly.
EDUCATION OF GEORGE 101
Gyp whined and jumped, tugging her chain to
follow us. The grey blurs among the blackness of
the bushes were resting sheep. A chill, dim mist
crept along the ground.
" But, for all that, Cyril," he said, " to have her
laugh at you across the table ; to hear her sing as she
moved about, before you are washed at night, when
the fire's warm, and you're tired ; to have her sit by
you on the hearth seat, close and soft. . . ."
" In Spain," I said. " In Spain."
He took no notice, but turned suddenly, laughing.
" Do you know, when I was stooking up, lifting
the sheaves, it felt like having your arm round a
girl. It was quite a sudden sensation."
" You'd better take care," said I, " you'll mesh
yourself in the silk of dreams, and then "
He laughed, not having heard my words.
" The time seems to go like lightning — thinking "
he confessed — " I seem to sweep the mornings up in
a handful."
" Oh, Lord ! " said I. " Why don't you scheme
forgetting what you want, instead of dreaming ful-
filments ? "
" Well," he replied. " If it was a fine dream,
wouldn't you want to go on dreaming % " and with
that he finished, and I went home.
I sat at my window looking out, trying to get
things straight. Mist rose, and wreathed round
Nethermere, like ghosts meeting and embracing
sadly. I thought of the time when my friend should
not follow the harrow on our own snug valley side,
and when Lettie's room next mine should be closed
to hide its emptiness, not its joy. My heart clung
102 THE WHITE PEACOCK
passionately to the hollow which held us all; how
could I bear that it should be desolate ! I wondered
what Lettie would do.
In the morning I was up early, when daybreak
came with a shiver through the woods. I went out,
while the moon still shone sickly in the west. The
world shrank from the morning. It was then that
the last of the summer things died. The wood was
dark, — and smelt damp and heavy with autumn.
On the paths the leaves lay clogged.
As I came near the farm I heard the yelling of
dogs. Running, I reached the Common, and saw
the sheep huddled and scattered in groups, something
leaped round them. George burst into sight pur-
suing. Directly, there was the bang, bang of a gun.
I picked up a heavy piece of sandstone and ran for-
wards. Three sheep scattered wildly before me. In
the dim light I saw their grey shadows move among
the gorse bushes. Then a dog leaped, and I flung
my stone with all my might. I hit. There came a
high-pitched howling yelp of pain; I saw the brute
make off, and went after him, dodging the prickly
bushes, leaping the trailing brambles. The gunshots
rang out again, and I heard the men shouting with
excitement. My dog was out of sight, but I followed
still, slanting down the hill. In a field ahead I saw
someone running. Leaping the low hedge, I pursued,
and overtook Emily, who was hurrying as fast as
she could through the wet grass. There was another
gunshot and great shouting. Emily glanced round,
saw me, and started.
" It's gone to the quarries," she panted. We
walked on, without saying a word. Skirting the
EDUCATION OF GEORGE 103
spinney, we followed the brook course, and came at
last to the quarry fence. The old excavations were
filled now with trees. The steep walls, twenty feet
deep in places, were packed with loose stones, and
trailed with hanging brambles. We climbed down
the steep bank of the brook, and entered the quarries
by the bed of the stream. Under the groves of ash
and oak a pale primrose still lingered, glimmering
wanly beside the hidden water. Emily found a
smear of blood on a beautiful trail of yellow convol-
vulus. We followed the tracks on to the open, where
the brook flowed on the hard rock bed, and the stony
floor of the quarry was only a tangle of gorse and
bramble and honeysuckle.
" Take a good stone," said I, and we pressed on,
where the grove in the great excavation darkened
again, and the brook slid secretly under the arms of
the bushes and the hair of the long grass. We beat
the cover almost to the road. I thought the brute
had escaped, and I pulled a bunch of mountain-ash
berries, and stood tapping them against my knee. I
was startled by a snarl and a little scream. Kun-
ning forward, I came upon one of the old, horse-shoe
lime kilns that stood at the head of the quarry.
There, in the mouth of one of the kilns, Emily was
kneeling on the dog, her hands buried in the hair of
its throat, pushing back its head. The little jerks of
the brute's body were the spasms of death; already
the eyes were turning inward, and the upper lip was
drawn from the teeth by pain.
"Good Lord, Emily! But he is dead!" I ex-
claimed.
" Has he hurt you ? " I drew her away. She
104 THE WHITE PEACOCK
shuddered violently, and seemed to feel a horror of
herself.
" No — no," she said, looking at herself, with
blood all on her skirt, where she had knelt on the
wound which I had given the dog, and pressed the
broken rib into the chest. There was a trickle of
blood on her arm.
" Did he bite you I " I asked, anxious.
" ISTo — oh, no — I just peeped in, and he jumped.
But he had no strength, and I hit him back with
my stone, and I lost my balance, and fell on
him."
" Let me wash your arm."
" Oh ! " she exclaimed, " isn't it horrible ! Oh,
I think it is so awful."
" What ? " said I, busy bathing her arm in the
cold water of the brook.
" This— this whole brutal affair."
" It ought to be cauterised," said I, looking at a
score on her arm from the dog's tooth.
" That scratch — that's nothing ! Can you get
that off my skirt — I feel hateful to myself."
I washed her skirt with my handkerchief as well
as I could, saying:
" Let me just sear it for you ; we can go to the
Kennels. Do — you ought — I don't feel safe other-
wise."
"Keally," she said, glancing up at me, a smile
coming into her fine dark eyes.
" Yes — come along."
" Ha, ha ! " she laughed. " You look so serious."
I took her arm, and drew her away. She linked
her arm in mine, and leaned on me.
EDUCATION OF GEORGE 105
" It is just like Lorna Doone," she said, as if she
enjoyed it.
" But you will let me do it," said I, referring to
the cauterising.
" You make me ; hut I shall feel — ugh, I daren't
think of it. Get me some of those herries."
I plucked a few hunches of guelder-rose fruits,
transparent, ruby berries. She stroked them softly
against her lips and cheek, caressing them. Then
she murmured to herself:
" I have always wanted to put red berries in my
hair."
The shawl she had been wearing was thrown across
her shoulders, and her head was bare, and her black
hair, soft and short and ecstatic, tumbled wildly into
loose light curls. She thrust the stalks of the ber-
ries under her combs. Her hair was not heavy or
long enough to have held them. Then, with the ruby
bunches glowing through the black mist of curls, she
looked up at me, brightly, with wide eyes. I looked
at her, and felt the smile winning into her eyes.
Then I turned and dragged a trail of golden-leaved
convolvulus from the hedge, and I twisted it into a
coronet for her.
" There ! " said I, " you're crowned."
She put back her head, and the low laughter shook
in her throat.
" What ! " she asked, putting all the courage and
recklessness she had into the question, and in her
soul trembling.
" Not Chloe, not Bacchante. You have always
got your soul in your eyes, such an earnest, trouble-
some soul."
106 THE WHITE PEACOCK
The laughter faded at once, and her great serious-
ness looked out again at me, pleading.
" You are like Burne-Jones' damsels. Trouble-
some shadows are always crowding across your eyes,
and you cherish them. You think the flesh of the
apple is nothing, nothing. You only care for the
eternal pips. Why don't you snatch your apple and
eat it, and throw the core away ? "
She looked at me sadly, not understanding, but
believing that I in my wisdom spoke truth, as she
always believed when I lost her in a maze of words.
She stooped down, and the chaplet fell from her hair,
and only one bunch of berries remained. The
ground around us was strewn with the four-lipped
burrs of beechnuts, and the quaint little nut-pyra-
mids were scattered among the ruddy fallen leaves.
Emily gathered a few nuts.
" I love beechnuts," she said, " but they make me
long for my childhood again till I could almost cry
out. To go out for beechnuts before breakfast; to
thread them for necklaces before supper; — to be the
envy of the others at school next day! There was
as much pleasure in a beech necklace then, as there
is in the whole autumn now — and no sadness. There
are no more unmixed joys after you have grown up."
She kept her face to the ground as she spoke, and she
continued to gather the fruits.
" Do you find any with nuts in I " I asked.
" Not many — here — here are two, three. You
have them. No — I don't care about them."
I stripped one of .its horny brown coat and gave
it to her. She opened her mouth slightly to take it,
looking up into my eyes. Some people, instead of
EDUCATION OF GEORGE 107
bringing with them clouds of glory, trail clouds of
sorrow ; they are born with " the gift of sorrow " ;
" sorrows " they proclaim " alone are real. The
veiled grey angels of sorrow work out slowly the
beautiful shapes. Sorrow is beauty, and the supreme
blessedness." You read it in their eyes, and in the
tones of their voices. Emily had the gift of sorrow.
It fascinated me, but it drove me to rebellion.
We followed the soft, smooth-bitten turf road
under the old beeches. The hillside fell away, dis-
hevelled with thistles and coarse grass. Soon we
were in sight of the Kennels, the red old Kennels
which had been the scene of so much animation in
the time of Lord Byron. They were empty now,
overgrown with weeds. The barred windows of the
cottages were grey with dust ; there was no need now
to protect the windows from cattle, dog or man. One
of the three houses was inhabited. Clear water
trickled through a wooden runnel into a great stone
trough outside near the door.
" Come here," said I to Emily. " Let me fasten
the back of your dress."
" Is it undone ? " she asked, looking quickly over
her shoulder, and blushing.
As I was engaged in my task, a girl came out of
the cottage with a black kettle and a tea-cup. She
was so surprised to see me thus occupied, that she
forgot her own duty, and stood open-mouthed.
" S'r Ann ! S'r Ann," called a voice from inside.
" Are ter goin' ter come in an' shut that door ? "
Sarah Ann hastily poured a few cupfuls of water
into the kettle, then she put down both utensils, and
stood holding her bare arms to warm them. Her
108 THE WHITE PEACOCK
chief garment consisted of a skirt with grey bodice
and red flannel skirt, very much torn. Her black
hair hung in wild tails on to her shoulders.
" We must go in here," said I, approaching the
girl. She, however, hastily seized the kettle and ran
indoors with an " Oh, mother ! "
A woman came to the door. One breast was bare,
and hung over her blouse, which, like a dressing-
jacket, fell loose over her skirt. Her fading, red-
brown hair was all frowsy from the bed. In the
folds of her skirt clung a swarthy urchin with a
shockingly short shirt. He stared at us with big
black eyes, the only portion of his face undecorated
with egg and jam. The woman's blue eyes ques-
tioned us languidly. I told her our errand.
" Come in — come in," she said, " but dunna look
at th' 'ouse. Th' childers not been long up. Go in,
Billy, wi' nowt on ! "
We entered, taking the forgotten kettle lid. The
kitchen was large, but scantily furnished; save, in-
deed, for children. The eldest, a girl of twelve or
so, was standing toasting a piece of bacon with one
hand, and holding back her nightdress in the other.
As the toast hand got scorched, she transferred the
bacon to the other, gave the hot fingers a lick to cool
them, and then held back her nightdress again. Her
auburn hair hung in heavy coils down her gown. A
boy sat on the steel fender, catching the dropping fat
on a piece of bread. " One, two, three, four, five,
six drops," and he quickly bit off the tasty corner,
and resumed the task with the other hand. When
we entered he tried to draw his shirt over his knees,
which caused the fat to fall wasted. A fat baby, evi-
EDUCATION OF GEORGE 109
dently laid down from the breast, lay kicking on the
squab, purple in the face, while another lad was
pushing bread and butter into its mouth. The
mother swept to the sofa, poked out the bread and
butter, pushed her finger into the baby's throat, lifted
the child up, punched its back, and was highly re-
lieved when it began to yell. Then she administered
a few sound spanks to the naked buttocks of the
crammer. He began to howl, but stopped suddenly
on seeing us laughing. On the sack-cloth which
served as hearth rug sat a beautiful child washing
the face of a wooden doll with tea, and wiping it on
her nightgown. At the table, an infant in a high
chair sat sucking a piece of bacon, till the grease ran
down his swarthy arms, oozing through his fingers.
An old lad stood in the big arm-chair, whose back
was hung with a calf-skin, and was industriously
pouring the dregs of the teacups into a basin of milk.
The mother whisked away the milk, and made a rush
for the urchin, the baby hanging over her arm the
while.
" I could half kill thee," she said, but he had slid
under the table, — and sat serenely unconcerned.
" Could you " — I asked when the mother had put
her bonny baby again to her breast — " could you lend
me a knitting needle ? "
" Our S'r Ann, wheer's thy knittin' needles ? "
asked the woman, wincing at the same time, and put-
ting her hand to the mouth of the sucking child.
Catching my eye, she said :
" You wouldn't credit how he bites. 'E's nobbut
two teeth, but they like six needles." She drew her
brows together, and pursed her lips, saying to the
110 THE WHITE PEACOCK
child, " Naughty lad, naughty lad ! Tha' shanna
hae it, no, not if ter bites thy mother like that."
The family interest was now divided between us
and the private concerns in process when we entered ;
— save, however, that the bacon sucker had sucked
on stolidly, immovable, all the time.
" Our Sam, wheer's my knitting tha's 'ad it ? "
cried S'r Ann after a little search.
" 'A 'e na," replied Sam from under the table.
" Yes, tha' 'as," said the mother, giving a blind
prod under the table with her foot.
" 'A 'e na then ! " persisted Sam.
The mother suggested various possible places of
discovery, and at last the knitting was found at the
back of the table drawer, among forks and old
wooden skewers.
" I 'an ter tell yer wheer ivrythink is," said the
mother in mild reproach. S'r Ann, however, gave no
heed to her parent. Her heart was torn for her knit-
ting, the fruit of her labours; it was a red woollen
cuff for the winter; a corkscrew was bored through
the web, and the ball of red wool was bristling with
skewers.
" It's a' thee, our Sam," she wailed. " I know it's
a' thee an' thy A. B. C."
Samuel, under the table, croaked out in a voice of
fierce monotony :
" P. is for Porkypine, whose bristles so strong
Kill the bold lion by pricking 'is tongue."
The mother began to shake with quiet laughter.
" His father learnt him that — made it all up," she
whispered proudly to us — and to him.
EDUCATION OF GEORGE 111
* Tell us what ' B ' is Sam."
" Shonna," grunted Sam.
" Go on, there's a duckie ; an' I'll ma' 'e a treacle
puddin'."
" Today? " asked S'r Ann eagerly.
" Go on, Sam, my duck," persisted the mother.
" Tha' 'as na got no treacle," said Sam conclu-
sively.
The needle was in the fire; the children stood
about watching.
" Will you do it yourself? " I asked Emily.
" I ! " she exclaimed, with wide eyes of astonish-
ment, and she shook her head emphatically.
" Then I must." I took out the needle, holding
it in my handkerchief. I took her hand and ex-
amined the wound. But when she saw the hot glow
of the needle, she snatched away her hand, and
looked into my eyes, laughing in a half-hysterical
fear and shame. I was very serious, very insistent.
She yielded me her hand again, biting her lips in
imagination of the pain, and looking at me. While
my eyes were looking into hers she had courage;
when I was forced to pay attention to my cau-
terising, she glanced down, and with a sharp " Ah ! "
ending in a little laugh, she put her hands behind
her, and looked again up at me with wide
brown eyes, all quivering with apprehension,
and a little shame, and a laughter that held much
pleading.
One of the children began to cry.
" It is no good," said I, throwing the fast cooling
needle on to the hearth.
I gave the girls all the pennies I had — then I of-
112 THE WHITE PEACOCK
fered Sam, who had crept out of the shelter of the
table, a sixpence.
" Shonna a'e that," he said, turning from the small
coin.
" Well — I have no more pennies, so nothing will
be your share."
I gave the other boy a rickety knife I had in my
pocket. Sam looked fiercely at me. Eager for re-
venge, he picked up the " porkypine quill " by the
hot end. He dropped it with a shout of rage, and,
seizing a cup off the table, flung it at the fortunate
Jack. It smashed against the fire-place. The mother
grabbed at Sam, but he was gone. A girl, a little
girl, wailed, " Oh, that's my rosey mug — my rosey
mug." We fled from the scene of confusion. Emily
had hardly noticed it. Her thoughts were of herself,
and of me.
" I am an awful coward," said she humbly.
" But I can't help it " she looked beseechingly.
" Never mind," said I.
" All my flesh seems to jump from it. You don't
know how I feel."
" Well — never mind."
" I couldn't help it, not for my life."
" I wonder," said I, " if anything could possibly
disturb that young bacon-sucker? He didn't even
look round at the smash."
" No," said she, biting the tip of her finger
moodily.
Further conversation was interrupted by howls
from the rear. Looking round we saw Sam career-
ing after us over the close-bitten turf, howling scorn
and derision at us. " Kabbit-tail, rabbit-tail," he
EDUCATION OF GEORGE 113
cried, his bare little legs twinkling, and his little
shirt fluttering in the cold morning air. Fortu-
nately, at last he trod on a thistle or a thorn, for
when we looked round again to see why he was silent,
he was capering on one leg, holding his wounded foot
in his hands.
CHAPTER VII
LETTIE PULLS DOWN THE SMALL GOLD GRAPES
During the falling of the leaves Lettie was very wil-
ful. She. uttered many banalities concerning men,
and love, and marriage; she taunted Leslie and
thwarted his wishes. At last he stayed away from
her. She had been several times down to the mill,
but because she fancied they were very familiar, re-
ceiving her on to their rough plane like one of them-
selves, she stayed away. Since the death of our
father she had been restless ; since inheriting her lit-
tle fortune she had become proud, scornful, difficult
to please. Difficult to please in every circumstance ;
she, who had always been so rippling in thoughtless
life, sat down in the window sill to think, and her
strong teeth bit at her handkerchief till it was torn
in holes. She would say nothing to me ; she read all
things that dealt with modern women.
One afternoon Lettie walked over to Eberwich.
Leslie had not been to see us for a fortnight. It was
a grey, dree afternoon. The wind drifted a clammy
fog across the hills, and the roads were black and
deep with mud. The trees in the wood slouched
sulkily. It was a day to be shut out and ignored if
possible. I heaped up the fire, and went to draw the
curtains and make perfect the room. Then I saw
Lettie coming along the path quickly, very erect.
When she came in her colour was high.
114
LETTIE PULLS THE GRAPES 115
" Tea not laid ? " she said briefly.
" Kebecca has just brought in the lamp," said I.
Lettie took off her coat and furs, and flung them
on the couch. She went to the mirror, lifted her
hair, all curled by the fog, and stared haughtily at
herself. Then she swung round, looked at the bare
table, and rang the bell.
It was so rare a thing for us to ring the bell from
the dining-room, that Rebecca went first to the outer
door. Then she came in the room saying:
"Did you ring?"
" I thought tea would have been ready," said Let-
tie coldly. Rebecca looked at me, and at her, and
replied :
" It is but half-past four. I can bring it in."
Mother came down hearing the chink of the tea-
cups.
" Well," she said to Lettie, who was unlacing her
boots, " and did you find it a pleasant walk ? "
" Except for the mud," was the reply.
" Ah, I guess you wished you had stayed at home.
What a state for your boots ! — and your skirts too, I
know. Here, let me take them into the kitchen."
" Let Rebecca take them," said Lettie — but mother
was out of the room.
When mother had poured out the tea, we sat
silently at table. It was on the tip of our tongues to
ask Lettie what ailed her, but we were experienced
and we refrained. After a while she said :
" Do you know, I met Leslie Tempest."
" Oh," said mother tentatively, " Did he come
along with you ? "
" He did not look at me."
116 THE WHITE PEACOCK
" Oh ! " exclaimed mother, and it was speaking
volumes ; then, after a moment, she resumed :
" Perhaps he did not see you."
" Or was it a stony Britisher % " I asked.
" He saw me," declared Lettie, " or he wouldn't
have made such a babyish show of being delighted
with Margaret Kaymond."
" It may have been no show — he still may not have
seen you."
" I felt at once that he had ; I could see his anima-
tion was extravagant. He need not have troubled
himself, I was not going to run after him."
" You seem very cross," said I.
" Indeed I am not. But he knew I had to walk
all this way home, and he could take up Margaret,
who has only half the distance."
"Was he driving?"
" In the dog-cart." She cut her toast into strips
viciously. We waited patiently.
" It was mean of him, wasn't it mother ? "
" Well, my girl, you have treated him badly."
" What a baby ! What a mean, manly baby ! Men
are great infants."
" And girls," said mother, " do not know what
they want."
" A grown-up quality," I added.
" Nevertheless," said Lettie, " he is a mean fop,
and I detest him."
She rose and sorted out some stitchery. Lettie
never stitched unless she were in a bad humour.
Mother smiled at me, sighed, and proceeded to Mr.
Gladstone for comfort ; her breviary and missal were
Morley's Life of Gladstone.
LETTIE PULLS THE GRAPES 117
" I had to take a letter to Highclose to Mrs. Tem-
pest — from my mother, concerning a bazaar in pro-
cess at the church. " I will bring Leslie back with
me," said I to myself.
The night was black and hateful. The lamps by
the road from Eberwich ended at Kethermere; their
yellow blur on the water made the cold, wet inferno
of the night more ugly.
Leslie and Marie were both in the library — half a
library, half a business office; used also as a lounge
room, being cosy. Leslie lay in a great armchair by
the fire, immune among clouds of blue smoke. Marie
was perched on the steps, a great volume on her knee.
Leslie got up in his cloud, shook hands, greeted me
curtly, and vanished again. Marie smiled me a
quaint, vexed smile, saying:
" Oh, Cyril, I'm so glad you've come. I'm so
worried, and Leslie says he's not a pastry cook,
though I'm sure I don't want him to be one, only he
need not be a bear."
" What's the matter ? "
She frowned, gave the big volume a little smack
and said:
" Why, I do so much want to make some of those
Spanish tartlets of your mother's that are so delicious,
and of course Mabel knows nothing of them, and
they're not in my cookery book, and I've looked
through page upon page of the encyclopedia, right
through * Spain,' and there's nothing yet, and there
are fifty pages more, and Leslie won't help me,
though I've got a headache, because he's frabous
about something." She looked at me in comical
despair.
118 THE WHITE PEACOCK
" Do you want them for the bazaar ? "
" Yes — for to-morrow. Cook has done the rest,
but I had fairly set my heart on these. Don't you
think they are lovely ? "
" Exquisitely lovely. Suppose I go and ask
mother."
" If you would. But no, oh no, you can't make
all that journey this terrible night. We are simply
besieged by mud. The men are both out — William
has gone to meet father — and mother has sent George
to carry some things to the vicarage. I can't ask one
of the girls on a night like this. I shall have to let
it go — and the cranberry tarts too — it cannot be
helped. I am so miserable."
" Ask Leslie," said I.
" He is too cross," she replied, looking at him.
He did not deign a remark.
"Will you Leslie?"
"What?"
" Go across to Woodside for me ? "
"What for?"
" A recipe. Do, there's a dear boy."
" Where are the men ? "
" They are both engaged — they are out."
" Send a girl, then."
" At night like this ? Who would go ? "
" Cissy."
" I shall not ask her. Isn't he mean, Cyril ? Men
are mean."
" I will come back," said I. " There is nothing at
home to do. Mother is reading, and Lettie is stitch-
ing. The weather disagrees with her, as it does with
Leslie."
LETTIE PULLS THE GRAPES 119
" But it is not fair " she said, looking at me
softly. Then she put away the great book, and
climbed down.
" Won't you go, Leslie ? " she said, laying her hand
on his shoulder.
" Women ! " he said, rising as if reluctantly.
" There's no end to their wants and their caprices."
" I thought he would go," said she warmly. She
ran to fetch his overcoat. He put one arm slowly
in the sleeve, and then the other, but he would not
lift the coat on to his shoulders.
" Well ! " she said, struggling on tiptoe, " You are
a great creature! Can't you get it on, naughty
child?"
" Give her a chair to stand on," he said.
She shook the collar of the coat sharply, but he
stood like a sheep, impassive.
" Leslie, you are too bad. I can't get it on, you
stupid boy."
I took the coat and jerked it on.
" There," she said, giving him his cap. " Now
don't be long."
" What a damned dirty night ! " said he, when we
were out.
" It is," said I.
" The town, anywhere's better than this hell of a
country."
" Ha ! How did you enjoy yourself % "
He began a long history of three days in the
metropolis. I listened, and heard little. I heard
more plainly the cry of some night birds over
Nethermere, and the peevish, wailing, yarling cry
of some beast in the wood. I was thankful to
120 THE WHITE PEACOCK
slam the door behind me, to stand in the light of
the hall.
" Leslie ! " exclaimed mother, " I am glad to see
you."
" Thank you," he said, turning to Lettie, who sat
with her lap full of work, her head busily bent.
" You see I can't get up," she said, giving him
her hand, adorned as it was by the thimble. " How
nice of you to come! We did not know you were
back."
" But ! " he exclaimed, then he stopped.
" I suppose you enjoyed yourself," she went on
calmly.
" Immensely, thanks."
Snap, snap, snap; went her needle through the
new stuff. Then, without looking up, she said :
" Yes, no doubt. You have the dir of a man who
has been enjoying himself."
" How do you mean ? "
" A kind of guilty — or shall I say embarrassed —
look. Don't you notice it mother ? "
" I do ! " said my mother.
" I suppose it means we may not ask him ques-
tions," Lettie concluded, always very busily sewing.
He laughed. She had broken her cotton, and was
trying to thread the needle again.
" What have you been doing this miserable
weather ? " he enquired awkwardly.
" Oh, we have sat at home desolate. ' Ever of thee
I'm fo-o-ondly dreeaming ' — and so on. Haven't we
mother ? "
"Well," said mother, "I don't know. We
imagined him all sorts of lions up there,"
LETTIE PULLS THE GRAPES 121
" What a shame we may not ask him to roar his old
roars over for us," said Lettie.
" What are they like ? " he asked.
" How should I know ? Like a sucking dove, to
judge from your present voice. ' A monstrous little
voice/ "
He laughed uncomfortably.
She went on sewing, suddenly beginning to sing to
herself :
* Pussy cat, Pussy cat, where have you been ?
Pve been up to London to see the fine queen :
Pussy cat, Pussy cat, what did you there
I frightened a little mouse under a stair."
" I suppose," she added, " that may be so. Poor
mouse ! — but I guess she's none the worse. You did
not see the queen, though ? "
" She was not in London," he replied, sarcastically.
" You don't " she said, taking two pins from
between her teeth. " I suppose you don't mean by
that, she was in Eberwich — your queen ? "
" I don't know where she was," he answered
angrily.
" Oh ! " she said, very sweetly, " I thought perhaps
you had met her in Eberwich. When did you come
back?"
" Last night," he replied.
" Oh — why didn't you come and see us before ? "
" I've been at the offices all day."
" I've been up to Eberwich," she said innocently.
" Have you ? "
" Yes. And I feel so cross because of it. I
122 THE WHITE PEACOCK
thought I might see you. I felt as if you were at
home."
She stitched a little, and glanced up secretly to
watch his face redden, then she continued innocently,
" Yes — I felt you had come back. It is funny how
one has a feeling occasionally that someone is near;
when it is someone one has a sympathy with." She
continued to stitch, then she took a pin from her
bosom, and fixed her work, all without the least suspi-
cion of guile.
" I thought I might meet you when I was out "
another pause, another fixing, a pin to be taken from
her lips—" but I didn't."
" I was at the office till rather late," he said
quickly.
She stitched away calmly, provokingly.
She took the pin from her mouth again, fixed down
a fold of stuff, and said softly:
" You little liar."
Mother had gone out of the room for her recipe
book.
He sat on his chair dumb with mortification. She
stitched swiftly and unerringly. There was silence
for some moments. Then he spoke :
" I did not know you wanted me for the pleasure
of plucking this crow," he said.
" I wanted you ! " she exclaimed, looking up for
the first time, " Who said I wanted you ? "
" No one. If you didn't want me I may as well
go."
The sound of stitching alone broke the silence for
some moments, then she said deliberately :
" What made you think I wanted you ? "
LETTIE PULLS THE GRAPES 123
" I don't care a damn whether you wanted me, or
whether you didn't."
" It seems to upset you ! And don't use bad lan-
guage. It is the privilege of those near and dear to
one."
" That's why you begin it, I suppose."
" I cannot remember -" she said, loftily.
He laughed sarcastically.
" Well — if you're so beastly cut up about it-
He put this tentatively, expecting the soft answer.
But she refused to speak, and went on stitching. He
fidgeted about, twisted his cap uncomfortably, and
sighed. At last he said :
" Well — you — have we done then ? "
She had the vast superiority, in that she was
engaged in ostentatious work. She could fix the
cloth, regard it quizzically, re-arrange it, settle down
and begin to sew before, she replied. This humbled
him. At last she said :
" I thought so this afternoon."
" But, good God, Lettie, can't you drop it ? "
" And then ? " — the question startled him.
« Why !— forget it," he replied.
" Well ? " — she spoke softly, gently. He answered
to the call like an eager hound. He crossed quickly
to her side as she sat sewing, and said, in a low voice :
" You do care something for me, don't you, Let-
tie?"
" Well," — it was modulated kindly, a sort of prom-
ise of assent.
" You have treated me rottenly, you know, haven't
you ? You know I — well, I care a good bit."
" It is a queer way of showing it." Her voice was
124 THE WHITE PEACOCK
now a gentle reproof, the sweetest of surrenders and
forgiveness. He leaned forward, took her face in his
hands, and kissed her, murmuring:
" You are a little tease."
She laid her sewing in her lap, and looked up.
The next day, Sunday, broke wet and dreary.
Breakfast was late, and about ten o'clock we stood
at the window looking upon the impossibility of our
going to church.
There was a driving drizzle of rain, like a dirty
curtain before the landscape. The nasturtium leaves
by the garden walk had gone rotten in a frost, and
the gay green discs had given place to the first black
flags of winter, hung on flaccid stalks, pinched at the
neck. The grass plot was strewn with fallen leaves,
wet and brilliant : scarlet splashes of Virginia creeper,
golden drift from the limes, ruddy brown shawls
under the beeches, and away back in the corner, the
black mat of maple leaves, heavy soddened; they
ought to have been a vivid lemon colour. Occasionally
one of these great black leaves would loose its hold,
and zigzag down, staggering in the dance of death.
" There now ! " said Lettie suddenly.
I looked up in time to see a crow close his wings
and clutch the topmost bough of an old grey holly
tree on the edge of the clearing. He flapped again,
recovered his balance, and folded himself up in black
resignation to the detestable weather.
" Why has the old wretch settled just over our
noses," said Lettie petulantly. " Just to blot the
promise of a sorrow."
" Your's or mine ? " I asked.
LETTIE PULLS THE GRAPES 125
" He is looking at me, I declare."
" You can see the wicked pupil of his eye at this
distance," I insinuated.
" Well," she replied, determined to take this omen
unto herself. " I saw him first."
" l One for sorrow, two for joy,
Three for a letter, four for a boy,
Five for silver, six for gold,
And seven for a secret never told/
— You may bet he's only a messenger in advance.
There'll be three more shortly, and you'll have your
four," said I, comforting.
" Do you know," she said, " it is very funny,
but whenever I've particularly noticed one crow, I've
had some sorrow or other."
" And when you notice four ? " I asked.
" You should have heard old Mrs. Wagstaffe,"
was her reply. " She declares an old crow croaked in
their apple tree every day for a week before Jerry
got drowned."
" Great sorrow for her," I remarked.
" Oh, but she wept abundantly. I felt like weep-
ing too, but somehow I laughed. She hoped he had
gone to heaven — but — I'm sick of that word ' but '
— it is always tangling one's thoughts."
" But, Jerry ! " I insisted.
" Oh, she lifted up her forehead, and the tears
dripped off her nose. He must have been an old
nuisance, Syb. I can't understand why women marry
such men. I felt downright glad to think of the
drunken old wretch toppling into the canal out of the
way."
126 THE WHITE PEACOCK
•
She pulled the thick curtain across the window, and
nestled down in it, resting her cheek against the edge,
protecting herself from the cold window pane. The
wet, grey wind shook the half naked trees, whose
leaves dripped and shone sullenly. Even the trunks
were blackened, trickling with the rain which drove
persistently.
Whirled down the sky like black maple leaves
caught up aloft, came two more crows. They swept
down and clung hold of the trees in front of the
house, staying near the old forerunner. Lettie
watched them, half amused, half melancholy. One
bird was carried past. He swerved round and began
to battle up the wind, rising higher, and rowing
laboriously against the driving wet current.
" Here comes your fourth," said I.
She did not answer, but continued to watch. The
bird wrestled heroically, but the wind pushed him
aside, tilted him, caught under his broad wings and
bore him down. He swept in level flight down the
stream, outspread and still, as if fixed in despair. I
grieved for him. Sadly two of his fellows rose and
were carried away after him, like souls hunting for
a body to inhabit, and despairing. Only the first
ghoul was left on the withered, silver-grey skeleton
of the holly.
" He won't even say ' Nevermore/ " I remarked.
" He has more sense," replied Lettie. She looked
a trifle lugubrious. Then she continued : " Better say
' Nevermore ' than ' Evermore.' "
"Why?" I asked.
" Oh, I don't know. Fancy this ' Evermore.' "
She had been sure in her own soul that Leslie would
LETTIE PULLS THE GRAPES 127
come — now she began to doubt: — things were very
perplexing.
The bell in the kitchen jangled ; she jumped up. I
went and opened the door. He came in. She gave
him one bright look of satisfaction. He saw it, and
understood.
" Helen has got some people over — I have been
awfully rude to leave them now," he said quietly.
" What a dreadful day ! " said mother.
" Oh, fearful ! Your face is red, Lettie ! What
have you been doing ? "
" Looking into the fire."
"What did you see?"
" The pictures wouldn't come plain — nothing."
He laughed. We were silent for some time.
" You were expecting me ? " he murmured.
" Yes — I knew you'd come."
They were left alone. He came up to her and
put his arm around her, as she stood with her olbow
on the mantelpiece.
" You do want me," he pleaded softly.
" Yes," she murmured.
He held her in his arms and kissed her repeat-
edly, again and again, till she was out of breath,
and put up her hand, and gently pushed her face
away.
" You are a cold little lover — you are a shy bird,"
he said, laughing into her eyes. He saw her tears
rise, swimming on her lids, but not falling.
" Why, my love, my darling — why ! " — he put his
face to her's, and took the tear on his cheek :
" I know you love me," he said, gently, all tender-
128 THE WHITE PEACOCK
" Do you know," lie murmured. " I can positively
feel the tears rising up from my heart and throat.
They are quite painful gathering, my love. There —
you can do anything with me."
They were silent for some time. After a while,
a rather long while, she came upstairs and found
mother — and at the end of some minutes I heard my
mother go to him.
I sat by my window and watched the low clouds
reel and stagger past. It seemed as if everything
were being swept along — I myself seemed to have
lost my substance, to have become detached from
concrete things and the firm trodden pavement of
everyday life. Onward, always onward, not knowing
where, nor why, the wind, the clouds, the rain and
the birds and the leaves, everything whirling along —
why?
All this time the old crow sat motionless, though
the clouds tumbled, and were rent and piled, though
the trees bent, and the window-pane shivered with
running water. Then I found it had ceased to rain ;
that there was a sickly yellow gleam of sunlight,
brightening on some great elm-leaves near at hand till
they looked like ripe lemons hanging. The crow
looked at me — I was certain he looked at me.
" What do you think of it all ? " I asked him.
He eyed me with contempt : great f eatherless, half
winged bird as I was, incomprehensible, contemptible,
but awful. I believe he hated me.
" But," said I, " if a raven could answer, why
won't you ? "
He looked wearily away. Nevertheless my gaze
disquieted him. He turned uneasily ; he rose, waved
LETTIE PULLS THE GRAPES 129
his wings as if for flight, poised, then settled defi-
antly down again.
" You are no good," said I, " you won't help even
with a word."
He sat stolidly unconcerned. Then I heard the
lapwings in the meadow crying, crying. They
seemed to seek the storm, yet to rail at it. They
wheeled in the wind, yet never ceased to complain of
it. They enjoyed the struggle, and lamented it in
wild lament, through which came a sound of exul-
tation. All the lapwings cried, cried the same tale,
" Bitter, bitter, the struggle — for nothing, nothing,
nothing," — and all the time they swung about on
their broad wings, revelling.
" There," said I to the crow, " they try it, and find
it bitter, but they wouldn't like to miss it, to sit still
like you, you old corpse."
He could not endure this. He rose in defiance,
flapped his wings, and launched off, uttering one
" Caw " of sinister foreboding. He was soon whirled
away.
I discovered that I was very cold, so I went down-
stairs.
Twisting a curl round his finger, one of those
loose curls that always dance free from the captured)
hair, Leslie said :
" Look how fond your hair is of me ; look how it
twines round my finger. Do you know, your hair —
the light in it is like — oh — buttercups in the sun."
" It is like me — it won't be kept in bounds," she
replied.
" Shame if it were — like this, it brushes my face —
so — and sets me tingling like music."
130 THE WHITE PEACOCK
" Behave ! Now be still, and I'll tell you what sort
of music you make."
" Oh— well— tell me."
" Like the calling of throstles and blackies, in the
evening, frightening the pale little wood-anemones,
till they run panting and swaying right up to our
wall. Like the ringing of bluebells when the bees
are at them; like Hippomenes, out-of -breath, laugh-
ing because he'd won."
He kissed her with rapturous admiration.
" Marriage music, sir," she added.
" What golden apples did I throw ? " he asked
lightly.
" What ! " she exclaimed, half mocking.
" This Atalanta," he replied, looking lovingly upon
her, " this Atalanta — I believe she just lagged at last
on purpose."
" You have it," she cried, laughing, submitting
to his caresses. " It was you — the apples of your firm
heels — the apples of your eyes — the apples Eve bit
— that won me — hein ! "
" That was it — you are clever, you are rare. And
I've won, won the ripe apples of your cheeks, and
your breasts, and your very fists — they can't stop me
— and — and — all your roundness and warmness and
softness — I've won you, Lettie."
She nodded wickedly, saying:
" All those — those — yes."
" All — she admits it — everything ! "
" Oh ! — but let me breathe. Did you claim every-
thing?"
" Yes, and you gave it me."
" Not yet. Everything though ? "
LETTIE PULLS THE GRAPES 131
" Every atom."
" But — now you look "
"Did I look aside?"
" With the inward eye. Suppose now we were
two angels "
" Oh, dear — a sloppy angel ! "
" Well — don't interrupt now — suppose I were one
— like the ' Blessed Damosel.' "
a With a warm bosom ! "
" Don't be foolish, now — I a i Blessed Damosel '
and you kicking the brown beech leaves below think-
ing »
u What are you driving at ? "
" Would you be thinking — thoughts like prayers ? "
u What on earth do you ask that for ? Oh — I
think I'd be cursing — eh ? "
" No — saying fragrant prayers — that your thin
soul might mount up "
" Hang thin souls, Lettie ! I'm not one or your
souly sort. I can't stand Pre-Baphaelities. You —
You're not a Burne-Jonesess — you're an Albert
Moore. I think there's more in the warm touch of
a soft body than in a prayer. I'll pray with kisses."
" And when you can't ? "
" I'll wait till prayer-time again. By Jove, I'd
rather feel my arms full of you ; I'd rather touch that
red mouth — you grudger! — than sing hymns with
you in any heaven."
" I'm afraid you'll never sing hymns with me in
heaven."
" Well — I have you here — yes, I have you now."
u Our life is but a fading dawn ? "
" Liar ! — Well, you called me ! Besides, I don't
132 THE WHITE PEACOCK
care ; ' Carpe diem/ my rosebud, my fawn. There's
a nice Carmen about a fawn. ' Time to leave its
mother, and venture into a warm embrace. ' Poor
old Horace — I've forgotten him."
u Then poor old Horace."
" Ha ! Ha !— Well, I shan't forget you. What's
that queer look in your eyes ? "
"What is it?"
" Nay — you tell me. You are such a tease, there's
no getting to the bottom of you."
" You can fathom the depth of a kiss "
" I will— I will "
After a while he asked :
" When shall we be properly engaged, Lettie ? "
" Oh, wait till Christmas — till I am twenty-one."
" Nearly three months ! Why on earth ! "
" It will make no difference. I shall be able to
choose thee of my own free choice then."
" But three months ! "
" I shall consider thee engaged — it doesn't matter
about other people."
" I thought we should be married in three months."
" Ah — married in haste . But what will your
mother say ? "
" Say ! Oh, she'll say it's the first wise thing I've
done. You'll make a fine wife, Lettie, able to enter-
tain, and all that."
" You will flutter brilliantly."
" We will."
" No — you'll be the moth — I'll paint your wings —
gaudy feather-dust. Then when you lose your col-
oured dust, when you fly too near the light, or when
you play dodge with a butterfly net — away goes my
LETTIE PULLS THE GRAPES 133
part — you can't fly — I — alas, poor me! What be-
comes of the feather-dust when the moth brushes his
wings against a butterfly net ? "
" What are you making so many words about ?
You don't know now, do you \ "
" No— that I don't."
" Then just be comfortable. Let me look at my-
self in your eyes."
" Narcissus, Narcissus ! — Do you see yourself well ?
Does the image flatter you? — Or is it a troubled
stream, distorting your fair lineaments."
" I can't see anything — only feel you looking —
you are laughing at me — What have you behind there
— what joke ? "
" I — I'm thinking you're just like Narcissus — a
sweet, beautiful youth."
" Be serious — do."
" It would be dangerous. You'd die of it, and I —
I should "
"What!"
" Be just like I am now — serious."
He looked proudly, thinking she referred to the
earnestness of her love.
In the wood the wind rumbled and roared hoarsely
overhead, but not a breath stirred among the saddened
bracken. An occasional raindrop was shaken out
of the trees ; I slipped on the wet paths. Black bars
striped the grey tree-trunks, where water had trickled
down ; the bracken was overthrown, its yellow ranks
broken. I slid down the steep path to the gate, out
of the wood.
134 THE WHITE PEACOCK
Armies of cloud marched in rank across the sky,
heavily laden, almost brushing the gorse on the com-
mon. The wind was cold and disheartening. The
ground sobbed at every step. The brook was full,
swirling along, hurrying, talking to itself, in ab-
sorbed intent tones. The clouds darkened ; I felt the
rain. Careless of the mud, I ran, and burst into the
farm kitchen.
The children were painting, and they immediately
claimed my help.
" Emily — and George — are in the front room,"
said the mother, quietly, for it was Sunday afternoon.
I satisfied the little ones j I said a few words to the
mother, and sat down to take off my clogs.
In the parlour, the father, big and comfortable, was
sleeping in an arm-chair. Emily was writing at the
table — she hurriedly hid her papers when I entered.
George was sitting by the fire, reading. He looked
up as I entered, and I loved him when he looked up
at me, and as he lingered on his quiet " Hullo ! "
His eyes were beautifully eloquent — as eloquent as
a kiss.
We talked in subdued murmurs, because the father
was asleep, opulently asleep, his tanned face as still
as a brown pear against the wall. The clock itself
went slowly, with languid throbs. We gathered
round the fire, and talked quietly, about nothing —
blissful merely in the sound of our voices, a mur-
mured, soothing sound — a grateful, dispassionate love
trio.
At last George rose, put down his book — looked at
his father — and went out.
In the barn there was a sound of the pulper crunch-
LETTIE PULLS THE GRAPES 135
ing the turnips. The crisp strips of turnip sprinkled
quietly down onto a heap of gold which grew beneath
the pulper. The smell of pulped turnips, keen and
sweet, brings back to me the feeling of many winter
nights, when frozen hoof-prints crunch in the yard,
and Orion is in the south ; when a friendship was at
its mystical best.
" Pulping on Sunday ! " I exclaimed.
" Father didn't do it yesterday ; it's his work ; and
I didn't notice it. You know — Father often forgets
— he doesn't like to have to work in the afternoon,
now."
The cattle stirred in their stalls ; the chains rattled
round the posts; a cow coughed noisily. When
George had finished pulping, and it was quiet enough
for talk, just as he was spreading the first layers of
chop and turnip and meal — in ran Emily, with her
hair in silken, twining confusion, her eyes glowing —
to bid us go in to tea before the milking was begun.
It was the custom to milk before tea on Sunday — but
George abandoned it without demur — his father
willed it so, and his father was master, not to be
questioned on farm matters, however one disagreed.
The last day in October had been dreary enough ;
the night could not come too early. We had tea by
lamplight, merrily, with the father radiating comfort
as the lamp shone yellow light. Sunday tea was im-
perfect without a visitor; with me, they always de-
clared, it was perfect. I loved to hear them say so.
I smiled, rejoicing quietly into my teacup when the
Father said :
" It seems proper to have Cyril here at Sunday tea,
it seems natural."
136 THE WHITE PEACOCK
He was most loath to break the delightful bond
of the lamp-lit tea-table; he looked up with a half-
appealing glance when George at last pushed back
his chair and said he supposed he'd better make a
start.
" Ay," said the father in a mild, conciliatory tone,
" I'll be out in a minute."
The lamp hung against the barn-wall, softly illumi-
nating the lower part of the building, where bits of
hay and white dust lay in the hollows between the
bricks, where the curled chips of turnip scattered
orange gleams over the earthen floor; the lofty roof,
with its swallows' nests under the tiles, was deep in
shadow, and the corners were full of darkness, hid-
ing, half hiding, the hay, the chopper, the bins. The
light shone along the passages before the stalls, glis-
tening on the moist noses of the cattle, and on the
whitewash of the walls.
George was very cheerful; but I wanted to tell
him my message. When he had finished the feed-
ing, and had at last sat down to milk, I said :
" I told you Leslie Tempest was at our house when
I came away."
He sat with the bucket between his knees, his hands
at the cow's udder, about to begin to milk. He looked
up a question at me.
" They are practically engaged now," I said.
He did not turn his eyes away, but he ceased to
look at me. As one who is listening for a far-off
noise, he sat with his eyes fixed. Then he bent his
head, and leaned it against the side of the cow, as
if he would begin to milk. But he did not. The
cow looked round and stirred uneasily. He began to
LETTIE PULLS THE GRAPES 137
draw the milk, and then to milk mechanically. I
watched the movement of his hands, listening to the
rhythmic clang of the jets of milk on the bucket, as a
relief. After a while the movement of his hands be-
came slower, thoughtful — then stopped.
" She has really said yes ? "
I nodded.
" And what does your mother say ? "
" She is pleased."
He began to milk again. The cow stirred un-
easily, shifting her legs. He looked at her angrily,
and went on milking. Then, quite -upset, she shifted
again, and swung her tail in his face.
" Stand still ! " he shouted, striking her on the
haunch. She seemed to cower like a beaten woman.
He swore at her, and continued to milk. She did
not yield much that night; she was very restive; he
took the stool from beneath him and gave her a good
blow ; I heard the stool knock on her prominent hip
bone. After that she stood still, but her milk soon
ceased to flow.
When he stood up, he paused before he went to
the next beast, and I thought he was going to talk.
But just then the father came along with his bucket.
He looked in the shed, and, laughing in his mature,
pleasant way, said :
" So you're an onlooker to-day, Cyril — I thought
you'd have milked a cow or two for me by now."
" Nay," said I, " Sunday is a day of rest — and
milking makes your hands ache."
" You only want a bit more practice," he said,
joking in his ripe fashion. " Why George, is that
all you've got from Julia ? "
TEE Wi:iTE PEACOCK
is.'
a It ;. »
a
H'm — she's soon going dry. Julia, old lady,
don't go and turn skinny."
When he had gone, and the shed was still, the air
seemed colder. I heard his good-humoured " Stand
over, old lass," from the other shed, and the drum-
beats of the first jets of milk on the pail.
" He has a comfortable time," said George, look-
ing savage. I laughed. He still waited.
" You really expected Lettie to have him" I said.
" I suppose so," he replied, " then she'd made up
her mind to it. It didn't matter — what she wanted
^at the bottom."
" You ? " said I.
" If it hadn't been that he was a prize — with a
ticket — she'd have had "
"You! "said I.
" She was afraid — look how she turned and kept
away "
" From you?" said I.
" I should like to squeeze her till she screamed."
" You should have gripped her before, and kept
her," said I.
" She — she's like a woman, like a cat — running to
comforts — she strikes a bargain. Women are all
tradesmen."
" Don't generalise, it's no good."
" She's like a prostitute "
" It's banal ! I believe she loves him."
He started, and looked at me queerly. He looked
quite childish in his doubt and perplexity.
"She, what ?"
" Loves him — honestly."
LETTIE PULLS THE GRAPES 139
" She'd 'a loved me better," he muttered, and
turned to his milking. I left him and went to talk
to his father. When the latter's four beasts were
finished, George's light still shone in the other shed.
I went and found him at the fifth, the last cow.
When at length he had finished he put down his pail,
and going over to poor Julia, stood scratching her
back, and her poll, and her nose, looking into her
big, startled eye and murmuring. She was afraid;
she jerked her head, giving him a good blow on the
cheek with her horn.
" You can't understand them," he said sadly, rub-
bing his face, and looking at me with his dark, seri-
ous eyes.
" I never knew I couldn't understand them. I
never thought about it — till . But you know,
Cyril, she led me on."
I laughed at his rueful appearance.
CHAPTER VIII
THE EIOT OF CHRISTMAS
Fob some weeks, during the latter part of November
and the beginning of December, I was kept indoors
by a cold. At last came a frost which cleared the
air and dried the mud. On the second Saturday
before Christmas the world was transformed; tall,
silver and pearl-grey trees rose pale against a dim-
blue sky, like trees in some rare, pale Paradise ; the
whole woodland was as if petrified in marble and
silver and snow; the holly-leaves and long leaves of
the rhododendron were rimmed and spangled with
delicate tracery.
When the night came clear and bright, with a
moon among the hoar-frost, I rebelled against con-
finement, and the house. No longer the mists and
dank weather made the home dear ; to-night even the
glare of the distant little iron works was not visible,
for the low clouds were gone, and pale stars blinked
from beyond the moon.
Lettie was staying with me ; Leslie was in London
again. She tried to remonstrate in a sisterly fashion
when I said I would go out.
" Only down to the Mill," said I. Then she hesi-
tated a while — said she would come too. I suppose
I looked at her curiously, for she said :
" Oh — if you would rather go alone ! "
140
THE RIOT OF CHRISTMAS 141
" Come — come — yes, come ! " said I, smiling to
myself.
Lettie was in her old animated mood. She ran,
leaping over rough places, laughing, talking to her-
self in French. We came to the Mill. Gyp did not
bark. I opened the outer door and we crept softly
into the great dark scullery, peeping into the kitchen
through the crack of the door.
The mother sat by the hearth, where was a big
bath half full of soapy water, and at her feet, warm-
ing his bare legs at the fire, was David, who had
just been bathed. The mother was gently rubbing
his fine fair hair into a cloud. Mollie was combing
out her brown curls, sitting by her father, who, in
the fire-seat, was reading aloud in a hearty voice,
with quaint precision. At the table sat Emily and
George : she was quickly picking over a pile of little
yellow raisins, and he, slowly, with his head sunk,
was stoning the large raisins. David kept reaching
forward to play with the sleepy cat — interrupting
his mother's rubbing. There was no sound but the
voice of the father, full of zest; I am afraid they
were not all listening carefully. I clicked the latch
and entered.
" Lettie ! " exclaimed George.
" Cyril ! " cried Emily.
" Cyril, 'ooray ! " shouted David.
" Hullo, Cyril ! " said Mollie.
Six large brown eyes, round with surprise, wel-
comed me. They overwhelmed me with questions,
and made much of us. At length they were settled
and quiet again.
" Yes, I am a stranger," said Lettie, who had
142 THE WHITE PEACOCK
taken off her hat and furs and coat. " But you do
not expect me often, do you ? I may come at times,
eh?"
" We are only too glad," replied the mother.
" Nothing all day long but the sound of the sluice —
and mists, and rotten leaves. I am thankful to hear
a fresh voice."
" Is Cyril really better, Lettie ? " asked Emily
softly.
" He's a spoiled boy — I believe he keeps a little
bit ill so that we can cade him. Let me help you —
let me peel the apples — yes, yes — I will."
She went to the table, and occupied one side with
her apple-peeling. George had not spoken to her.
So she said:
" I won't help you — George, because I don't like
to feel my fingers so sticky, and because I love to see
you so domesticated."
" You'll enjoy the sight a long time, then, for
these things are numberless."
" You should eat one now and then — I always do."
" If I ate one I should eat the lot."
" Then you may give me your one."
He passed her a handful without speaking.
" That is too many, your mother is looking. Let
me just finish this apple. There, I've not broken the
peel!"
She stood up, holding up a long curling strip of
peel.
" How many times must I swing it, Mrs. Sax-
ton?"
" Three times— but it's not All Hallows' Eve."
" Never mind ! Look ! " she carefully swung
THE RIOT OF CHRISTMAS 143
the long band of green peel over her head three times,
letting it fall the third. The cat pounced on it, but
Mollie swept him off again.
" What is it? " cried Lettie, blushing.
" G," said the father, winking and laughing — the
mother looked daggers at him.
" It isn't nothink," said David naively, forgetting
his confusion at being in the presence of a lady in
his shirt. Mollie remarked in her cool way :
" It might be a * hess ' — if you couldn't write."
" Or an * L,' " I added. Lettie looked over at me
imperiously, and I was angry.
" What do you say, Emily ? " she asked.
" Nay," said Emily, " It's only you can see the
right letter."
" Tell us what's the right letter," said George to
her.
" I ! " exclaimed Lettie, " who can look into the
seeds of Time ? "
" Those who have set 'em and watched 'em
sprout," said I.
She flung the peel into the fire, laughing a short
laugh, and went on with her work.
Mrs. Saxton leaned over to her daughter and said
softly, so that he should not hear, that George was
pulling the flesh out of the raisins.
" George ! " said Emily sharply, " You're leaving
nothing but the husks."
He too was angry:
" * And he would fain fill his belly with the husks
that the swine did eat.' " he said quietly, taking a
handful of the fruit he had picked and putting some
in his mouth. Emily snatched away the basin :
144 THE WHITE PEACOCK
" It is too bad ! " she said.
" Here," said Lettie, handing him an apple she
had peeled. " You may have an apple, greedy boy."
He took it and looked at it. Then a malicious
smile twinkled round his eyes, — as he said :
" If you give me the apple, to whom will you give
the peel?"
" The swine," she said, as if she only understood
his first reference to the Prodigal Son. He put the
apple on the table.
" Don't you want it ? " she said.
" Mother," he said, comically, as if jesting. " She
is offering me the apple like Eve."
Like a flash, she snatched the apple from him, hid
it in her skirts a moment, looking at him with dilated
eyes, and then she flung it at the fire. She missed,
and the father leaned forward and picked it off the
hob, saying:
" The pigs may as well have it. You were slow,
George — when a lady offers you a thing you don't
have to make mouths."
"A ce qu'il parait," she cried, laughing now at
her ease, boisterously:
" Is she making love, Emily ? " asked the father,
laughing suggestively.
" She says it too fast for me," said Emily.
George was leaning back in his chair, his hands in
his breeches pockets.
" We shall have to finish his raisins after all,
Emily," said Lettie brightly. " Look what a lazy
animal he is."
" He likes his comfort," said Emily, with irony.
" The picture of content — solid, healthy, easy-
THE RIOT OF CHRISTMAS 145
moving content " continued Lettie. As he sat
thus, with his head thrown back against the end of
the ingle-seat, coatless, his red neck seen in repose,
he did indeed look remarkably comfortable.
" I shall never fret my fat away," he said stolidly.
" No — you and I — we are not like Cyril. We do
not burn our bodies in our heads — or our hearts, do
we?"
" We have it in common," said he, looking at her
indifferently beneath his lashes, as his head was
tilted back.
Lettie went on with the paring and coring of her
apples — then she took the raisins. Meanwhile,
Emily was making the house ring as she chopped the
suet in a wooden bowl. The children were ready
for bed. They kissed us all " Good-night " — save
George. At last they were gone, accompanied by
their mother. Emily put down her chopper, and
sighed that her arm was aching, so I relieved her.
The chopping went on for a long time, while the
father read, Lettie worked, and George sat tilted
back looking on. When at length the mincemeat was
finished we were all out of work. Lettie helped to
clear away — sat down — talked a little with effort —
jumped up and said :
" Oh, I'm too excited to sit still — it's so near
Christmas — let us play at something."
" A dance ? " said Emily.
" A dance — a dance ! "
He suddenly sat straight and got up :
" Come on ! " he said.
He kicked off his slippers, regardless of the holes
in his stocking feet, and put away the chairs. He
146 THE WHITE PEACOCK
held out his arm to her — she came with a laugh, and
away they went, dancing over the great nagged
kitchen at an incredible speed. Her light flying
steps followed his leaps; you could hear the quick
light tap of her toes more plainly than the thud of
his stockinged feet. Emily and I joined in. Em-
ily's movements are naturally slow, but we danced
at great speed. I was hot and perspiring, and she
was panting, when I put her in a chair. But they
whirled on in the dance, on and on till I was giddy,
till the father laughing, cried that they should stop.
But George continued the dance ; her hair was shaken
loose, and fell in a great coil down her back ; her feet
began to drag; you could hear a light slur on the
floor ; she was panting — I could see her lips murmur
to him, begging him to stop; he was laughing with
open mouth, holding her tight ; at last her feet trailed ;
he lifted her, clasping her tightly, and danced twice
round the room with her thus. Then he fell with a
crash on the sofa, pulling her beside him. His eyes
glowed like coals; he was panting in sobs, and his
hair was wet and glistening. She lay back on the
sofa, with his arm still around her, not moving ; she
was quite overcome. Her hair was wild about her
face. Emily was anxious; the father said, with a
shade of inquietude:
" YouVe overdone it — it is very foolish."
When at last she recovered her breath and her life,
she got up, and laughing in a queer way, began to
put up her hair. She went into the scullery where
were the brush and combs, and Emily followed with
a candle. When she returned, ordered once more,
with a little pallor succeeding the flush, and with a
THE RIOT OF CHRISTMAS 147
great black stain of sweat on her leathern belt where
his hand had held her, he looked up at her from his
position on the sofa, with a peculiar glance of tri-
umph, smiling.
" You great brute," she said, but her voice was not
as harsh as her words. He gave a deep sigh, sat up,
and laughed quietly.
" Another ? " he said.
" Will you dance with me?"
" At your pleasure."
" Come then — a minuet."
" Don't know it."
" Nevertheless, you must dance it. Come along."
He reared up, and walked to her side. She put
him through the steps, even dragging him round the
waltz. It was very ridiculous. When it was finished
she bowed him to his seat, and, wiping her hands on
her handkerchief, because his shirt, where her hand
had rested on his shoulders, was moist, she thanked
him.
" I hope you enjoyed it," he said.
" Ever so much," she replied.
" You made me look a fool — so no doubt you did."
" Do you think you could look a fool ? Why you
are ironical ! Ca marche ! In other words, you have
come on. But it is a sweet dance."
He looked at her, lowered his eyelids, and said
nothing.
" Ah, well," she laughed, " some are bred for the
minuet, and some for "
" — Less tomfoolery," he answered.
" Ah — you call it tomfoolery because you cannot
do it. Myself, I like it — so "
148 THE WHITE PEACOCK
"And I can't do it?"
" Could you ? Did you ? You are not built that
way."
" Sort of Clarence MacFadden," lie said, lighting
a pipe as if the conversation did not interest him.
" Yes — what ages since we sang that !
' Clarence McFadden he wanted to dance
But his feet were not gaited that way . . . '
" I remember we sang it after one corn harvest —
we had a fine time. I never thought of you before
as Clarence. It is very funny. By the way — will
you come to our party at Christmas I "
"When? Who's coming?"
" The twenty-sixth. — Oh ! — only the old people —
Alice — Tom Smith — Fanny — those from High-
close."
" And what will you do ? "
" Sing charades — dance a little — anything you
like."
"Polka?"
" And minuets — and valetas. Come and dance a
valeta, Cyril."
She made me take her through a valeta, a minuet,
a mazurka, and she danced elegantly, but with a
little of Carmen's ostentation — her dash and devilry.
When we had finished, the father said :
" Very pretty — very pretty, indeed ! They do look
nice, don't they, George ? I wish I was young."
" As I am " said George, laughing bitterly.
" Show me how to do them — some time, Cyril,"
said Emily, in her pleading way, which displeased
Lettie so much.
THE RIOT OF CHRISTMAS 149
" Why don't you ask me ? " said the latter quickly.
" Well — but you are not often here."
" I am here now. Come " and she waved
Emily imperiously to the attempt.
Lettie, as I have said, is tall, approaching six feet ;
she is lissome, but firmly moulded, by nature grace-
ful; in her poise and harmonious movement are re-
vealed the subtle sympathies of her artist's soul. The
other is shorter, much heavier. In her every motion
you can see the extravagance of her emotional nature.
She quivers with feeling; emotion conquers and car-
ries havoc through her, for she has not a strong in-
tellect, nor a heart of light humour; her nature is
brooding and defenceless; she knows herself power-
less in the tumult of her feelings, and adds to her
misfortunes a profound mistrust of herself.
As they danced together, Lettie and Emily, they
showed in striking contrast. My sister's ease and
beautiful poetic movement, was exquisite; the other
could not control her movements, but repeated the
same error again and again. She gripped Lettie's
hand fiercely, and glanced up with eyes full of hu-
miliation and terror of her continued failure, and
passionate, trembling, hopeless desire to succeed. To
show her, to explain, made matters worse. As soon
as she trembled on the brink of an action, the terror
of not being able to perform it properly blinded her,
and she was conscious of nothing but that she must
do something — in a turmoil. At last Lettie ceased
to talk, and merely swung her through the dances
haphazard. This way succeeded better. So long as
Emily need not think about her actions, she had a
large, free grace; and the swing and rhythm and
150 THE WHITE PEACOCK
time were imparted through her senses rather than
through her intelligence.
It was time for supper. The mother came down
for a while, and we talked quietly, at random. Lettie
did not utter a word about her engagement, not a
suggestion. She made it seem as if things were just
as before, although I am sure she had discovered
that I had told George. She intended, that we should
play as if ignorant of her bond.
After supper, when we were ready to go home,
Lettie said to him:
" By the way — you must send us some mistletoe
for the party — with plenty of berries, you know.
Are there many berries on your mistletoe this year ? "
" I do not know — I have never looked. We will
go and see — if you like," George answered.
" But will you come out into the cold ? "
He pulled on his boots, and his coat, and twisted
a scarf round his neck. The young moon had gone.
It was very dark — the liquid stars wavered. The
great night filled us with awe. Lettie caught hold
of my arm, and held it tightly. He passed on in
front to open the gates. We went down into the
front garden, over the turf bridge where the sluice
rushed coldly under, on to the broad slope of the
bank. We could just distinguish the gnarled old
appletrees leaning about us. We bent our heads to
avoid the boughs, and followed George. He hesi-
tated a moment, saying:
" Let me see — I think they are there — the two
trees with mistletoe on."
We again followed silently.
" Yes," he said, " Here they are! "
THE RIOT OF CHRISTMAS 151
We went close and peered into the old trees. We
could just see the dark bush of the mistletoe between
the boughs of the tree. Lettie began to laugh.
" Have we come to count the berries ? " she said.
" I can't even see the mistletoe."
She leaned forwards and upwards to pierce the
darkness; he, also straining to look, felt her breath
on his cheek, and turning, saw the pallor of her face
close to his, and felt the dark glow of her eyes. He
caught her in his arms, and held her mouth in a
kiss. Then, when he released her, he turned away,
saying something incoherent about going to fetch the
lantern to look. She remained with her back to-
wards me, and pretended to be feeling among the
mistletoe for the berries. Soon I saw the swing of
the hurricane lamp below.
" He is bringing the lantern," said I.
When he came up, he said, and his voice was
strange and subdued:
" Now we can see what it's like."
He went near, and held up the lamp, so that it
illuminated both their faces, and the fantastic boughs
of the trees, and the weird bush of mistletoe sparsely
pearled with berries. Instead of looking at the ber-
ries they looked into each other's eyes ; his lids flick-
ered, and he flushed, in the yellow light of the lamp
looking warm and handsome; he looked upwards in
confusion and said : " There are plenty of berries."
As a matter of fact there were very few.
She too looked up, and murmured her assent. The
light seemed to hold them as in a globe, in another
world, apart from the night in which I stood. He
put up his hand and broke off a sprig of mistletoe,
152 THE WHITE PEACOCK
with berries, and offered it to her. They looked into
each other's eyes again. She put the mistletoe among
her furs, looking down at her bosom. They remained
still, in the centre of light, with the lamp uplifted ;
the red and black scarf wrapped loosely round his
neck gave him a luxurious, generous look. He low-
ered the lamp and said, affecting to speak naturally :
" Yes — there is plenty this year."
" You will give me some," she replied, turning
away and finally breaking the spell.
" When shall I cut it ? " — He strode beside her,
swinging the lamp, as we went down the bank to go
home. He came as far as the brooks without saying
another word. Then he bade us good-night. When
he had lighted her over the stepping-stones, she did
not take my arm as we walked home.
During the next two weeks we were busy pre-
paring for Christmas, ranging the woods for the red-
dest holly, and pulling the gleaming ivy-bunches
from the trees. From the farms around came the
cruel yelling of pigs, and in the evening, later, was
a scent of pork-pies. Far-off on the high-way could
be heard the sharp trot of ponies hastening with
Christmas goods.
There the carts of the hucksters dashed by to the
expectant villagers, triumphant with great bunches
of light foreign mistletoe, gay with oranges peeping
through the boxes, and scarlet intrusion of apples,
and wild confusion of cold, dead poultry. The huck-
sters waved their whips triumphantly, the little
ponies rattled bravely under the sycamores, towards
Christmas.
In the late afternoon of the 24th, when dust was
THE RIOT OF CHRISTMAS 153
rising under the hazel brake, I was walking with
Lettie. All among the mesh of twigs overhead was
tangled a dark red sky. The boles of the trees grew
denser — almost blue.
Tramping down the riding we met two boys, fif-
teen or sixteen years old. Their clothes were largely
patched with tough cotton moleskin; scarves were
knotted round their throats, and in their pockets
rolled tin bottles full of tea, and the white knobs of
their knotted snap-bags.
" Why ! " said Lettie. " Are you going to work
on Christmas eve ? "
" It looks like it, don't it? " said the elder.
" And what time will you be coming back ? "
" About 'alf past tow."
" Christmas morning ! "
" You'll be able to look out for the herald Angels
and the Star," said I.
" They'd think we was two dirty little uns," said
the younger lad, laughing.
" They'll 'appen 'a done before we get up ter th'
top," added the elder boy — " an' they'll none venture
down th' shaft."
" If they did,' put in the other, " You'd ha'e ter
bath 'em after. I'd gi'e 'em a bit o' my pasty."
" Come on," said the elder sulkily.
They tramped off, slurring their heavy boots.
" Merry Christmas ! " I called after them.
" In th' mornin'," replied the elder.
" Same to you," said the younger, and he began
to sing with a tinge of bravado.
"In the fields with their flocks abiding.
They lay on the dewy ground "
154 THE WHITE PEACOCK
" Fancy/' said Lettie, " those boys are working
for me ! "
We were all going to the party at Highclose. I
happened to go into the kitchen about half past seven.
The lamp was turned low, and Rebecca sat in the
shadows. On the table, in the light of the lamp, I
saw a glass vase with five or six very beautiful
Christmas roses.
" Hullo, Becka, who's sent you these ? " said I.
" They're not sent," replied Rebecca from the
depth of the shadow, with suspicion of tears in her
voice.
" Why ! I never saw them in the garden."
" Perhaps not. But I've watched them these three
weeks, and kept them under glass."
" For Christmas ? They are beauties. I thought
some one must have sent them to you."
" It's little as 'as ever been sent me," replied Re-
becca, " an' less as will be."
" Why— what's the matter ? "
" Nothing. Who'm I, to have anything the mat-
ter ! Nobody — nor ever was, nor ever will be. And
I'm getting old as well."
" Something's upset you, Becky."
" What does it matter if it has ? What are my
feelings ? A bunch o' f al-de-rol flowers as a gardener
clips off wi' never a thought is preferred before mine
as I've fettled after this three-week. I can sit at
home to keep my flowers company — nobody wants
'em."
I remembered that Lettie was wearing hot-house
flowers ; she was excited and full of the idea of the
party at Highclose ; I could imagine her quick " Oh
THE RIOT OF CHRISTMAS 155
no thank you, Bebecca. I have had a spray sent to
me "
"Never mind, Becky," said I, "she is excited
to-night."
" An' I'm easy forgotten."
" So are we all, Becky — tant mieux."
At Highclose Lettie made a stir. Among the lit-
tle belles of the countryside, she was decidedly the
most distinguished. She was brilliant, moving as if
in a drama. Leslie was enraptured, ostentatious in
his admiration, proud of being so well infatuated.
They looked into each other's eyes when they met,
both triumphant, excited, blazing arch looks at one
another. Lettie was enjoying her public demonstra-
tion immensely ; it exhilarated her into quite a vivid
love for him. He was magnificent in response.
Meanwhile, the honoured lady of the house, pompous
and ample, sat aside with my mother conferring her
patronage on the latter amiable little woman, who
smiled sardonically and watched Lettie. It was a
splendid party; it was brilliant, it was dazzling.
I danced with several ladies, and honourably kissed
each under the mistletoe — except that two of them
kissed me first, it was all done in a most correct man-
ner.
" You wolf," said Miss Wookey archly. " I be-
lieve you are a wolf — a veritable rodeur des femmes
— and you look such a lamb too — such a dear."
" Even my bleat reminds you of Mary's pet."
" But you are not my pet — at least — it is well
that my Golaud doesn't hear you "
" If he is so very big " said I.
" He is really ; he's beefy. I've engaged myself
156 THE WHITE PEACOCK
to him, somehow or other. One never knows how
one does those things, do they ? "
" I couldn't speak from experience," said I.
" Cruel man ! I suppose I felt Christmasy, and
I'd just been reading Maeterlinck — and he really is
big."
"Who?" I asked.
" Oh — He, of course. My Golaud. I can't help
admiring men who are a bit avoirdupoisy. It is un-
fortunate they can't dance."
" Perhaps fortunate," said I.
" I can see you hate him. Pity I didn't think to
ask him if he danced — before "
" Would it have influenced you very much ? "
" Well — of course — one can be free to dance all
the more with the really nice men whom one never
marries."
"Why not?"
" Oh — you can only marry one "
" Of course."
" There he is — he's coming for me ! Oh, Frank,
you leave me to the tender mercies of the world at
large. I thought you'd forgotten me, Dear."
" I thought the same," replied her Golaud, a great
fat fellow with a childish bare face. He smiled awe-
somely, and one never knew what he meant to say.
We drove home in the early Christmas morning.
Lettie, warmly wrapped in her cloak, had had a little
stroll with her lover in the shrubbery. She was still
brilliant, flashing in her movements. He, as he bade
her good-bye, was almost beautiful in his grace and
his low musical tone. I nearly loved him myself.
She was very fond towards him. As we came to the
THE RIOT OF CHRISTMAS 157
gate where the private road branched from the high-
way, we heard John say " Thank you " — and look-
ing out, saw our two boys returning from the pit.
They were very grotesque in the dark night as the
lamp-light fell on them, showing them grimy, flecked
with bits of snow. They shouted merrily, their good
wishes. Lettie leaned out and waved to them, and
they cried " 'ooray ! " Christmas came in with their
acclamations.
CHAPTER IX
LETTIE COMES OF AGE
Lettie was twenty-one on the day after Christmas.
She woke me in the morning with cries of dismay.
There was a great fall of snow, multiplying the
cold morning light, startling the slow-footed twi-
light. The lake was black like the open eyes of a
corpse; the woods were black like the beard on the
face of a corpse. A rabbit bobbed out, and floun-
dered in much consternation ; little birds settled into
the depth, and rose in a dusty whirr, much terrified
at the universal treachery of the earth. The snow
was eighteen inches deep, and drifted in places.
" They will never come ! " lamented Lettie, for it
was the day of her party.
" At any rate — Leslie will," said I.
" One ! " she exclaimed.
* That one is all, isn't it ? " said I. " And for sure
George will come, though I've not seen him this fort-
night. He's not been in one night, they say, for a
fortnight."
"Why not?"
" I cannot say."
Lettie went away to ask Rebecca for the fiftieth
time if she thought they would come. At any rate
the extra woman-help came.
It was not more than ten o'clock when Leslie ar-
158
LETTIE COMES OF AGE 159
rived, ruddy, with shining eyes, laughing like a boy.
There was much stamping in the porch, and knock-
ing of leggings with his stick, and crying of Lettie
from the kitchen to know who had come, and loud,
cheery answers from the porch bidding her come and
see. She came, and greeted him with effusion.
" Ha, my little woman ! " he said kissing her. " I
declare you are a woman. Look at yourself in the
glass now " She did so — " What do you see ? "
he asked laughing.
" You — mighty gay, looking at me."
"Ah, but look at yourself. There! I declare
you're more afraid of your own eyes than of mine,
aren't you ? "
" I am," she said, and he kissed her with rapture.
" It's your birthday," he said.
" I know," she replied.
" So do I. You promised me something."
"What? "she asked.
" Here — see if you like it," — he gave her a little
case. She opened it, and instinctively slipped the
ring on her finger. He made a movement of pleasure.
She looked up, laughing breathlessly at him.
" Now ! " said he, in tones of finality.
" Ah ! " she exclaimed in a strange, thrilled voice.
He caught her in his arms.
After a while, when they could talk rationally
again, she said:
" Do you think they will come to my party ? "
" I hope not — By Heaven ! "
" But — oh, yes ! We have made all preparations."
" What does that matter ! Ten thousand folks
here to-day ! "
160 THE WHITE PEACOCK
" Not ten thousand — only five or six. I shall be
wild if they can't come."
" You want them ? "
" We have asked them — and everything is ready
— and I do want us to have a party one day."
"But to-day — damn it all, Lettie!"
" But I did want my party to-day. Don't you
think they'll come ? "
" They won't if they've any sense ! "
" You might help me " she pouted.
" Well I'll be — ! and you've set your mind on
having a houseful of people to-day ? "
" You know how we look forward to it — my party.
At any rate — I know Tom Smith will come — and
I'm almost sure Emily Saxton will."
He bit his moustache angrily, and said at last :
" Then I suppose I'd better send John round for
the lot"
" It wouldn't be much trouble, would it ? "
" No trouble at all."
" Do you know," she said, twisting the ring on
her finger. " It makes me feel as if I tied some-
thing round my finger to remember by. It somehow
remains in my consciousness all the time*"
" At any rate," said he, " I have got you."
After dinner, when we were alone, Lettie sat at
the table, nervously fingering her ring.
"It is pretty, mother, isn't it ? " she said a trifle
pathetically.
" Yes, very pretty. I have always liked Leslie,"
replied my mother.
" But it feels so heavy — it fidgets me. I should
like to take it off."
LETTIE COMES OF AGE 161
" You are like me, I never could wear rings. I
hated my wedding ring for months."
"Did you, mother?"
" I longed to take it off and put it away. But after
a while I got used to it"
" I'm glad this isn't a wedding ring."
" Leslie says it is as good," said I.
" Ah well, yes ! But still it is different—" She
put the jewels round under her finger, and looked at
the plain gold band — then she twisted it back quickly,
saying:
" I'm glad it's not — not yet. I begin to feel a
woman, little mother — I feel grown up to-day."
My mother got up suddenly, and went and kissed
Lettie fervently.
" Let me kiss my girl good-bye," she said, and her
voice was muffled with tears. Lettie clung to my
mother, and sobbed a few quiet sobs, hidden in her
bosom. Then she lifted her face, which was wet with
tears, and kissed my mother, murmuring :
" No, mother — no — o — ! "
About three o'clock the carriage came with Leslie
and Marie. Both Lettie and I were upstairs, and I
heard Marie come tripping up to my sister.
" Oh, Lettie, he is in such a state of excitement^
you never knew. He took me with him to buy it —
let me see it on. I think it's awfully lovely. Here,
let me help you to do your hair — all in those little
rolls — it will look charming. You've really got beau-
tiful hair — there's so much life in it — it's a pity to
twist it into a coil as you do. I wish my hair were a
bit longer — though really, it's all the better for this
fashion — don't you like it ? — it's ' so chic ' — I think
162 THE WHITE PEACOCK
these little puffs are just fascinating — it is rather long
for them — but it will look ravishing. Keally, my
eyes, and eyebrows, and eyelashes are my best fea-
tures, don't you think ? "
Marie, the delightful, charming little creature,
twittered on. I went downstairs.
Leslie started when I entered the room, but seeing
only me, he leaned forward again, resting his arms on
his knees, looking in the fire.
" What the Dickens is she doing I " he asked.
" Dressing."
" Then we may keep on waiting. Isn't it a deuced
nuisance, these people coming ? "
" Well, we generally have a good time."
" Oh — it's all very well — we're not in the same
boat, you and me."
" Fact," said I laughing.
" By Jove, Cyril, you don't know what it is to be
in love. I never thought — I couldn't ha' believed I
should be like it. All the time when it isn't at the
top of your blood, it's at the bottom : — ' the Girl, the
Girl.' "
He stared into the fire.
" It seems pressing you, pressing you on. Never
leaves you alone a moment."
Again he lapsed into reflection.
" Then, all at once, you remember how she kissed
you, and all your blood jumps afire."
He mused again for awhile — or rather, he seemed
fiercely to con over his sensations.
" You know," he said, " I don't think she feels for
me as I do for her,"
" Would you want her to ? " said I.
» LETTIE COMES OF AGE 163
"I don't know. Perhaps not — but — still I don't
think she feels "
At this he lighted a cigarette to soothe his excited
feelings, and there was silence for some time. Then
the girls came down. We could hear their light
chatter. Lettie entered the room. He jumped up
and surveyed her. She was dressed in soft, creamy,
silken stuff; her neck was quite bare; her hair was,
as Marie promised, fascinating; she was laughing
nervously. She grew warm, like a blossom in the
sunshine, in the glow of his admiration. He went
forward and kissed her.
" You are splendid ! " he said.
She only laughed for answer. He drew her away
to the great arm-chair, and made her sit in it beside
him. She was indulgent and he radiant. He took
her hand and looked at it, and at his ring which she
wore.
" It looks all right ! " he murmured.
" Anything would," she replied.
" What do they mean — sapphires and diamonds —
for I don't know % "
" Nor do I. Blue for hope, because Speranza in
1 Fairy Queen ' had a blue gown — and diamonds for
— the crystalline clearness of my nature."
" Its glitter and hardness, you mean — You are a
hard little mistress. But why Hope ? "
" Why ? — ~No reason whatever, like most things.
No, that's not right. Hope! Oh — Blindfolded —
hugging a silly harp with no strings. I wonder why
she didn't drop her harp framework over the edge
of the globe, and take the handkerchief off her eyes,
and have a look round! But of course she was a
164 THE WHITE PEACOCK
woman — and a man's woman. Do you know I be-
lieve most women can sneak a look down their noses
from underneath the handkerchief of hope they've
tied over their eyes. They could take the whole
muffler off — but they don't do it, the dears."
" I don't believe you know what you're talking
about, and I'm sure I don't. Sapphires reminded me
of your eyes — and — isn't it * Blue that kept the
faith ? ' I remember something about it."
" Here," said she, pulling off the ring, " you ought
to wear it yourself, Faithful One, to keep me in
constant mind."
" Keep it on, keep it on. It holds you faster than
that fair damsel tied to a tree in Millais' picture —
I believe it's Millais."
She sat shaking with laughter.
" What a comparison ! Who'll be the brave knight
to rescue me — discreetly — from behind ? "
" Ah," he answered, " it doesn't matter. You
don't want rescuing, do you ? "
" Not yet," she replied, teasing him.
They continued to talk half nonsense, making
themselves eloquent by quick looks and gestures, and
communion of warm closeness. The ironical tones
went out of Lettie's voice, and they made love.
Marie drew me away into the dining room, to leave
them alone.
Marie is a charming little maid, whose appearance
is neatness, whose face is confident little goodness.
Her hair is dark, and lies low upon her neck in wavy
coils. She does not affect the fashion in coiffure,
and generally is a little behind the fashion in dress.
LETTIE COMES OF AGE 165
Indeed she is a half-opened bud of a matron, con-
servative, full of proprieties, and of gentle indul-
gence. She now smiled at me with a warm delight
in the romance upon which she had just shed her
grace, but her demureness allowed nothing to be said.
She glanced round the room, and out of the window,
and observed :
u I always love Woodside, it is restful — there is
something about it — oh — assuring — really — it com-
forts one — I've been reading Maxim Gorky."
" You shouldn't," said I.
" Dadda reads them — but I don't like them — I
shall read no more. I like Woodside — it makes you
feel — really at home — it soothes one like the old wood
does. It seems right — life is proper here — not ul-
cery "
" Just healthy living flesh," said I.
" No, I don't mean that, because one feels — oh,
as if the world were old and good, not old and
bad."
" Young, and undisciplined, and mad," said I.
" No — but here, you, and Lettie, and Leslie, and
me — it is so nice for us, and it seems so natural and
good. Woodside is so old, and so sweet and serene —
it does reassure one."
" Yes," said I, " we just live, nothing abnormal,
nothing cruel and extravagant — just natural — like
doves in a dovecote."
" Oh ! — doves ! — they are so — so mushy."
" They are dear little birds, doves. You look like
one yourself, with the black band round your neck.
You a turtle-dove, and Lettie a wood-pigeon."
i " Lettie is splendid, isn't she ? What a swing she
166 THE WHITE PEACOCK
has — what a mastery ! I wish I had her strength —
she just marches straight through in the right way —
I think she's fine."
I laughed to see her so enthusiastic in her admira-
tion of my sister. Marie is such a gentle, serious
little soul. She went to the window. I kissed her,
and pulled two berries off the mistletoe. I made her
a nest in the heavy curtains, and she sat there look-
ing out on the snow.
" It is lovely," she said reflectively. " People
must be ill when they write like Maxim Gorky."
" They live in town," said I.
" Yes — but then look at Hardy — life seems so
terrible — it isn't, is it ? "
" If you don't feel it, it isn't — if you don't see it.
I don't see it for myself."
" It's lovely enough for heaven."
" Eskimo's heaven perhaps. And we're the angels
eh? And I'm an archangel."
" No, you're a vain, frivolous man. Is that — ?
What is that moving through the trees ? "
" Somebody, coming," said I.
It was a big, burly fellow moving curiously through
the bushes.
" Doesn't he walk funnily ? " exclaimed Marie.
He did. When he came near enough we saw he was
straddled upon Indian snow-shoes. Marie peeped,
and laughed, and peeped, and hid again in the cur-
tains laughing. He was very red, and looked very
hot, as he hauled the great meshes, shuffling over the
snow ; his body rolled most comically. I went to the
door and admitted him, while Marie stood stroking
LETTIE COMES OF AGE 167
her face with her hands to smooth away the traces of
her laughter.
He grasped my hand in a very large and heavy
glove, with which he then wiped his perspiring
brow.
" Well, Beardsall, old man," he said, " and how's
things? God, I'm not 'alf hot! Fine idea
though " He showed me his snow-shoes.
" Ripping ! ain't they % I've come like an Indian
brave " He rolled his " r's," and lengthened out
his " ah's " tremendously — " brra-ave."
" Couldn't resist it though," he continued.
" Remember your party last year — Girls turned
up ? On the war-path, eh ? " He pursed up his child-
ish lips, and rubbed his fat chin.
Having removed his coat, and the white wrap
which protected his collar, not to mention the snow-
flakes, which Rebecca took almost as an insult to her-
self — he seated his fat, hot body on a chair, and
proceeded to take off his gaiters and his boots. Then
he donned his dancing pumps, and I led him up-
stairs.
" Lord, I skimmed here like a swallow ! " he con-
tinued — and I looked at his corpulence.
" Never met a soul, though they've had a snow-
plough down the road. I saw the marks of a cart
up the drive, so I guessed the Tempests were here.
So Lettie's put her nose in Tempest's nosebag — leaves
nobody a chance, that — some women have rum taste
— only they're like ravens, they go for the gilding —
don't blame 'em — only it leaves nobody a chance.
Madie Howitt's coming, I suppose ? "
I ventured something about the snow.
168 THE WHITE PEACOCK
" She'll come," he said, u if it's up to the neck.
Her mother saw me go past."
He proceeded with his toilet. I told him that
Leslie had sent the carriage for Alice and Madie.
He slapped his fat legs, and exclaimed :
" Miss Gall — I smell sulphur ! Beardsall, old boy,
there's fun in the wind. Madie, and the coy little
Tempest, and " he hissed a line of a music-hall
song through his teeth.
During all this he had straightened his cream and
lavender waistcoat :
" Little pink of a girl worked it for me — a real
juicy little peach — chipped somehow or other " — he
had arranged his white bow — he had drawn forth
two rings, one a great signet, the other gorgeous with
diamonds, and had adjusted them on his fat white
fingers ; he had run his fingers delicately, through his
hair, which rippled backwards a trifle tawdrily —
being fine and somewhat sapless ; he had produced a
box, containing a cream carnation with suitable
greenery; he had flicked himself with a silk hand-
kerchief, and had dusted his patent-leather shoes;
lastly, he had pursed up his lips and surveyed himself
with great satisfaction in the mirror. Then he was
ready to be presented.
" Couldn't forget to-day, Lettie. Wouldn't have
let old Pluto and all the bunch of 'em keep me away.
I skimmed here like a i Brra-ave ' on my snow-shoes,
like Hiawatha coming to Minnehaha."
" Ah — that was famine," said Marie softly.
" And this is a feast, a gorgeous feast, Miss Tem-
pest," he said, bowing to Marie, who laughed.
" You have brought some music ? " asked mother.
LETTIE COMES OF AGE 169
" Wish I was Orpheus," he said, uttering his words
with exaggerated enunciation, a trick he had caught
from his singing I suppose.
" I see you're in full feather, Tempest. ' Is she
kind as she is fair ? ' "
"Who?"
Will pursed up his smooth sensuous face that
looked as if it had never needed shaving. Lettie went
out with Marie, hearing the bell ring.
" She's an houri ! " exclaimed William. " Gad,
I'm almost done for! She's a lotus-blossom! — But
is that your ring she's wearing, Tempest ? "
" Keep off," said Leslie.
" And don't be a fool," said I.
" Oh, O-O-Oh ! " drawled Will, " so we must look
the other way ! ' Le bel homme sans merci ! ' "
He sighed profoundly, and ran his fingers through
his hair, keeping one eye on himself in the mirror
as he did so. Then he adjusted his rings and went
to the piano. At first he only splashed about bril-
liantly. Then he sorted the music, and took a volume
of Tchaikowsky's songs. He began the long opening
of one song, was unsatisfied, and found another, a
serenade of Don Juan. Then at last he began to sing.
His voice is a beautiful tenor, softer, more mellow,
less strong and brassy than Leslie's. Now it was
raised that it might be heard upstairs. As the melt-
ing gush poured forth, the door opened. William
softened his tones, and sang ' dolce,' but he did not
glance round.
" Rapture ! — Choir of Angels," exclaimed Alice,
clasping her hands and gazing up at the lintel of the
door like a sainted virgin.
170 THE WHITE PEACOCK
" Persephone — Europa " murmured Madie, at
her side, getting tangled in her mythology.
Alice pressed her clasped hands against her bosom
in ecstasy as the notes rose higher.
" Hold me, Madie, or I shall rush to extinction in
the arms of this siren." She clung to Madie. The
song finished, and Will turned round.
" Take it calmly, Miss Gall," he said. " I hope
you're not hit too badly."
" Oh — how can you say l take it calmly ' — how
can the savage beast be calm ! "
" I'm sorry for you," said Will.
" You are the cause of my trouble, dear boy," re-
plied Alice.
" I never thought you'd come," said Madie.
" Skimmed here like an Indian * brra-ave,' " said
Will. " Like Hiawatha towards Minnehaha. I
knew you were coming."
" You know," simpered Madie, " It gave me quite
a flutter when I heard the piano. It is a year since
I saw you. How did you get here ? "
" I came on snow-shoes," said he. " Keal Indian,
— came from Canada — they're just ripping."
" Oh — Aw-w do go and put them on and show us
— do ! — do perform for us, Billy dear ! " cried Alice.
" Out in the cold and driving sleet — no fear," said
he, and he turned to talk to Madie. Alice sat chat-
ting with mother. Soon Tom Smith came, and took
a seat next to Marie; and sat quietly looking over
his spectacles with his sharp brown eyes, full of
scorn for William, full of misgiving for Leslie and
Lettie.
Shortly after, George and Emily came in. They
LETTIE COMES OF AGE 171
were rather nervous. When they had changed their
clogs, and Emily had taken off her brown-paper leg-
gings, and he his leather ones, they were not anxious
to go into the drawing room. I was surprised — and
so was Emily — to see that he had put on dancing
shoes.
Emily, ruddy from the cold air, was wearing a
wine coloured dress, which suited her luxurious
beauty. George's clothes were well made — it was a
point on which he was particular, being somewhat
self-conscious. He wore a jacket, and a dark bow.
The other men were in evening dress.
We took them into the drawing-room, where the
lamp was not lighted, and the glow of the fire was
becoming evident in the dusk. We had taken up the
carpet — the floor was all polished — and some of the
furniture was taken away — so that the room looked
large and ample.
There was general hand shaking, and the new-
comers were seated near the fire. First mother
talked to them — then the candles were lighted at the
piano, and Will played to us. He is an exquisite
pianist, full of refinement and poetry. It is as-
tonishing, and it is a fact. Mother went out to
attend to the tea, and after a while, Lettie crossed
over to Emily and George, and, drawing up a low
chair, sat down to talk to them. Leslie stood in
the window bay, looking out on the lawn where
the snow grew bluer and bluer and the sky almost
purple.
Lettie put her hands on Emily's lap, and said
softly, " Look — do you like it? "
" What ! engaged ? " exclaimed Emily.
172 THE WHITE PEACOCK
i
" I am of age, you see," said Lettie.
" It is a beauty, isn't it. Let me try it on, will
you? Yes, I've never had a ring. There, it won't
go over my knuckle — no — I thought not. Aren't my
hands red ? — it's the cold — yes, it's too small for me.
I do like it."
George sat watching the play of the four hands in
his sister's lap, two hands moving so white and fasci-
nating in the twilight, the other two rather red, with
rather large bones, looking so nervous, almost hys-
terical. The ring played between the four hands,
giving an occasional flash from the twilight or candle-
light.
" You must congratulate me," she said, in a very
low voice, and two of us knew she spoke to him.
" As, yes," said Emily, " I do."
" And you ? " she said, turning to him who was
silent.
" What do you want me to say ? " he asked.
" Say what you like."
" Sometime, when I've thought about it."
" Cold dinners ! " laughed Lettie, awaking Alice's
old sarcasm at his slowness.
" What ? " he exclaimed, looking up suddenly at
her taunt. She knew she was playing false ; she put
the ring on her finger and went across the room to
Leslie, laying her arm over his shoulder, and leaning
her head against him, murmuring softly to him. He,
poor fellow, was delighted with her, for she did not
display her fondness often.
We went in to tea. The yellow shaded lamp shone
softly over the table, where Christmas roses spread
wide open among some dark-coloured leaves; where
LETTIE COMES OF AGE 173
the china and silver and the coloured dishes shone
delightfully. We were all very gay and bright ; who
could be otherwise, seated round a well-laid table,
with young company, and the snow outside. George
felt awkward when he noticed his hands over the
table, but for the rest, we enjoyed ourselves exceed-
ingly.
The conversation veered inevitably to marriage.
" But what have you to say about it, Mr. Smith I "
asked little Marie.
" Nothing yet," replied he in his peculiar grating
voice. " My marriage is in the unanalysed solution
of the future — when I've done the analysis I'll tell
you."
" But what do you think about it — ? "
" Do you remember Lettie," said Will Bancroft,
" that little red-haired girl who was in our year at
college ? She has just married old Craven out of
Physic's department."
" I wish her joy of it ! " said Lettie ; " wasn't she
an old flame of yours ? "
" Among the rest," he replied smiling. " Don't
you remember you were one of them; you had your
day."
" What a joke that was ! " exclaimed Lettie, " we
used to go in the arboretum at dinner-time. You
lasted half one autumn. Do you remember when we
gave a concert, you and I, and Frank Wishaw, in the
small lecture theatre ? "
" When the Prinny was such an old buck, flatter-
ing you," continued Will. " And that night Wishaw
took you to the station — sent old Gettim for a cab
and saw you in, large as life — never was such a thing
174 THE WHITE PEACOCK
before. Old Wishaw won you with that cab, didn't
he?"
" Oh, how I swelled ! " cried Lettie. " There were
you all at the top of the steps gazing with admira-
tion! But Frank Wishaw was not a nice fellow,
though he played the violin beautifully. I never
liked his eyes "
" No," added Will. " He didn't last long, did
he? — though long enough to oust me. We had a
giddy ripping time in Coll., didn't we ? "
" It was not bad," said Lettie. " Rather foolish.
I'm afraid I wasted my three years."
" I think," said Leslie, smiling, " you improved
the shining hours to great purpose."
It pleased him to think what a flirt she had been,
since the flirting had been harmless, and only added
to the glory of his final conquest. George felt very
much left out during these reminiscences.
When we had finished tea, we adjourned to the
drawing-room. It was in darkness, save for the fire
light. The mistletoe had been discovered, and was
being appreciated.
" Georgie, Sybil, Sybil, Georgie, come and kiss
me," cried Alice.
Will went forward to do her the honour. She
ran to me, saying, " Get away, you fat fool — keep on
your own preserves. Now Georgie dear, come and
kiss me, 'cause you haven't got nobody else but me,
no y' ave n't. Do you want to run away, like Georgy-
Porgy apple-pie ? Shan't cry, sure I shan't, if you
are ugly."
She took him and kissed him on either cheek, say-
LETTIE COMES OF AGE 175
ing softly, " You shan't be so serious, old boy — buck
up, there's a good fellow."
We lighted the lamp, and charades were proposed,
Leslie and Lettie, Will and Madie and Alice went
out to play. The first scene was an elopement to
Gretna Green — with Alice a maid servant, a part
that she played wonderfully well as a caricature. It
was very noisy, and extremely funny. Leslie was in
high spirits. It was remarkable to observe that, as
he became more animated, more abundantly ener-
getic, Lettie became quieter. The second scene,
which they were playing as excited melodrama, she
turned into small tragedy with her bitterness. They
went out, and Lettie blew us kisses from the door-
way.
" Doesn't she act well ? " exclaimed Marie, speak-
ing to Tom.
" Quite realistic," said he.
" She could always play a part well," said mother.
" I should think," said Emily, " she could take a
role in life and play up to it."
" I believe she could," mother answered, " there
would only be intervals when she would see herself
in a mirror acting."
" And what then ? " said Marie.
" She would feel desperate, and wait till the fit
passed off," replied my mother, smiling significantly.
The players came in again. Lettie kept her part
subordinate. Leslie played with brilliance; it was
rather startling how he excelled. The applause was
loud — but we could not guess the word. Then
they laughed, and told us. We clamoured for
more.
176 THE WHITE PEACOCK
" Do go, dear," said Lettie to Leslie, " and I will
be helping to arrange the room for the dances. I
want to watch you — I am rather tired — it is so ex-
citing — Emily will take my place."
They went. Marie and Tom, and Mother and I
played bridge in one corner. Lettie said she wanted
to show George some new pictures, and they bent
over a portfolio for some time. Then she bade him
help her to clear the room for the dances.
" Well, you have had time to think," she said to
him.
" A short time," he replied. "What shall I say ? "
" Tell me what you've been thinking."
" Well — about you " he answered, smiling
foolishly.
" What about me? " she asked, venturesome.
" About you, how you were at college," he re-
plied.
" Oh ! I had a good time. I had plenty of boys.
I liked them all, till I found there was nothing in
them; then they tired me."
" Poor boys ! " he said laughing. " Were they all
alike ? "
" All alike," she replied, " and they are still."
" Pity," he said, smiling. " It's hard lines on
you."
" Why ? " she asked.
" It leaves you nobody to care for " he replied.
" How very sarcastic you are. You make one
reservation."
"Do I ? " he answered, smiling. " But you fire
sharp into the air, and then say we're all blank car-
tridges — except one, of course."
LETTIE COMES OF AGE 177
" You ? " she queried, ironically — " oh, you would
forever hang fire."
" l Cold dinners ! ' " he quoted in bitterness. " But
you knew I loved you. You knew well enough."
" Past tense," she replied, " thanks — make it per-
fect next time."
" It's you who hang fire — it's you who make me,"
he said.
" ' And so from the retort circumstantial to the
retort direct/ " she replied, smiling.
" You see — you put me off," he insisted, growing
excited. For reply, she held out her hand and
showed him the ring. She smiled very quietly. He
stared at her with darkening anger.
" Will you gather the rugs and stools together, and
put them in that corner ? " she said.
He turned away to do so, but he looked back again,
and said, in low, passionate tones:
" You never counted me. I was a figure naught
in the counting all along."
" See — there is a chair that will be in the way,"
she replied calmly; but she flushed, and bowed her
head. She turned away, and he dragged an armful
of rugs into a corner.
When the actors came in, Lettie was moving a
vase of flowers. While they played, she sat looking
on, smiling, clapping her hands. When it was fin-
ished Leslie came and whispered to her, whereon she
kissed him unobserved, delighting and exhilarating
him more than ever. Then they went out to prepare
the next act.
George did not return to her till she called him to
help her. Her colour was high in her cheeks.
178 THE WHITE PEACOCK
" How do you know you did not count ? " she said,
nervously, unable to resist the temptation to play this
forbidden game.
He laughed, and for a moment could not find any
reply.
" I do ! " he said. " You knew you could have me
any day, so you didn't care."
" Then we're behaving in quite the traditional
fashion," she answered with irony.
" But you know," he said, " you began it. You
played with me, and showed me heaps of things —
and those mornings — when I was binding corn, and
when I was gathering the apples, and when I was
finishing the straw-stack — you came then — I can
never forget those mornings — things will never be
the same — You have awakened my life — I imagine
things that I couldn't have done."
" Ah ! — I am very sorry, I am so sorry."
" Don't be !— don't say so. But what of me ? "
" What ? " she asked rather startled. He smiled
again; he felt the situation, and was a trifle dra-
matic, though deadly in earnest.
" Well," said he, " you start me off — then leave
me at a loose end. What am I going to do ? "
" You are a man," she replied.
He laughed. " What does that mean ? " he said
contemptuously. •
" You can go on — which way you like," she an-
swered.
" Oh, well," he said, " we'll see."
" Don't you think so \ " she asked, rather anxious.
" I don't know — we'll see," he replied.
They went out with some things. In the hall, she
LETTIE COMES OF AGE 179
turned to him, with a break in her voice, saying:
" Oh, I am so sorry — I am so sorry."
He said, very low and soft, — " Never mind —
never mind."
She heard the laughter of those preparing the
charade. She drew away and went in the drawing
room, saying aloud:
" Now I think everything is ready — we can sit
down now."
After the actors had played the last charade, Les-
lie came and claimed her.
" Now, Madam — are you glad to have me back ? "
" That I am," she said. " Don't leave me again,
will you?"
" I won't," he replied, drawing her beside him.
" I have left my handkerchief in the dining-room,"
he continued ; and they went out together.
Mother gave me permission for the men to smoke.
" You know," said Marie to Tom, " I am surprised
that a scientist should smoke. Isn't it a waste of
time?"
" Come and light me," he said.
" Nay," she replied, " let science light you."
" Science does — Ah, but science is nothing with-
out a girl to set it going — Yes — Come on — now,
don't burn my precious nose."
" Poor George ! " cried Alice. " Does he want a
ministering angel ? "
He was half lying in a big arm chair.
" I do," he replied. " Come on, be my box of
soothing ointment. My matches are all loose."
"I'll strike it on my heel, eh? Now, rouse up,
or I shall have to sit on your knee to reach you."
180 THE WHITE PEACOCK
" Poor dear — he shall be luxurious," and the
dauntless girl perched on his knee.
" What if I singe your whiskers — would you send
an Armada ? Aw — aw — pretty ! — You do look sweet
— doesn't he suck prettily ? "
" Do you envy me ? " he asked, smiling whim-
sically.
"Ka— ther!"
" Shame to debar you," he said, almost with ten-
derness.
" Smoke with me."
He offered her the cigarette from his lips. She
was surprised, and exceedingly excited by his ten-
der tone. She took the cigarette.
" I'll make a heifer — like Mrs. Daws," she said.
" Don't call yourself a cow," he said.
" Nasty thing — let me go," she exclaimed.
" ~No — you fit me — don't go," he replied, holding
her.
" Then you must have growed. Oh — what great
hands — let go. Lettie, come and pinch him."
" What's the matter ? " asked my sister.
" He won't let me go."
" He'll be tired first," Lettie answered.
Alice was released, but she did not move. She
sat with wrinkled forehead trying his cigarette. She
blew out little tiny whiffs of smoke, and thought
about it; she sent a small puff down her nostrils,
and rubbed her nose.
" It's not as nice as it looks," she said.
He laughed at her with masculine indulgence.
" Pretty boy," she said, stroking his chin.
" Am 1 I " he murmured languidly.
LETTIE COMES OF AGE 181
" Cheek ! " she cried, and she boxed his ears.
Then " Oh, pore fing ! " she said, and kissed him.
She turned round to wink at my mother and at
Lettie. She found the latter sitting in the old posi-
tion with Leslie, two in a chair. He was toying with
her arm; holding it and stroking it.
" Isn't it lovely ? " he said, kissing the forearm,
" so warm and yet so white. Io — it reminds one of
Io."
" Somebody else talking about heifers," mur-
mured Alice to George.
" Can you remember," said Leslie, speaking low,
" that man in Merimee who wanted to bite his wife
and taste her blood ? "
" I do," said Lettie. " Have you a strain of wild
beast too ? "
" Perhaps," he laughed, " I wish these folks had
gone. Your hair is all loose in your neck — it looks
lovely like that though "
Alice, the mocker, had unbuttoned the cuff of the
thick wrist that lay idly on her knee, and had pushed
his sleeve a little way.
" Ah ! " she said. " What a pretty arm, brown as
an overbaked loaf ! "
He watched her smiling.
" Hard as a brick," she added.
" Do you like it ? " he drawled.
" No," she said emphatically, in a tone that meant
" yes." " It makes me feel shivery." He smiled
again.
She superposed her tiny pale, flower-like hands on
his.
He lay back looking at them curiously.
182 THE WHITE PEACOCK
" Do you feel as if your hands were full of sil-
ver ? " she asked almost wistfully, mocking.
" Better than that," he replied gently.
" And your heart full of gold 8 " she mocked.
" Of hell ! " he replied briefly.
Alice looked at him searchingly.
" And am I like a blue-bottle buzzing in your win-
dow to keep your company I " she asked.
He laughed.
" Good-bye," she said, slipping down and leaving
him.
" Don't go," he said — but too late.
The irruption of Alice into the quiet, sentimental
party was like taking a bright light into a sleeping
hen-roost. Everybody jumped up and wanted to do
something. They cried out for a dance.
" Emily — play a waltz — you won't mind, will
you, George ? What ! You don't dance, Tom ? Oh,
Marie ! "
" I don't mind, Lettie," protested Marie.
" Dance with me, Alice," said George, smiling
" and Cyril will take Miss Tempest."
" Glory ! — come on — do or die ! " said Alice.
We began to dance. I saw Lettie watching, and
I looked round. George was waltzing with Alice,
dancing passably, laughing at her remarks. Lettie
was not listening to what her lover was saying to
her; she was watching the laughing pair. At the
end she went to George.
" Why ! " she said, " You can "
" Did you think I couldn't ? " he said. " You are
LETTIE COMES OF AGE 183
pledged for a minuet and a valeta with me — you re-
member ? "
" Yes."
" You promise ? n
"Yes. But "
" I went to Nottingham and learned."
" Why — because ? — Very well, Leslie, a mazurka.
Will you play it, Emily — Yes, it is quite easy. Tom,
you look quite happy talking to the Mater."
We danced the mazurka with the same partners.
He did it better than I expected — without much awk-
wardness — but stiffly. However, he moved quietly
through the dance, laughing and talking abstractedly
all the time with Alice.
Then Lettie cried a change of partners, and they
took their valeta. There was a little triumph in his
smile.
" Do you congratulate me ? " he said.
" I am surprised," she answered.
" So am I. But I congratulate myself."
" Do you ? Well, so do I."
" Thanks ! You're beginning at last."
" What ? " she asked.
" To believe in me."
" Don't begin to talk again," she pleaded, sadly,
" nothing vital."
" Do you like dancing with me ? " he asked.
" Now, be quiet — that's real," she replied.
" By Heaven, Lettie, you make me laugh ! "
"Do I ? " she said — " What if you married Alice
— soon."
" I — Alice ! — Lettie ! ! Besides, I've only a hun-
dred pounds in the world, and no prospects whatever.
184 THE WHITE PEACOCK
That's why — well — I shan't marry anybody — unless
its somebody with money."
" I've a couple of thousand or so of my own "
" Have you ? It would have done nicely," he said
smiling.
" You are different to-night," she said, leaning on
him.
" Am I ? " he replied — " It's because things are
altered too. They're settled one way now — for the
present at least."
" Don't forget the two steps this time," said she
smiling, and adding seriously, " You see, I couldn't
help it."
"JSTo, why not?"
" Things ! I have been brought up to expect it —
everybody expected it — and you're bound to do what
people expect you to do — you can't help it. We
can't help ourselves, we're all chess-men," she said.
" Ay," he agreed, but doubtfully.
" I wonder where it will end," she said.
" Lettie ! " he cried, and his hand closed in a grip
on her's.
" Don't — don't say anything— it's no good now,
it's too late. It's done; and what is done, is done.
If you talk any more, I shall say I'm tired and stop
the dance. Don't say another word."
He did not — at least to her. Their dance came to
an end. Then he took Marie who talked winsomely
to him. As he waltzed with Marie he regained his
animated spirits. He was very lively the rest of the
evening, quite astonishing and reckless. At supper
he ate everything, and drank much wine.
" Have some more turkey, Mr. Saxton."
LETTIE COMES OF AGE 185
" Thanks — but give me some of that stuff in brown
jelly, will you ? It's new to me."
" Have some of this trifle, Georgie ? "
" I will — you are a jewel."
" So will you be — a yellow topaz tomorrow ! "
" Ah ! tomorrow's tomorrow ! "
After supper was over, Alice cried:
" Georgie, dear — have you finished ? — don't die
the death of a king — King John — I can't spare you,
pet."
" Are you so fond of me ? "
" I am — Aw ! I'd throw my best Sunday hat
under a milk-cart for you, I would ! "
" 'No ; throw yourself into the milk-cart — some
Sunday, when I'm driving."
" Yes — come and see us," said Emily.
" How nice ! Tomorrow you won't want me,
Georgie dear, so I'll come. Don't you wish Pa would
make Tono-Bungay? Wouldn't you marry me
then?"
" I would," said he.
When the cart came, and Alice, Madie, Tom and
Will departed, Alice bade Lettie a long farewell —
blew Georgie many kisses — promised to love him
faithful and true — and was gone.
George and Emily lingered a short time.
Now the room seemed empty and quiet, and all the
laughter seemed to have gone. The conversation
dribbled away; there was an awkwardness.
" Well," said George heavily, at last. " To-day is
nearly gone — it will soon be tomorrow. I feel a bit
drunk! We had a good time to-night."
" I am glad," said Lettie.
186 THE WHITE PEACOCK
They put on their clogs and leggings, and wrapped
themselves up, and stood in the hall.
" We must go," said George, " before the clock
strikes, — like Cinderella — look at my glass slip-
pers — " he pointed to his clogs. " Midnight, and
rags, and fleeing. Very appropriate. I shall call
myself Cinderella who wouldn't fit. I believe I'm
a bit drunk — the world looks funny."
We looked out at the haunting wanness of the
hills beyond Nethermere. " Good-bye, Lettie ; good-
bye."
They were out in the snow, which peered pale and
eerily from the depths of the black wood.
" Good-bye," he called out of the darkness. Leslie
slammed the door, and drew Lettie away into the
drawing-room. The sound of his low, vibrating satis-
faction reached us, as he murmured to her, and
laughed low. Then he kicked the door of the room
shut. Lettie began to laugh and mock and talk in a
high strained voice. The sound of their laughter
mingled was strange and incongruous. Then her
voice died down.
Marie sat at the little piano — which was put in the
dining-room — strumming and tinkling the false,
quavering old notes. It was a depressing jingling in
the deserted remains of the feast, but she felt senti-
mental, and enjoyed it.
This was a gap between to-day and tomorrow, a
dreary gap, where one sat and looked at the dreary
comedy of yesterdays, and the grey tragedies of
dawning tomorrows, vacantly, missing the poignancy
of an actual to-day.
The cart returned.
LETTIE COMES OF AGE 187
" Leslie, Leslie, John is here, come along ! " called
Marie.
There was no answer.
" Leslie — John is waiting in the snow."
" All right"
" But you must come at once." She went to the
door and spoke to him. Then he came out looking
rather sheepish, and rather angry at the interruption.
Lettie followed, tidying her hair. She did not laugh
and look confused, as most girls do on similar occa-
sions; she seemed very tired.
At last Leslie tore himself away, and after more
returns for a farewell kiss, mounted the carriage,
which stood in a pool of yellow light, blurred and
splotched with shadows, and drove away, calling
something about tomorrow.
PAET II
CHAPTEK I
STRANGE BLOSSOMS AND STRANGE NEW BUDDING
Winter lay a long time prostrate on the earth. The
men in the mines of Tempest, Warrall and Co. came
out on strike on a question of the re-arranging of the
working system down below. The distress was not
awful, for the men were on the whole wise and well-
conditioned, but there was a dejection over the face
of the country-side, and some suffered keenly.
Everywhere, along the lanes and in the streets,
loitered gangs of men, unoccupied and spiritless.
Week after week went on, and the agents of the
Miner's Union held great meetings, and the ministers
held prayer-meetings, but the strike continued.
There was no rest. Always the crier's bell was ring-
ing in the street ; always the servants of the company
were delivering handbills, stating the case clearly,
and always the people talked and filled the months
with bitter, and then hopeless, resenting. Schools
gave breakfasts, chapels gave soup, well-to-do people
gave teas — the children enjoyed it. But we, who
knew the faces of the old men and the privations of
the women, breathed a cold, disheartening atmo-
sphere of sorrow and trouble.
Determined poaching was carried on in the
Squire's woods and warrens. Annable defended his
game heroically. One man was at home with a leg
101
193 THE WHITE PEACOCK
supposed to be wounded by a fall on the slippery
roads — but really, by a man-trap in the woods. Then
Annable caught two men, and they were sentenced to
two months' imprisonment.
On both the lodge gates of Highclose — on our
side and on the far Eberwich side — were posted
notices that trespassers on the drive or in the grounds
would be liable to punishment. These posters were
soon mudded over, and fresh ones fixed.
The men loitering on the road by Eethermere,
looked angrily at Lettie as she passed, in her black
furs which Leslie had given her, and their remarks
were pungent. She heard them, and they burned in
her heart. From my mother she inherited demo-
cratic views, which she now proceeded to debate
warmly with her lover.
Then she tried to talk to Leslie about the strike.
He heard her with mild superiority, smiled, and said
she did not know. Women jumped to conclusions
at the first touch of feeling; men must look at a
thing all round, then make a decision — nothing hasty
and impetuous — careful, long-thought-out, correct de-
cisions. Women could not be expected to understand
these things, business was not for them; in fact,
their mission was above business — etc., etc. Un-
fortunately Lettie was the wrong woman to treat
thus.
" So ! " said she, with a quiet, hopeless tone of
finality.
" There now, you understand, don't you, Minne-
haha, my Laughing Water — So laugh again, darling,
and don't worry about these things. We will not
talk about them any more, eh ? "
STRANGE NEW BUDDING 193
" No more."
" No more — that's right — you are as wise as an
angel. Come here — pooh, the wood is thick and
lonely ! Look, there is nobody in the world but us,
and you are my heaven and earth ! "
" And hell % "
" Ah — if you are so cold — how cold you are ! — it
gives me little shivers when you look so — and I am
always hot — Lettie ! "
" Well ? "
" You are cruel ! Kiss me — now — No, I don't
want your cheek — kiss me yourself. Why don't you
say something % "
" What for ? What's the use of saying anything
when there's nothing immediate to say ? "
" You are offended ! "
" It feels like snow to-day," she answered.
At last, however, winter began to gather her limbs,
to rise, and drift with saddened garments northward.
The strike was over. The men had compromised.
It was a gentle way of telling them they were beaten.
But the strike was over.
The birds fluttered and dashed ; the catkins on the
hazel loosened their winter rigidity, and swung soft
tassels. All through the day sounded long, sweet
whistlings from the brushes ; then later, loud, laugh-
ing shouts of bird triumph on every hand.
I remember a day when the breast of the hills was
heaving in a last quick waking sigh, and the blue
eyes of the waters opened bright. Across the infinite
skies of March great rounded masses of cloud had
sailed stately all day, domed with a white radiance,
194 THE WHITE PEACOCK
softened with faint, fleeting shadows as if companies
of angels were gently sweeping past; adorned with
resting, silken shadows like those of a full white
breast. All day the clouds had moved on to their vast
destination, and I had clung to the earth yearning
and impatient. I took a brush and tried to paint
them, then I raged at myself. I wished that in all
the wild valley where cloud shadows were travelling
like pilgrims, something would call me forth from
my rooted loneliness. Through all the grandeur of
the white and blue day, the poised cloud masses
swung their slow flight, and left me unnoticed.
At evening, they were all gone, and the empty sky,
like a blue bubble over us, swam on its pale bright
rims.
Leslie came, and asked his betrothed to go out with
him, under the darkening wonderful bubble. She
bade me accompany her, and, to escape from myself,
I went.
It was warm in the shelter of the wood and in the
crouching hollows of the hills. But over the slanting
shoulders of the hills the wind swept, whipping the
redness into our faces.
" Get me some of those alder catkins, Leslie," said
Lettie, as we came down to the stream.
" Yes, those, where they hang over the brook.
They are ruddy like new blood freshening under the
skin. Look, tassels of crimson and gold ! " She
pointed to the dusty hazel catkins mingled with the
alder on her bosom. Then she began to quote Chris-
tina Kossetti's " A Birthday."
" I'm glad you came to take me a walk," she con-
tinued — " Doesn't Strelley Mill look pretty ? Like a
STRANGE NEW BUDDING 195
group of orange and scarlet fungi in a fairy picture.
Do you know, I haven't been, no, not for quite a long
time. Shall we call now ? "
" The daylight will be gone if we do. It is half
past five — more! I saw him — the son — the other
morning."
" Where ? "
" He was carting manure — I made haste by."
" Did he speak to you — did you look at him ? "
" No, he said nothing. I glanced at him — he's
just the same, brick colour — stolid. Mind that stone
— it rocks. I'm glad you've got strong boots on."
" Seeing that I usually wear them "
She stood poised a moment on a large stone, the
fresh spring brook hastening towards her, deepening,
sidling round her.
" You won't call and see them, then ? " she asked.
" No. I like to hear the brook tinkling, don't
you ? " he replied.
" Ah, yes — it's full of music."
" Shall we go on ? " he said, impatient but submis-
sive.
" I'll catch up in a minute," said I.
I went in and found Emily putting some bread
into the oven.
" Come out for a walk," said I.
" Now ? Let me tell mother — I was longing "
She ran and put on her long grey coat and her
red tam-o-shanter. As we went down the yard,
George called to me.
" I'll come back," I shouted.
He came to the crew-yard gate to see us off.
When we came out onto the path, we saw Lettie stand-
196 THE WHITE PEACOCK
ing on the top bar of the stile, balancing with her
hand on Leslie's head. She saw us, she saw George,
and she waved to us. Leslie was looking up at her
anxiously. She waved again, then we could hear her
laughing, and telling him excitedly, to stand still,
and steady her while she turned. She turned
round, and leaped with a great flutter, like a big bird
launching, down from the top of the stile to the ground
and into his arms. Then we climbed the steep hill-
side — Sunny Bank, that had once shone yellow with
wheat, and now waved black tattered ranks of thistles
where the rabbits ran. We passed the little cottages
in the hollow scooped out of the hill, and gained the
highlands that look out over Leicestershire to Charn-
wood on the left, and away into the mountain knob
of Derbyshire straight in front and towards the right.
The upper road is all grassy, fallen into long dis-
use. It used to lead from the Abbey to the Hall;
but now it ends blindly on the hill-brow. Half way
along is the old White House farm, with its green
mounting steps mouldering outside. Ladies have
mounted here and ridden towards the Vale of Bel-
voir — but now a labourer holds the farm.
We came to the quarries, and looked in at the lime-
kilns.
" Let us go right into the wood out of the quarry/'
said Leslie. " I have not been since I was a little
lad."
" It is trespassing," said Emily.
" We don't trespass," he replied grandiloquently.
So we went along by the hurrying brook, which
fell over little cascades in its haste, never looking
once at the primroses that were glimmering all along
STRANGE NEW BUDDING 197
its banks. We turned aside, and climbed the bill
through the woods. Velvety green sprigs of dog-
mercury were scattered on the red soil. We came to
the top of a slope, where the wood thinned. As I
talked to Emily I became dimly aware of a whiteness
over the ground. She exclaimed with surprise, and
I found that I was walking, in the first shades of
twilight, over clumps of snowdrops. The hazels were
thin, and only here and there an oak tree uprose. All
the ground was white with snowdrops, like drops of
manna scattered over the red earth, on the grey-green
clusters of leaves. There was a deep little dell, sharp
sloping like a cup, and white sprinkling of flowers
all the way down, with white flowers showing pale
among the first inpouring of shadow at the bottom.
The earth was red and warm, pricked with the dark,
succulent green of bluebell sheaths, and embroidered
with grey-green clusters of spears, and many white
flowerets. High above, above the light tracery of
hazel, the weird oaks tangled in the sunset. Below,
in the first shadows, drooped hosts of little white
flowers, so silent and sad ; it seemed like a holy com-
munion of pure wild things, numberless, frail, and
folded meekly in the evening light. Other flower
companies are glad; stately barbaric hordes of blue-
bells, merry-headed cowslip groups, even light, tossing
wood-anemones; but snowdrops are sad and myste-
rious. We have lost their meaning. They do not
belong to us, who ravish them. The girls bent among
them, touching them with their fingers, and sym-
bolising the yearning which I felt. Folded in the
twilight, these conquered flowerets are sad like forlorn
little friends of dryads.
198 THE WHITE PEACOCK
" What do they mean, do you think ? " said Lettie
in a low voice, as her white fingers touched the flow-
ers, and her black furs fell on them.
" There are not so many this year," said Leslie.
" They remind me of mistletoe, which is never
ours, though we wear it," said Emily to me.
" What do you think they say — what do they make
you think, Cyril ? " Lettie repeated.
" I don't know. Emily says they belong to some
old wild lost religion. They were the symbol of tears,
perhaps, to some strange hearted Druid folk before
us."
" More than tears," said Lettie. " More than
tears, they are so still. Something out of an old
religion, that we have lost They make me feel
afraid."
"What should you have to fear?" asked Leslie.
" If I knew I shouldn't fear," she answered.
" Look at all the snowdrops " — they hung in dim,
strange flecks among the dusky leaves — " look at
them — closed up, retreating, powerless. They be-
long to some knowledge we have lost, that I have
lost and that I need. I feel afraid. They seem
like something in fate. Do you think, Cyril, we can
lose things off the earth — like mastodons, and those
old monstrosities — but things that matter — wis-
dom?"
" It is against my creed," said I.
" I believe I have lost something," said she.
" Come," said Leslie, " don't trouble with fancies.
Come with me to the bottom of this cup, and see
how strange it will be, with the sky marked with
branches like a filigree lid."
STRANGE NEW BUDDING 199
She rose and followed him down the steep side of
the pit, crying, " Ah, you are treading on the flow-
ers."
" No," said he, " I am being very careful."
They sat down together on a fallen tree at the bot-
tom. She leaned forward, her fingers wandering
white among the shadowed grey spaces of leaves,
plucking, as if it were a rite, flowers here and there.
He could not see her face.
" Don't you care for me?" he asked softly.
" You ? " — she sat up and looked at him, and
laughed strangely. " You do not seem real to me,"
she replied, in a strange voice.
For some time they sat thus, both bowed and silent.
Birds " skirred " off from the bushes, and Emily
looked up with a great start as a quiet, sardonic voice
said above us :
" A dove-cot, my eyes if it ain't ! It struck me I
'eered a cooin', an' 'ere's th' birds. Come on, sweet-
hearts, it's th' wrong place for billin' an' cooin', in
th' middle o' these 'ere snowdrops. Let's 'ave yer
names, come on."
" Clear off, you fool ! " answered Leslie from be-
low, jumping up in anger.
We all four turned and looked at the keeper. He
stood in the rim of light, darkly ; fine, powerful form,
menacing us. He did not move, but like some
malicious Pan looked down on us and said :
" Very pretty — pretty ! Two — and two makes
four. 'Tis true, two and two makes four. Come on,
come on out o' this 'ere bridal bed, an' let's 'ave a
look at yer."
" Can't you use your eyes, you fool," replied Les-
200 THE WHITE PEACOCK
lie, standing up and helping Lettie with her furs.
" At any rate you can see there are ladies here."
" Very sorry, Sir ! You can't tell a lady from a
woman at this distance at dusk. Who may you be,
Sir?"
" Clear out ! Come along, Lettie, you can't stay
here now."
They climbed into the light.
" Oh, very sorry, Mr. Tempest — when yer look
down on a man he never looks the same. I thought
it was some, young fools come here dallyin' "
" Damn you — shut up ! " exclaimed Leslie — " I
beg your pardon, Lettie. Will you have my arm ? "
They looked very elegant, the pair of them. Let-
tie was wearing a long coat which fitted close; she
had a small hat whose feathers flushed straight back
with her hair.
The keeper looked at them. Then, smiling, he
went down the dell with great strides, and returned,
saying, " Well, the lady might as well take her
gloves."
She took them from him, shrinking to Leslie.
Then she started, and said :
" Let me fetch my flowers."
She ran for the handful of snowdrops that ?ay
among the roots of the trees. We all watched her.
" Sorry I made such a mistake — a lady ! " said
Annable. " But I've nearly forgot the sight o' one
— save the squire's daughters, who are never out o'
nights."
" I should think you never have seen many — un-
less — ! Have you ever been a groom ? "
" No groom but a bridegroom, Sir, and then I
STRANGE NEW BUDDING 201
think I'd rather groom a horse than a lady, for I
got well bit — if you will excuse me, Sir."
" And you deserved it — no doubt."
" I got it — an' I wish you better luck, Sir. One's
more a man here in th' wood, though, than in my
lady's parlour, it strikes me."
" A lady's parlour ! " laughed Leslie, indulgent in
his amusement at the facetious keeper.
" Oh, yes ! * Will you walk into my par-
lour ' "
" You're very smart for a keeper."
" Oh, yes Sir — I was once a lady's man. But I'd
rather watch th' rabbits an' th' birds; an' it's easier
breeding brats in th' Kennels than in th' town."
" They are yours, are they ? " said I.
" You know 'em, do you, Sir ? Aren't they a
lovely little litter? — aren't they a pretty bag o' fer-
rets? — natural as weasels — that's what I said they
should be — bred up like a bunch o' young foxes, to
run as they would."
Emily had joined Lettie, and they kept aloof from
the man they instinctively hated.
" They'll get nicely trapped, one of these days,"
said I.
" They're natural — they can fend for themselves
like wild beasts do," he replied, grinning.
" You are not doing your duty, it strikes me,"
put in Leslie sententiously.
The man laughed.
" Duties of parents ! — tell me, I've need of it. I've
nine — that is eight, and one not far off. She breeds
well, the ow'd lass — one every two years — nine in
fourteen years — done well, hasn't she ? "
202 THE WHITE PEACOCK
' " You've done pretty badly, I think."
" I — why ? It's natural ! When a man's more
than nature he's a devil. Be a good animal, says I,
whether it's man or woman. You, Sir, a good
natural male animal ; the lady there — a female un —
that's proper — as long as yer enjoy it."
"And what then?"
" Do as th' animals do. I watch my brats — I let
'em grow. They're beauties, they are — sound as a
young ash pole, every one. They shan't learn to
dirty themselves wi' smirking deviltry — not if I can
help it. They can be like birds, or weasels, or vipers,
or squirrels, so long as they ain't human rot, that's
what I say."
" It's one way of looking at things," said
Leslie.
" Ay. Look at the women looking at us. I'm
something between a bull and a couple of worms
stuck together, I am. See that spink ! " he raised his
voice for the girls to hear. " Pretty, isn't he ?
What for ? — And what for do you wear a fancy vest
and twist your moustache, Sir! What fcr, at the
bottom ! Ha — tell a woman not to come in a wood
till she can look at natural things — she might see
something — Good night, Sir."
He marched off into the darkness.
" Coarse fellow, that," said Leslie when he had
rejoined Lettie, " but he's a character."
" He makes you shudder," she replied. " But yet
you are interested in him. I believe he has a his-
tory."
" He seems to lack something," said Emily.
" I thought him rather a fine fellow," said I.
STRANGE NEW BUDDING 203
" Splendidly built fellow, but callous — no soul,"
remarked Leslie, dismissing the question.
" No," assented Emily. " No soul — and among
the snowdrops."
Lettie was thoughtful, and I smiled.
It was a beautiful evening, still, with red, shaken
clouds in the west. The moon in heaven was turn-
ing wistfully back to the east. Dark purple woods
lay around us, painting out the distance. The near,
wild, ruined land looked sad and strange under the
pale afterglow. The turf path was fine and springy.
" Let us run ! " said Lettie, and joining hands we
raced wildly along, with a flutter and a breathless
laughter, till we were happy and forgetful. When
we stopped we exclaimed at once, " Hark ! "
" A child ! " said Lettie.
" At the Kennels," said I.
We hurried forward. From the house came the
mad yelling and yelping of children, and the wild
hysterical shouting of a woman.
"Tha' little devil— tha' little devil— tha' shanna—
that tha' shanna ! " and this was accompanied by the
hollow sound of blows, and a pandemonium of howl-
ing. We rushed in, and found the woman in a
tousled frenzy belabouring a youngster with an enam-
elled pan. The lad was rolled up like a young
hedgehog — the woman held him by the foot, and like
a flail came the hollow utensil thudding on his shoul-
ders and back. He lay in the firelight and howled,
while scattered in various groups, with the leap-
ing firelight twinkling over their tears and their open
mouths, were the otheT children, crying too. The
mother was in a state of hysteria ; her hair streamed
204 THE WHITE PEACOCK
over her face, and her eyes were fixed in a stare
of overwrought irritation. Up and down went her
long arm like a windmill sail. I ran and held it.
When she could hit no more, the woman dropped the
pan from her nerveless hand, and staggered, tremb-
ling, to the squab. She looked desperately weary
and fordone — she clasped and unclasped her hands
continually. Emily hushed the children, while Let-
tie hushed the mother, holding her hard, cracked
hands as she swayed to and fro. Gradually the
mother became still, and sat staring in front of her;
then aimlessly she began to finger the jewels on Let-
tie's finger.
Emily was bathing the cheek of a little girl, who
lifted up her voice and wept loudly when she saw
the speck of blood on the cloth. But presently she
became quiet too, and Emily could empty the water
from the late instrument of castigation, and at last
light the lamp.
I found Sam under the table in a little heap. I
put out my hand for him, and he wriggled away,
like a lizard, into the passage. After a while I saw
him in a corner, lying whimpering with little savage
cries of pain. I cut off his retreat and captured him,
bearing him struggling into the kitchen. Then,
weary with pain, he became passive.
We undressed him, and found his beautiful white
body all discoloured with bruises. The mother be-
gan to sob again, with a chorus of babies. The girls
tried to soothe the weeping, while I rubbed butter
into the silent, wincing boy. Then his mother caught
him in her arms, and kissed him passionately, and
cried with abandon. The boy let himself be kissed —
STRANGE NEW BUDDING 205
then he too began to sob, till his little body was all
shaken. They folded themselves together, the poor
dishevelled mother and the half-naked boy, and wept
themselves still. Then she took him to bed, and the
girls helped the other little ones into their night-
gowns, and soon the house was still.
" I canna manage 'em, I canna," said the mother
mournfully. " They growin' beyont me — I dunna
know what to do wi' 'em. An' niver a' 'and does 'e
lift ter 'elp me — no — 'e cares not a thing for me —
not a thing — nowt but makes a mock an' a sludge o*
me."
" Ah, baby ! " said Lettie, setting the bonny boy
on his feet, and holding up his trailing nightgown
behind him, " do you want to walk to your mother —
go then— Ah ! "
The child, a handsome little fellow of some six-
teen months, toddled across to his mother, waving
his hands as he went, and laughing, while his large
hazel eyes glowed with pleasure. His mother caught
him, pushed the silken brown hair back from his
forehead, and laid his cheek against hers.
" Ah ! " she said, " Tha's got a funny Dad, tha'
has, not like another man, no, my duckie. 'E's got
no 'art ter care for nobody, 'e 'asna, ma pigeon —
no, — lives like a stranger to his own flesh an' blood."
The girl with the wounded cheek had found com-
fort in Leslie. She was seated on his knee, looking
at him with solemn blue eyes, her solemnity increased
by the quaint round head, whose black hair was cut
short.
" 'S my chalk, yes it is, 'n our Sam says as it's
'issen, an' 'e ta'es it and marks it all gone, so I
206 THE WHITE PEACOCK
wouldna gie 't 'im," — she clutched in her fat little
hand a piece of red chalk. " My Dad gen it me, ter
mark my dolly's face red, what's on'y wood — I'll
show yer."
She wriggled down, and holding up her trailing
gown with one hand, trotted to a corner piled with
a child's rubbish, and hauled out a hideous carven
caricature of a woman, and brought it to Leslie. The
face of the object was streaked with red.
" 'Ere sh' is, my dolly, what my Dad make me —
'er name's Lady Mima."
" Is it ? " said Lettie, " and are these her cheeks ?
She's not pretty, is she I "
" Um — sh' is. My Dad says sh' is — like a lady."
" And he gave you her rouge, did he ? "
" Kouge ! " she nodded.
" And you wouldn't let Sam have it ? "
" No — an' mi mower says, ' Dun gie 't 'im ' — 'n
'e bite ma"
" What will your father say * "
" Me Dad ? "
" 'E'd nobbut laugh," put in the mother, " an say
as a bite's bett'r'n a kiss."
" Brute ! " said Leslie feelingly.
" No, but 'e never laid a finger on 'em — nor me
neither. But 'e 's not like another man — niver tells
yer nowt. He's more a stranger to me this day than
'e wor th' day I first set eyes on 'im."
" Where was that ? " asked Lettie.
" When I wor a lass at th' 'All — an' 'im a new
man come — fair a gentleman, an' a, an' a ! An even
now can read an' talk like a gentleman — but 'e tells
me nothing — Oh no — what am I in 'is eyes but a
STRANGE NEW BUDDING 207
sludge bump ? — 'e 's above me, 'e is, an' above 'is own
childer. God a-mercy, 'e '11 be in in a minute.
Come on 'ere ! "
She hustled the children to bed, swept the litter
into a corner, and began to lay the table. The cloth
was spotless, and she put him a silver spoon in the
saucer.
We had only just got out of the house when he
drew near. I saw his massive figure in the door-
way, and the big, prolific woman moved subserviently
about the room.
" Hullo, Proserpine — had visitors ? "
" I never axed 'em — they come in 'earin' th' chil-
der cryin'. I never encouraged 'em "
We hurried away into the night.
" Ah, it's always the woman bears the burden,"
said Lettie bitterly.
" If he'd helped her — wouldn't she have been a
fine woman now — splendid ? But she's dragged to
bits. Men are brutes — and marriage just gives scope
to them," said Emily.
" Oh, you wouldn't take that as a fair sample of
marriage," replied Leslie. " Think of you and me,
Minnehaha."
"Ay."
" Oh — I meant to tell you — what do you think of
Greymede old vicarage for us ? "
" It's a lovely old place ! " exclaimed Lettie, and
we passed out of hearing.
We stumbled over the rough path. The moon was
bright, and we stepped apprehensively on the shad-
ows thrown from the trees, for they lay so black and
substantial. Occasionally a moonbeam would trace
208 THE WHITE PEACOCK
out a suave white branch that the rabbits had
gnawed quite bare in the hard winter. We came out
of the woods into the full heavens. The northern sky
was full of a gush of green light; in front, eclipsed
Orion leaned over his bed, and the moon followed.
" When the northern lights are up," said Emily,
" I feel so strange — half eerie — they do fill you with
awe, don't they I "
" Yes," said I, " they make you wonder, and look,
and expect something."
" What do you expect ? " she said softly, and
looked up, and saw me smiling, and she looked down
again, biting her lips.
When we came to the parting of the roads, Emily
begged them just to step into the mill — just for a
moment — and Lettie consented.
The kitchen window was uncurtained, and the
blind, as usual, was not drawn. We peeped in
through the cords of budding honeysuckle. George
and Alice were sitting at the table playing chess;
the mother was mending a coat, and the father, as
usual, was reading. Alice was talking quietly, and
George was bent on the game. His arms lay on the
table.
We made a noise at the door, and entered. George
rose heavily, shook hands, and sat down again.
" Hullo, Lettie Beardsall, you are a stranger,"
said Alice. " Are you so much engaged ? "
" Ay — we don't see much of her nowadays," added
the father in his jovial way.
" And isn't she a toff, in her fine hat and furs and
snowdrops. Look at her, George, you've never
looked to see what a toff she is."
STRANGE NEW BUDDING 209
He raised his eyes, and looked at her apparel and
at her flowers, but not at her face :
" Ay, she is fine," he said, and returned to the
chess.
" We have been gathering snowdrops," said Let-
tie, fingering the flowers in her bosom.
" They are pretty — give me some, will you ? " said
Alice, holding out her hand. Lettie gave her the
flowers.
" Check ! " said George deliberately.
" Get out ! " replied his opponent, " I've got some
snowdrops — don't they suit me, an innocent little
soul like me? Lettie won't wear them — she's not
meek and mild and innocent like me. Do you want
some ? "
" If you like— what for ? "
" To make you pretty, of course, and to show you
an innocent little meekling."
" You're in check," he said.
" Where can you wear them ? — there's only your
shirt. Aw ! — there ! " — she stuck a few flowers in
his ruffled black hair — " Look, Lettie, isn't he
sweet?"
Lettie laughed with a strained little laugh:
" He's like Bottom and the ass's head," she said.
" Then I'm Titania — don't I make a lovely fairy
queen, Bully Bottom? — and who's jealous Oberon? "
" He reminds me of that man in Hedda Gabler —
crowned with vine leaves — oh, yes, vine leaves," said
Emily.
" How's your mare's sprain, Mr. Tempest ? "
George asked, taking no notice of the flowers in his
hair.
210 THE WHITE PEACOCK
" Oh — she'll soon be all right, thanks."
" Ah — George told me about it," put in the father,
and he held Leslie in conversation.
" Am I in check, George 8 " said Alice, returning
to the game. She knitted her brows and cogitated:
" Pooh ! " she said, " that's soon remedied ! " —
she moved her piece, and said triumphantly, " Now,
Sir ! "
He surveyed the game, and, with deliberation
moved. Alice pounced on him; with a leap of her
knight she called " check ! "
" I didn't see it — you may have the game now,"
he said.
" Beaten, my boy ! — don't crow over a woman any
more. Stale-mate — with flowers in your hair ! "
He put his hand to his head, and felt among his
hair, and threw the flowers on the table.
" Would you believe it ! " said the mother,
coming into the room from the dairy.
"What?" we all asked.
" Nickie Ben's been and eaten the sile cloth. Yes !
When I went to wash it, there sat Mckie Ben gulp-
ing, and wiping the froth off his whiskers."
George laughed loudly and heartily. He laughed
till he was tired. Lettie looked and wondered when
he would be done.
" I imagined," he gasped, " how he'd feel with
half a yard of muslin creeping down his throttle."
This laughter was most incongruous. He went off
into another burst. Alice laughed too — it was easy
to infect her with laughter. Then the father began
— and in walked Mckie Ben, stepping disconsolately
— we all roared again, till the rafters shook. Only
STRANGE NEW BUDDING 211
Lettie looked impatiently for the end. George swept
his bare arms across the table, and the scattered little
flowers fell broken to the ground.
" Oh — what a shame ! " exclaimed Lettie.
" What ? " said he, looking round. " Your flow-
ers? Do you feel sorry for them? — you're too ten-
der hearted ; isn't she, Cyril ? "
" Always was — for dumb animals, and things,"
said I.
" Don't you wish you was a little dumb animal,
Georgie ? " said Alice.
He smiled, putting away the chess-men.
" Shall we go, dear ? " said Lettie to Leslie.
" If you are ready," he replied, rising with alac-
rity.
" I am tired," she said plaintively.
He attended to her with little tender solicitations.
" Have we walked too far ? " he asked.
" No, it's not that. No — it's the snowdrops, and
the man, and the children — and everything. I feel
just a bit exhausted."
She kissed Alice, and Emily, and the mother.
" Good-night, Alice," she said. " It's not alto-
gether my fault we're strangers. You know — really
— I'm just the same — really. Only you imagine,
and then what can I do ? "
She said farewell to George, and looked at him
through a quiver of suppressed tears.
George was somewhat flushed with triumph over
Lettie: She had gone home with tears shaken from
her eyes unknown to her lover ; at the farm George
laughed with Alice.
We escorted Alice home to Eberwich — " Like a
212 THE WHITE PEACOCK
blooming little monkey dangling from two boughs,"
as she put it, when we swung her along on our arms.
We laughed and said many preposterous things.
George wanted to kiss her at parting, but she tipped
him under the chin and said, " Sweet ! " as one does
to a canary. Then she laughed with her tongue be-
tween her teeth, and ran indoors.
" She is a little devil," said he.
We took the long way home by Greymede, and
passed the dark schools.
" Come on," said he, " let's go in the ' Kam Inn/
and have a look at my cousin Meg."
It was half past ten when he marched me across
the road and into the sanded passage of the little inn.
The place had been an important farm in the days of
George's grand-uncle, but since his decease it had
declined, under the governance of the widow and a
man-of-all-work. The old grand-aunt was propped
and supported by a splendid grand-daughter. The
near kin of Meg were all in California, so she, a
bonny delightful girl of twenty-four, stayed near her
grand-ma.
As we tramped grittily down the passage, the red
head of Bill poked out of the bar, and he said as he
recognised George:
" Good-ev'nin' — go forward — 'er's non abed yit."
We went forward, and unlatched the kitchen door.
The great-aunt was seated in her little, round-backed
armchair, sipping her " night-cap."
" Well, George, my lad ! " she cried, in her queru-
lous voice. " Tha' niver says it's thai, does ter ?
That's com'n for summat, for sure, else what brings
thee ter see me ? "
STRANGE NEW BUDDING 213
" No," he said. " Ah'n com ter see thee, nowt
else. Wheer's Meg ? "
" Ah ! — Ha — Ha — Ah ! — Me, did ter say ? — come
ter see me? — Ha — wheer's Meg! — an' who's this
young gentleman ? "
I was formally introduced, and shook the clammy
corded hand of the old lady.
" Tha' looks delikit," she observed, shaking her
cap and its scarlet geraniums sadly : " Cum now, sit
thee down, an' dunna look so long o' th' leg."
I sat down on the sofa, on the cushions covered
with blue and red checks. The room was very hot,
and I stared about uncomfortably. The old lady sat
peering at nothing, in reverie. She was a hard-vis-
aged, bosomless dame, clad in thick black cloth-like
armour, and wearing an immense twisted gold brooch
in the lace at her neck.
We heard heavy, quick footsteps above.
" Er's commin'," remarked the old lady, rousing
from her apathy. The footsteps came down-stairs
— quickly, then cautiously round the bend. Meg ap-
peared in the doorway. She started with surprise,
saying:
" Well, I 'eered sumbody, but I never thought it
was you." More colour still flamed into her glossy
cheeks, and she smiled in her fresh, frank way. I
think I have never seen a woman who had more
physical charm ; there was a voluptuous fascination
in her every outline and movement; one never list-
ened to the words that came from her lips, one
watched the ripe motion of those red fruits.
" Get 'em a drop o' whiskey, Meg — you'll Ve a
drop?"
214 THE WHITE PEACOCK
I declined firmly, but did not escape.
" Nay," declared the old dame. " I s'll ha'e none
o' thy no's. Should ter like it 'ot? — Say th' word,
an' tha' 'as it."
I did not say the word.
" Then gi'e 'im claret," pronounced my hostess,
" though it's thin-bellied stuff ter to ter bed on " — •
and claret it was.
Meg went out again to see about closing. The
grand-aunt sighed, and sighed again, for no per-
ceptible reason but the whiskey.
" It's well you've come ter see me now," she
moaned, " for you'll none 'a'e a chance next time
you come'n; — No — I'm all gone but my cap "
She shook that geraniumed erection, and I wondered
what sardonic fate left it behind.
" An' I'm forced ter say it, I s'll be thankful to
be gone," she added, after a few sighs.
This weariness of the flesh was touching. The
cruel truth is, however, that the old lady clung to
life like a louse to a pig's back. Dying, she faintly,
but emphatically declared herself, " a bit better — a
bit better. I s'll be up to-morrow."
" I should a gone before now," she continued,
" but for that blessed wench — I canna abear to think
o' leavin 'er — come drink up, my lad, drink up —
nay, tha' 'rt nobbut young yet, that' 'rt none topped
up wi' a thimbleful."
I took whiskey in preference to the acrid stuff.
" Ay," resumed the grand-aunt. " I carina go in
peace till 'er's settled — an' 'er's that tickle o' choosin'.
Th' right sort 'asn't th' gumption ter ax' er."
She sniffed, and turned scornfully to her glass.
STRANGE NEW BUDDING 215
George grinned and looked conscious; as he swal-
lowed a gulp of whiskey it crackled in his throat.
The sound annoyed the old lady.
" Tha' might be scar'd at summat," she said.
" Tha' niver 'ad six drops o' spunk in thee."
She turned again with a sniff to her glass. He
frowned with irritation, half filled his glass with
liquor, and drank again.
" I dare bet as tha' niver kissed a wench in thy
life — not proper " — and she tossed the last drops of
her toddy down her skinny throat.
Here Meg came along the passage.
" Come, gran'ma," she said. " I'm sure it's time
as you was in bed — come on."
"Sit thee down an' drink a drop wi's — it's not
ivry night as we 'a'e cumpny."
" No, let me take you to bed — I'm sure you must
be ready."
" Sit thee down 'ere, I say, an' get thee a drop o'
port. Come — no argy-bargyin'."
Meg fetched more glasses and a decanter. I made
a place for her between me and George. We all had
port wine. Meg, naive and unconscious, waited on
us deliciously. Her cheeks gleamed like satin when
she laughed, save when the dimples held the shadow.
Her suave, tawny neck was bare and bewitching.
She turned suddenly to George as he asked her a
question, and they found their faces close together.
He kissed her, and when she started back, jumped
and kissed her neck with warmth.
" La — la — dy — da — la — dy — da — dy — da," cried
the old woman in delight, and she clutched her wine-
glass.
216 THE WHITE PEACOCK
" Come on — chink ! " she cried, " all together —
chink to him ! "
We four chinked and drank. George poured wine
in a tumbler, and drank it off. He was getting ex-
cited, and all the energy and passion that normally
were bound down by his caution and self -instinct
began to flame out.
" Here, aunt ! " said he, lifting his tumbler,
" here's to what you want — you know I "
" I knowed tha' wor as spunky as ony on'em,"
she cried. " Tha' nobbut wanted warmin' up. I'll
see as you're all right. It's a bargain. Chink again,
ivrybody."
" A bargain," said he before he put his lips to
the glass.
" What bargain's that? " said Meg.
The old lady laughed loudly and winked at George,
who, with his lips wet with wine, got up and kissed
Meg soundly, saying:
" There it is — that seals it."
Meg wiped her face with her big pinafore, and
seemed uncomfortable.
" Aren't you comin', gran'ma \ " she pleaded.
" Eh, tha' wants ter 'orry me off — what's thai
say, George — a deep un, isna 'er ? "
" Dunna go, Aunt, dunna be hustled off."
" Tush— Pish," snorted the old lady. " Yah, tha'
'rt a slow un, an' no mistakes ! Get a candle, Meg,
I'm ready."
Meg brought a brass bed-room candlestick. Bill
brought in the money in a tin box, and delivered it
into the hands of the old lady.
" Go thy ways to bed now, lad," said she to the
STRANGE NEW BUDDING 217
ugly, wizened serving-man. He sat in a corner and
pulled off his boots.
" Come an' kiss me good-night, George," said the
old woman — and as he did so she whispered in his
ear, whereat he laughed loudly. She poured whiskey
into her glass and called to the serving-man to drink
it. Then, pulling herself up heavily, she leaned on
Meg and went upstairs. She had been a big woman,
one could see, but now her shapeless, broken figure
looked pitiful beside Meg's luxuriant form. We
heard them slowly, laboriously climb the stairs.
George sat pulling his moustache and half -smiling ;
his eyes were alight with that peculiar childish look
they had when he was experiencing new and doubt-
ful sensations. Then he poured himself more whiskey.
" I say, steady ! " I admonished.
" What for I " he replied, indulging himself like
a spoiled child and laughing.
Bill, who had sat for some time looking at the
hole in his stocking, drained his glass, and with a
sad " Good-night," creaked off upstairs.
Presently Meg came down, and I rose and said
we must be going.
" I'll just come an' lock the door after you," said
she, standing uneasily waiting.
George got up. He gripped the edge of the table
to steady himself ; then he got his balance, and, with
his eyes on Meg, said :
" 'Ere ! " he nodded his head to her. " Come here,
I want ter ax thee sumwhat."
She looked at him, half -smiling, half doubtful.
He put his arm round her and looking down into her
eyes, with his face very close to hers, said :
218 THE WHITE PEACOCK
" Let's ha'e a kiss."
Quite unresisting she yielded him her mouth, look-
ing at him intently with her bright brown eyes. He
kissed her, and pressed her closely to him.
" I'm going to marry thee," he said.
" Go on ! " she replied, softly, half glad, half
doubtful.
"I am an' all," he repeated, pressing her more
tightly to him.
I went down the passage, and stood in the open
doorway looking out into the night. It seemed a
long time. Then I heard the thin voice of the old
woman at the top of the stairs:
" Meg ! Meg ! Send 'im off now. Come on ! "
In the silence that followed there was a murmur
of voices, and then they came into the passage.
" Good-night, my lad, good luck to thee ! " cried
the voice like a ghoul from upper regions.
He kissed his betrothed a rather hurried good-
night at the door.
" Good-night," she replied, softly, watching him
retreat. Then we heard her shoot the heavy
bolts.
" You know," he began, and he tried to clear his
throat. His voice was husky and strangulated with
excitement. He tried again:
" You know — she — she's a clinker."
I did not reply, but he took no notice.
"Damn! " he ejaculated. "What did I let her
go for!"
We walked along in silence — his excitement abated
somewhat.
" It's the way she swings her body — an' the curves
STRANGE NEW BUDDING £19
as she stands. It's when you look at her — you feel
— you know."
I suppose I knew, but it was unnecessary to say
so.
" You know — if ever I dream in the night — of
women — you know — it's always Meg; she seems to
look so soft , and to curve her body "
Gradually his feet began to drag. When we came
to the place where the colliery railway crossed the
road, he stumbled, and pitched forward, only just
recovering himself. I took hold of his arm.
" Good Lord, Cyril, am I drunk ? " he said.
"Not quite," said I.
" No," he muttered, " couldn't be."
But his feet dragged again, and he began to stag-
ger from side to side. I took hold of his arm. He
murmured angrily — then, subsiding again, muttered,
with slovenly articulation:
" I — I feel fit to drop with sleep."
Along the dead, silent roadway, and through the
uneven blackness of the wood, we lurched and
stumbled. He was very heavy and difficult to di-
rect. When at last we came to the brook we splashed
straight through the water. I urged him to walk
steadily and quietly across the yard. He did his
best, and we made a fairly still entry into the farm.
He dropped with all his weight on the sofa, and,
leaning down, began to unfasten his leggings. In
the midst of his fumblings he fell asleep, and I was
afraid he would pitch forward on to his head. I
took off his leggings and his wet boots and his
collar. Then, as I was pushing and shaking him
awake to get off his coat, I heard a creaking on the
220 THE WHITE PEACOCK
stairs, and my heart sank, for I thought it was
his mother. But it was Emily, in her long white
nightgown. She looked at us with great dark
eyes of terror, and whispered: "What's the mat-
ter?"
I shook my head and looked at him. His head
had dropped down on his chest again.
" Is he hurt ? " she asked, her voice becoming aud-
ible, and dangerous. He lifted his head, and looked
at her with heavy, angry eyes.
" George ! " she said sharply, in bewilderment and
fear. His eyes seemed to contract evilly.
" Is he drunk ? " she whispered, shrinking away,
and looking at me. " Have you made him drunk —
you?"
I nodded. I too was angry.
" Oh, if mother gets up ! I must get him to bed 1
Oh, how could you ! "
This sibilant whispering irritated him, and me. I
tugged at his coat. He snarled incoherently, and
swore. She caught her breath. He looked at her
sharply, and I was afraid he would wake himself
into a rage.
" Go upstairs ! " I whispered to her. She shook
her head. I could see him taking heavy breaths, and
the veins of his neck were swelling. I was furious
at her disobedience.
" Go at once," I said fiercely, and she went, still
hesitating and looking back.
I had hauled off his coat and waistcoat, so I let
him sink again into stupidity while I took off my
boots. Then I got him to his feet, and, walking be-
hind him, impelled him slowly upstairs. I lit a
STRANGE NEW BUDDING 221
candle in his bedroom. There was jio sound from
the other rooms. So I undressed him, and got him
in bed at last, somehow. I covered him up and put
over him the calf-skin rug, because the night was
cold. Almost immediately he began to breathe heav-
ily. I dragged him over to his side, and pillowed
his head comfortably. He looked like a tired boy,
asleep.
I stood still, now I felt myself alone, and looked
round. Up to the low roof rose the carven pillars
of dark mahogany ; there was a chair by the bed, and
a little yellow chest of drawers by the windows, that
was all the furniture, save the calf-skin rug on the
floor. In the drawers I noticed a book. It was a
copy of Omar Khayyam, that Lettie had given him
in her Khayyam days, a little shilling book with col-
oured illustrations.
I blew out the candle, when I had looked at him
again. As I crept on to the landing, Emily peeped
from her room, whispering, " Is he in bed ? "
I nodded, and whispered good-night. Then I went
home, heavily.
After the evening at the farm, Lettie and Leslie
drew closer together. They eddied unevenly down
the little stream of courtship, jostling and drifting
together and apart. He was unsatisfied and strove
with every effort to bring her close to him, sub-
missive. Gradually she yielded, and submitted to
him. She folded round her and him the snug cur-
tain of the present, and they sat like children play-
ing a game behind the hangings of an old bed. She
shut out all distant outlooks, as an Arab unfolds his
tent and conquers the mystery and space of the des-
222 THE WHITE PEACOCK
ert. So she lived gleefully in a little tent of pres-
ent pleasures and fancies.
Occasionally, only occasionally, she would peep
from her tent into the out space. Then she sat por-
ing over books, and nothing would be able to draw
her away ; or she sat in her room looking out of the
window for hours together. She pleaded headaches ;
mother said liver; he, angry like a spoilt child de-
nied his wish, declared it moodiness and perversity.
CHAPTEK II
A SHADOW IN SPRING
With spring came trouble. The Saxtons declared
they were being bitten off the estate by rabbits. Sud-
denly, in a fit of despair, the father bought a gun.
Although he knew that the Squire would not for one
moment tolerate the shooting of that manna, the rab-
bits, yet he was out in the first cold morning twilight
banging away. At first he but scared the brutes, and
brought Annable on the scene; then, blooded by the
use of the weapon, he played havoc among the furry
beasts, bringing home some eight or nine couples.
George entirely approved of this measure; it re-
joiced him even ; yet he had never had the initiative
to begin the like himself, or even to urge his father
to it. He prophesied trouble, and possible loss of
the farm. It disturbed him somewhat, to think they
must look out for another place, but he postponed
the thought of the evil day till the time should be
upon him.
A vendetta was established between the Mill and
the keeper, Annable. The latter cherished his rab-
bits:
" Call 'em vermin ! " he said. " I only know one
sort of vermin — and that's the talkin sort." So he
set himself to thwart and harass the rabbit slayers.
It was about this time I cultivated the acquaint-
223
224 THE WHITE PEACOCK
ance of the keeper. All the world hated him — to the
people in the villages he was like a devil of the woods.
Some miners had sworn vengeance on him for hav-
ing caused their commital to gaol. But he had a
great attraction for me; his magnificent physique,
his great vigour and vitality, and his swarthy, gloomy
face drew me.
He was a man of one idea: — that all civilisation
was the painted fungus of rottenness. He hated any
sign of culture. I won his respect one afternoon
when he found me trespassing in the woods because
I was watching some maggots at work in a dead rab-
bit. That led us to a discussion of life. He was a
thorough materialist — he scorned religion and all
mysticism. He spent his days sleeping, making in-
tricate traps for weasels and men, putting together a
gun, or doing some amateur forestry, cutting down
timber, splitting it in logs for use in the hall, and
planting young trees. When he thought, he reflected
on the decay of mankind — the decline of the human
race into folly and weakness and rottenness. " Be
a good animal, true to your animal instinct," was
his motto. With all this, he was fundamentally very
unhappy — and he made me also wretched. It was
this power to communicate his unhappiness that
made me somewhat dear to him, I think. He treated
me as an affectionate father treats a delicate son; I
noticed he liked to put his hand on my shoulder or
my knee as we talked ; yet withal, he asked me ques-
tions, and saved his thoughts to tell me, and believed
in my knowledge like any acolyte.
I went up to the quarry woods one evening in
early April, taking a look for Annable. I could not
A SHADOW IN SPRING 225
find him, however, in the wood. So I left the wild-
lands, and went along by the old red wall of the
kitchen garden, along the main road as far as the
mouldering church which stands high on a bank by
the road-side, just where the trees tunnel the dark-
ness, and the gloom of the highway startles the trav-
ellers at noon. Great trees growing on the banks
suddenly fold over everything at this point in the
swinging road, and in the obscurity rots the Hall
church, black and melancholy above the shrinking
head of the traveller.
The grassy path to the churchyard was still clogged
with decayed leaves. The church is abandoned. As
I drew near an owl floated softly out of the black
tower. Grass overgrew the threshold. I pushed open
the door, grinding back a heap of fallen plaster and
rubbish, and entered the place. In the twilight the
pews were leaning in ghostly disorder, the prayer-
books dragged from their ledges, scattered on the
floor in the dust and rubble, torn by mice and birds.
Birds scuffled in the darkness of the roof. I looked
up. In the upward well of the tower I could see a
bell hanging. I stooped and picked up a piece of
plaster from the ragged confusion of feathers, and
broken nests, and remnants of dead birds. Up into
the vault overhead I tossed pieces of plaster until
one hit the bell, and it " tonged " out its faint re-
monstrance. There was a rustle of many birds like
spirits. I sounded the bell again, and dark forms
moved with cries of alarm overhead, and something
fell heavily. I shivered in the dark, evil-smelling
place, and hurried to get out of doors. I clutched
my hands with relief and pleasure when I saw the
226 THE WHITE PEACOCK
sky above me quivering with the last crystal lights,
and the lowest red of sunset behind the yew-boles.
I drank the fresh air, that sparkled with the sound
of the blackbirds and thrushes whistling their strong
bright notes.
I strayed round to where the headstones, from
their eminence leaned to look on the Hall below,
where great windows shone yellow light on to the
flagged court-yard, and the little fish pool. A stone
stair-case descended from the graveyard to the court,
between stone balustrades whose pock-marked grey
columns still swelled gracefully and with dignity,
encrusted with lichens. The staircase was filled
with ivy and rambling roses — impassable. Ferns
were unrolling round the big square halting place,
half way down where the stairs turned.
A peacock, startled from the back premises of the
Hall, came flapping up the terraces to the church-
yard. Then a heavy footstep crossed the flags. It
was the keeper. I whistled the whistle he knew, and
he broke his way through the vicious rose-boughs up
the stairs. The peacock flapped beyond me, on to
the neck of an old bowed angel, rough and dark, an
angel which had long ceased sorrowing for the lost
Lucy, and had died also. The bird bent its volup-
tuous neck and peered about. Then it lifted up its
head and yelled. The sound tore the dark sanctuary
of twilight. The old grey grass seemed to stir, and
I could fancy the smothered primroses and violets
beneath it waking and gasping for fear.
The keeper looked at me and smiled. He nodded
his head towards the peacock, saying:
" Hark at that damned thing ! "
A SHADOW IN SPRING 227
Again the bird lifted its crested head and gave a
cry, at the same time turning awkwardly on its ugly
legs, so that it showed us the full wealth of its tail
glimmering like a stream of coloured stars over the
sunken face of the angel.
" The proud fool ! — look at it ! Perched on an
angel, too, as if it were a pedestal for vanity. That's
the soul of a woman — or it's the devil."
He was silent for a time, and we watched the great
bird moving uneasily before us in the twilight.
" That's the very soul of a lady," he said, " the
very, very soul. Damn the thing, to perch on that
old angel. I should like to wring its neck."
Again the bird screamed, and shifted awkwardly
on its legs; it seemed to stretch its beak at us in
derision. Annable picked up a piece of sod and
flung it at the bird, saying :
* Get out, you screeching devil ! God ! " he
laughed. " There must be plenty of hearts twist-
ing under here," — and he stamped on a grave, " when
they hear that row."
He kicked another sod from a grave and threw at
the big bird. The peacock flapped away, over the
tombs, down the terraces.
* Just look ! " he said, " the dirty devil's run her
muck over that angel. A woman to the end, I tell
you, all vanity and screech defilement."
He sat down on a vault and lit his pipe. But
before he had smoked two minutes, it was out again.
I had not seen him in a state of perturbation before.
" The church," said I, " is rotten. I suppose
they'll stand all over the country like this, soon —
with peacocks trailing the graveyards."
228 THE WHITE PEACOCK
" Ay," he muttered, taking no notice of me.
" This stone is cold," I said, rising.
He got up too, and stretched his arms as if he
were tired. It was quite dark, save for the waxing
moon which leaned over the east.
" It is a very fine night," I said. " Don't you no-
tice a smell of violets ? "
" Ay ! The moon looks like a woman with child.
I wonder what Time's got in her belly."
" You ? " I said. " You don't expect anything ex-
citing do you I "
" Exciting ! — No — about as exciting as this rot-
ten old place — just rot off — Oh, my God ! — I'm like
a good house, built and finished, and left to tumble
down again with nobody to live in it."
« Why— what's up— really ? "
He laughed bitterly, saying, " Come and sit down."
He led me off to a seat by the north door, between
two pews, very black and silent. There we sat, he
putting his gun carefully beside him. He remained
perfectly still, thinking.
" Whot's up ? " he said, at last, " Why— I'll tell
you. I went to Cambridge — my father was a big
cattle dealer — he died bankrupt while I was in col-
lege, and I never took my degree. They persuaded
me to be a parson, and a parson I was.
I went a curate to a little place in Leicestershire —
a bonnie place, with not many people, and a fine old
church, and a great rich parsonage. I hadn't over-
much to do, and the rector — he was the son of an
Earl — was generous. He lent me a horse and would
have me hunt like the rest. I always think of that
place with a smell of honeysuckle while the grass is
A SHADOW IN SPRING 229
wet in the morning. It was fine, and I enjoyed my-
self, and did the parish work all right. I believe I
was pretty good.
A cousin of the rector's used to come in the hunt-
ing season — a Lady Crystabel, lady in her own right.
The second year I was there she came in June.
There wasn't much company, so she used to talk to
me — I used to read then — and she used to pretend
to he so childish and unknowing, and would get me
telling her things, and talking to her, and I was hot
on things. We must play tennis together, and ride
together, and I must row her down the river. She
said we were in the wilderness and could do as we
liked. She made me wear flannels and soft clothes.
She was very fine and frank and unconventional —
ripping, I thought her. All the summer she stopped
on. I should meet her in the garden early in the
morning when I came from a swim in the river — it
was cleared and deepened on purpose — and she'd
blush and make me walk with her. I can remember
I used to stand and dry myself on the bank full where
she might see me — I was mad on her — and she was
madder on me.
We went to some caves in Derbyshire once, and
she would wander from the rest, and loiter, and, for
a game, we played a sort of hide and seek with the
party. They thought we'd gone, and they went and
locked the door. Then she pretended to be fright-
ened and clung to me, and said what would they
think, and hid her face in my coat. I took her and
kissed her, and we made it up properly. I found
out afterwards — she actually told me — she'd got the
idea from a sloppy French novel — the Komance of
230 THE WHITE PEACOCK
A Poor Young Man. I was the Poor Young
Man.
We got married. She gave me a living she had in
her parsonage, and we went to live at her Hall. She
wouldn't let me out of her sight. God ! — we were a
passionate couple — and she would have me in her
bedroom while she drew Greek statues of me — her
Croton, her Hercules! I never saw her drawings.
She had her own way too much — I let her do as she
liked with me.
Then gradually she got tired — it took her three
years to have a real bellyful of me. I had a physique
then — for that matter I have now."
He held out his arm to me, and bade me try his
muscle. I was startled. The hard flesh almost filled
his sleeve.
" Ah," he continued, " You don't know what it is
to have the pride of a body like mine. But she
wouldn't have children — no, she wouldn't — said she
daren't. That was the root of the difference at first
But she cooled down, and if you don't know the pride
of my body you'd never know my humiliation. I
tried to remonstrate — and she looked simply astound-
ed at my cheek. I never got over that amazement.
She began to get souly. A poet got hold of her,
and she began to affect Burne-Jones — or Waterhouse
— it was Waterhouse — she was a lot like one of his
women — Lady of Shalott, I believe. At any rate,
she got souly, and I was her animal — son animal —
son boeuf. I put up with that for above a year.
Then I got some servants' clothes and went.
I was seen in France — then in Australia — though
I never left England. I was supposed to have died
A SHADOW IN SPRING 231
in the bush. She married a young fellow. Then I
was proved to have died, and I read a little obituary-
notice on myself in a woman's paper she subscribed
to. She wrote it herself — as a warning to other
young ladies of position not to be seduced by plaus-
ible " Poor Young Men."
Now she's dead. They've got the paper — her
paper — in the kitchen down there, and it's full of
photographs, even an old photo of me — " an un-
fortunate misalliance." I feel, somehow, as if I
were at an end too. I thought I'd grown a solid,
middle-aged-man, and here I feel sore as I did at
twenty-six, and I talk as I used to.
One thing — I have got some children, and they're
of a breed as you'd not meet anywhere. I was a good
animal before everything, and I've got some children."
He sat looking up where the big moon swam
through the black branches of the yew.
" So she's dead — your poor peacock ! " I mur-
mured.
He got up, looking always at the sky, and stretched
himself again. He was an impressive figure massed
in blackness against the moonlight, with his arms
outspread.
" I suppose," he said, " it wasn't all her fault."
" A white peacock, we will say," I suggested.
He laughed.
" Go home by the top road, will you ! " he said.
" I believe there's something on in the bottom wood."
" All right," I answered, with a quiver of appre-
hension.
" Yes, she was fair enough," he muttered.
" Ay," said I, rising. I held out my hand from
232 THE WHITE PEACOCK
the shadow. I was startled myself by the white
sympathy it seemed to express, extended towards him
in the moonlight. He gripped it, and cleaved to me
for a moment, then he was gone.
I went out of the churchyard feeling a sullen re-
sentment against the tousled graves that lay inani-
mate across my way. The air was heavy to breathe,
and fearful in the shadow of the great trees. I was
glad when I came out on the. bare white road, and
could see the copper lights from the reflectors of a'
pony-cart's lamps, and could hear the amiable chat-
chat of the hoofs trotting towards me. I was lonely
when they had passed.
Over the hill, the big flushed face of the moon
poised just above the treetops, very majestic, and far
off — yet imminent. I turned with swift sudden
friendliness to the net of elm-boughs spread over my
head, dotted with soft clusters winsomely. I jumped
up and pulled the cool soft tufts against my face for
company ; and as I passed, still I reached upward for
the touch of this budded gentleness of the trees. The
wood breathed fragrantly, with a subtle sympathy.
The firs softened their touch to me, and the larches
woke from the barren winter-sleep, and put out velvet
fingers to caress me as I passed. Only the clean,
bare branches of the ash stood emblem of the dis-
cipline of life. I looked down on the blackness
where trees filled the quarry and the valley bottoms,
and it seemed that the world, my own home-world,
was strange again.
Some four or five days after Annable had talked
to me in the churchyard, I went out to find him
A SHADOW IN SPRING 233
again. It was Sunday morning. The larch-wood
was afloat with clear, lyric green, and some prim-
roses scattered whitely on the edge under the fringing
boughs. It was a clear morning, as when the latent
life of the world begins to vibrate afresh in the air.
The smoke from the cottage rose blue against the
trees, and thick yellow against the sky. The fire,
it seemed, was only just lighted, and the wood-smoke
poured out.
Sam appeared outside the house, and looked round.
Then he climbed the water-trough for a better survey.
Evidently unsatisfied, paying slight attention to me,
he jumped down and went running across the hillside
to the wood. " He is going for his father," I said
to myself, and I left the path to follow him down hill
across the waste meadow, crackling the blanched
stems of last year's thistles as I went, and stumbling
in rabbit holes. He reached the wall that ran along
the quarry's edge, and was over it in a twinkling.
When I came to the place, I was somewhat non-
plussed, for sheer from the stone fence, the quarry-
side dropped for some twenty or thirty feet, piled up
with unmortared stones. I looked round — there was
a plain dark thread down the hillside, which marked
a path to this spot, and the wall was scored with the
marks of heavy boots. Then I looked again down the
quarry-side, and I saw — how could I have failed to
see ? — stones projecting to make an uneven staircase,
such as is often seen in the Derbyshire fences. I saw
this ladder was well used, so I trusted myself to it,
and scrambled down, clinging to the face of the quarry
wall. Once down, I felt pleased with myself for hav-
ing discovered and used the unknown access, and
234 THE WHITE PEACOCK
I admired the care and ingenuity of the keeper, who
had fitted and wedged the long stones into the uncer-
tain pile.
It was warm in the quarry: there the sunshine
seemed to thicken and sweeten; there the little
mounds of overgrown waste were aglow with very
early dog-violets; there the sparks were coming out
on the bits of gorse, and among the stones the colt-
foot plumes were already silvery. Here was spring
sitting just awake, unloosening her glittering hair,
and opening her purple eyes.
I went across the quarry, down to where the brook
ran murmuring a tale to the primroses and the bud-
ding trees. I was startled from my wandering
among the fresh things by a faint clatter of stones.
" What's that young rascal doing ? " I said to my-
self, setting forth to see. I came towards the other
side of the quarry: on this, the moister side, the
bushes grew up against the wall, which was higher
than on the other side, though piled the same with
old dry stones. As I drew near I could hear the
scrape and rattle of stones, and the vigorous grunting
of Sam as he laboured among them. He was hidden
by a great bush of sallow catkins, all yellow, and
murmuring with bees, warm with spice. When he
came in view I laughed to see him lugging and grunt-
ing among the great pile of stones that had fallen
in a mass from the quarry-side ; a pile of stones and
earth and crushed vegetation. There was a great
bare gap in the quarry wall. Somehow, the lad's
labouring earnestness made me anxious, and I hur-
ried up.
He heard me, and glancing round, his face red
A SHADOW IN SPRING 235
with exertion, eyes big with terror, he called, com-
manding me :
« Pull 'em off 'im— pull 'em off ! "
Suddenly my heart beating in my throat nearly
suffocated me. I saw the hand of the keeper lying
among the stones. I set to tearing away the stones,
and we worked for some time without a word. Then
I seized the arm of the keeper and tried to drag him
out. But I could not.
" Pull it off 'im ! " whined the lad, working in a
frenzy.
When we got him out I saw at once he was dead,
and I sat down trembling with exertion. There was
a great smashed wound on the side of the head. Sam
put his face against his father's and snuffed round
him like a dog, to feel the life in him. The child
looked at me :
" He won't get up," he said, and his little voice
was hoarse with fear and anxiety.
I shook my head. Then the boy began to whimper.
He tried to close the lips which were drawn with pain
and death, leaving the teeth bare; then his fingers
hovered round the eyes, which were wide open,
glazed, and I could see he was trembling to touch
them into life.
" He's not asleep," he said, " because his eyes is
open — look ! "
I could not bear the child's questioning terror. I
took him up to carry him away, but he struggled and
fought to be free.
" Ma'e 'im get up — ma'e 'im get up," he cried in a
frenzy, and I had to let the boy go.
He ran to the dead man, calling " Peyther !
236 THE WHITE PEACOCK
Feyther ! " and pulling his shoulder ; then he sat
down, fascinated by the sight of the wound; he put
out his finger to touch it, and shivered.
" Come away," said I.
" Is it that ? " he asked, pointing to the wound. I
covered the face with a big silk handkerchief.
" Now," said I, " he'll go to sleep if you don't
touch him — so sit still while I go and fetch some-
body. Will you run to the Hall ? "
He shook his head. I knew he would not. So I
told him again not to touch his father, but to let him
lie still till I came back. He watched me go, but did
not move from his seat on the stones beside the dead
man, though I know he was full of terror at being
left alone.
I ran to the Hall — I dared not go to the Kennels.
In a short time I was back with the squire and three
men. As I led the way, I saw the child lifting a
corner of the handkerchief to peep and see if the eyes
were closed in sleep. Then he heard us, and started
violently. When we removed the covering, and he
saw the face unchanged in its horror, he looked at
me with a look I have never forgotten.
" A bad business — an awful business ! " repeated
the squire. " A bad business. I said to him from
the first that the stones might come down when he
was going up, and he said he had taken care to fix
them. But you can't be sure, you can't be certain.
And he'd be about half way up — ay — and the whole
wall would come down on him. An awful business,
it is really ; a terrible piece of work ! "
They decided at the inquest that the death came
by misadventure. But there were vague rumours in
A SHADOW IN SPRING 237
the village that this was revenge which had overtaken
the keeper.
They decided to bury him in our churchyard at
Greymede under the beeches ; the widow would have
it so, and nothing might be denied her in her state.
It was a magnificent morning iu early spring when
I watched among the trees to see the procession come
down the hillside. The upper air was woven with
the music of the larks, and my whole, world thrilled
with the conception of summer. The young pale
wind-flowers had arisen by the wood-gale, and under
the hazels, when perchance the hot sun pushed his
way, new little suns dawned, and blazed with real
light. There was a certain thrill and quickening
everywhere, as a woman must feel when she has con-
ceived. A sallow tree in a favoured spot looked like
a pale gold cloud of summer dawn; nearer it had
poised a golden, fairy busby on every twig, and was
voiced with a hum of bees, like any sacred golden
bush, uttering its gladness in the thrilling murmur of
bees, and in warm scent. Birds called and flashed on
every hand; they made off exultant with streaming
strands of grass, or wisps of fleece, plunging into the
dark spaces of the wood, and out again into the blue.
A lad moved across the field from the farm below
with a dog trotting behind him, — a dog, no, a fussy,
black-legged lamb trotting along on its toes, with its
tail swinging behind. They were going to the
mothers on the common, who moved like little grey
clouds among the dark grose.
I 'cannot help forgetting, and sharing the spink's
triumph, when he flashes past with a fleece from a
238 THE WHITE PEACOCK
bramble bush. It will cover the bedded moss, it will
weave among the soft red cow-hair beautifully. It
is a prize, it is an ecstasy to have captured it at the
right moment, and the nest is nearly ready.
Ah, but the thrush is scornful, ringing out his voice
from the hedge ! He sets his breast against the mud,
and models it warm for the turquoise eggs — blue,
blue, bluest of eggs, which cluster so close and round
against the breast, which round up beneath the breast,
nestling content. You should see the bright ecstasy
in the eyes of a nesting thrush, because of the rounded
caress of the eggs against her breast !
What a hurry the jenny wren makes — hoping I
shall not see her dart into the low bush. I have a
delight in watching them against their shy little
wills. But they have all risen with a rush of wings,
and are gone, the birds. The air is brushed with
agitation. There is no lark in the sky, not one ; the
heaven is clear of wings or twinkling dot .
Till the heralds come — till the heralds wave like
shadows in the bright air, crying, lamenting, fretting
forever. Rising and falling and circling round and
round, the slow-waving peewits cry and complain,
and lift their broad wings in sorrow. They stoop
suddenly to the ground, the lapwings, then in another
throb of anguish and protest, they swing up again,
offering a glistening white breast to the sunlight, to
deny it in black shadow, then a glisten of green, and
all the time crying and crying in despair.
The pheasants are frightened into cover, they run
and dart through the hedge. The cold cock must fly
in his haste, spread himself on his streaming plumes,
and sail into the wood's security.
A SHADOW IN SPRING 239
There is a cry in answer to the peewits, echoing
louder and stronger the lamentation of the lapwings,
a wail which hushes the birds. The men come over
the brow of the hill, slowly, with the old squire walk-
ing tall and straight in front ; six bowed men bearing
the coffin on their shoulders, treading heavily and
cautiously, under the great weight of the glistening
white coffin; six men following behind, ill at ease,
waiting their turn for the burden. You can see the
red handkerchiefs knotted round their throats, and
their shirt-fronts blue and white between the open
waistcoats. The coffin is of new unpolished wood,
gleaming and glistening in the sunlight ; the men who
carry it remember all their lives after the smell of
new, warm elm-wood.
Again a loud cry from the hill-top. The woman
has followed thus far, the big, shapeless woman, and
she cries with loud cries after the white coffin as it
descends the hill, and the children that cling to her
skirts weep aloud, and are not to be hushed by the
other woman, who bends over them, but does not
form one of the group. How the crying frightens
the birds, and the rabbits ; and the lambs away there
run to their mothers. But the peewits are not fright-
ened, they add their notes to the sorrow; they circle
after the white, retreating coffin, they circle round the
woman ; it is they who forever " keen " the sorrows
of this world. They are like priests in their robes,
more black than white, more grief than hope, driving
endlessly round and round, turning, lifting, falling
and crying always in mournful desolation, repeating
their last syllables like the broken accents of despair.
The bearers have at last sunk between the high
240 THE WHITE PEACOCK
banks, and turned out of sight. The big woman
cannot see them, and yet she stands to look. She
must go home, there is nothing left.
They have rested the coffin on the gate posts, and
the bearers are wiping the sweat from their faces.
They put their hands to their shoulders on the place
where the weight has pressed.
The other six are placing the pads on their shoul-
ders, when a girl comes up with a jug, and a blue
pot. The squire drinks first, and fills for the rest.
Meanwhile the girl stands back under the hedge,
away from the coffin which smells of new elm-wood.
In imagination she pictures the man shut up there
in close darkness, while the sunlight flows all out-
side, and she catches her breast with terror. She
must turn and rustle among the leaves of the violets
for the flowers she does not see. Then, trembling,
she comes to herself, and plucks a few flowers and
breathes them hungrily into her soul, for comfort.
The men put down the pots beside her, with thanks,
and the squire gives the word. The bearers lift up
the burden again, and the elm-boughs rattle along the
hollow white wood, and the pitiful red clusters of
elm-flowers sweep along it as if they whispered in
sympathy — " We are so sorry, so sorry ; " always
the compassionate buds in their fulness of life bend
down to comfort the dark man shut up there. " Per-
haps," the girl thinks, " he hears them, and goes
softly to sleep." She shakes the tears out of her eyes
on to the ground, and, taking up her pots, goes
slowly down, over the brooks.
In a while, I too got up and went down to the
mill, which lay red and peaceful, with the blue
A SHADOW IN SPRING 241
smoke rising as winsomely and carelessly as ever. On
the other side of the valley I could see a pair of
horses nod slowly across the fallow. A man's voice
called to them now and again with a resonance that
filled me with longing to follow my horses over the
fallow, in the still, lonely valley, full of sunshine
and eternal forgetfulness. The day had already for-
gotten. The water was blue and white and dark-
burnished with shadows ; two swans sailed across the
reflected trees with perfect blithe grace. The gloom
that had passed across was gone. I watched the swan
with his ruffled wings swell onwards; I watched
his slim consort go peeping into corners and
under bushes; I saw him steer clear of the bushes,
to keep full in view, turning his head to me imperi-
ously, till I longed to pelt him with the empty
husks of last year's flowers, knap-weed and scabius.
I was too indolent, and I turned instead to the
orchard.
There the daffodils were lifting their heads and
throwing back their yellow curls. At the foot of each
sloping, grey old tree stood a family of flowers, some
bursten with golden fulness, some lifting their heads
slightly, to show a modest, sweet countenance, others
still hiding their faces, leaning forward pensively
from the jaunty grey-green spears; I wished I had
their language, to talk to them distinctly.
Overhead, the trees, with lifted fingers shook out
their hair to the sun, decking themselves with buds
as white and cool as a water-nymphs breasts.
I began to be very glad. The colts-foot discs
glowed and laughed in a merry company down the
path; I stroked the velvet faces, and laughed also,
242 THE WHITE PEACOCK
and I smelled the scent of black-currant leaves, which
is full of childish memories.
The house was quiet and complacent; it was peo-
pled with ghosts again ; but the ghosts had only come
to enjoy the warm place once more, carrying sunshine
in their arms and scattering it through the dusk of
gloomy rooms.
CHAPTER III
THE IRONY OF INSPIRED MOMENTS
It happened, the next day after the funeral, I came
upon reproductions of Aubrey Beardsley's " Ata-
lanta," and of the tail-piece to " Salome," and oth-
ers. I sat and looked and my soul leaped out upon
the new thing. I was bewildered, wondering, grudg-
ing, fascinated. I looked a long time, but my mind,
or my soul, would come to no state of coherence. I
was fascinated and overcome, but yet full of stub-
bornness and resistance.
Lettie was out, so, although it was dinner-time,
even because it was dinner-time, I took the book and
went down to the mill.
The dinner was over; there was the fragrance of
cooked rhubarb in the room. I went straight to
Emily, who was leaning back in her chair, and put
the " Salome " before her.
" Look," said I, " look here ! "
She looked; she was short-sighted, and peered
close. I was impatient for her to speak. She turned
slowly at last and looked at me, shrinking, with ques-
tioning.
"Well?" I said.
" Isn't it — fearful ! " she replied, softly.
"No!— why is it?"
" It makes you feel — Why have you brought it ? "
" I wanted you to see it."
243
244 THE WHITE PEACOCK
Already I felt relieved, seeing that she too was
caught in the spell.
George came and bent over my shoulder. I could
feel the heavy warmth of him.
" Good Lord ! " he drawled, half amused. The
children came crowding to see, and Emily closed the
book.
" I shall be late — Hurry up, Dave ! " and she
went to wash her hands before going to school.
" Give it me, will you ! " George asked, putting
out his hand for the book. I gave it him, and he sat
down to look at the drawings. When Mollie crept
near to look, he angrily shouted to her to get away.
She pulled a mouth, and got her hat over her wild
brown curls. Emily came in ready for school.
" I'm going — good-bye," she said, and she waited
hesitatingly. I moved to get my cap. He looked up
with a new expression in his eyes, and said :
" Are you going ? — wait a bit — I'm coming."
I waited.
" Oh, very well — good-bye," said Emily bitterly,
and she departed.
When he had looked long enough he got up and
we went out. He kept his finger between the pages
of the book as he carried it. We went towards the
fallow land without speaking. There he sat down
on a bank, leaning his back against a holly-tree, and
saying, very calmly:
" There's no need to be in any hurry now "
whereupon he proceeded to study the illustrations.
" You know," he said at last, " I do want her."
I started at the irrelevance of this remark, and
said, "Who?"
THE INSPIRED MOMENTS 245
" Lettie. We've got notice, did you know ? "
I started to my feet this time with amazement.
" Notice to leave ? — what for ? "
" Kabbits I expect. I wish she'd have me, Cyril."
" To leave Strelley Mill ! " I repeated.
" That's it — and I'm rather glad. But do you
think she might have me, Cyril ? "
" What a shame ! Where will you go ? And you
lie there joking ! "
" I don't. Never mind about the damned notice.
I want her more than anything. — And the more I
look at these naked lines, the more I want her. It's
a sort of fine sharp feeling, like these curved lines.
I don't know what I'm saying — but do you think
she'd have me ? Has she seen these pictures ? "
" No."
" If she did perhaps she'd want me — I mean she'd
feel it clear and sharp coming through her."
" I'll show her and see."
" I'd been sort of thinking about it — since father
had that notice. It seemed as if the ground was
pulled from under our feet. I never felt so lost.
Then I began to think of her, if she'd have me — but
not clear, till you showed me those pictures. I must
have her if I can — and I must have something. It's
rather ghostish to have the road suddenly smudged
out, and all the world anywhere, nowhere for you to
go. I must get something sure soon, or else I feel
as if I should fall from somewhere and hurt myself.
I'll ask her."
I looked at him as he lay there under the holly-
tree, his face all dreamy and boyish, very unusual.
" You'll ask Lettie?" said I, "When— how?"
246 THE WHITE PEACOCK
" I must ask her quick, while I feel as if every-
thing had gone, and I was ghostish. I think I must
sound rather a lunatic."
He looked at me, and his eyelids hung heavy over
his eyes as if he had been drinking, or as if he were
tired.
" Is she at home I " he said.
" No, she's gone to Nottingham. She'll be home
before dark."
" I'll see her then. Can you smell violets ? "
I replied that I could not. He was sure that he
could, and he seemed uneasy till he had justified the
sensation. So he arose, very leisurely, and went
along the bank, looking closely for the flowers.
" I knew I could. White ones ! "
He sat down and picked three flowers, and held
them to his nostrils, and inhaled their fragrance.
Then he put them to his mouth, and I saw his strong
white teeth crush them. He chewed them for a while
without speaking; then he spat them out, and gath-
ered more.
" They remind me of her too," he said, and he
twisted a piece of honey-suckle stem round the bunch
and handed it to me.
" A white violet, is she ? " I smiled.
" Give them to her, and tell her to come and meet
me just when it's getting dark in the wood."
"But if she won't?"
" She will."
"If she's not at home?"
" Come and tell me."
He lay down again with his head among the green
violet leaves, saying:
THE INSPIRED MOMENTS 247
" I ought to work, because it all counts in the
valuation. But I don't care."
He lay looking at me for some time. Then he
said :
" I don't suppose I shall have above twenty pounds
left when we've sold up — but she's got plenty of
money to start with — if she has me — in Canada. I
could get well off — and she could have — what she
wanted — I'm sure she'd have what she wanted."
He took it all calmly as if it were realised. I was
somewhat amused. _
" What frock will she have on when she comes to
meet me ? " he asked.
" I don't know. The same as she's gone to Not-
tingham in, I suppose — a sort of gold-brown costume
with a rather tight fitting coat. Why ? "
" I was thinking how she'd look."
" What chickens are you counting now ? " I asked.
" But what do you think I look best in ? " he re-
plied.
" You ? Just as you are — no, put that old smooth
cloth coat on — that's all." I smiled as I told him,
but he was very serious.
" Shan't I put my new clothes on I "
" No — you want to leave your neck showing."
He put his hand to his throat, and said naively:
" Do I ? " — and it amused him.
Then he lay looking dreamily up into the tree. I
left him, and went wandering round the fields find-
ing flowers and bird's nests.
When I came back, it was nearly four o'clock. He
stood up and stretched himself. He pulled out his
watch.
248 THE WHITE PEACOCK
" Good Lord," he drawled, " I've lain there think-
ing all afternoon. I didn't know I could do such a
thing. Where have you been? It's with being all
upset you see. You left the violets — here, take them,
will you; and tell her: I'll come when it's getting
dark. I feel like somebody else — or else really like
myself. I hope I shan't wake up to the other things
— you know, like I am always — before them."
"Why not?"
" Oh, I don't know — only I feel as if I could talk
straight off without arranging — like birds, without
knowing what note is coming next."
When I was going he said:
" Here, leave me that book — it'll keep me like this
— I mean I'm not the same as I was yesterday, and
that book '11 keep me like it. Perhaps it's a bilious
bout — I do sometimes have one, if something very
extraordinary happens. When it's getting dark
then!"
Lettie had not arrived when I went home. I put
the violets in a little vase on the table. I remem-
bered he had wanted her to see the drawings — it was
perhaps as well he had kept them.
She came about six o'clock — in the motor-car with
Marie. But the latter did not descend. I went
out to assist with the parcels. Lettie had already
begun to buy things; the wedding was fixed for
July.
The room was soon over-covered with stuffs : table
linen, underclothing, pieces of silken stuff and lace
stuff, patterns for carpets and curtains, a whole
gleaming glowing array. Lettie was very delighted.
THE INSPIRED MOMENTS 249
She could hardly wait to take off her hat, but went
round cutting the string of her parcels, opening them,
talking all the time to my mother.
" Look, Little Woman. IVe got a ready-made
underskirt — isn't it lovely. Listen ! " and she ruffled
it through her hands. " Shan't I sound splendid !
Frou-Frou ! But it is a charming shade, isn't it, and
not a bit bulky or clumsy anywhere 1 " She put the
band of the skirt against her waist, and put forward
her foot, and looked down, saying, " It's just the
right length, isn't it, Little Woman ? — and they said
I was tall — it was a wonder. Don't you wish it were
yours, Little? — oh, you won't confess it. Yes you
like to be as fine as anybody — that's why I bought
you this piece of silk — isn't it sweet, though ? — you
needn't say there's too much lavender in it, there is
not. Now ! " She pleated it up and held it against
my mother's chin. " It suits you beautifully —
doesn't it. Don't you like it, Sweet? You don't
seem to like it a bit, and I'm sure it suits you —
makes you look ever so young. I wish you wouldn't
be so old fashioned in your notions. You do like it,
don't you?"
" Of course I do — I was only thinking what an
extravagant mortal you are when you begin to buy.
You know you mustn't keep on always "
" Now — now, Sweet, don't be ^naughty and
preachey. It's such a treat to go buying: You will
come with me next time, won't you ? Oh, I have
enjoyed it — but I wished you were there — Marie
takes anything, she's so easy to suit — I like to have
a good buy — Oh, it was splendid! — and there's lots
more yet. Oh, did you see this cushion cover — these
250 THE WHITE PEACOCK
are the colours I want for that room — gold and am-
ber "
This was a bad opening. I watched the shadows
darken further and further along the brightness, hush-
ing the glitter of the water. I watched the golden
ripeness come upon the west, and thought the rencon-
tre was never to take place. At last, however, Lettie
flung herself down with a sigh, saying she was tired.
" Come into the dining-room and have a cup of
tea," said mother. " I told Rebecca to mash when
you came in."
" All right. Leslie's coming up later on, I believe
— about half past eight, he said. Should I show him
what I've bought ? "
" There's nothing there for a man to see."
" I shall have to change my dress, and I'm sure
I don't want the fag. Rebecca, just go and look at
the things I've bought — in the other room — and,
Becky, fold them up for me, will you, and put them
on my bed ? "
As soon as she'd gone out, Lettie said :
" She'll enjoy doing it, won't she, mother, they're
so nice ! Do you think I need dress, mother ? "
" Please yourself — do as you wish."
" I suppose I shall have to ; he doesn't like blouses
and skirts of an evening he says; he hates the belt.
I'll wear that old cream cashmere ; it looks nice now
I've put that new lace on it. Don't those violets
smell nice ? — who got them ? "
" Cyril brought them in."
" George sent them you," said L
" Well, I'll just run up and take my dress off.
Why are we troubled with men ! "
THE INSPIRED MOMENTS 251
" It's a trouble you like well enough," said mother.
" Oh, do I ? such a bother ! " and she ran up-
stairs.
The sun was red behind Highclose. I kneeled in
the window seat and smiled at Fate and at people
who imagine that strange states are near to the inner
realities. The sun went straight down behind the
cedar trees, deliberately and, it seemed as I watched,
swiftly lowered itself behind the trees, behind the
rim of the hill.
" I must go," I said to myself, " and tell him she
will not come."
Yet I fidgeted about the room, loth to depart.
Lettie came down, dressed in white — or cream — cut
low round the neck. She looked very delightful and
fresh again, with a sparkle of the afternoon's excite-
ment still.
" I'll put some of these violets on me," she said,
glancing at herself in the mirror, and then taking the
flowers from their water, she dried them, and fas-
tened them among her lace.
" Don't Lettie and I look nice to-night ? " she said
smiling, glancing from me to her reflection which
was like a light in the dusky room.
" That reminds me," I said, " George Saxton
wanted to see you this evening."
"What ever for?"
" I don't know. They've got notice to leave their
farm, and I think he feels a bit sentimental."
" Oh, well — is he coming here ? "
" He said would you go just a little way in the
wood to meet him."
" Did he ! Oh, indeed ! Well, of course I can't."
252 THE WHITE PEACOCK
" Of course not — if you won't. They're his violets
you're wearing by the way."
" Are they — let them stay, it makes no difference.
But whatever did he want to see me for ? "
" I couldn't say, I assure you."
She glanced at herself in the mirror, and then at
the clock.
" Let's see," she remarked, " it's only a quarter
to eight. Three quarters of an hour — ! But what
can he want me for? — I never knew anything
like it."
" Startling, isn't it ! " I observed satirically.
" Yes," she glanced at herself in the mirror :
" I can't go out like this."
" All right, you can't then."
" Besides — it's nearly dark, it will be too dark
to see in the wood, won't it ? "
" It will directly."
" Well, I'll just go to the end of the garden, for
one moment — run and fetch that silk shawl out of
my wardrobe — be quick, while it's light."
I ran and brought the wrap. She arranged it
carefully over her head.
We went out, down the garden path. Lettie held
her skirts carefully gathered from the ground. A
nightingale began to sing in the twilight ; we stepped
along in silence as far as the rhododendron bushes,
now in rosy bud.
" I cannot go into the wood," she said.
" Come to the top of the riding " — and we went
round the dark bushes.
George was waiting. I saw at once he was half
distrustful of himself now. Lettie dropped her skirts
THE INSPIRED MOMENTS 253
and trailed towards him. He stood awkwardly
awaiting her, conscious of the clownishness of his
appearance. She held out her hand with something
of a grand air:
" See," she said, " I have come."
" Yes — I thought you wouldn't — perhaps " — he
looked at her, and suddenly gained courage :
" You have been putting white on — you, you do
look nice — though not like "
"What?— Who else?"
" Nobody else — only I — well I'd — I'd thought
about it different — like some pictures."
She smiled with a gentle radiance, and asked in-
dulgently, " And how was I different ? "
" Not all that soft stuff — plainer."
" But don't I look very nice with all this soft stuff,
as you call it ? " — and she shook the silk away from
her smiles.
" Oh, yes — better than those naked lines."
" You are quaint to-night — what did you want me
for — to say good-bye ? "
"Good-bye?"
" Yes — you're going away, Cyril tells me. I'm
very sorry — fancy horrid strangers at the Mill ! But
then I shall be gone away soon, too. We are all go-
ing you see, now we've grown up," — she kept hold
of my arm.
" Yes."
" And where will you go — Canada ? You'll settle
there and be quite a patriarch, won't you ? "
" I don't know."
" You are not really sorry to go, are you ? "
" No, I'm glad."
254 THE WHITE PEACOCK
" Glad to go away from us all."
" I suppose so — since I must."
" Ah, Fate — Fate ! It separates you whether you
want it or not."
"What?"
" Why, you see, you have to leave* I mustn't stay
out here — it is growing chilly. How soon are you
going?"
" I don't know."
" Not soon then?"
" I don't know."
" Then I may see you again ? "
" I don't know."
" Oh, yes, I shall. Well, I must go. Shall I say
good-hye now? — that was what you wanted, was it
not?"
" To say good-bye ? "
" Yes."
" No — it wasn't — I wanted, I wanted to ask
you "
" What ? " she cried.
" You don't know, Lettie, now the old life's gone,
everything — how I want you — to set out with — it's
like beginning life, and I want you."
" But what could I do — I could only hinder —
what help should I be?" .
" I should feel as if my mind was made up — as
if I could do something clearly. Now it's all hazy —
not knowing what to do next."
" And if— if you had— what then ? "
" If I had you I could go straight on."
"Where?"
" Oh — I should take a farm in Canada "
THE INSPIRED MOMENTS 255
"Well, wouldn't it be better to get it first and
make sure ? "
" I have no money."
" Oh ! — so you wanted me ? "
" I only wanted you, I only wanted you. I would
have given you "
"What?"
" You'd have me — you'd have all me, and every-
thing you wanted."
" That I paid for — a good bargain ! No, oh no,
George, I beg your pardon. This is one of my flip-
pant nights. I don't mean it like that. But you
know it's impossible — look how I'm fixed — it is im-
possible, isn't it now."
" I suppose it is."
" You know it is — Look at me now, and say if
it's not impossible — a farmer's wife — with you in
Canada."
" Yes — I didn't expect you like that. Yes, I see
it is impossible. But I'd thought about it, and felt
as if I must have you. Should have you . . . Yes,
it doesn't do to go on dreaming. I think it's the first
time, and it'll be the last. Yes, it is impossible.
Now I have made up my mind."
" And what will you do? "
" I shall not go to Canada."
" Oh, you must not — you must not do anvthing
rash."
" No — I shall get married."
" You will % Oh, I am glad. I thought — you —
you were too fond — . But you're not — of yourself
I meant. I am so glad. Yes — do marry ! "
" Well, I shall — since you are "
256 THE WHITE PEACOCK
" Yes," said Lettie. " It is best. But I thought
that you " she smiled at him in sad reproach.
" Did you think so ? " he replied, smiling gravely.
" Yes," she whispered. They stood looking at one
another.
He made an impulsive movement towards her.
She, however, drew back slightly, checking him.
" Well — I shall see you again sometime — so
good-bye," he said, putting out his hand.
We heard a foot crunching on the gravel. Leslie
halted at the top of the riding. Lettie, hearing him,
relaxed into a kind of feline graciousness, and said
to George:
" I am so sorry you are going to leave — it breaks
the old life up. You said I would see you
again " She left her hand in his a moment or
two.
" Yes," George replied. " Good-night " — and he
turned away. She stood for a moment in the same
drooping, graceful attitude watching him, then she
turned round slowly. She seemed hardly to notice
Leslie.
" Who was that you were talking to ? " he asked.
" He has gone now," she replied irrelevantly, as if
even then she seemed hardly to realise it.
" It appears to upset you — his going — who is
it?"
"He!— Oh,— why, it's George Saxton."
"Oh, him!"
" Yes."
"What did he want?"
" Eh ? What did he want ? Oh, nothing."
" A mere trysting — in the interim, eh ! " — he said
THE INSPIRED MOMENTS 257
this laughing, generously passing off his annoyance
in a jest.
" I feel so sorry," she said.
"What for?"
u Oh — don't let us talk about him — talk about
something else. I can't bear to talk about — him."
" All right," he replied — and after an awkward
little pause. " What sort of a time had you in Not-
tingham ? "
" Oh, a fine time."
" You'll enjoy yourself in the shops between now
and — July. Some time I'll go with you and see
them."
" Very well."
" That sounds as if you don't want me to go. Am
I already in the way on a shopping expedition, like
an old husband ? "
" I should think you would be."
" That's nice of you ! Why ? "
* Oh, I don't know."
" Yes you do."
" Oh, I suppose you'd hang about."
" I'm much too well brought up."
" Kebecca has lighted the hall lamp."
" Yes, it's grown quite dark. I was here early.
You never gave me a good word for it."
" I didn't notice. There's a light in the dining-
room, we'll go there."
They went into the dining-room. She stood by the
piano and carefully took off the wrap. Then she
wandered listlessly about the room for a minute.
" Aren't you coming to sit down ? " he said, point-
ing to the seat on the couch beside him.
258 THE WHITE PEACOCK
" Not just now," she said, trailing aimlessly to
the piano. She sat down and began to play at ran-
dom, from memory. Then she did that most irritat-
ing thing — played accompaniments to songs, with
snatches of the air where the voice should have pre-
dominated.
" I say Lettie, . . ." he interrupted after a time.
" Yes," she replied, continuing to play.
" It's not very interesting. ..."
" No ? " — she continued to play.
" Nor very amusing. . . ."
She did not answer. He bore it for a little time
longer, then he said :
" How much longer is it going to last, Lettie ? "
" What ? "
" That sort of business. ..."
" The piano ? — I'll stop playing if you don't like
it."
She did not, however, cease.
" Yes — and all this dry business."
" I don't understand."
" Don't you ? — you make me/'
There she went on, tinkling away at : " If I built
a world for you, dear."
" I say, stop it, do ! " he cried.
She tinkled to the end of the verse, and very slowly
closed the piano.
" Come on — come and sit down," he said.
" No, I don't want to. — I'd rather have gone on
playing."
" Go on with your damned playing then, and I'll
go where there's more interest."
" You ought to like it."
THE INSPIRED MOMENTS 259
He did not answer, so she turned slowly round on
the stool, opened the piano, and laid her fingers on
the keys. At the sound of the chord he started up,
saying : " Then I'm going."
" It's very early — why ? " she said, through the
calm jingle of " Meine Euh is hin "
He stood biting his lips. Then he made one more
appeal.
"Lettie!"
" Yes ? "
" Aren't you going to leave off — and be — ami-
able?"
"Amiable?"
" You are a jolly torment. What's upset you
now ? "
" Nay, it's not I who am upset."
" I'm glad to hear it — what do you call yourself ? "
"I?— nothing."
" Oh, well, I'm going then."
" Must you ? — so early to-night ? "
He did not go, and she played more and more
softly, languidly, aimlessly. Once she lifted her
head to speak, but did not say anything.
" Look here ! " he ejaculated all at once, so that
she started, and jarred the piano, " What do you
mean by it ? "
She jingled leisurely a few seconds before answer-
ing, then she replied :
" What a worry you are ! "
" I suppose you want me out of the way while you
sentimentalise over that milkman. You needn't
bother. You can do it while I'm here. Or
I'll go and leave you in peace. I'll go and call
260 THE WHITE PEACOCK
him back for you, if you likB — if that's what you
want "
She turned on the piano stool slowly and looked
at him, smiling faintly.
" It is very good of you ! " she said.
He clenched his fists and grinned with rage.
" You tantalising little " he began, lifting his
fists expressively. She smiled. Then he swung
round, knocked several hats flying off the stand in
the hall, slammed the door, and was gone.
Lettie continued to play for some time, after which
she went up to her own room.
Leslie did not return to us the next day, nor the
day after. The first day Marie came and told us he
had gone away to Yorkshire to see about the new
mines that were being sunk there, and was likely to
be absent for a week or so. These business visits
to the north were rather frequent. The firm, of
which Mr. Tempest was director and chief share-
holder, were opening important new mines in the
other county, as the seams at home were becoming
exhausted or unprofitable. It was proposed that Les-
lie should live in Yorkshire when he was married,
to superintend the new workings. He at first re-
jected the idea, but he seemed later to approve of it
more.
During the time he was away Lettie was moody
and cross-tempered. She did not mention George nor
the mill ; indeed, she preserved her best, most haughty
and ladylike manner.
On the evening of the fourth day of Leslie's ab-
sence we were out in the garden. The trees were
THE INSPIRED MOMENTS 261
" uttering joyous leaves." My mother was in the
midst of her garden, lifting the dusky faces of the
auriculas to look at the velvet lips, or tenderly tak-
ing a young weed from the black soil. The thrushes
were calling and clamouring all round. The japonica
flamed on the wall as the light grew thicker ; the tas-
sels of white cherry-blossom swung gently in the
breeze.
" What shall I do, mother ? " said Lettie, as she
wandered across the grass to pick at the japonica
flowers. "What shall I do? — there's nothing to
do."
" Well, my girl — what do you want to do ? You
have been moping about all day — go and see some-
body."
" It's such a long way to Eberwich."
" Is it ? Then go somewhere nearer."
Lettie fretted about with restless, petulant inde-
cision.
" I don't know what to do," she said, " And I
feel as if I might just as well never have lived at
all as waste days like this. I wish we weren't buried
in this dead little hole — I wish we were near the town
— it's hateful having to depend on about two or
three folk for your — your — your pleasure in life."
" I can't help it, my dear — you must do something
for yourself."
" And what can I do ? — I can do nothing."
" Then I'd go to bed."
" That I won't — with the dead weight of a wasted
day on me. I feel as if I'd do something desperate."
" Very well, then," said mother, " do it, and have
done."
262 THE WHITE PEACOCK
" Oh, it's no good talking to you — I don't
want " She turned away, went to the lauresti-
nus, and began pulling off it the long red berries. I
expected she would fret the evening wastefully away.
I noticed all at once that she stood still. It was the
noise of a motor-car running rapidly down the hill
towards Eethermere — a light, quick-clicking sound.
I listened also. I could feel the swinging drop of the
car as it came down the leaps of the hill. We could
see the dust trail up among the trees. Lettie raised
her head and listened expectantly. The car rushed
along the edge of Nethermere — then there was the
jar of brakes, as the machine slowed down and
stopped. In a moment with a quick flutter of sound,
it was passing the lodge-gates and whirling up the
drive, through the wood, to us. Lettie stood with
flushed cheeks and brightened eyes. She went
towards the bushes that shut off the lawn from the
gravelled space in front of the house, watching. A
car came racing through the trees. It was the small
car Leslie used on the firm's business — now it was
white with dust. Leslie suddenly put on the brakes,
and tore to a standstill in front of the house. He
stepped to the ground. There he staggered a little,
being giddy and cramped with the long drive. His
motor- jacket and cap were thick with dust.
Lettie called to him, " Leslie ! " — and flew down
to him. He took her into his arms, and clouds of
dust rose round her. He kissed her, and they stood
perfectly still for a moment. She looked up into his
face — then she disengaged her arms to take off his
disfiguring motor-spectacles. After she had looked
at him a moment, tenderly, she kissed him again.
THE INSPIRED MOMENTS 263
He loosened his hold of her, and she said, in a voice
full of tenderness:
" You are trembling, dear."
" It's the ride. Fve never stopped."
Without further words she took him into the
house.
" How pale you are — see, lie on the couch — never
mind the dust. All right, I'll find you a coat of
Cyril's. O, mother, he's come all those miles in the
car without stopping — make him lie down."
She ran and brought him a jacket, and put the
cushions round, and made him lie on the couch.
Then she took off his boots and put slippers on his
feet. He lay watching her all the time ; he was white
with fatigue and excitement.
" I wonder if I shall be had up for scorching — I
can feel the road coming at me yet," he said.
" Why were you so headlong ? "
"I felt as if I should go wild if I didn't come — if
I didn't rush. I didn't know how you might have
taken me, Lettie — when I said — what I did."
She smiled gently at him, and he lay resting, re-
covering, looking at her.
" It's a wonder I haven't done something desper-
ate — I've been half mad since I said — Oh, Lettie, I
was a damned fool and a wretch — I could have torn
myself in two. I've done nothing but curse and rage
at myself ever since. I feel as if I'd just come up
out of hell. You don't know how thankful I am,
Lettie, that you've not — oh — turned against me for
what I said."
She went to him and sat down by him, smoothing
his hair from his forehead, kissing him, her attitude
264 THE WHITE PEACOCK
tender, suggesting tears, her movements impulsive,
as if with a self-reproach she would not acknowl-
edge, but which she must silence with lavish tender-
ness. He drew her to him, and they remained quiet
for some time, till it grew dark.
The noise of my mother stirring in the next room
disturbed them. Lettie rose, and he also got up from
the couch.
" I suppose," he said, " I shall have to go home
and get bathed and dressed — though," he added in
tones which made it clear he did not want to go, " I
shall have to get back in the morning — I don't know
what they'll say."
" At any rate," she said, " You could wash
here "
" But I must get out of these clotheB — and I
want a bath."
" You could — you might have some of Cyril's
clothes — and the water's hot. I know. At all events,
you can stay to supper "
" If I'm going I shall have to go soon — or they'd
not like it, if I go in late; — they have no idea I've
come; — they don't expect me till next Monday or
Tuesday "
" Perhaps you could stay here — and they needn't
know."
They looked at each other with wide, smiling eyes
— like children on the brink of a stolen pleasure.
" Oh, but what would your mother think ! — no,
I'll go."
" She won't mind a bit."
« Oh, but "
" I'll ask her."
THE INSPIRED MOMENTS 265
He wanted to stay far more than she wished it,
so it was she who put down his opposition and tri-
umphed.
My mother lifted her eyebrows, and said very
quietly :
" He'd better go home — and be straight."
" But look how he'd feel — he'd have to tell them
. . . and how would he feel! It's really my fault,
in the end. Don't be piggling and mean and Grundy-
ish, Matouchka."
" It is neither meanness nor grundyishness "
" Oh, Ydgrun, Ydgrun ! " exclaimed Lettie,
ironically.
" He may certainly stay if he likes," said mother,
slightly nettled at Lettie's gibe.
" All right, Mutterchen — and be a sweetling, do ! "
Lettie went out a little impatient at my mother's
unwillingness, but Leslie stayed, nevertheless.
In a few moments Lettie was up in the spare bed-
room, arranging and adorning, and Rebecca was run-
ning with hot-water bottles, and hurrying down with
clean bed-clothes. Lettie hastily appropriated my
best brushes — which she had given me — and took the
suit of pajamas of the thinnest, finest flannel — and
discovered a new tooth-brush — and made selections
from my skirts and handkerchiefs and underclothing
— and directed me which suit to lend him. Alto-
gether I was astonished, and perhaps a trifle annoyed,
at her extraordinary thoughtfulness and solicitude.
He came down to supper, bathed, brushed, and
radiant. He ate heartily and seemed to emanate a
warmth of physical comfort and pleasure. The col-
our was flushed again into his face, and he carried
Zm THE WHITE PEACOCK
his body with the old independent, assertive air. I
have never known the time when he looked hand-
somer, when he was more attractive. There was a
certain warmth about him, a certain glow that en-
hanced his words, his laughter, his movements; he
was the predominant person, and we felt a pleasure
in his mere proximity. My mother, however, could
not quite get rid of her stiffness, and soon after sup-
per she rose, saying she would finish her letter in
the next room, bidding him good-night, as she would
probably not see him again. The cloud of this little
coolness was the thinnest and most transitory. He
talked and laughed more gaily than ever, and was
ostentatious in his movements, throwing back his
head, taking little attitudes which displayed the
broad firmness of his breast, the grace of his well-
trained physique. I left them at the piano; he was
sitting pretending to play, and looking up all the
while at her, who stood with her hand on his
shoulder.
In the morning he was up early, by six o'clock
downstairs and attending to the car. When I got
down I found him very busy, and very quiet.
" I know I'm a beastly nuisance," he said, " but
I must get off early."
Kebecca came and prepared breakfast, which we
two ate alone. He was remarkably dull and word-
less.
" It's a wonder Lettie hasn't got up to have break-
fast with you — she's such a one for raving about
the perfection of the early morning — it's purity and
promises and so forth," I said.
THE INSPIRED MOMENTS 267
He broke his bread nervously, and drank some
coffee as if he were agitated, making noises in his
throat as he swallowed.
" It's too early for her, I should think," he re-
plied, wiping his moustache hurriedly. Yet he
seemed to listen for her. Lettie's bedroom was over
the study, where Kebecca had laid breakfast, and he
listened now and again, holding his knife and fork
suspended in their action. Then he went on with
his meal again.
When he was laying down his serviette, the door
opened. He pulled himself together, and turned
round sharply. It was mother. When she spoke to
him, his face twitched with a little frown, half of
relief, half of disappointment.
" I must be going now," he said — " thank you
very much — Mother."
" You are a harum-scarum boy. I wonder why
Lettie doesn't come down. I know she is up."
" Yes," he replied. " Yes, I've heard her. Per-
haps she is dressing. I must get off."
" I'll call her."
" Eo — don't bother her — she'd come if she
wanted "
But mother had called from the foot of the stairs.
" Lettie, Lettie — he's going."
" All right," said Lettie, and in another minute
she came downstairs. She was dressed in dark,
severe stuff, and she was somewhat pale. She did
not look at any of us, but turned her eyes aside.
" Good-bye," she said to him, offering him her
cheek. He kissed her, murmuring: "Good-bye —
my love."
268 THE WHITE PEACOCK
He stood in the doorway a moment, looking at her
with beseeching eyes. She kept her face half averted,
and would not look at him, but stood pale and cold,
biting her underlip. He turned sharply away with
a motion of keen disappointment, set the engines
of the car into action, mounted, and drove quickly
away.
Lettie stood pale and inscrutable for some mo-
ments. Then she went in to breakfast and sat toy-
ing with her food, keeping her head bent down, her
face hidden.
In less than an hour he was back again, saying
he had left something behind. He ran upstairs, and
then, hesitating, went into the room where Lettie was
still sitting at table.
" I had to come back," he said.
She lifted her face towards him, but kept her eyes
averted, looking out of the window. She was flushed.
" What had you forgotten ? " she asked.
" I'd left my cigarette case," he replied.
There was an awkward silence.
" But I shall have to be getting off," he added.
" Yes, I suppose you will," she replied.
After another pause, he asked:
" Won't you just walk down the path with me ? "
She rose without answering. He took a shawl and
put it round her carefully. She merely allowed him.
They walked in silence down the garden.
" You — are you — are you angry with me ? " he
faltered.
Tears suddenly came to her eyes.
" What did you come back for ? " she said, avert-
ing her face from him. He looked at her.
THE INSPIRED MOMENTS 269
" I knew you were angry — and — ," he hesitated.
" Why didn't you go away ? " she said impulsively.
He hung his head and was silent.
" I don't see why — why it should make trouble
between us, Lettie," he faltered. She made a swift
gesture of repulsion, whereupon, catching sight of
her hand, she hid it swiftly against her skirt again.
" You make my hands — my very hands disclaim
me," she struggled to say.
He looked at her clenched fist pressed against the
folds of her dress.
" But — ," he began, much troubled.
" I tell you, I can't bear the sight of my own
hands," she said, in low, passionate tones.
" But surely, Lettie, there's no need — if you love
me "
She seemed to wince. He waited, puzzled and
miserable.
" And we're going to be married, aren't we ? " he
resumed, looking pleadingly at her.
She stirred, and exclaimed:
" Oh, why don't you go away ? What did you
come back for ? "
" You'll kiss me before I go ? " he asked.
She stood with averted face, and did not reply.
His forehead was twitching in a puzzled frown.
" Lettie ! " he said.
She did not move or answer, but remained with
her face turned full away, so that he could see only
the contour of her cheek. After waiting awhile, he
flushed, turned swiftly and set his machine rattling.
In a moment he was racing between the trees.
CHAPTEK IV
It was the Sunday after Leslie's visit. We had had
a wretched week, with everybody mute and unhappy.
Though Spring had come, none of us saw it.
Afterwards it occurred to me that I had seen all the
ranks of poplars suddenly bursten into a dark crim-
son glow, with a flutter of blood-red where the sun
came through the leaves ; that I had found high cra-
dles where the swan's eggs lay by the waterside ; that
I had seen the daffodils leaning from the moss-grown
wooden walls of the boat-house, and all, moss, daffo-
dils, water, scattered with the pink scarves from the
elm buds ; that I had broken the half -spread fans of
the sycamore, and had watched the white cloud of
sloe-blossom go silver grey against the evening sky:
but I had not perceived it, and I had not any vivid
spring-pictures left from the neglected week.
It was Sunday evening, just after tea, when Lettie
suddenly said to me:
" Come with me down to Strelley Mill."
I was astonished, but I obeyed unquestioningly.
On the threshold we heard a chattering of girls,
and immediately Alice's voice greeted us:
" Hello, Sybil, love ! Hello, Lettie ! Come on,
here's a gathering of the goddesses. Come on, you
just make us right. You're Juno, and here's Meg,
270
KISS WHEN RIPE FOR TEARS 271
she's Venus, and I'm — here, somebody, who am I,
tell us quick — did you say Minerva, Sybil dear?
Well you ought, then ! Now Paris, hurry up. He's
putting his Sunday clothes on to take us a walk —
Laws, what a time it takes him! Get your blushes
ready, Meg — now Lettie, look haughty, and I'll look
wise. I wonder if he wants me to go and tie his tie.
Oh, Glory — where on earth did you get that anti-
macassar ? "
" In Nottingham — don't you like it ? " said George
referring to his tie. " Hello, Lettie — have you
come I "
" Yes, it's a gathering of the goddesses. Have
you that apple I If so, hand it over," said Alice.
"What apple?"
" Oh, Lum, his education ! Paris's apple — Can't
you see we've come to be chosen ? "
" Oh, well — I haven't got any apple — I've eaten
mine."
" Isn't he flat — he's like boiling magnesia that's
done boiling for a week. Are you going to take us
all to church then ? "
" If you like."
" Come on, then. Where's the Abode of Love ?
Look at Lettie looking shocked. Awfully sorry, old
girl — thought love agreed with you."
" Did you say love ? " inquired George.
" Yes, I did ; didn't I, Meg ? And you say 'Love'
as well, don't you ? "
" I don't know what it is," laughed Meg, who was
very red and rather bewildered.
" ' Amor est titillatio ' — { Love is a tickling,' —
there— that's it, isn't it, Sybil ? "
272 THE WHITE PEACOCK
" How should I know."
" If course not, old fellow. Leave it to the girls.
See how knowing Lettie looks — and, laws, Lettie,
you are solemn."
" It's love," suggested George, over his new neck-
tie.
" I'll bet it is ' degustasse sat est ' — ain't it, Let-
tie ? ■ One lick's enough ' — ' and damned be he that
first cries : Hold, enough ! ' — Which one do you
like? But are you going to take us to church,
Georgie, darling — one by one, or all at once ? "
" What do you want me to do, Meg ? " he asked.
" Oh, I don't mind."
" And do you mind, Lettie ? "
" I'm not going to church."
" Let's go a walk somewhere — and let us start
now," said Emily somewhat testily. She did not
like this nonsense.
" There you are Syb — you've got your orders —
don't leave me behind," wailed Alice.
Emily frowned and bit her finger.
" Come on, Georgie. You look like the finger
of a pair scales — between two weights. Which'll
draw?"
" The heavier," he replied, smiling, and looking
neither at Meg or Lettie.
" Then it's Meg," cried Alice. " Oh, I wish I
was fleshy — I've no chance with Syb against Pem."
Emily flashed looks of rage ; Meg blushed and felt
ashamed ; Lettie began to recover from her first out-
raged indignation, and smiled.
Thus we went a walk, in two trios.
Unfortunately, as the evening was so fine, the
KISS WHEN RIPE FOR TEARS 273
roads were full of strollers: groups of three or four
men dressed in pale trousers and shiny black cloth
coats, following their suspicious little dogs: gangs
of youths slouching along, occupied with nothing,
often silent, talking now and then in raucous tones
on some subject of brief interest: then the gallant
husbands, in their tail coats very husbandly, push-
ing a jingling perambulator, admonished by a much
dressed spouse round whom the small members of
the family gyrated : occasionally, two lovers walking
with a space between them, disowning each other;
occasionally, a smartly dressed mother with two little
girls in white silk frocks and much expanse of yellow
hair, stepping mincingly, and, near by, a father awk-
wardly controlling his Sunday suit.
To endure all this it was necessary to chatter un-
concernedly. George had to keep up the conversa-
tion behind, and he seemed to do it with ease, dis-
coursing on the lambs, discussing the breed — when
Meg exclaimed:
" Oh, aren't they black ! They might ha' crept
down th' chimney. I never saw any like them be-
fore." He described how he had reared two on the
bottle, exciting Meg's keen admiration by his moth-
ering of the lambs. Then he went on to the peewits,
harping on the same string: how they would cry
and pretend to be wounded — " Just fancy, though ! "
— and how he had moved the eggs of one pair while
he was ploughing, and the mother had followed them,
and had even sat watching as he drew near again
with the plough, watching him come and go —
" Well, she knew you — but they do know those who
are kind to them "
274 THE WHITE PEACOCK
" Yes," he agreed, " her little bright eyes seem to
speak as you go by."
" Oh, I do think they're nice little things — don't
you, Lettie ? " cried Meg in access of tenderness.
Lettie did — with brevity.
We walked over the hills and down into Greymede.
Meg thought she ought to go home to her grand-
mother, and George bade her go, saying he would
call and see her in an hour or so.
The dear girl was disappointed, but she went
unmurmuring. We left Alice with a friend, and
hurried home through Selsby to escape the after-
church parade.
As you walk home past Selsby, the pit stands up
against the west, with beautiful tapering chimneys
marked in black against the swim of sunset, and
the head-stocks etched with tall significance on the
brightness. Then the houses are squat in rows of
shadow at the foot of these high monuments.
" Do you know, Cyril," said Emily, " I have
meant to go and see Mrs. Annable — the keeper's
wife — she's moved into Bonsart's Kow, and the chil-
dren come to school — Oh, it's awful ! — they've never
been to school, and they are unspeakable."
" What's she gone there for ? " I asked.
" I suppose the squire wanted the Kennels — and
she chose it herself. But the way they live — it's
fearful to think of!"
" And why haven't you been ? "
" I don't know — I've meant to — but " Emily
stumbled.
" You didn't want, and you daren't ? "
KISS WHEN RIPE FOR TEARS 275
" Perhaps not — would you ? "
" Pah — let's go now ! — There, you hang back."
" No I don't," she replied sharply.
" Come on then, we'll go through the twitchel.
Let me tell Lettie."
Lettie at once declared r ' No ! " — with some asper-
ity.
" All right," said George. " I'll take you home."
But this suited Lettie still less.
" I don't know what you want to go for, Cyril,"
she said, " and Sunday night, and, everybody every-
where. I want to go home."
" Well — you go then — Emily will come with
you."
" Ha," cried the latter, u you think I won't go to
see her."
I shrugged my shoulders, and George pulled his
moustache.
" Well, I don't care," declared Lettie, and we
marched down the twitchel, Indian file.
We came near to the ugly rows of houses that
back up against the pit-hill. Everywhere is black
and sooty: the houses are back to back, having only
one entrance, which is from a square garden where
black-speckled weeds grow sulkily, and which looks
on to a row of evil little ash-pit huts. The road
everywhere is trodden over with a crust of soot and
coal-dust and cinders.
Between the rows, however, was a crowd of women
and children, bare heads, bare arms, white aprons,
and black Sunday frocks bristling with gimp. One
or two men squatted on their heels with their backs
against a wall, laughing. The women were waving
276 THE WHITE PEACOCK
their arms and screaming up at the roof of the end
house.
Emily and Lettie drew back.
" Look there — it's that little beggar, Sam ! " said
George.
There, sure enough, perched on the ridge of the
roof against the end chimney, was the young imp,
coatless, his shirt-sleeves torn away from the cuffs.
I knew his bright, reddish young head in a moment.
He got up, his bare toes clinging to the tiles, and
spread out his fingers fanwise from his nose, shout-
ing something, which immediately caused the crowd
to toss with indignation, and the women to shriek
again. Sam sat down suddenly, having almost lost
his balance.
The village constable hurried up, his thin neck
stretching out of his tunic, and demanded the cause
of the hubbub.
Immediately a woman with bright brown squint-
ing eyes, and a birthmark on her cheek, rushed for-
ward and seized the policeman by the sleeve.
" Ta'e 'im up, ta'e 'im up, an' birch 'im till 'is
bloody back's raw," she screamed.
The thin policeman shook her off, and wanted to
know what was the matter.
" I'll smosh 'im like a rotten tater," cried the
woman, " if I can lay 'ands on 'im. 'E's not fit ter
live nowhere where there's decent folks — the thiev-
in', brazen little devil " thus she went on.
" But what's up ! " interrupted the thin constable,
"what's up wi"im?"
" Up — it's 'im as 'is up, an' let 'im wait till I
get 'im down. A crafty little "
KISS WHEN RIPE FOR TEARS 277
Sam, seeing her look at him, distorted his honest
features, and overheated her wrath, till Lettie and
Emily trembled with dismay.
The mother's head appeared at the bedroom win-
dow. She slid the sash back, and craned out, vainly
trying to look over the gutter below the slates. She
was even more dishevelled than usual, and the tears
had dried on her pale face. She stretched further
out, clinging to the window frame and to the gutter
overhead, till I was afraid she would come down with
a crash.
The men, squatting on their heels against the wall
of the ashpit, laughed, saying:
" Nab 'im, Poll — can ter see 'm — clawk 'im ! "
and then the pitiful voice of the woman was heard
crying : " Come thy ways down, my duckie, come on
— on'y come ter thy mother — they shanna touch thee.
Du thy mother's bidding now — Sam — Sam — Sam ! "
her voice rose higher and higher.
" Sammy, Sammy, go to thy mammy," jeered the
wits below.
" Shonna ter come, Shonna ter come to thy
mother, my duckie — come on, come thy ways down."
Sam looked at the crowd, and at the eaves from
under which rose his mother's voice. He was going
to cry. A big gaunt woman, with the family steel
comb stuck in her back hair, shouted, " Tha' mun
well bend thy face, tha' needs ter scraight," and
aided by the woman with the birthmark and the
squint, she reviled him. The little scoundrel, in a
burst of defiance, picked a piece of mortar from be-
tween the slates, and in a second it flew into frag-
ments against the family steel comb. The wearer
278 THE WHITE PEACOCK
thereof declared her head was laid open, and there
was general confusion. The policeman — I don't
know how thin he must have been when he was taken
out of his uniform — lost his head, and he too began
brandishing his fists, spitting from under his sweep's-
brush moustache as he commanded in tones of
authority :
" Now then, no more on it — let's Ve thee down
here, an' no more messin' about ! "
The boy tried to creep over the ridge of the roof
and escape down the other side. Immediately the
brats rushed round yelling to the other side of the
row, and pieces of red-burnt gravel began to fly over
the roof. Sam crouched against the chimney.
"Got 'im!" yelled one little devil. "Got 'im!
Hi — go again ! "
A shower of stones came down, scattering the
women and the policeman. The mother rushed from
the house and made a wild onslaught on the throw-
ers. She caught one, and flung him down. Imme-
diately the rest turned and aimed their missiles at
her. Then George and the policeman and I dashed
after the young wretches, and the women ran to see
what happened to their offspring. We caught two
lads of fourteen or so, and made the policeman haul
them after us. The rest fled.
When we returned to the field of battle, Sam had
gone too.
" If 'e 'asna slived off ! " cried the woman with a
squint. " But I'll see him locked up for this."
At this moment a band of missioners from one of
the chapels or churches arrived at the end of the row,
and the little harmonium began to bray, and the
KISS WHEN RIPE FOR TEARS 279
place vibrated with the sound of a woman's powerful
voice, propped round by several others, singing:
" At 'even 'ere the sun was set "
Everybody hurried towards the new noise, save
the policeman with his captives, the woman with the
squint, and the woman with the family comb. I told
the limb of the law he'd better get rid of the two
boys and find out what mischief the others were
after.
Then I enquired of the woman with the squint
what was the matter.
" Thirty-seven young uns 'an we 'ad from that
doe, an' there's no knowin' 'ow many more, if they
'adn't a-gone an' ate-n 'er," she replied, lapsing, now
her fury was spent, into sullen resentment.
" An' niver a word should we a' known," added the
family-comb-bearer, "but for that blessed cat of
ourn, as scrat it up."
"Indeed," said I, "the rabbit?"
" No, there were nowt left but th' skin — they'd
seen ter that, a thieving, dirt-eatin' lot."
" When was that ? " said I.
u This mortal night — an' there was th' head an'
th' back in th' dirty stewpot — I can show you this
instant — I've got 'em in our pantry for a proof,
'aven't I, Martha ? "
" A fat lot o' good it is — but I'll rip th' neck out
of 'im, if ever I lay 'ands on 'im."
At last I made out that Samuel had stolen a large,
lop-eared doe out of a hutch in the coal-house of the
squint-eyed lady, had skinned it, buried the skin, and
offered his booty to his mother as a wild rabbit,
trapped. The doe had been the chief item of the
280 THE WHITE PEACOCK
Annables' Sunday dinner — albeit a portion was un-
luckily saved till Monday, providing undeniable
proof of the theft. The owner of the rabbit had sup-
posed the creature to have escaped. This peaceful
supposition had been destroyed by the comb-bearer's
seeing her cat, scratching in the Annables garden,
unearth the white and brown doe-skin, after which
the trouble had begun.
The squint-eyed woman was not so hard to man-
age. I talked to her as if she were some male friend
of mine, only appealing to her womanliness with all
the soft sadness I could press into the tones of my
voice. In the end she was mollified, and even tender
and motherly in her feelings toward the unfortunate
family. I left on her dresser the half-crown I
shrank from offering her, and, having reduced the
comb-wearer also, I marched off, carrying the stew-
pot and the fragments of the ill-fated doe to the cot-
tage of the widow, where George and the girls
awaited me.
The house was in a woeful state. In the rocking
chair, beside the high guard that surrounded the
hearth, sat the mother, rocking, looking sadly shaken
now her excitement was over. Lettie was nursing
the little baby, and Emily the next child. George
was smoking his pipe and trying to look natural.
The little kitchen was crowded — there was no room
— there was not even a place on the table for the
stew- jar, so I gathered together cups and mugs con-
taining tea sops, and set down the vessel of ignominy
on the much slopped tea-cloth. The four little chil-
dren were striped and patched with tears — at my
entrance one under the table recommenced to weep,
KISS WHEN RIPE FOR TEARS 281
so I gave him my pencil which pushed in and out,
but which pushes in and out no more.
The sight of the stewpot affected the mother
afresh. She wept again, crying:
" An' I niver thought as 'ow it were aught but a
snared un ; as if I should set 'im on ter thieve their
old doe ; an' tough it was an' all ; an' 'im a thief, an
me called all the names they could lay their tongues
to: an' then in my bit of a pantry, takin' the very
pots out: that stewpot as I brought all the way from
Nottingham, an' Fve 'ad it afore our Minnie wor
born "
The baby, the little baby, then began to cry. The
mother got up suddenly, and took it.
" Oh, come then, come then my pet. Why, why
cos they shanna, no they shanna. Yes, he's his moth-
er's least little lad, he is, a little un. Hush then,
there, there — what's a matter, my little I "
She hushed the baby, and herself. At length she
asked :
" 'As th' p'liceman gone as well ? "
" Yes— it's all right," I said.
She sighed deeply, and her look of weariness was
painful to see.
" How old is your eldest ? " I asked.
" Fanny — she's fourteen. She's out service at
Websters. Then Jim, as is thirteen next month —
let's see, yes, it is next month — he's gone to Flints
— farming. They can't do much — an' I shan't let
'em go into th' pit, if I can help it. My husband
always used to say they should never go in th' pit."
" They can't do much for you."
" They dun what they can. But it's a hard job, it
282 THE WHITE PEACOCK
is, ter keep 'em all goin'. Wi' weshin, an' th' parish
pay, an' five shillin' from th' squire — it's 'ard. It
was diffrent when my hushand was alive. It ought
ter 'a been me as should 'a died — I don't seem as if
I can manage 'em — they get beyond me. I wish I
was dead this minnit, an' 'im 'ere. I can't under-
stand it: 'im as wor so capable, to be took, an' me
left. 'E wor a man in a thousand, 'e wor — full o'
management like a gentleman. I wisht it was me as
'ad a been took. 'An 'e's restless, 'cos 'e knows I
find it 'ard. I stood at th' door last night, when they
was all asleep, looking out over th' pit pond — an' I
saw a light, an' I knowed it was 'im — cos it wor our
weddin' day yesterday — by the day an' th' date. An'
I said to 'im ' Frank, is it thee, Frank ? I'm all
right, I'm gettin' on all right,' — an' then 'e went;
seemed to go ower the whimsey an' back towards th'
wood. I know it wor 'im, an' 'e couldna rest, think-
in' I couldna manage "
After a while we left, promising to go again, and
to see after the safety of Sam.
It was quite dark, and the lamps were lighted in
the houses. We could hear the throb of the fan-
house engines, and the soft whirr of the fan.
" Isn't it cruel ? " said Emily, plaintively.
" Wasn't the man a wretch to marry the woman
like that," added Lettie with decision.
" Speak of Lady Chrystabel," said I, and then
there was silence. " I suppose he did not know what
he was doing, any more than the rest of us."
" I thought you were going to your aunt's — to the
Ram Inn," said Lettie to George when they came to
the cross-roads.
KISS WHEN RIPE FOR TEARS 283
" Not now — it's too late," he answered quietly*
" You will come round our way, won't you ? "
" Yes," she said.
We were eating bread and milk at the farm, and
the father was talking with vague sadness and remin-
iscence, lingering over the thought of their departure
from the old house. He was a pure romanticist, for-
ever seeking the colour of the past in the present's
monotony. He seemed settling down to an easy con-
tented middle-age, when the unrest on the farm and
development of his children quickened him with
fresh activity. He read books on the land question,
and modern novels. In the end he became an ad-
vanced radical, almost a socialist. Occasionally his
letters appeared in the newspapers. He had taken
a new hold on life.
Over supper he became enthusiastic about Canada,
and to watch him, his ruddy face lighted up, his
burly form straight and nerved with excitement, was
to admire him ; to hear him, his words of thoughtful
common-sense all warm with a young man's hopes,
was to love him. At forty-six he was more sponta-
neous and enthusiastic than George, and far more
happy and hopeful.
Emily would not agree to go away with them —
what should she do in Canada, she said — and she did
not want the little ones " to be drudges on a farm —
in the end to be nothing but cattle."
" Nay," said her father gently, " Mollie shall learn
the dairying, and David will just be right to take to
the place when I give up. It'll perhaps be a bit
rough and hard at first, but when we've got over it
284 THE WHITE PEACOCK
we shall think it was one of the best times — like
you do."
" And you, George ? " asked Lettie.
" I'm not going. What should I go for ? There's
nothing at the end of it only a long life. It's like a
day here in June — a long work day, pleasant enough,
and when it's done you sleep well — but it's work and
sleep and comfort, — half a life. It's not enough.
What's the odds? — I might as well be Flower, the
mare."
His father looked at him gravely and thoughtfully.
" Now it seems to me so different," he said sadly,
" it seems to me you can live your own life, and be
independent, and think as you like without being
choked with harassments. I feel as if I could keep
on — like that "
" I'm going to get more out of my life, I hope,"
laughed George. " No. Do you know I " and here
he turned straight to Lettie. " Do you know, I'm
going to get pretty rich, so that I can do what I want
for a bit. I want to see what it's like, to taste all
sides — to taste the towns. I want to know what I've
got in me. I'll get rich — or at least I'll have a good
try."
" And pray how will you manage it ? " asked
Emily.
" I'll begin by marrying — and then you'll see."
Emily laughed with scorn — " Let us see you be-
gin."
" Ah, you're not wise ! " said the father sadly —
then, laughing, he said to Lettie in coaxing, confi-
dential tones, " but he'll come out there to me in a
year or two — you see if he doesn't."
KISS WHEN RIPE FOR TEARS 285
" I wish I could come now," said I.
" If you would/' said George, " I'd go with you.
But not by myself, to become a fat stupid fool, like
my own cattle."
While he was speaking Gyp burst into a rage of
barking. The father got up to see what it was, and
George followed. Trip, the great bull-terrier, rushed
out of the house shaking the buildings with his roars.
We saw the white dog flash down the yard, we heard
a rattle from the hen-house ladder, and in a moment
a scream from the orchard side.
We rushed forward, and there on the sharp bank-
side lay a little figure, face down, and Trip standing
over it, looking rather puzzled.
I picked up the child — it was Sam. He struggled
as soon as he felt my hands, but I bore him off to the
house. He wriggled like a wild hare, and kicked,
but at last he was still. I set him on the hearthrug
to examine him. He was a quaint little figure,
dressed in a man's trousers that had been botched
small for him, and a coat hanging in rags.
" Did he get hold of you ? " asked the father.
" Where was it he got hold of you ? "
But the child stood unanswering, his little pale lips
pinched together, his eyes staring out at nothing.
Emily went on her knees before him, and put her
face close to his, saying, with a voice that made one
shrink from its unbridled emotion of caress :
"Did he hurt you, eh? — tell us where he hurt
you." She would have put her arms around him, but
he shrank away.
" Look here," said Lettie, " it's here — and it's
bleeding. Go and get some water, Emily, and some
286 THE WHITE PEACOCK
rags. Come on, Sam, let me look and I'll put some
rags round it. Come along."
She took the child and stripped him of his gro-
tesque garments. Trip had given him a sharp grab
on the thigh before he had realised that he was deal-
ing with a little boy. It was not much, however, and
Lettie soon had it bathed, and anointed with elder-
flower ointment. On the boy's body were several
scars and bruises — evidently he had rough times.
Lettie tended to him and dressed him again. He
endured these attentions like a trapped wild rabbit —
never looking at us, never opening his lips — only
shrinking slightly. When Lettie had put on him his
torn little shirt, and had gathered the great breeches
about him, Emily went to him to coax him and make
him at home. She kissed him, and talked to him
with her full vibration of emotional caress. It
seemed almost to suffocate him. Then she tried to
feed him with bread and milk from a spoon, but he
would not open his mouth, and he turned his head
away.
" Leave him alone — take no notice of him," said
Lettie, lifting him into the chimney seat, with the
basin of bread and milk beside him. Emily fetched
the two kittens out of their basket, and put them too
beside him.
" I wonder how many eggs he'd got," said the
father, laughing softly.
" Hush ! " said Lettie. " When do you think you
will go to Canada, Mr. Saxton ? "
" Next spring — it's no good going before."
" And then you'll marry ? " asked Lettie of
George.
KISS WHEN RIPE FOR TEARS 287
" Before then — oh, before then," he said.
" Why — how is it you are suddenly in such a
hurry ? — when will it be ? "
" When are you marrying 8 " he asked in reply.
" I don't know," she said, coming to a full stop.
" Then I don't know," he said, taking a large
wedge of cheese and biting a piece from it.
" It was fixed for June," she said, recovering her-
self at his suggestion of hope.
" July ! " said Emily.
" Father ! " said he, holding the piece of cheese up
before him as he spoke — he was evidently nervous:
" Would you advise me to marry Meg ? "
His father started, and said :
" Why, was you thinking of doing ? "
" Yes — all things considered."
" Well — if she suits you "
" We're cousins "
" If you want her, I suppose you won't let that
hinder you. She'll have a nice bit of money, and if
you like her "
" I like her all right — I shan't go out to Canada
with her though. I shall stay at the Ram — for the
sake of the life."
" It's a poor life, that ! " said the father, rumi-
nating.
George laughed. "A bit mucky! " he said — " But
it'll do. It would need Cyril or Lettie to keep me
alive in Canada."
It was a bold stroke — everybody was embar-
" Well," said the father, " I suppose we can't have
everything we want — we generally have to put up
288 THE WHITE PEACOCK
with the next best thing — don't we, Lettie % " — he
laughed. Lettie flushed furiously.
" I don't know," she said. " You can generally
get what you want if you want it badly enough. Of
course — if you don't mind "
She rose, and went across to Sam.
He was playing with the kittens. One was patting
and cuffing his bare toe, which had poked through his
stocking. He pushed and teased the little scamp
with his toe till it rushed at him, clinging, tickling,
biting till he gave little bubbles of laughter, quite
forgetful of us. Then the kitten was tired, and ran
off. Lettie shook her skirts, and directly the two
playful mites rushed upon it, darting round her, roll-
ing head over heels, and swinging from the soft cloth.
Suddenly becoming aware that they felt tired, the
young things trotted away and cuddled together by
the fender, where in an instant they were asleep.
Almost as suddenly, Sam sank into drowsiness.
" He'd better go to bed," said the father.
" Put him in my bed," said George. " David
would wonder what had happened."
" Will you go to bed, Sam ? " asked Emily, hold-
ing out her arms to him, and immediately startling
him by the terrible gentleness of her persuasion. He
retreated behind Lettie.
" Come along," said the latter, and she quickly
took him and undressed him. Then she picked him
up, and his bare legs hung down in front of her.
His head drooped drowsily on to her shoulder,
against her neck.
She put down her face to touch the loose riot of
his ruddy hair. She stood so, quiet, still and wist-
KISS WHEN RIPE FOR TEARS 289
ful, for a few moments; perhaps she was vaguely
aware that the attitude was beautiful for her, and
irresistibly appealing to George, who loved, above all
in her, her delicate dignity of tenderness. Emily
waited with the lighted candle for her some
moments.
When she came down there was a softness about
her.
" Now," said I to myself, " if George asks her
again he is wise."
" He is asleep," she said, quietly.
" I'm thinking we might as well let him stop while
we're here, should we, George ? " said the father.
"Eh?"
" We'll keep him here, while we are here "
" Oh— the lad ! I should. Yes— he'd be better
here than up yonder."
" Ah, yes — ever so much. It is good of you," said
Lettie.
" Oh, he'll make no difference," said the father.
" Not a bit," added George.
" What about his mother ! " asked Lettie.
" I'll call and tell her in the morning," said
George.
" Yes," she said, " call and tell her."
Then she put on her things to go. He also put
on his cap.
" Are you coming a little way, Emily ? " I asked.
She ran, laughing, with bright eyes as we went out
into the darkness.
We waited for them at the wood gate. We all
lingered, not knowing what to say. Lettie said
finally :
290 THE WHITE PEACOCK
" Well — it's no good — the grass is wet — Good-
night — Good-night, Emily."
" Good-night," he said, with regret, and hesitation,
and a trifle of impatience in his voice and his man-
ner. He lingered still a moment; she hesitated —
then she struck off sharply.
" He has not asked her, the idiot ! " I said to my-
self.
" Keally," she said bitterly, when we were going
up the garden path, " You think rather quiet folks
have a lot in them, but it's only stupidity — they are
mostly fools."
CHAPTER V
r
AN ARROW FROM THE IMPATIENT GOD
On an afternoon three or four days after the recov-
ery of Sam, matters became complicated. George,
as usual, discovered that he had been dawdling in
the portals of his desires, when the doors came to
with a bang. Then he hastened to knock.
" Tell her," he said, " I will come up to-morrow
after milking — tell her I'm coming to see her."
On the evening of that morrow, the first person to
put in an appearance was a garrulous spinster who
had called ostensibly to inquire into the absence of
the family from church : " I said to Elizabeth, ' Now
what a thing if anything happens to them just now,
and the wedding is put onV I felt I must come and
make myself sure — that nothing had happened. We
all feel so interested in Lettie just now. I'm sure
everybody is talking of her, she seems in the air. — I
really think we shall have thunder : I hope we shan't.
— Yes, we are all so glad that Mr. Tempest is con-
tent with a wife from at home — the others, his father
and Mr. Robert and the rest — they were none of
them to be suited at home, though to be sure the
wives they brought were nothing — indeed they were
not — as many a one said — Mrs. Robert was a paltry
choice — neither in looks or manner had she anything
to boast of — if her family was older than mine.
291
292 THE WHITE PEACOCK
Family wasn't much to make up for what she lacked
in other things, that I could easily have supplied her
with; and, oh, dear, what an object she is now, with
her wisp of hair and her spectacles! She for one
hasn't kept much of her youth. But when is the
exact date, dear ? — Some say this and some that, but
as I always say, I never trust a ' they say.' It is so
nice that you have that cousin a canon to come down
for the service, Mrs. Beardsall, and Sir Walter
Houghton for the groom's man ! What ? — You don't
think so — oh, but I know, dear, I know ; you do like
to treasure up these secrets, don't you; you are
greedy for all the good things just now."
She shook her head at Lettie, and the jet orna-
ments on her bonnet twittered like a thousand wag-
ging little tongues. Then she sighed, and was about
to recommence her song, when she happened to turn
her head and to espy a telegraph boy coming up the
path.
" Oh, I hope nothing is wrong, dear — I hope noth-
ing is wrong! I always feel so terrified of a tele-
gram. You'd better not open it yourself, dear —
don't now — let your brother go."
Lettie, who had turned pale, hurried to the door.
The sky was very dark — there was a mutter of
thunder.
" It's all right," said Lettie, trembling, " it's only
to say he's coming to-night."
" I'm very thankful, very thankful," cried the
spinster. " It might have been so much worse. I'm
sure I never open a telegram without feeling as if
I was opening a death-blow. I'm so glad, dear; it
must have upset you. What news to take back to
AN ARROW FROM GOD 293
the village, supposing something had happened ! " she
sighed again, and the jet drops twinkled ominously
in the thunder light, as if declaring they would make
something of it yet.
It was six o'clock. The air relaxed a little, and
the thunder was silent. George would be coming
about seven; and the spinster showed no signs of
departure; and Leslie might arrive at any moment.
Lettie fretted and fidgeted, and the old woman gab-
bled on. I looked out of the window at the water and
the sky.
The day had been uncertain. In the morning it
was warm, and the sunshine had played and raced
among the cloud-shadows on the hills. Later, great
cloud masses had stalked up from the northwest and
crowded thick across the sky; in this little night,
sleet and wind, and rain whirled furiously. Then
the sky had laughed at us again. In the sunshine
came the spinster. But as she talked, over the hill-
top rose the wide forehead of the cloud, rearing
slowly, ominously higher. A first messenger of
storm passed darkly over the sky, leaving the way
clear again.
" I will go round to Highclose," said Lettie. " I
am sure it will be stormy again. Are you coming
down the road, Miss Slaighter, or do you mind if I
leave you ? "
" I will go, dear, if you think there is going to be
another storm — I dread it so. Perhaps I had better
wait "
" Oh, it will not come over for an hour, I am sure.
We read the weather well out here, don't we, Cyril %
You'll come with me, won't you ? "
294 THE WHITE PEACOCK
We three set off, the gossip leaning on her toes,
tripping between us. She was much gratified by
Lettie's information concerning the proposals for the
new home. We left her in a glow of congratulatory
smiles on the highway. But the clouds had upreared,
and stretched in two great arms, reaching overhead.
The little spinster hurried along, but the black hands
of the clouds kept pace and clutched her. A sudden
gust of wind shuddered in the trees, and rushed upon
her cloak, blowing its bugles.
An icy raindrop smote into her cheek. She hur-
ried on, praying fervently for her bonnet's sake that
she might reach Widow Harriman's cottage before
the burst came. But the thunder crashed in her ear,
and a host of hailstones flew at her. In despair and
anguish she fled from under the ash trees; she
reached the widow's garden gate, when out leapt the
lightning full at her. " Put me in the stair-hole ! "
she cried. " Where is the stair-hole ? "
Glancing wildly round, she saw a ghost. It was the
reflection of the sainted spinster, Hilda Slaighter, in
the widow's mirror ; a reflection with a bonnet fallen
backwards, and to it attached a thick rope of grey-
brown hair. The author of the ghost instinctively
twisted to look at the back of her head. She saw
some ends of grey hair, and fled into the open stair-
hole as into a grave.
We had gone back home till the storm was over,
and then, restless, afraid of the arrival of George,
we set out again into the wet evening. It was fine
and chilly, and already a mist was rising from Neth-
ermere, veiling the farther shore, where the trees
rose loftily, suggesting groves beyond the Nile. The
AN ARROW FROM GOD 295
birds were singing riotously. The fresh green hedge
glistened vividly and glowed again with intense
green. Looking at the water, I perceived a delicate
flush from the west hiding along it. The mist licked
and wreathed up the shores ; from the hidden white
distance came the mournful cry of water fowl. We
went slowly along behind a heavy cart, which clanked
and rattled under the dripping trees, with the hoofs
of the horse moving with broad thuds in front. We
passed over black patches where the ash flowers were
beaten down, and under great massed clouds of green
sycamore. At the sudden curve of the road, near the
foot of the hill, I stopped to break off a spray of
larch, where the soft cones were heavy as raspber-
ries, and gay like flowers with petals. The shaken
bough spattered a heavy shower on my face, of drops
so cold that they seemed to sink into my blood and
chill it.
" Hark ! " said Lettie, as I was drying my face.
There was the quick patter of a motor-car coming
downhill. The heavy cart was drawn across the road
to rest, and the driver hurried to turn the horse
back. It moved with painful slowness, and we stood
in the road in suspense. Suddenly, before we knew
it, the car was dropping down on us, coming at us
in a curve, having rounded the horse and cart. Let-
tie stood faced with terror. Leslie saw her, and
swung round the wheels on the sharp, curving hill-
side; looking only to see that he should miss her.
The car slid sideways; the mud crackled under the
wheels, and the machine went crashing into Nether-
mere. It caught the edge of the old stone wall with
a smash. Then for a few moments I think I was
296 THE WHITE PEACOCK
blind. When I saw again, Leslie was lying across
the broken hedge, his head hanging down the bank,
his face covered with blood ; the car rested strangely
on the brink of the water, crumpled as if it had sunk
down to rest.
Lettie, with hands shuddering, was wiping the
blood from his eyes with a piece of her underskirt.
In a moment she said:
" He is not dead — let us take him home — let us
take him quickly."
I ran and took the wicket gate off its hinges, and
laid him on that. His legs trailed down, but we car-
ried him thus, she at the feet, I at the head. She
made me stop and put him down. I thought the
weight was too much for her, but it was not that.
" I can't bear to see his hand hanging, knocking
against the bushes and things."
It was not many yards to the house. A maid-
servant saw us, came running out, and went running
back, like the frightened lapwing from the wounded
cat.
We waited until the doctor came. There was a
deep graze down the side of the head — serious, but
not dangerous ; there was a cut across the cheek-bone
that would leave a scar; and the collar-bone was
broken. I stayed until he had recovered conscious-
ness. " Lettie," he wanted Lettie, so she had to re-
main at Highclose all night. I went home to tell
my mother.
When I went to bed I looked across at the lighted
windows of Highclose, and the lights trailed mistily
towards me across the water. The cedar stood dark
guard against the house; bright the windows were,
AN ARROW FROM GOD 297
like the stars, and, like the stars, covering their tor-
ment in brightness. The sky was glittering with
sharp lights — they are too far off to take trouble
for us, so little, little almost to nothingness. All the
great hollow vastness roars overhead, and the stars
are only sparks that whirl and spin in the restless
space. The earth must listen to us ; she covers her
face with a thin veil of mist, and is sad ; she soaks up
our blood tenderly, in the darkness, grieving, and in
the light she soothes and reassures us. Here on our
earth is sympathy and hope, the heavens have noth-
ing but distances.
A corn-crake talked to me across the valley, talked
and talked endlessly, asking and answering in hoarse
tones from the sleeping, mist-hidden meadows. The
monotonous voice, that on past summer evenings had
had pleasant notes of romance, now was intolerable
to me. Its inflexible harshness and cacophany
seemed like the voice of fate speaking out its tune-
less perseverance in the night.
In the morning Lettie came home wan, sad-eyed,
and self-reproachful. After a short time they came
for her, as he wanted her again.
When in the evening I went to see George, he too
was very despondent.
" It's no good now," said I. " You should have
insisted and made your own destiny."
" Yes — perhaps so," he drawled, in his best reflec-
tive manner.
" I would have had her — she'd have been glad if
you'd done as you wanted with her. She won't leave
him till he's strong, and he'll marry her before then.
You should have had the courage to risk yourself —
298 THE WHITE PEACOCK
you're always too careful of yourself and your own
poor feelings — you never could brace yourself up to
a shower-bath of contempt and hard usage, so youVe
saved your feelings and lost — not much, I suppose —
you couldn't."
" But " he began, not looking up ; and I
laughed at him.
" Go on," I said.
" Well — she was engaged to him "
" Pah — you thought you were too good to be re-
jected."
He was very pale, and when he was pale, the tan
on his skin looked sickly. He regarded me with his
dark eyes, which were now full of misery and a
child's big despair.
" And nothing else," I completed, with which the
little, exhausted gunboat of my anger wrecked and
sank utterly. Yet no thoughts would spread sail on
the sea of my pity : I was like water that heaves with
yearning, and is still.
Leslie was very ill for some time. He had a slight
brain fever, and was delirious, insisting that Lettie
was leaving him. She stayed most of her days at
Highclose.
One day in June he lay resting on a deck chair in
the shade of the cedar, and she was sitting by him.
It was a yellow, sultry day, when all the atmosphere
seemed inert, and all things were languid.
" Don't you think, dear," she said, " it would be
better for us not to marry ? "
He lifted his head nervously from the cushions;
his face was emblazoned with a livid red bar on a
field of white, and he looked worn, wistful.
AN ARROW FROM GOD 299
" Do you mean not yet ? " he asked.
" Yes — and, perhaps, — perhaps never."
" Ha," he laughed, sinking down again. " I must
be getting like myself again, if you begin to tease
me."
" But," she said, struggling valiantly, " I'm not
sure I ought to marry you."
He laughed again, though a little apprehensively.
" Are you afraid I shall always be weak in my
noddle ? " he asked. " But you wait a month."
" No, that doesn't bother me "
"Oh, doesn't it!"
" Silly boy— no, it's myself."
" I'm sure I've made no complaint about you."
" Not likely — but I wish you'd let me go."
" I'm a strong man to hold you, aren't 1 9 Look at
my muscular paw ! " — he held out his hands, frail
and white with sickness.
" You know you hold me — and I want you to let
me go. I don't want to "
"To what?"
" To get married at all — let me be, let me go."
" What for ? "
" Oh— for my sake."
" You mean you don't love me ? "
" Love — love — I don't know anything about it.
But I can't — we can't be — don't you see — oh, what
do they say, — flesh of one flesh."
" Why ? " he whispered, like a child that is told
some tale of mystery.
She looked at him, as he lay propped upon his
elbow, turning towards hers his white face of fear
and perplexity, like a child that cannot understand,
300 THE WHITE PEACOCK
and is afraid, and wants to cry. Then slowly tears
gathered full in her eyes, and she wept from pity and
despair.
This excited him terribly. He got up from his
chair, and the cushions fell on to the grass :
" What's the matter, what's the matter ! — Oh, Let-
tie, — is it me? — don't you want me now? — is that
it ? — tell me, tell me now, tell me," — he grasped her
wrists, and tried to pull her hands from her face.
The tears were running down his cheeks. She felt
him trembling, and the sound of his voice alarmed
her from herself. She hastily smeared the tears
from her eyes, got up, and put her arms round him.
He hid his head on her shoulder and sobbed, while
she bent over him, and so they cried out their cries,
till they were ashamed, looking round to see if any-
one were near. Then she hurried about, picking
up the cushions, making him lie down, and arrang-
ing him comfortably, so that she might be busy. He
was querulous, like a sick, indulged child. He would
have her arm under his shoulders, and her face near
his.
" Well," he said, smiling faintly again after a
time. " You are naughty to give us such rough
times — is it for the pleasure of making up, bad
little Schnucke — aren't you ? "
She kept close to him, and he did not see the wince
and quiver of her lips.
" I wish I was strong again — couldn't we go boat-
ing — or ride on horseback — and you'd have to behave
then. Do you think I shall be strong in a month?
Stronger than you ? "
" I hope so," she said.
AN ARROW FROM GOD 301
" Why, I don't believe you do, I believe you like
me like this — so that you can lay me down and smooth
me — don't you, quiet girl ? "
u When you're good."
" Ah, well, in a month I shall be strong, and we'll
be married and go to Switzerland — do you hear,
Schnucke — you won't be able to be naughty any more
then. Oh — do you want to go away from me
again ? "
" Wo — only my arm is dead," she drew it from
beneath him, standing up, swinging it, smiling be-
cause it hurt her.
" Oh, my darling — what a shame ! oh, I am a brute,
a kiddish brute. I wish I was strong again, Lettie,
and didn't do these things."
" You boy — it's nothing." She smiled at him
again.
CHAPTEK VI
THE COURTING
During Leslie's illness I strolled down to the mill one
Saturday evening. I met George tramping across
the yard with a couple of buckets of swill, and eleven
young pigs rushing squealing about his legs, shriek-
ing in an agony of suspense. He poured the stuff
into a trough with luscious gurgle, and instantly ten
noses were dipped in, and ten little mouths began to
slobber. Though there was plenty of room for ten,
yet they shouldered and shoved and struggled to cap-
ture a larger space, and many little trotters dabbled
and spilled the stuff, and the ten sucking, clapping
snouts twitched fiercely, and twenty little eyes glared
askance, like so many points of wrath. They gave
uneasy, gasping grunts in their haste. The unhappy
eleventh rushed from point to point trying to push
in his snout, but for his pains he got rough squeezing,
and sharp grabs on his ears. Then he lifted up his
face and screamed screams of grief and wrath unto
the evening sky.
But the ten little gluttons only twitched their ears to
make sure there was no danger in the noise, and they
sucked harder, with much spilling and slobbing.
George laughed like a sardonic Jove, but at last he
gave ear, and kicked the ten gluttons from the trough,
and allowed the residue to the eleventh. This one,
302
THE COURTING 303
poor wretch, almost wept with relief as he sucked and
swallowed in sobs, casting his little eyes apprehen-
sively upwards, though he did not lift his nose from
the trough, as he heard the vindictive shrieks of ten
little fiends kept at bay by George. The solitary
feeder, shivering with apprehension, rubbed the wood
bare with his snout, then, turning up to heaven his
eyes of gratitude, he reluctantly left the trough. I
expected to see the ten fall upon him and devour
him, but they did not; they rushed upon the empty
trough, and rubbed the wood still drier, shrieking
with misery.
" How like life," I laughed.
" Fine litter," said George ; " there were fourteen,
only that damned she-devil, Circe, went and ate three
of 'em before we got at her."
The great ugly sow came leering up as he spoke.
" Why don't you fatten her up, and devour her,
the old gargoyle ? She's an offence to the universe."
" Nay — she's a fine sow."
I snorted, and he laughed, and the old sow grunted
with contempt, and her little eyes twisted towards us
with a demoniac leer as she rolled past.
" What are you going to do to-night ! " I asked.
" Going out ? "
" I'm going courting," he replied, grinning.
"Oh!— wish 7 were!"
" You can come if you like — and tell me where I
make mistakes, since you're an expert on such mat-
ters."
" Don't you get on very well then ? " I asked.
" Oh, all right — it's easy enough when you don't
care a damn. Besides, you can always have a
304 THE WHITE PEACOCK
Johnny Walker. That's the best of courting at the
Earn Inn. I'll go and get ready."
In the kitchen Emily sat grinding out some stitch-
ing from a big old hand-machine that stood on the
table before her: she was making shirts, for Sam, I
presumed. That little fellow, who was installed at
the farm, was seated by her side firing off words from
a reading book. The machine rumbled and rattled
on, like a whole factory at work, for an inch or two,
during which time Sam shouted in shrill explosions
like irregular pistol shots : " Do — not — pot "
Put ! " cried Emily from the machine ; " put "
shrilled the child, " the soot — on — my — boot," —
there the machine broke down, and, frightened by the
sound of his own voice, the boy stopped in bewilder-
ment and looked round.
" Go on ! " said Emily, as she poked in the teeth of
the old machine with the scissors, then pulled and
prodded again. He began " — boot, — but — you "
here he died off again, made nervous by the sound of
his voice in the stillness. Emily sucked a piece of
cotton and pushed it through the needle.
" Now go on," she said, " — ' but you may '."
" But — you — may — shoot " : — he shouted away,
reassured by the rumble of the machine : " Shoot — the
— fox. I — I — It — is — at — the — rot "
" Koot," shrieked Emily, as she guided the stuff
through the doddering jaws of the machine.
" Koot," echoed the boy, and he went off with these
crackers : " Root — of — the — tree."
" Next one ! " cried Emily.
" Put— the— ol " began the boy.
" What ? " cried Emily.
THE COURTING 305
« Ole— on-
" Wait a bit ! " cried Emily, and then the machine
broke down.
" Hang! " she ejaculated.
" Hang ! " shouted the child.
She laughed, and leaned over to him :
" ' Put the oil in the pan to boil, while I toil in
the soil — Oh, Cyril, I never knew you were there!
Go along now, Sam: David '11 be at the back some-
where."
" He's in the bottom garden," said I, and the child
ran out.
Directly George came in from the scullery, drying
himself. He stood on the hearthrug as he rubbed
himself, and surveyed his reflection in the mirror
above the high mantelpiece ; he looked at himself and
smiled. I wondered that he found such satisfaction
in his image, seeing that there was a gap in his chin,
and an uncertain moth-eaten appearance in one cheek.
Mrs. Saxton still held this mirror an object of dig-
nity ; it was fairly large, and had a well-carven frame ;
but it left gaps and spots and scratches in one's
countenance, and even where it was brightest, it gave
one's reflection a far-away dim aspect. Notwith-
standing, George smiled at himself as he combed his
hair, and twisted his moustache.
" You seem to make a good impression on your-
self," said I.
" I was thinking I looked all right — sort of face to
go courting with," he replied, laughing: "You just
arrange a patch of black to come and hide, your faults
— and you're all right."
" I always used to think," said Emily, " that the
306 THE WHITE PEACOCK
black spots had swallowed so many faces they were
full up, and couldn't take any more — and the rest was
misty because there were so many faces lapped one
over the other — reflected."
" You do see yourself a bit ghostish " said he,
" on a background of your ancestors. I always think
when you stop in an old place like this you sort of
keep company with your ancestors too much ; I some-
times feel like a bit of the old building walking about ;
the old feelings of the old folks stick to you like the
lichens on the walls ; you sort of get hoary."
" That's it — it's true," asserted the father, ** people
whose families have shifted about much don't know
how it feels. That's why I'm going to Canada."
" And I'm going in a Pub," said George, " where
it's quite different — plenty of life."
" Life ! " echoed Emily with contempt.
" That's the word, my wench," replied her brother,
lapsing into the dialect. " That's what I'm after.
We known such a lot, an' we known nowt."
" You do " said the father, turning to me,
" you stay in one place, generation after generation,
and you seem to get proud, an' look on things outside
as foolishness. There's many a thing as any common
man knows, as we haven't a glimpse of. We keep on
thinking and feeling the same, year after year, till
we've only got one side; an' I suppose they've done
it before us."
" It's ' Good-night an' God bless you,' to th' owd
place, granfeythers an' grammothers, ' laughed George
as he ran upstairs — " an' off we go on the gallivant,"
he shouted from the landing.
His father shook his head, saying:
THE COURTING 307
" I can't make out how it is, he's so different. I
suppose it's being in love "
We went into the barn to get the bicycles to cycle
over to Greymede. George struck a match to look
for his pump, and he noticed a great spider scuttle off
into the corner of the wall, and sit peeping out at him
like a hoary little ghoul.
" How are you, old chap ? " said George, nodding
to him — " Thought he looked like an old grandfather
of mine," he said to me, laughing, as he pumped up
the tyres of the old bicycle for me.
It was Saturday night, so the bar parlour of the
Ram Inn was fairly full.
" Hello, George — come co'tin' ? " was the cry, fol-
lowed by a nod and a " Good evenin'," to me, who
was a stranger in the parlour.
" It's a raight for thaigh," said a fat young fel-
low with an unwilling white mustache, " — tha can
co'te as much as ter likes ter 'ae, as well as th' lass,
an' it costs thee nowt " at which the room
laughed, taking pipes from mouths to do so. George
sat down, looking round.
" 'Owd on a bit," said a black-whiskered man, " tha
mun 'a 'e patience when tu 't co'tin' a lass. Ov/s
puttin' th' owd lady ter bed — 'ark thee — can t' ear —
that wor th' bed latts goin' bang. Ow'll be dern in a
minnit now, gie 'er time ter tuck th' owd lady up.
Can' ter 'ear 'er say 'er prayers."
" Strike ! " cried the fat young man, exploding :
" Fancy th' owd lady sayin' 'er prayers ! — it 'ud
be enough ter ma'e 'er false teeth drop out."
The room laughed.
308 THE WHITE PEACOCK
They began to tell tales about the old landlady.
She had practised bone-setting, in which she was very
skilful. People came to her from long distances that
she might divine their trouble and make right their
limbs. She would accept no fee.
Once she had gone up to Dr. Full wood to give him
a piece of her mind, inasmuch as he had let a child
go for three weeks with a broken collar-bone, whilst
treating him for dislocation. The doctor had tried
the high hand with her, since when, wherever he went
the miners placed their hands on their shoulders, and
groaned : l Oh my collar-bone ! '
Here Meg came in. She gave a bright, quick, bird
like look at George, and flushed a brighter red.
" I thought you wasn't cummin/' she said.
" Dunna thee bother — Vd none stop away," said
the black-whiskered man.
She brought us glasses of whisky, and moved about
supplying the men, who chaffed with her honestly
and good-naturedly. Then she went out, but we re-
mained in our corner. The men talked on the most
peculiar subjects : there was a bitter discussion as to
whether London is or is not a seaport — the matter
was thrashed out with heat ; then an embryo artist set
the room ablaze by declaring there were only three col-
ours, red, yellow, and blue, and the rest were not
colours, they were mixtures : this amounted almost to
atheism and one man asked the artist to dare to de-
clare that his brown breeches were not a colour,
which the artist did, and almost had to fight for it;
next they came to strength, and George won a bet of
five shillings, by lifting a piano; then they settled
down, and talked sex, sotto voce, one man giving
THE COURTING 309
startling accounts of Japanese and Chinese prosti-
tutes in Liverpool. After this the talk split up: a
farmer began to counsel George how to manage the
farm attached to the Inn, another bargained with
him about horses, and argued about cattle, a tailor
advised him thickly to speculate, and unfolded a fine
secret by which a man might make money, if he had
the go to do it — so on, till eleven o'clock. Then Bill
came and called " time ! " and the place was empty,
and the room shivered as a little fresh air came in
between the foul tobacco smoke, and smell of drink,
and foul breath.
We were both affected by the whisky we had
drunk. I was ashamed to find that when I put out
my hand to take my glass, or to strike a match, I
missed my mark, and fumbled; my hands seemed
hardly to belong to me, and my feet were not much
more sure. Yet I was acutely conscious of every
change in myself and in him ; it seemed as if I could
make my body drunk, but could never intoxicate my
mind, which roused itself and kept the sharpest guard.
George was frankly half drunk: his eyelids sloped
over his eyes and his speech was thick ; when he put
out his hand he knocked over his glass, and the stuff
was spilled all over the table; he only laughed. I,
too, felt a great prompting to giggle on every occasion,
and I marvelled at myself.
Meg came into the room when all the men had gone.
" Come on, my duck," he said, waving his arm
with the generous flourish of a tipsy man. " Come
an' sit 'ere."
" Shan't you come in th' kitchen ? " she asked, look-
ing round on the tables where pots and glasses stood
310 THE WHITE PEACOCK
in little pools of liquor, and where spent matches and
tobacco-ash littered the white wood.
" No — what for ? — come an' sit 'ere ! " — he was
reluctant to get on his feet; I knew it and laughed
inwardly; I also laughed to hear his thick speech,
and his words which seemed to slur against his cheeks.
She went and sat by him, having moved the little
table with its spilled liquor.
" They've been tellin' me how to get rich," he said,
nodding his head and laughing, showing his teeth,
" An' I'm goin' ter show 'em. You see, Meg, you
see — I'm goin' ter show 'em I can be as good as them,
you see."
" Why," said she, indulgent, " what are you going
to do?"
" You wait a bit an' see — they don't know yet
what I can do — they don't know — you don't know —
none of you know."
" An' what shall you do when we're rich, George ? "
" Do ? — I shall do what I like. I can make as good
a show as anybody else, can't I ? " — he put his face
very near to hers, and nodded at her, but she did not
turn away. — " Yes — I'll see what it's like to have my
fling. We've been too cautious, our family has — an'
I have ; we're frightened of ourselves, to do anything.
I'm goin' to do what I like, my duck, now — I don't
care — I don't care — that ! " — he brought his hand
down heavily on the table nearest him, and broke a
glass. Bill looked in to see what was happening.
" But you won't do anything that's not right,
George ! "
" No — I don't want to hurt nobody — but I don't
care — that ! "
THE COURTING 311
"You're too good-hearted to do anybody any
harm."
" I believe I am. You know me a bit, you do,
Meg — you don't think I'm a fool now, do you ? "
" I'm sure I don't — who does ? "
" No — you don't — I know you don't. Gi'e me a
kiss — thou'rt a little beauty, thou art — like a ripe
plum! I could set my teeth in thee, thou'rt that
nice — full o' red juice " — he playfully pretended to
bite her. She laughed, and gently pushed him away.
" Tha likest me, doesna ta ? " he asked softly.
" What do you want to know for % " she replied,
with a tender archness.
" But tha does — say now, tha does."
" I should a' thought you'd a' known, without
telling."
" Nay, but, I want to hear thee."
" Go on," she said, and she kissed him.
" But what should you do if I went to Canada and
left you?"
" Ah — you wouldn't do that."
" But I might— and what then % "
" Oh, I don't know what I should do. But you
wouldn't do it, I know you wouldn't — you couldn't."
He quickly put his arms round her and kissed her,
moved by the trembling surety of her tone:
" No, I wouldna — I'd niver leave thee — tha'd be
as miserable as sin, shouldna ta, my duck ? "
" Yes," she murmured.
" Ah," he said, " tha'rt a warm little thing — tha
loves me, eh ? " .
" Yes," she murmured, and he pressed her to him,
and kissed her, and held her close.
312 THE WHITE PEACOCK
" We'll be married soon, my bird — are ter glad ? —
in a bit — tha'rt glad, aren't ta ? "
She looked up at him as if he were noble. Her
love for him was so generous that it beautified him.
He had to walk his bicycle home, being unable to
ride ; his shins, I know, were a good deal barked by
the pedals.
CHAPTER VII
THE FASCINATION OF THE FORBIDDEN APPLE
On the first Sunday in June, when Lettie knew she
would keep her engagement with Leslie, and when
she was having a day at home from Highclose, she
got ready to go down to the mill. We were in mourn-
ing for an aunt, so she wore a dress of fine black
voile, and a black hat with long feathers. Then,
when I looked at her fair hands, and her arms closely
covered in the long black cuffs of her sleeves, I felt
keenly my old brother-love shielding, indulgent.
It was a windy, sunny day. In shelter the heat
was passionate, but in the open the wind scattered its
fire. Every now and then a white cloud broad based,
blue shadowed, travelled slowly along the sky-road
after the forerunner small in the distance, and trail-
ing over us a chill shade, a gloom which we watched
creep on over the water, over the wood and the hill.
These royal, rounded clouds had sailed all day along
the same route, from the harbour of the South to
the wastes in the Northern sky, following the swift
wild geese. The brook hurried along singing, only
here and there lingering to whisper to the secret
bushes, then setting off afresh with a new snatch of
song.
The fowls pecked staidly in the farmyard, with
Sabbath decorum. Occasionally a lost, sportive
313
314 THE WHITE PEACOCK
wind-puff would wander across the yard and ruffle
them, and they resented it. The pigs were asleep in
the sun, giving faint grunts now and then from sheer
luxury. I saw a squirrel go darting down the mossy
garden wall, up into the laburnum tree, where he lay
flat along the bough, and listened. Suddenly away
he went, chuckling to himself. Gyp all at once set
off barking, but I soothed her down; it was the un-
usual sight of Lettie's dark dress that startled her, I
suppose.
We went quietly into the kitchen. Mrs. Saxton
was just putting a chicken, wrapped in a piece of
flannel, on the warm hob to coax it into life ; it looked
very feeble. George was asleep, with his head in his
arms on the table ; the father was asleep on the sofa,
very comfortable and admirable ; I heard Emily flee-
ing up stairs, presumably to dress.
" He stays out so late — up at the Earn Inn," whis-
pered the mother in a high whisper, looking at
George, " and then he's up at five — he doesn't get his
proper rest." She turned to the chicks, and con-
tinued in her whisper — " the mother left them just
before they hatched out, so we've been bringing them
on here. This one's a bit weak — I thought I'd hot
him up a bit n she laughed with a quaint little frown
of deprecation. Eight or nine yellow, fluffy little
mites were cheeping and scuffling in the fender. Let-
tie bent over them to touch them; they were tame,
and ran among her fingers.
Suddenly George's mother gave a loud cry, and
rushed to the fire. There was a smell of singed
down. The chicken had toddled into the fire, and
gasped its faint gasp among the red-hot cokes. The
THE FORBIDDEN APPLE 315
father jumped from the sofa; George sat up with
wide eyes; Lettie gave a little cry and a shudder;
Trip rushed round and began to bark. There was a
smell of cooked meat.
" There goes number one ! " said the mother, with
her queer little laugh. It made me laugh too.
" What's a matter — what's a matter ? " asked the
father excitedly.
" It's a chicken been and walked into the fire — I
put it on the hob to warm," explained his wife.
" Goodness — I couldn't think what was up ! " he
said, and dropped his head to trace gradually the
border between sleeping and waking.
George sat and smiled at us faintly, he was too
dazed to speak. His chest still leaned against the
table, and his arms were spread out thereon, but he
lifted his face, and looked at Lettie with his dazed,
dark eyes, and smiled faintly at her. His hair was
all ruffled, and his shirt collar unbuttoned. Then he
got up slowly, pushing his chair back with a loud
noise, and stretched himself, pressing his arms up-
wards with a long, heavy stretch.
" Oh — h — h ! " he said, bending his arms and then
letting them drop to his sides. " I never thought
you'd come to-day."
" I wanted to come and see you — I shan't have
many more chances," said Lettie, turning from him
and yet looking at him again.
" No, I suppose not," he said, subsiding into quiet.
Then there was silence for some time. The mother
began to enquire after Leslie, and kept the conversa-
tion up till Emily came down, blushing and smiling
and glad.
316 THE WHITE PEACOCK
" Are you coming out ? " said she, " there are two
or three robins' nests, and a spinkie's "
" I think I'll leave my hat," said Lettie, unpin-
ning it as she spoke, and shaking her hair when she
was free. Mrs. Saxton insisted on her taking a long
white silk scarf; Emily also wrapped her hair in a
gauze scarf, and looked beautiful.
George came out with us, coatless, hatless, his
waistcoat all unbuttoned, as he was. We crossed the
orchard, over the old bridge, and went to where the
slopes ran down to the lower pond, a bank all covered
with nettles, and scattered with a hazel bush or two.
Among the nettles old pans were rusting, and old
coarse pottery cropped up.
We came upon a kettle heavily coated with lime.
Emily bent down and looked, and then we peeped in.
There were the robin birds with their yellow beaks
stretched so wide apart I feared they would never
close them again. Among the naked little mites, that
begged from us so blindly and confidently, were hud-
dled three eggs.
" They are like Irish children peeping out of a
cottage," said Emily, with the family fondness for
romantic similes.
We went on to where a tin lay with the lid pressed
back, and inside it, snug and neat, was another nest,
with six eggs, cheek to cheek.
" How warm they are," said Lettie, touching them,
" you can fairly feel the mother's breast."
He tried to put his hand into the tin, but the space
was too small, and they looked into each other's eyes
and smiled. "You'd think the father's breast had
marked them with red," said Emily.
THE FORBIDDEN APPLE 317
As we went up the orchard side we saw three wide
displays of coloured pieces of pots arranged at the
foot of three trees.
" Look," said Emily, " those are the children's
houses. You don't know how our Mollie gets all
Sam's pretty bits — she is a cajoling hussy ! "
The two looked at each other again, smiling. Up
on the pond-side, in the full glitter of light, we
looked round where the blades of clustering corn were
softly healing the red bosom of the hill. The larks
were overhead among the sunbeams. We straggled
away across the grass. The field was all afroth with
cowslips, a yellow, glittering, shaking froth on the
still green of the grass. We trailed our shadows
across the fields, extinguishing the sunshine on the
flowers as we went. The air was tingling with the
scent of blossoms.
" Look at the cowslips, all shaking with laughter,"
said Emily, and she tossed back her head, and her
dark eyes sparkled among the flow of gauze. Lettie
was on in front, flitting darkly across the field, bend-
ing over the flowers, stooping to the earth like a sable
Persephone come into freedom. George had left her
at a little distance, hunting for something in the
grass. He stopped, and remained standing in one
place.
Gradually, as if unconsciously, she drew near to
him, and when she lifted her head, after stoop-
ing to pick some chimney-sweeps, little grass flow-
ers, she laughed witE a slight surprise to see him
so near.
" Ah ! " she said. " I thought I was all alone in
the world — such a splendid world — it was so nice."
318 THE WHITE PEACOCK
" Like Eve in a meadow in Eden — and Adam's
shadow somewhere on the grass," said I.
" ISTo — no Adam," she asserted, frowning slightly,
and laughing.
" Who ever would want streets of gold," Emily
was saying to me, "when you can have a field of cow-
slips ! Look at that hedgebottom that gets the South
sun — one stream and glitter of buttercups."
" Those Jews always had an eye to the filthy lucre
— they even made Heaven out of it," laughed Lettie,
and, turning to him, she said, " Don't you wish we
were wild — hark, like wood-pigeons — or larks — or,
look, like peewits? Shouldn't you love flying and
wheeling and sparkling and — courting in the wind ? "
She lifted her eyelids, and vibrated the question.
He flushed, bending over the ground.
" Look," he said, " here's a larkie's."
Once a horse had left a hoofprint in the soft
meadow; now the larks had rounded, softened the
cup, and had laid there three dark-brown eggs. Let-
tie sat down and leaned over the nest; he leaned
above her. The wind running over the flower heads,
peeped in at the little brown buds, and bounded off
again gladly. The big clouds sent messages to them
down the shadows, and ran in raindrops to touch
them.
"I wish," she said, "I wish we were free like
that. If we could put everything safely in a little
place in the earth — couldn't we have a good time as
well as the larks ? "
" I don't see," said he, " why we can't."
"Oh — but I can't — you know we can't" — and
sHe looked at him fiercely.
THE FORBIDDEN APPLE 319
" Why can't you ? " he asked.
" You know we can't — you know as well as I do,"
she replied, and her whole soul challenged him.
" We have to consider things " she added. He
dropped his head. He was afraid to make the strug-
gle, to rouse himself to decide the question for her.
She turned away, and went kicking through the flow-
ers. He picked up the blossoms she had left by the
nest — they were still warm from her hands — and
followed her. She walked on towards the end of the
field, the long strands of her white scarf running
before her. Then she leaned back to the wind, while
he caught her up.
" Don't you want your flowers ?" he asked humbly.
" No, thanks — they'd be dead before I got home —
throw them away, you look absurd with a posy."
He did as he was bidden. They came near the
hedge. A crab-apple tree blossomed up among the
blue.
" You may get me a bit of that blossom," said she,
and suddenly added — "no, I can reach it myself,"
whereupon she stretched upward and pulled several
sprigs of the pink and white, and put it in her dress.
" Isn't it pretty % " she said, and she began to
laugh ironically, pointing to the flowers — " pretty,
pink-cheeked petals, and stamens like yellow hair,
and buds like lips promising something nice " — she
stopped, and looked at him, flickering with a smile.
Then she pointed to the ovary beneath the flower, and
said : " Kesult : Crab-apples ! "
She continued to look at him, and to smile. He
said nothing. So they went on to where they could
climb the fence into the spinney. She climbed to
320 THE WHITE PEACOCK
the top rail, holding by an oak bough. Then she let
him lift her down bodily.
" Ah ! " she said, " you like to show me how strong
you are — a veritable Samson ! " — she mocked, al-
though she had invited him with her eyes to take her
in his arms.
We were entering the spinney of black poplar. In
the hedge was an elm tree, with myriads of dark
dots pointed against the bright sky, myriads of clus-
ters of flaky green fruit.
" Look at that elm," she said, " you'd think it was
in full leaf, wouldn't you? Do you know why it's
so prolific ? "
" No," he said, with a curious questioning drawl
of the monosyllable.
" It's casting it's bread upon the winds — no, it is
dying, so it puts out all its strength and loads its
boughs with the last fruit. It'll be dead next year.
If you're here then, come and see. Look at the ivy,
the suave smooth ivy, with its fingers in the trees'
throat. Trees know how to die, you see — we don't."
With her whimsical moods she tormented him..
She was at the bottom a seething confusion of emo
tion, and she wanted to make him likewise.
" If we were trees with ivy — instead of being fine
humans with free active life — we should hug our
thinning lives, shouldn't we ? "
" I suppose we should."
" You, for instance — fancy your sacrificing your-
self — for the next generation — that reminds you of
Schopenhauer, doesn't it? — for the next generation,
or love, or anything ! "
He did not answer her ; she was too swift for him.
THE FORBIDDEN APPLE 321
They passed on under the poplars, which were hang-
ing strings of green heads above them. There was
a little open space, with tufts of bluebells. Lettie
stooped over a wood-pigeon that lay on the ground
on its breast, its wings half spread. She took it up
— its eyes were bursten and bloody; she felt its
breast, ruffling the dimming iris on its throat.
" It's been fighting," he said.
" What for — a mate I " she asked, looking at him.
" I don't know," he answered.
" Cold — he's quite cold, under the feathers ! I
think a wood-pigeon must enjoy being fought for —
and being won; especially if the right one won. It
would be a fine pleasure, to see them fighting — don't
you think ? " she said, torturing him.
" The claws are spread — it fell dead off the perch,"
he replied.
" Ah, poor thing — it was wounded — and sat and
waited for death — when the other had won. Don't
you think life is very cruel, George — and love the
cruellest of all ? "
He laughed bitterly under the pain of her soft,
sad tones.
" Let me bury him — and have done with the
beaten lover. But we'll make him a pretty grave."
She scooped a hole in the dark soil, and snatching
a handful of bluebells, threw them in on top of the
dead bird. Then she smoothed the soil over all, and
pressed her white hands on the black loam.
" There," she said, knocking her hands one against
the other to shake off the soil, " he's done with.
Come on."
He followed her, speechless with his emotion.
322 THE WHITE PEACOCK
The spinney opened out; the ferns were serenely
uncoiling, the bluebells stood grouped with blue curls
mingled. In the freer spaces forget-me-nots flowered
in nebulae, and dog-violets gave an undertone of
dark purple, with primroses for planets in the night.
There was a slight drift of woodruff, sweet new-
mown hay, scenting the air under the boughs. On a
wet bank was the design of golden saxifrage, glisten-
ing unholily as if varnished by its minister, the snail.
George and Lettie crushed the veined belles of wood-
sorrel and broke the silken mosses. What did it mat-
ter to them what they broke or crushed.
Over the fence of the spinney was the hillside,
scattered with old thorn trees. There the little grey
lichens held up ruby balls to us unnoticed. What
did it matter, when all the great red apples were
being shaken from the Tree to be left to rot.
" If I were a man," said Lettie, " I would go out
west and be free. I should love it."
She took the scarf from her head and let it wave
out on the wind; the colour was warm in her face
with climbing, and her curls were freed by the wind,
sparkling and rippling."
" Well — you're not a man," he said, looking at
her, and speaking with timid bitterness.
" No," she laughed, " if I were, I would shape
things — oh, wouldn't I have my own way ! "
" And don't you now ? "
" Oh — I don't want it particularly — when I've got
it. When I've had my way, I do want somebody to
take it back from me."
She put her head back, and looked at him side-
ways, laughing through the glitter of her hair.
THE FORBIDDEN APPLE 323
They came to the kennels. She sat down on the
edge of the great stone water trough, and put her
hands in the water, moving them gently like sub-
merged flowers through the clear pool.
" I love to see myself in the water," she said, " I
don't mean on the water, Narcissus — but that's how
I should like to be out west, to have a little lake of
my own, and swim with my limbs quite free in the
water."
" Do you swim well ? " he asked.
" Fairly."
" I would race you — in your little lake."
She laughed, took her hands out of the water, and
watched the clear drops trickle off. Then she lifted
her head suddenly, at some thought or other. She
looked across the valley, and saw the red roofs of
the Mill.
" — Ilion, lion
Fatalis incestusque judex
Et mulier peregrina vertit.
In pulverem "
"What's that?" he. said.
" Nothing."
" That's a private trough," exclaimed a thin voice,
high like a peewit's cry. We started in surprise to
see a tall, black-bearded man looking at us and away
from us nervously, fidgeting uneasily some ten yards
off.
" Is it ? " said Lettie, looking at her wet hands,
which she proceeded to dry on a fragment of a hand-
kerchief.
" You mustn't meddle with it," said the man, in
the same reedy, oboe voice. Then he turned his head
324 THE WHITE PEACOCK
away, and his pale grey eyes roved the countrysid<
when he had courage, he turned his back to us, shad-
ing his eyes to continue his scrutiny. He walked
hurriedly, a few steps, then craned his neck, peering
into the valley, and hastened a dozen yards in an-
other direction, again stretching and peering about.
Then he went indoors.
" He is pretending to look for somebody," said
Lettie, " but it's only because he's afraid we shall
think he came out just to look at us " — and they
laughed.
Suddenly a woman appeared at the gate ; she had
pale eyes like the mouse-voiced man.
" You'll get Bright's disease sitting on. that there
damp stone," she said to Lettie, who at once rose
apologetically.
" I ought to know," continued the mouse-voiced
woman, " my own mother died of it."
" Indeed," murmured Lettie, " I'm sorry."
" Yes," continued the woman, " it behooves you to
be careful. Do you come from Strelley Mill
Farm ? " she asked suddenly of George, surveying
his shameful deshabille with bitter reproof.
He admitted the imputation.
" And you're going to leave, aren't you ? "
Which also he admitted.
" Humph ! — we s'll 'appen get some neighbours.
It's a dog's life for loneliness. I suppose you knew
the last lot that was here."
Another brief admission.
" A dirty lot — a dirty beagle she must have been.
You should just ha' seen these grates."
" Yes," said Lettie, " I have seen them."
THE FORBIDDEN APPLE 325
" Faugh — the state ! But come in — come in,
you'll see a difference."
They entered, out of curiosity.
The kitchen was indeed different. It was clean
and sparkling, warm with bright red chintzes on the
sofa and on every chair cushion. Unfortunately the
effect was spoiled by green and yellow antimac-
cassars, and by a profusion of paper and woollen
flowers. There were three cases of woollen flowers,
and on the wall, four fans stitched over with ruf-
fled green and yellow paper, adorned with yellow
paper roses, carnations, arum lilies, and poppies;
there were also wall pockets full of paper flowers;
while the wood outside was loaded with blossom.
" Yes," said Lettie, " there is a difference."
The woman swelled, and looked round. The
black-bearded man peeped from behind the Christian
Herald — those long blaring trumpets! — and shrank
again. The woman darted at his pipe, which he had
put on a piece of newspaper on the hob, and blew
some imaginary ash from it. Then she caught sight
of something — perhaps some dust — on the fireplace.
" There ! " she cried, " I knew it ; I couldn't leave
him one second! I haven't work enough burning
wood, but he must be poke poke "
" I only pushed a piece in between the bars," com-
plained the mouse-voice from behind the paper.
" Pushed a piece in ! " she re-echoed, with awful
scorn, seizing the poker and thrusting it over his
paper. " What do you call that, sitting there tell-
ing your stories before folks "
They crept out and hurried away. Glancing
round, Lettie saw the woman mopping the doorstep
326 THE WHITE PEACOCK
after thein, and she laughed. He pulled his watch
out of his breeches' pocket; it was half -past three.
" What are you looking at the time for ? " she
asked.
" Meg's coming to tea," he replied.
She said no more, and they walked slowly on.
When they came on to the shoulder of the hill, and
looked down on to the mill, and the mill-pond, she
said:
" I will not come down with you — I will go home."
" Not come down to tea ! " he exclaimed, full of
reproach and amazement. " Why, what will they
say?"
" No, I won't come down — let me say farewell
— 'jamque Vale! Do you remember how Eurydice
sank back into Hell ? "
" But " — he stammered, " you must come down
to tea — how can I tell them? Why won't you
come ? "
She answered him in Latin, with two lines from
Virgil. As she watched him, she pitied his helpless-
ness, and gave him a last cut as she said, very softly
and tenderly:
" It wouldn't be fair to Meg."
He stood looking at her; his face was coloured
only by the grey-brown tan ; his eyes, the dark, self-
mistrustful eyes of the family, were darker than
ever, dilated with misery of helplessness; and she
was infinitely pitiful. She wanted to cry in her
yearning.
" Shall we go into the wood for a few minutes ? "
she said, in a low, tremulous voice, as they turned
aside.
THE FORBIDDEN APPLE 327
The wood was high and warm. Along the ridings
the forget-me-nots were knee deep, stretching, glim-
mering into the distance like the Milky Way through
the night. They left the tall, flower-tangled paths
to go in among the bluebells, breaking through the
close-pressed flowers and ferns till they came to an
oak which had fallen across the hazels, where they
sat half screened. The hyacinths drooped magnifi-
cently with an overweight of purple, or they stood
pale and erect, like unripe ears of purple corn.
Heavy bees swung down in a blunder of extrava-
gance among the purple flowers. They were intoxi-
cated even with the sight of so much blue. The
sound of their hearty, wanton humming came clear
upon the solemn boom of the wind overhead. The
sight of their clinging, clambering riot gave satis-
faction to the soul. A rosy campion flower caught
the sun and shone out. An elm sent down a shower
of flesh-tinted sheaths upon them.
" If there were fauns and hamadryads ! " she said
softly, turning to him to soothe his misery. She
took his cap from his head, ruffled his hair, saying:
" If you were a faun, I would put guelder roses
round your hair, and make you look Bacchanalian."
She left her hand lying on his knee, and looked up
at the sky. Its blue looked pale and green in com-
parison with the purple tide ebbing about the wood.
The clouds rose up like towers, and something had
touched them into beauty, and poised them up among
the winds. The clouds passed on, and the pool of
sky was clear.
" Look," she said, " how we are netted down —
boughs with knots of green buds. If we were free
328 THE WHITE PEACOCK
on the winds! — But I'm glad we're not." She
turned suddenly to him, and with the same move-
ment, she gave him her hand, and he clasped it in
both his. " I'm glad we're netted down here ; if we
were free in the winds — Ah ! "
She laughed a peculiar little laugh, catching her
breath.
" Look ! " she said, " it's a palace, with the ash-
trunks smooth like a girl's arm, and the elm-col-
umns, ribbed and bossed and fretted, with the great
steel shafts of beech, all rising up to hold an embroi-
dered care-cloth over us ; and every thread of the care-
cloth vibrates with music for us, and the little
broidered birds sing ; and the hazel-bushes fling green
spray round us, and the honeysuckle leans down to
pour out scent over us. Look at the harvest of blue-
bells — ripened for us! Listen to the bee, sound-
ing among all the organ-play — if he sounded ex-
ultant for us ! " She looked at him, with tears com-
ing up into her eyes, and a little, winsome, wistful
smile hovering round her mouth. He was very pale,
and dared not look at her. She put her hand in his,
leaning softly against him. He watched, as if fas-
cinated, a young thrush with full pale breast who
hopped near to look at them — glancing with quick,
shining eyes.
" The clouds are going on again," said Lettie.
" Look at that cloud face — see — gazing right up
into the sky. The lips are opening — he is telling us
something. — now the form is slipping away — it's
gone — come, we must go too."
" No," he cried, " don't go — don't go away."
Her tenderness made her calm. She replied in
THE FORBIDDEN APPLE 329
a voice perfect in restrained sadness and resigna-
tion.
" No, my dear, no. The threads of my life were
untwined ; they drifted about like floating threads of
gossamer ; and you didn't put out your hand to take
them and twist them up into the chord with yours.
Now another has caught them up, and the chord of
my life is being twisted, and I cannot wrench it free
and untwine it again — I can't. I am not strong
enough. Besides, you have twisted another thread
far and tight into your chord ; could you get free ? "
" Tell me what to do — yes, if you tell me."
" I can't tell you — so let me go."
" No, Lettie," he pleaded, with terror and humil-
ity. " No, Lettie ; don't go. What should I do with
my life? Nobody would love you like I do — and
what should I do with my love for you? — hate it
and fear it, because it's too much for me ? "
She turned and kissed him gratefully. He then
took her in a long, passionate embrace, mouth to
mouth. In the end it had so wearied her, that she
could only wait in his arms till he was too tired to
hold her. He was trembling already.
" Poor Meg ! " she murmured to herself dully, her
sensations having become vague.
He winced, and the pressure of his arms slack-
ened. She loosened his hands, and rose half dazed
from her seat by him. She left him, while he sat
dejected, raising no protest.
When I went out to look for them, when tea had
already been waiting on the table .half an hour or
more, I found him leaning against the gatepost at
330 THE WHITE PEACOCK
the bottom of the hill. There was no blood in his
face, and his tan showed livid; he was haggard as
if he had been ill for some weeks.
" Whatever's the matter ? " I said. " Where's Let-
tie?"
" She's gone home," he answered, and the sound
of his own voice, and the meaning of his own words
made him heave.
"Why?" I asked in alarm.
He looked at me as if to say " What are you talk-
ing about ? I cannot listen ! "
"Why?" I insisted.
" I don't know," he replied.
" They are waiting tea for you," I said.
He heard me, but took no notice.
" Come on," I repeated, " there's Meg and every-
body waiting tea for you."
" I don't want any," he said.
I waited a minute or two. He was violently sick.
" Vae meum
Fervens difficile "bile tumet jecur "
I thought to myself.
When the sickness passed over, he stood up away
from the post, trembling, and lugubrious. His eye-
lids drooped heavily over his eyes, and he looked at
me, and smiled a faint, sick smile.
" Come and lie down in the loft," I said, " and I'll
tell them you've got a bilious bout."
He obeyed me, not having energy to question ; his
strength had gone, and his splendid physique seemed
shrunken ; he walked weakly. I looked away from
him, for in his feebleness he was already beginning
to feel ludicrous.
THE FORBIDDEN APPLE 331
We got into the barn unperceived, and I watched
him climb the ladder to the loft. Then I went in-
doors to tell them.
I told them Lettie had promised to be at Highclose
for tea, that George had a bilious attack, and was
mooning about the barn till it was over ; he had been
badly sick. We ate tea without zest or enjoyment.
Meg was wistful and ill at ease ; the father talked to
her and made much of her ; the mother did not care
for her much.
" I can't understand it," said the mother, " he
so rarely has anything the matter with him — why,
I've hardly known the day ! Are you sure it's noth-
ing serious, Cyril ? It seems such a thing — and just
when Meg happened to be down — just when Meg was
coming ! "
About half-past six I had again to go and look
for him, to satisfy the anxiety of his mother and his
sweetheart. I went whistling to let him know I was
coming. He lay on a pile of hay in a corner, asleep.
He had put his cap under his head to stop the tick-
ling of the hay, and he lay half curled up, sleeping
soundly. He was still very pale, and there was on
his face the repose and pathos that a sorrow always
leaves. As he wore no coat I was afraid he might
be chilly, so I covered him up with a couple of
sacks, and I left him. I would not have him dis-
turbed — I helped the father about the cowsheds, and
with the pigs.
Meg had to go at half-past seven. She was so
disappointed that I said:
" Come and have a look at him — I'll tell him you
did."
332 THE WHITE PEACOCK
He had thrown off the sacks, and spread out his
limbs. As he lay on his back, flung out on the hay,
he looked big again, and manly. His mouth had re-
laxed, and taken its old, easy lines. One felt for
him now the warmth one feels for anyone who sleeps
in an attitude of abandon. She leaned over him,
and looked at him with a little rapture of love and
tenderness; she longed to caress him. Then he
stretched himself, and his eyes opened. Their sud-
den unclosing gave her a thrill. He smiled sleepily,
and murmured, " Alio, Meg ! " Then I saw him
awake. As he remembered, he turned with a great
sighing yawn, hid his face again, and lay still.
" Come along, Meg," I whispered, " he'll be best
asleep."
" I'd better cover him up," she said, taking the
sack and laying it very gently over his shoulders.
He kept perfectly still, while I drew her away.
CHAPTER VIII
A POEM OF FRIENDSHIP
The magnificent promise of spring was broken be-
fore the May-blossom was fully out. All through the
beloved month the wind rushed in upon us from the
north and north-east, bringing the rain fierce and
heavy. The tender-budded trees shuddered and
moaned; when the wind was dry, the young leaves
flapped limp. The grass and corn grew lush, but
the light of the dandelions was quite extinguished,
and it seemed that only a long time back had we
made merry before the broad glare of these flowers.
The bluebells lingered and lingered ; they fringed the
fields for weeks like purple fringe of mourning.
The pink campions came out only to hang heavy with
rain; hawthorn buds remained tight and hard as
pearls, shrinking into the brilliant green foliage ; the
forget-me-nots, the poor pleiades of the wood, were
ragged weeds. Often at the end of the day, the sky
opened, and stately clouds hung over the horizon in-
finitely far away, glowing, through the yellow dis-
tance, with an amber lustre. They never came any
nearer, always they remained far off, looking calmly
and majestically over the shivering earth, then sad-
dened, fearing their radiance might be dimmed, they
drew away, and sank out of sight. Sometimes, to-
wards sunset, a great shield stretched dark from the
383
334 THE WHITE PEACOCK
west to the zenith, tangling the light along its edges.
As the canopy rose higher, it broke, dispersed, and
the sky was primrose coloured, high and pale above
the crystal moon. Then the cattle crouched among
the gorse, distressed by the cold, while the long-billed
snipe nickered round high overhead, round and
round in great circles, seeming to carry a serpent
from its throat, and crying a tragedy, more painful
than the poignant lamentations and protests of the
peewits. Following these evenings came mornings
cold and grey.
Such a morning I went up to George, on the top
fallow. His father was out with the milk — he was
alone ; as I came up the hill I could see him standing
in the cart, scattering manure over the bare red
fields; I could hear his voice calling now and then
to the mare, and the creak and clank of the cart as
it moved on. Starlings and smart wagtails were
runing briskly over the clods, and many little birds
flashed, fluttered, hopped here and there. The lap-
wings wheeled and cried as ever between the low
clouds and the earth, and some ran beautifully among
the furrows, too graceful and glistening for the rough
field.
I took a fork and scattered the manure along the
hollows, and thus we worked, with a wide field be-
tween us, yet very near in the sense of intimacy. I
watched him through the wheeling peewits, as the
low clouds went stealthily overhead. Beneath us,
the spires of the poplars in the spinney were warm
gold, as if the blood shone through. Further gleamed
the grey water, and below it the red roofs. Nether-
mere was half hidden, and far away. There was
A POEM OF FRIENDSHIP 335
nothing in this grey, lonely world but the peewits
swinging and crying, and George swinging silently
at his work. The movement of active life held all
my attention, and when I looked up, it was to see
the motion of his limbs and his head, the rise and
fall of his rhythmic body, and the rise and fall of
the slow waving peewits. After a while, when the
cart was empty, he took a fork and came towards me,
working at my task.
It began to rain, so he brought a sack from the
cart, and we crushed ourselves under the thick hedge.
We sat close together and watched the rain fall like
a grey striped curtain before us, hiding the valley;
we watched it trickle in dark streams off the mare's
back, as she stood dejectedly; we listened to the
swish of the drops falling all about ; we felt the chill
of the rain, and drew ourselves together in silence.
He smoked his pipe, and I lit a cigarette. The rain
continued; all the little pebbles and the red earth
glistened in the grey gloom. We sat together, speak-
ing occasionally. It was at these times we formed
the almost passionate attachment which later years
slowly wore away.
When the rain was over, we filled our buckets with
potatoes, and went along the wet furrows, sticking
the spritted tubers in the cold ground. Being sandy,
the field dried quickly. About twelve o'clock, when
nearly all the potatoes were set, he left me, and
fetching up Bob from the far hedge-side, harnessed
the mare and him to the ridger, to cover the pota-
toes. The sharp light plough turned the soil in a
fine furrow over the potatoes; hosts of little birds
fluttered, settled, bounded off again after the plough.
336 THE WHITE PEACOCK
He called to the horses, and they came downhill, the
white stars on the two brown noses nodding up and
down, George striding firm and heavy behind. They
came down upon me ; at a call the horses turned, shift-
ing awkwardly sideways ; he flung himself against the
plough, and leaning well in, brought it round with a
sweep : a click, and they are off uphill again. There
is a great rustle as the birds sweep round after him
and follow up the new turned furrow. Untackling
the horses when the rows were all covered, we tramped
behind them down the wet hillside to dinner.
I kicked through the drenched grass, crushing the
withered cowslips under my clogs, avoiding the purple
orchids that were stunted with harsh upbringing, but
magnificent in their powerful colouring, crushing the
pallid lady smocks, the washed-out wild gillivers. I
became conscious of something near my feet, some-
thing little and dark, moving indefinitely. I had
found again the larkie's nest. I perceived the yellow
beaks, the bulging eyelids of two tiny larks, and the
blue lines of their wing quills. The indefinite move-
ment was the swift rise and fall of the brown fledged
backs, over which waved long strands of fine down.
The two little specks of birds lay side by side, beak
to beak, their tiny bodies rising and falling in quick
unison. I gently put down my fingers to touch them ;
they were warm ; gratifying to find them warm, in the
midst of so much cold and wet. I became curiously
absorbed in them, as an eddy of wind stirred the
strands of down. When one fledgling moved un-
easily, shifting his soft ball, I was quite excited ; but
he nestled down again, with his head close to his
brother's. In my heart of hearts, I longed for some-
A POEM OF FRIENDSHIP 337
one to nestle against, someone who would come be-
tween me and the coldness and wetness of the sur-
roundings. I envied the two little miracles exposed
to any tread, yet so serene. It seemed as if I were
always wandering, looking for something which they
had found even before the light broke into their shell.
I was cold ; the lilacs in the Mill garden looked blue
and perished. I ran with my heavy clogs and my
heart heavy with vague longing, down to the Mill,
while the wind blanched the sycamores, and pushed
the sullen pines rudely, for the pines were sulking
because their million creamy sprites could not fly
wet-winged. The horse-chestnuts bravely kept their
white candles erect in the socket of every bough,
though no sun came to light them. Drearily a cold
swan swept up the water, trailing its black feet, clack-
ing its great hollow wings, rocking the frightened
water hens, and insulting the staid black-necked
geese. What did I want that I turned thus from one
thing to another?
At the end of June the weather became fine again.
Hay harvest was to begin as soon as it settled. There
were only two fields to be mown this year, to provide
just enough stuff to last until the spring. As my
vacation had begun I decided I would help, and that
we three, the father, George and I, would get in the
hay without hired assistance.
I rose the first morning very early, before the sun
was well up. The clear sound of challenging cocks
could be heard along the valley. In the bottoms,
over the water and over the lush wet grass, the night
mist still stood white and substantial. As I passed
338 THE WHITE PEACOCK
along the edge of the meadow the cow-parsnip was as
tall as I, frothing up to the top of the hedge, putting
the faded hawthorn to a wan blush. Little, early
birds — I had not heard the lark — fluttered in and out
of the foamy meadow-sea, plunging under the surf
of flowers washed high in one corner, swinging out
again, dashing past the crimson sorrel cresset. Under
the froth of flowers were the purple vetch-clumps,
yellow milk vetches, and the scattered pink of the
wood-betony, and the floating stars of marguerites.
There was a weight of honeysuckle on the hedges,
where pink roses were waking up for their broad-
spread flight through the day.
Morning silvered the swaths of the far meadow,
and swept in smooth, brilliant curves round the stones
of the brook; morning ran in my veins; morning
chased the silver, darting fish out of the depth, and I,
who saw them, snapped my fingers at them, driving
them back.
I heard Trip barking, so I ran towards the pond.
The punt was at the island, where from behind the
bushes I could hear George whistling. I called to
him, and he came to the water's edge half dressed.
" Fetch a towel," he called, " and come on."
I was back in a few moments, and there stood my
Charon fluttering in the cool air. One good push
sent us to the islet. I made haste to undress, for he
was ready for the water, Trip dancing round, barking
with excitement at his new appearance.
" He wonders what's happened to me," he said,
laughing, pushing the dog playfully away with his
bare foot. Trip bounded back, and came leaping up,
licking him with little caressing licks. He began to
A POEM OF FRIENDSHIP 339
play with the dog, and directly they were rolling on
the fine turf, the laughing, expostulating, naked man,
and the excited dog, who thrust his great head on
to the man's face, licking, and, when flung away,
rushed forward again, snapping playfully at the
naked arms and breasts. At last George lay back,
laughing and panting, holding Trip by the two fore
feet which were planted on his breast, while the dog,
also panting, reached forward his head for a flicker-
ing lick at the throat pressed back on the grass, and
the mouth thrown back out of reach. When the man
had thus lain still for a few moments, and the dog was
just laying his head against his master's neck to rest
too, I called, and George jumped up, and plunged into
the pond with me, Trip after us.
The water was icily cold, and for a moment de-
prived me of my senses. When I began to swim,
soon the water was buoyant, and I was sensible of
nothing but the vigorous poetry of action. I saw
George swimming on his back laughing at me, and
in an instant I had flung myself like an impulse after
him. The laughing face vanished as he swung over
and fled, and I pursued the dark head and the ruddy
neck. Trip, the wretch, came paddling towards me,
interrupting me ; then all bewildered with excitement,
he scudded to the bank. I chuckled to myself as I
saw him run along, then plunge in and go plodding
to George. I was gaining. He tried to drive off
the dog, and I gained rapidly. As I came up to him
and caught him, with my hand on his shoulder, there
came a laughter from the bank. It was Emily.
I trod the water, and threw handfuls of spray at
her. She laughed and blushed. Then Trip waded
340 THE WHITE PEACOCK
out to her and she fled swiftly from his shower-bath.
George was floating just beside me, looking up and
laughing.
We stood and looked at each other as we rubbed
ourselves dry. He was well proportioned, and
naturally of handsome physique, heavily limbed.
He laughed at me, telling me I was like one of
Aubrey Beardsley's long, lean ugly fellows. I refer-
red him to many classic examples of slenderness, de-
claring myself more exquisite than his grossness,
which amused him.
But I had to give in, and bow to him, and he took
on an indulgent, gentle manner. I laughed and sub-
mitted. For he knew how I admired the noble, white
fruitfulness of his form. As I watched him, he stood
in white relief against the mass of green. He pol-
ished his arm, holding it out straight and solid; he
rubbed his hair into curls, while I watched the deep
muscles of his shoulders, and the bands stand out in
his neck as he held it firm ; I remembered the story of
Annable.
He saw I had forgotten to continue my rubbing,
and laughing he took hold of me and began to rub me
briskly, as if I were a child, or rather, a woman he
loved and did not fear. I left myself quite limply in
his hands, and, to get a better grip of me, he put his
arm round me and pressed me against him, and the
sweetness of the touch of our naked bodies one against
the other was superb. It satisfied in some measure
the vague, indecipherable yearning of my soul; and
it was the same with him. When he had rubbed me
all warm, he let me go, and we looked at each other
with eyes of still laughter, and our love was perfect
A POEM OF FRIENDSHIP 341
for a moment, more perfect than any love I have
known since, either for man or woman.
We went together down to the fields, he to mow
the island of grass he had left standing the previous
evening, I to sharpen the machine knife, to mow out
the hedge-bottoms with the scythe, and to rake the
swaths from the way of the machine when the un-
mown grass was reduced to a triangle. The cool,
moist fragrance of the morning, the intentional still-
ness of everything, of the tall bluish trees, of the wet,
frank flowers, of the trustful moths folded and un-
folded in the fallen swaths, was a perfect medium of
sympathy. The horses moved with a still dignity,
obeying his commands. When they were harnessed,
and the machine oiled, still he was loth to mar the
perfect morning, but stood looking down the valley.
" I shan't mow these fields any more," he said, and
the fallen, silvered swaths flickered back his regret,
and the faint scent of the limes was wistful. So
much of the field was cut, so much remained to cut;
then it was ended. This year the elder flowers were
widespread over the corner bushes, and the pink roses
fluttered high above the hedge. There were the same
flowers in the grass as we had known many years ; we
should not know them any more.
" But merely to have mown them is worth having
lived for," he said, looking at me.
We felt the warmth of the sun trickling through
the morning's mist of coolness.
u You see that sycamore," he said, " that bushy
one beyond the big willow ? I remember when father
broke off the leading shoot because he wanted a fine
straight stick, I can remember I felt sorry. It was
342 THE WHITE PEACOCK
running up so straight, with such a fine balance of
leaves — you know how a young strong sycamore looks
about nine feet high — it seemed a cruelty. When
you are gone, and we are left from here, I shall feel
like that, as if my leading shoot were broken off.
You see, the tree is spoiled. Yet how it went on
growing. I believe I shall grow faster. I can re-
member the bright red stalks of the leaves as he broke
them off from the bough."
He smiled at me, half proud of his speech. Then
he swung into the seat of the machine, having at-
tended to the horses' heads. He lifted the knife.
" Good-bye," he said, smiling whimsically back at
me. The machine started. The bed of the knife
fell, and the grass shivered and dropped over. I
watched the heads of the daisies and the splendid lines
of the cocksfool grass quiver, shake against the crim-
son burnet, and drop over. The machine went sing-
ing down the field, leaving a track of smooth, velvet
green in the way of the swath-board. The flowers
in the wall of uncut grass waited unmoved, as the
days wait for us. The sun caught in the uplicking
scarlet sorrel flames, the butterflies woke, and I could
hear the fine ring of his " Whoa ! " from the far cor-
ner. Then he turned, and I could see only the toss-
ing ears of the horses, and the white of his shoulder
as they moved along the wall of high grass on the hill
slope. I sat down under the elm, to file the sections
of the knife. Always as he rode he watched the fall-
ing swath, only occasionally calling the horses into
line. It was his voice which rang the morning awake.
When we were at work we hardly noticed one an-
other. Yet his mother had said:
A POEM OF FRIENDSHIP 343
" George is so glad when you're in the field — he
doesn't care how long the day is."
Later, when the morning was hot, and the honey-
suckle had ceased to breathe, and all the other scents
were moving in the air about us, when all the field
was down, when I had seen the last trembling ecstasy
of the harebells, trembling to fall; when the thick
clump of purple vetch had sunk; when the green
swaths were settling, and the silver swaths were
glistening and glittering as the sun came along them,
in the hot ripe morning we worked together turning
the hay, tipping over the yesterday's swaths with our
forks, and bringing yesterday's fresh, hidden flowers
into the death of sunlight.
It was then that we talked of the past, and specu-
lated on the future. As the day grew older, and less
wistful, we forgot everything, and worked on, sing-
ing, and sometimes I would recite him verses as we
went, and sometimes I would tell him about books.
Life was full of glamour for us both.
CHAPTEE IX
PASTORALS AND PEONIES
At dinner time the father announced to us the excit-
ing fact that Leslie had asked if a few of his guests
might picnic that afternoon in the Strelley hayfields.
The closes were so beautiful, with the brook under all
its sheltering trees, running into the pond that was
set with two green islets. Moreover, the squire's lady
had written a book filling these meadows and the
mill precincts with pot-pourri romance. The wed-
ding guests at Highclose were anxious to picnic in so
choice a spot.
The father, who delighted in a gay throng, beamed
at us from over the table. George asked who were
coming.
" Oh, not many — about half a dozen — mostly ladies
down for the wedding."
George at first swore warmly; then he began to
appreciate the affair as a joke.
Mrs. Saxton hoped they wouldn't want her to pro-
vide them pots, for she hadn't two cups that matched,
nor had any of her spoons the least pretence to silver.
The children were hugely excited, and wanted a holi-
day from school, which Emily at once vetoed firmly,
thereby causing family dissension.
As we went round the field in the afternoon turn-
ing the hay, we were thinking apart, and did not talk.
344
PASTORALS AND PEONIES 345
Every now and then — and at every corner — we
stopped to look down towards the wood, to see if they
were coming.
" Here they are ! " George exclaimed suddenly,
having spied the movement of white in the dark wood.
We stood still and watched. Two girls, heliotrope
and white, a man with two girls, pale green and
white, and a man with a girl last.
" Can you tell who they are ? " I asked.
" That's Marie Tempest, that first girl in white,
and that's him and Lettie at the back, I don't know
any more."
He stood perfectly still until they had gone out of
sight behind the banks down by the brooks, then he
stuck his fork in the ground, saying :
" You can easily finish — if you like. I'll go and
mow out that bottom corner."
He glanced at me to see what I was thinking of
him. I was thinking that he was afraid to meet her,
and I was smiling to myself. Perhaps he felt
ashamed, for he went silently away to the machine,
where he belted his riding breeches tightly round his
waist, and slung the scythe strap on his hip. I heard
the clanging slur of the scythe stone as he whetted
the blade. Then he strode off to mow the far bottom
corner, where the ground was marshy, and the ma-
chine might not go, to bring down the lush green grass,
and the tall meadow sweet.
I went to the pond to meet the newcomers. I
bowed to Louie Denys, a tall, graceful girl of the
drooping type, elaborately gowned in heliotrope linen ;
I bowed to Agnes D'Arcy, an erect, intelligent girl
with magnificent auburn hair — she wore no hat, and
346 THE WHITE PEACOCK
carried a sunshade; I bowed to Hilda Seconde, a
svelte, petite girl, exquisitely and delicately pretty;
I bowed to Maria and to Lettie, and I shook hands
with Leslie and with his friend, Freddy Cresswell.
The latter was to be best man, a broad shouldered,
pale-faced fellow, with beautiful soft hair like red
wheat, and laughing eyes, and a whimsical, drawling
manner of speech, like a man who has suffered enough
to bring him to manhood and maturity, but who in
spite of all remains a boy, irresponsible, lovable — a
trifle pathetic. As the day was very hot, both men
were in flannels, and wore flannel collars, yet it was
evident that they had dressed with scrupulous care.
Instinctively I tried to pull my trousers into shape
within my belt, and I felt the inferiority cast upon the
father, big and fine as he was in his way, for his
shoulders were rounded with work, and his trousers
were much distorted.
" What can we do ? " said Marie ; " you know we
don't want to hinder, we want to help you. It was
so good of you to let us come,"
The father laughed his fine indulgence, saying to
them — they loved him for the mellow, laughing mod-
ulation of his voice :
" Come on, then — I see there's a bit of turning-over
to do, as Cyril's left. Come and pick your forks."
From among a sheaf of hayforks he chose the
lightest for them, and they began anywhere, just
tipping at the swaths. He sEowe'd them carefully —
Marie and the chaming little Hilda — just how to do
it, but they found the right way the hardest way, so
they worked in their own fashion, and laughed
heartily with him when he made playful jokes at
PASTORALS AND PEONIES 347
them. He was a great lover of girls, and they blos-
somed from timidity under his hearty influence.
" Ain' it flippin 'ot ? " drawled Cresswell, who had
just taken his M. A. degree in classics : " This bloom-
in' stuff's dry enough — come an' flop on it."
He gathered a cushion of hay, which Louie. Denys
carefully appropriated, arranging first her beautiful
dress, that fitted close to her shape, without any belt
or interruption, and then laying her arms, that were
netted to the shoulder in open lace, gracefully at rest.
Lettie, who was also in a closefitting white dress which
showed her shape down to the hips, sat where Leslie
had prepared for her, and Miss IVArcy reluctantly
accepted my pile.
Cresswell twisted his clean-cut mouth in a little
smile, saying:
" Lord, a giddy little pastoral — fit for old Theoc-
ritus, ain't it, Miss Denys ? "
" Why do you talk to me about those classic people
— I daren't even say their names. What would he
say about us ? "
He laughed, winking his blue eyes:
" He'd make old Daphnis there," — pointing to
Leslie — " sing a match with me, Damoetas — contest-
ing the merits of our various sheperdesses — begin
Daphnis, sing up for Amaryllis, I mean Nais, damn
'em, they were for ever getting mixed up with their
nymphs."
" I say, Mr. Cresswell, your language ! Consider
whom you're damning," said Miss Denys, leaning
over and tapping his head with her silk glove.
" You say any giddy thing in a pastoral," he re-
plied, taking the edge of her skirt, and lying back on
348 THE WHITE PEACOCK
it, looking up at her as she leaned over him.
" Strike up, Daphnis, something about honey or
white cheese — or else the early apples that'll be ripe
in a week's time."
" I'm sure the apples you showed me are ever so
little and green," interrupted Miss Denys ; " they
will never be ripe in a week — ugh, sour ! "
He smiled up at her in his whimsical way :
" Hear that, Tempest — ' Ugh, sour ! ' — not much !
Oh, love us, haven't you got a start yet ? — isn't there
aught to sing about, you blunt-faced kid ? "
" I'll hear you first — I'm no judge of honey and
cheese."
" An' darn little apples — takes a woman to judge
them ; don't it, Miss Denys ? "
" I don't know," she said, stroking his soft hair
from his forehead, with her hand whereon rings were
sparkling.
" ' My love is not white, my hair is not yellow,
like honey dropping through the sunlight — my love
is brown, and sweet, and ready for the lips of love.'
Go on, Tempest — strike up, old cowherd. Who's that
tuning his pipe? — oh, that fellow sharpening his
scythe! It's enough to make your backache to look
at him working — go an' stop him, somebody."
" Yes, let us go and fetch him," said Miss D'Arcy.
" I'm sure he doesn't know what a happy pastoral
state he's in — let us go and fetch him."
" They don't like hindering at their work, Agnes
— besides, where ignorance is bliss ," said Lettie,
afraid lest she might bring him. The other hesi-
tated, then with her eyes she invited me to go with
her.
PASTORALS AND PEONIES 349
" Oh, dear," she laughed, with a little mowe,
" Freddy is such an ass, and Louie Denys is like a
wasp at treacle. I wanted to laugh, yet I felt just a
tiny bit cross. Don't you feel great when you go
mowing like that? Father Timey sort of feeling?
Shall we go and look ! We'll say we want those fox-
gloves he'll be cutting down directly — and those bell
flowers. I suppose you needn't go on with your
labours "
He did not know we were approaching till I called
him, then he started slightly as he saw the tall, proud
girl.
"Mr. Saxton — Miss D'Arcy," I said, and he
shook hands with her. Immediately his manner be-
came ironic, for he had seen his hand big and coarse
and inflamed with the snaith clasping the lady's
hand.
" We thought you looked so fine," she said to him,
" and men are so embarrassing when they make love
to somebody else — aren't they? Save us those fox-
gloves, will you — they are splendid — like savage sol-
diers drawn up 'against the hedge — don't cut them
down — and those campanulas — bell-flowers, ah, yes!
They are spinning idylls up there. I don't care for
idylls, do you ? Oh, you don't know what a classical
pastoral person you are — but there, I don't suppose
you suffer from idyllic love " she laughed,
" — one doesn't see the silly little god fluttering about
in our hayfields, does one ? Do you find much time
to sport with Amaryllis in the shade ? — I'm sure it's
a shame they banished Phyllis from the fields "
He laughed and went on with his work. She
smiled a little, too, thinking she had made a great
350 THE WHITE PEACOCK
impression. She put out her hand with a dramatic
gesture, and looked at me, when the scythe crunched
through the meadow-sweet.
" Crunch ! — isn't it fine ! " she exclaimed, " a kind
of inevitable fate — I think it's fine ! "
We wandered about picking flowers and talking
until teatime. A man-servant came with the tea-
basket, and the girls spread the cloth under a great
willow tree. Lettie took the little silver kettle, and
went to fill it at the small spring which trickled into
a stone trough all pretty with cranesbill and stellaria
hanging over, while long blades of grass waved in
the water. George, who had finished his work, and
wanted to go home to tea, walked across to the spring
where Lettie sat playing with the water, getting little
cupfuls to put into the kettle, watching the quick
skating of the water beetles, and the large faint spots
of their shadows darting on the silted mud at the
bottom of the trough.
She glanced round on hearing him coming, and
smiled nervously : they were mutually afraid of meet-
ing each other again.
" It is about teatime," he said.
" Yes — it will be ready in a moment — this is not
to make the tea with — it's only to keep a little supply
of hot water."
" Oh," he said, " I'll go on home— I'd rather."
" No," she replied, " you can't, because we are all
having tea together: I had some fruits put up, be-
cause I know you don't trifle with tea — and your
father's coming."
" But," he replied pettishly, " I can't have my tea
with all those folks — I don't want to — look at me ! "
PASTORALS AND PEONIES 351
He held out his inflamed, barbaric hands.
She winced and said:
" It won't matter — you'll give the realistic touch."
He laughed ironically.
" "No — you must come," she insisted.
" I'll have a drink then, if you'll let me," he said,
yielding.
She got up quickly, blushing, offering him the
tiny, pretty cup.
" I'm awfully sorry," she said.
" Never mind," he muttered, and turning from
the proffered cup he lay down flat, put his mouth to
the water, and drank deeply. She stood and watched
the motion of his drinking, and of his heavy breath-
ing afterwards. He got up, wiping his mouth, not
looking at her. Then he washed his hands in the
water, and stirred up the mud. He put his hand to
the bottom of the trough, bringing out a handful of
silt, with the grey shrimps twisting in it. He flung
the mud on the floor where the poor grey creatures
writhed.
" It wants cleaning out," he said.
" Yes," she replied, shuddering. " You won't be
long," she added, taking up the silver kettle.
In a few moments he got up and followed her re-
luctantly down. He was nervous and irritable.
The girls were seated on tufts of hay, with the
men leaning in attendance on them, and the man-serv-
ant waiting on all. George was placed between Let-
tie and Hilda. The former handed him his little
egg-shell of tea, which, as he was not very thirsty,
he put down on the ground beside him. Then she
passed him the bread and butter, cut for five-o'clock
352 THE WHITE PEACOCK
tea, and fruits, grapes and peaches, and strawber-
ries, in a beautifully carved oak tray. She watched
for a moment his thick, half-washed fingers fum-
bling over the fruits, then she turned her head away.
All the gay teatime, when the talk bubbled and
frothed over all the cups, she avoided him with her
eyes. Yet again and again, as someone said : " I'm
sorry, Mr. Saxton — will you have some cake % " — or
" See, Mr. Saxton — try this peach, I'm sure it will
be mellow right to the stone," — speaking very nat-
urally, but making the distinction between him and
the other men by their indulgence towards him, Let-
tie was forced to glance at him as he sat eating, an-
swering in monosyllables, laughing with constraint
and awkwardness, and her irritation flickered be-
tween her brows. Although she kept up the gay
frivolity of the conversation, still the discord was
felt by everybody, and we did not linger as we should
have done over the cups. " George," they said after-
wards, " was a wet blanket on the party." Lettie
was intensely annoyed with him. His presence was
unbearable to her. She wished him a thousand
miles away. He sat listening to Cresswell's whimsi-
cal affectation of vulgarity which flickered with fan-
tasy, and he laughed in a strained fashion.
He was the first to rise, saying he must get the
cows up for milking.
" Oh, let us go — let us go. May we come and see
the cows milked ? " said Hilda, her delicate, ex-
quisite features flushing, for she was very shy.
"No," drawled Freddy, "the stink o' live beef
ain't salubrious. You be warned, and stop here."
" I never could bear cows, except those lovely little
PASTORALS AND PEONIES 353
highland cattle, all woolly, in pictures," said Louie
Denys, smiling archly, with a little irony.
" No," laughed Agnes D'Arcy, " they — they're
smelly," — and she pursed up her mouth, and ended
in a little trill of deprecatory laughter, as she often
did. Hilda looked from one to the other, blushing.
" Come, Lettie," said Leslie good-naturedly, " I
know you have a farm-yard fondness — come on,"
and they followed George down.
As they passed along the pond bank a swan and
her tawny, fluffy brood sailed with them the length
of the water, " tipping on their little toes, the dar-
lings — pitter-patter through the water, tiny little
things," as Marie said.
We heard George below calling " Bully — Bully —
Bully — Bully ! " — and then, a moment or two after,
in the bottom garden : " Come out, you little fool —
are you coming out of it ? " in manifestly angry
tones.
" Has it run away ? " laughed Hilda, delighted
and we hastened out of the lower garden to see.
There in the green shade, between the tall goose-
berry bushes, the heavy crimson peonies stood gor-
geously along the path. The full red globes, poised
and leaning voluptuously, sank their crimson weight
on to the seeding grass of the path, borne down by
secret rain, and by their own splendour. The path
was poured over with red rich silk of strewn petals.
The great flowers swung their crimson grandly about
the walk, like crowds of cardinals in pomp among
the green bushes. We burst into the new world of
delight. As Lettie stooped, taking between both
hands the gorgeous silken fulness of one blossom that
354 THE WHITE PEACOCK
was sunk to the earth. George came down the path,
with the brown bull-calf straddling behind him, its
neck stuck out, sucking zealously at his middle finger.
The unconscious attitudes of the girls, all bent
enraptured over the peonies, touched him with sud-
den pain. As he came up, with the calf stalking
grudgingly behind, he said:
" There's a fine show of pyeenocks this year, isn't
there?"
" What do you call them ? " cried Hilda, turning
to him her sweet, charming face full of interest.
" Pyeenocks," he replied.
Lettie remained crouching with a red flower be-
tween her hands, glancing sideways unseen to look
at the calf, which with its shiny nose uplifted was
mumbling in its sticky gums the seductive finger.
It sucked eagerly, but unprofitably, and it appeared
to cast a troubled eye inwards to see if it were
really receiving any satisfaction, — doubting, but not
despairing. Marie, and Hilda, and Leslie laughed,
while he, after looking at Lettie as she crouched,
wistfully, as he thought, over the flower, led the little
brute out of the garden, and sent it running into the
yard with a smack on the haunch.
Then he returned, rubbing his sticky finger dry
against his breeches. He stood near to Lettie, and
she felt rather than saw the extraordinary pale clean-
ness of the one finger among the others. She rubbed
her finger against her dress in painful sympathy.
" But aren't the flowers lovely ! " exclaimed Marie
again. " I want to hug them."
" Oh, yes ! " assented Hilda.
" They are like a romance — D'Annunzio — a ro-
PASTORALS AND PEONIES 355
mance in passionate sadness,' ' said Lettie, in an
ironical voice, speaking half out of conventional ne-
cessity of saying something, half out of desire to
shield herself, and yet in a measure express herself.
" There is a tale about them," I said.
The girls clamoured for the legend.
" Pray, do tell us," pleaded Hilda, the irresistible.
" It was Emily told me — she says it's a legend,
but I believe it's only a tale. She says the peonies
were brought from the Hall long since by a fellow of
this place — when it was a mill. He was brown and
strong, and the daughter of the Hall, who was pale
and fragile and young, loved him. When he went
up to the Hall gardens to cut the yew hedges, she
would hover round him in her white frock, and tell
him tales of old days, in little snatches like a wren
singing, till he thought she was a fairy who had be-
witched him. He would stand and watch her, and
one day, when she came near to him telling him a
tale that set the tears swimming in her eyes, he took
hold of her and kissed her and kept her. They used
to tryst in the poplar spinney. She would come with
her arms full of flowers, for she always kept to her
fairy part. One morning she came early through
the mists. He was out shooting. She wanted to
take him unawares, like a fairy. Her arms were
full of peonies. When she was moving beyond the
trees he shot her, not knowing. She stumbled on,
and sank down in their tryst place. He found her
lying there among the red pyeenocks, white and
fallen. He thought she was just lying talking to the
red flowers, so he stood waiting. Then he went up,
and bent over her, and found the flowers full of
356 THE WHITE PEACOCK
blood. It was he set the garden here with these
pyeenocks."
The eyes of the girls were round with the pity of
the tale and Hilda turned away to hide her tears.
" It is a beautiful ending," said Lettie, in a low
tone, looking at the floor.
" It's all a tale," said Leslie, soothing the girls.
George waited till Lettie looked at him. She
lifted her eyes to him at last. Then each turned
aside, trembling.
Marie asked for some of the peonies.
" Give me just a few — and I can tell the others
the story — it is so sad — I feel so sorry for him, it
was so cruel for him ! And Lettie says it ends
beautifully 1»
George cut the flowers with his great clasp knife,
and Marie took them, carefully, treating their ro-
mance with great tenderness. Then all went out of
the garden and he turned to the cowshed.
" Good-bye for the present," said Lettie, afraid to
stay near him.
" Good-bye," he laughed.
" Thank you so much for the flowers — and the
story — it was splendid," said Marie, " — but so sad ! "
Then they went, and we did not see them again.
Later, when all had gone to bed at the mill, George
and I sat together on opposite sides of the fire, smok-
ing, saying little. He was casting up the total of
discrepancies, and now and again he ejaculated one
of his thoughts.
" And all day," he said, " Blench has been plough-
ing his wheat in, because it was that bitten off by
the rabbits it was no manner of use, so he's ploughed
PASTORALS AND PEONIES 357
it in : an' they say with idylls, eating peaches in our
close."
Then there was silence, while the clock throbbed
heavily, and outside a wild bird called, and was still ;
softly the ashes rustled lower in the grate.
" She said it ended well — but what's the good of
death — what's the good of that ? " He turned his
face to the ashes in the grate, and sat brooding.
Outside, among the trees, some wild animal set
up a thin, wailing cry.
" Damn that row ! " said I, stirring, looking also
into the grey fire.
" It's some stoat or weasel, or something. It's
been going on like that for nearly a week. I've shot
in the trees ever so many times. There were two
— one's gone."
Continuously, through the heavy, chilling silence,
came the miserable crying from the darkness among
the trees.
" You know," he said, " she hated me this after-
noon, and I hated her "
It was midnight, full of sick thoughts.
" It is no good," said I. " Go to bed — it will be
morning in a few hours."
part in
CHAPTEK I
A NEW STAET IN LIFE
Lettie was wedded, as I had said, before Leslie
lost all the wistful traces of his illness. They had
been gone away to France five days before we re-
covered anything like the normal tone in the house.
Then, though the routine was the same, everywhere
was a sense of loss, and of change. The long voyage
in the quiet home was over; we had crossed the
bright sea of our youth, and already Lettie had
landed and was travelling to a strange destination
in a foreign land. It was time for us all to go, to
leave the valley of Nethermere whose waters and
whose woods were distilled in the essence of our
veins. We were the children of the valley of Neth-
ermere, a small nation with language and blood of
our own, and to cast ourselves each one into sep-
arate exile was painful to us.
" I shall have to go now," said George. " It is
my nature to linger an unconscionable time, yet I
dread above all things this slow crumbling away
from my foundations by which I free myself at last.
I must wrench myself away now "
It was the slack time between the hay and the
corn harvest, and we sat together in the grey, still
morning of August pulling the stack. My hands
were sore with tugging the loose whisps from the
361
362 THE WHITE PEACOCK
lower part of the stack, so I waited for the touch of
rain to send us indoors. It came at last, and we
hurried into the barn. We climbed the ladder into
the loft that was strewn with farming implements
and with carpenters' tools. We sat together on the
shavings that littered the bench before the high gable
window, and looked out over the brooks and the
woods and the ponds. The tree-tops were very near
to us, and we felt ourselves the centre of the waters
and the woods that spread down the rainy valley.
" In a few years," I said, " we shall be almost
strangers."
He looked at me with fond, dark eyes and smiled
incredulously.
" It is as far," said I, " to the ' Ram 9 as it is for
me to London — farther."
" Don't you want me to go there ? " he asked, smil-
ing quietly.
" It's all as one where you go, you will travel
north, and I east, and Lettie south. Lettie has de-
parted. In seven weeks I go. — And you % "
" I must be gone before you," he said decisively.
" Do you know " and he smiled timidly in
confession, " I feel alarmed at the idea of being
left alone on a loose end. I must not be the last to
leave " he added almost appealingly.
" And you will go to Meg ? " I asked.
He sat tearing the silken shavings into shreds, and
telling me in clumsy fragments all he could of his
feelings :
" You see it's not so much what you call love. I
don't know. You see I built on Lettie," — he looked
up at me shamefacedly, then continued tearing the
A NEW START IN LIFE 363
shavings — "you must found your castles on some-
thing, and I founded mine on Lettie. You see, I'm
like plenty of folks, I have nothing definite to shape
my life to. I put brick upon brick, as they come,
and if the whole topples down in the end, it does.
But you see, you and Lettie have made me conscious,
and now I'm at a dead loss. I have looked to mar-
riage to set me busy on my house of life, something
whole and complete, of which it will supply the de-
sign.. I must marry or be in a lost lane. There are
two people I could marry — and Lettie's gone. I love
Meg just as well, as far as love goes. I'm not sure I
don't feel better pleased at the idea of marrying her.
You know I should always have been second to Let-
tie, and the best part of love is being made much of,
being first and foremost in the whole world for some-
body. And Meg's easy and lovely. I can have her
without trembling, she's full of soothing and com-
fort. I can stroke her hair and pet her, and she looks
up at me, full of trust and lovingness, and there is no
flaw, all restfulness in one another "
Three weeks later, as I lay in the August sunshine
in a deck-chair on the lawn, I heard the sound of
wheels along the gravel path. It was George calling
for me to accompany him to his marriage. He pulled
up the dog-cart near the door, and came up the steps
to me on the lawn. He was dressed as if for the
cattle market, in jacket and breeches and gaiters.
" Well, are you ready ? " he said standing smiling
down on me. His eyes were dark with excitement,
and had that vulnerable look which was so peculiar
to the Saxtons in their emotional moments.
364 THE WHITE PEACOCK
" You are in good time," said I, " it is but half
past nine."
" It wouldn't do to be late on a day like this," he
said gaily, " see how the sun shines. Come, you don't
look as brisk as a best man should. I thought you
would have been on tenterhooks of excitement. Get
up, get up ! Look here, a bird has given me luck " —
he showed me a white smear on his shoulder.
I drew myself up lazily.
" All right," I said, " but we must drink a whisky
to establish it"
He followed me out of the fragrant sunshine into
the dark house. The rooms were very still and
empty, but the cool silence responded at once to the
gaiety of our sunwarm entrance. The sweetness of
the summer morning hung invisible like glad ghosts
of romance through the shadowy room. We seemed
to feel the sunlight dancing golden in our veins as
we filled again the pale liqueur.
" Joy to you — I envy you to-day."
His teeth were white, and his eyes stirred like dark
liquor as he smiled.
" Here is my wedding present ! "
I stood the four large water-colours along the wall
before him. They were drawings among the waters
and the fields of the mill, grey rain and twilight,
morning with the sun pouring gold into the mist,
and the suspense of a midsummer noon upon the
pond. All the glamour of our yesterdays came over
him like an intoxicant, and he quivered with the
wonderful beauty of life that was weaving him into
the large magic of the years. He realised the splen-
dour of the pageant of days which had him in train.
A NEW START IN LIFE 365
" It's been wonderful, Cyril, all the time," he said,
with surprised joy.
We drove away through the freshness of the wood,
and among the flowing of the sunshine along the
road. The cottages of Greymede filled the shadows
with colour of roses, and the sunlight with odour of
pinks and the blue of corn flowers and larkspur. We
drove briskly up the long, sleeping hill, and bowled
down the hollow past the farms where the hens were
walking with the red gold cocks in the orchard, and
the ducks like white cloudlets under the aspen trees
revelled on the pond.
" I told her to be ready any time," said George —
" but she doesn't know it's to-day. I didn't want the
public-house full of the business."
The mare walked up the sharp little rise on top of
which stood the " Ram Inn." In the quiet, as the
horse slowed to a standstill, we heard the crooning
of a song in the garden. We sat still in the cart, and
looked across the flagged yard to where the tall ma-
donna lilies rose in clusters out of the alyssome. Be-
yond the border of flowers was Meg, bending over
the gooseberry bushes. She saw us and came swing-
ing down the path, with a bowl of gooseberries poised
on her hip. She was dressed in a plain, fresh hol-
land frock, with a white apron. Her black, heavy
hair reflected the sunlight, and her ripe face was
luxuriant with laughter.
" Well, I never ! " she exclaimed, trying not to
show that she guessed his errand. " Fancy you here
at this time o' morning ! "
Her eyes, delightful black eyes like polished jet,
untroubled and frank, looked at us as a robin might,
366 THE WHITE PEACOCK
with bright questioning. Her eyes were so different
from the Saxton's: darker, but never still and full,
never hesitating, dreading a wound, never dilating
with hurt or with timid ecstasy.
" Are you ready then ? " he asked, smiling down
on her.
" What ? " she asked in confusion.
" To come to the registrar with me — I've got the
licence."
" But I'm just going to make the pudding," she
cried, in full expostulation.
" Let them make it themselves — put your hat on."
" But look at me ! I've just been getting the goose-
berries. Look ! " she showed us the berries, and the
scratches on her arms and hands.
" What a shame ! " he said, bending down to stroke
her hand and her arm. She drew back smiling,
flushing with joy. I could smell the white lilies
where I sat.
" But you don't mean it, do you ? " she said, lift-
ing to him her face that was round and glossy like a
blackheart cherry. For answer, he unfolded the
marriage licence. She read it, and turned aside her
face in confusion, saying :
" Well, I've got to get ready. Shall you come an'
tell Gran'ma ? "
" Is there any need ? " he answered reluctantly.
" Yes, you come an tell 'er," persuaded Meg.
He got down from the trap. I preferred to stay
out of doors. Presently Meg ran out with a glass of
beer for me.
" We shan't be many minutes," she apologised.
" I've on'y to slip another frock on."
A NEW START IN LIFE 367
I heard George go heavily up the stairs and enter
the room over the bar-parlour, where the grand-
mother lay bed-ridden.
" What, is it thaigh, ma lad ? What are thaigh
doin' 'ere this mornin' ? " she asked.
" Well A'nt, how does ta feel by now ? " he said.
" Eh, sadly, lad, sadly ! It'll not be long afore they
carry me downstairs head first "
" Nay, dunna thee say so ! — I'm just off to Not-
tingham — I want Meg ter come."
" What for ? " cried the old woman sharply.
" I wanted 'er to get married," he replied.
"What! What does't say? An' what about th'
licence, an' th' ring, an ivrything ? "
" I've seen to that all right," he answered.
" Well, tha 'rt a nice'st un, I must say ! What's
want goin' in this pig-in-a-poke fashion for? This
is a nice shabby trick to serve a body ! What does ta
mean by it ? "
" You knowed as I wor goin' ter marry 'er directly,
so I can't see as it matters o' th' day. I non wanted
a' th' pub talkin' "
" Tha 'rt mighty particklar, an' all, an' all ! An'
why shouldn't the pub talk ? Tha 'rt non marryin' a
nigger, as ta should be so frightened — I niver
thought it on thee! — An' what's thy 'orry, all of a
sudden?"
" No hurry as I know of."
" No 'orry ! " replied the old lady, with with-
ering sarcasm. " Tha wor niver in a 'orry a' thy
life ! She's non commin' wi' thee this day, though."
He laughed, also sarcastic. The old lady was an-
gry. She poured on him her abuse, declaring she
368 THE WHITE PEACOCK
would not have Meg in the house again, nor leave her
a penny, if she married him that day.
" Tha can please thysen," answered George, also
angry.
Meg came hurriedly into the room.
" Ta'e that 'at off— ta'e it off ! Tha non goos wi'
'im this day, not if I know it ! Does 'e think tha 'rt
a cow, or a pig, to be fetched wheniver 'e thinks fit.
Ta'e that 'at off, I say!"
The old woman was fierce and peremptory.
" But gran'ma ! " began Meg.
The bed creaked as the old lady tried to rise.
" Ta'e that 'at off, afore I pull it off ! " she cried.
" Oh, be still Gran'ma — you'll be hurtin' yourself,
you know you will "
" Are you coming Meg ? " said George suddenly.
" She is not ! " cried the old woman.
" Are you coming Meg ? " repeated George, in a
passion.
Meg began to cry. I suppose she looked at him
through her tears. The next thing I heard was a cry
from the old woman, and the sound of staggering
feet.
" Would ta drag 'er from me ! — if tha goos, ma
wench, tha enters this 'ouse no more, tha ? eers that !
Tha does thysen my lady ! Dunna venture anigh me
after this, my gel ! " — the old woman called louder
and louder. George appeared in the doorway, hold-
ing Meg by the arm. She was crying in a little dis-
tress. Her hat with its large silk roses, was slanting
over her eyes. She was dressed in white linen. They
mounted the trap. I gave him the reins and scram-
bled up behind. The old woman heard us through
A NEW START IN LIFE 369
the open window, and we listened to her calling as
we drove away:
" Dunna let me clap eyes on thee again, tha un-
grateful 'ussy, tha ungrateful 'ussy! Tha'll rue it,
my wench, tha'll rue it, an' then dunna come ter
me "
We drove out of hearing. George sat with a shut
mouth, scowling. Meg wept awhile to herself, woe-
fully. We were swinging at a good pace under the
beeches of the churchyard which stood above the
level of the road. Meg, having settled her hat, bent
her head to the wind, too much occupied with her
attire to weep. We swung round the hollow by the
bog end, and rattled a short distance up the steep hill
to Watnall. Then the mare walked slowly. Meg, at
leisure to collect herself, exclaimed plaintively:
" Oh, I've only got one glove ! "
She looked at the odd silk glove that lay in her
lap, then peered about among her skirts.
" I must 'a left it in th' bedroom," she said pite-
ously.
He laughed, and his anger suddenly vanished.
"What does it matter? You'll do without all
right."
At the sound of his voice, she recollected, and her
tears and her weeping returned.
" Nay," he said, " don't fret about the old woman.
She'll come round to-morrow — an' if she doesn't, it's
her lookout. She's got Polly to attend to her."
" But she'll be that miserable ! " wept Meg.
" It's her own fault. At any rate, don't let it
make you miserable " — he glanced to see if anyone
were in sight, then he put his arm round her waist
370 THE WHITE PEACOCK
and kissed her, saying softly, coaxingly : " She'll he
all right to-morrow. We'll go an' see her then, an'
she'll be glad enough to have us. We'll give in to her
then, poor old Gran'ma. She can boss you about, an'
me as well, to-morrow as much as she likes. She feels
it hard, being tied to her bed. But to-day is ours,
surely — isn't it? To-day is ours, an' you're not
sorry, are you ? "
" But I've got no gloves, an' I'm sure my hair's a
sight. I never thought she could 'a reached up like
that."
George laughed, tickled.
" No," he said, " she was in a temper. But we can
get you some gloves directly we get to Nottingham."
" I haven't a farthing of money," she said.
" I've plenty ! " he laughed. " Oh, an' let's try
this on."
They were merry together as he tried on her wed-
ding ring, and they talked softly, he gentle and coax-
ing, she rather plaintive. The mare took her own
way, and Meg's hat was disarranged once more by
the sweeping elm-boughs. The yellow corn was dip-
ping and flowing in the fields, like a cloth of gold
pegged down at the corners under which the wind
was heaving. Sometimes we passed cottages where
the scarlet lilies rose like bonfires, and the tall lark-
spur like bright blue leaping smoke. Sometimes we
smelled the sunshine on the browning corn, some-
times the fragrance of the shadow of leaves. Occa-
sionally it was the dizzy scent of new haystacks.
Then we rocked and jolted over the rough cobble-
stones of Cinderhill, and bounded forward again at
the foot of the enormous pit hill, smelling of sul-
A NEW START IN LIFE 371
phur, inflamed with slow red fires in the daylight,
and crusted with ashes. We reached the top of the
rise and saw the city before us, heaped high and dim
upon the broad range of the hill. I looked for the
square tower of my old school, and the sharp proud
spire of St. Andrews. Over the city hung a dullness,
a thin dirty canopy against the blue sky.
We turned and swung down the slope between the
last sullied cornfields towards Basford, where the
swollen gasometers stood like toadstools. As we
neared the mouth of the street, Meg rose excitedly,
pulling George's arm, crying:
" Oh, look, the poor little thing ! "
On the causeway stood two small boys lifting their
faces and weeping to the heedless heavens, while
before them, upside down, lay a baby strapped to a
shut-up baby-chair. The gim-crack carpet-seated
thing had collapsed as the boys were dismounting the
curb-stone with it. It had fallen backwards, and
they were unable to right it. There lay the infant
strapped head downwards to its silly cart, in immi-
nent danger of suffocation. Meg leaped out, and
dragged the child from the wretched chair. The two
boys, drenched with tears, howled on. Meg crouched
on the road, the baby on her knee, its tiny feet dan-
gling against her skirt. She soothed the pitiful tear-
wet mite. She hugged it to her, and kissed it, and
hugged it, and rocked it in an abandonment of pity.
When at last the childish trio were silent, the boys
shaken only by the last ebbing sobs, Meg calmed also
from her frenzy of pity for the little thing. She
murmured to it tenderly, and wiped its wet little
cheeks with her handkerchief, soothing, kissing, fon-
372 THE WHITE PEACOCK
dling the bewildered mite, smoothing the wet strands
of brown hair under the scrap of cotton bonnet,
twitching the inevitable baby cape into order. It
was a pretty baby, with wisps of brown-gold silken
hair, and large blue eyes.
" Is it a girl ? " I asked one of the boys — " How
old is she ? "
" I don't know," he answered awkwardly, " We
've 'ad 'er about a three week."
" Why, isn't she your sister ? "
" ~No — my mother keeps 'er," — they were very re-
luctant to tell us anything.
" Poor little lamb ! " cried Meg, in another access
of pity, clasping the baby to her bosom with one
hand, holding its winsome slippered feet in the
other. She remained thus, stung through with acute
pity, crouching, folding herself over the mite. At
last she raised her head, and said, in a voice difficult
with emotion:
" But you love her — don't you ? "
" Yes — she's — she's all right. But we 'ave to mind
'er," replied the boy in great confusion.
" Surely," said Meg, " Surely you don't begrudge
that. Poor little thing — so little, she is — surely you
don't grumble at minding her a bit ? "
The boys would not answer.
" Oh, poor little lamb, poor little lamb ! " mur-
mured Meg over the child, condemning with bitter-
ness the boys and the whole world of men.
I taught one of the lads how to fold and unfold
the wretched chair. Meg very reluctantly seated the
unfortunate baby therein, gently fastening her with
the strap.
A NEW START IN LIFE 373
" Wheer's 'er dummy ? " asked one of the boys in
muffled, self-conscious tones. The infant began to
cry thinly. Meg crouched over it. The ' dummy '
was found in the gutter and wiped on the boy's
coat, then plugged into the baby's mouth. Meg
released the tiny clasping hand from over her
finger, and mounted the dog cart, saying sternly to
the boys :
" Mind you look after her well, poor little baby
with no mother. God's watching to see what you do
to her — so you be careful, mind."
They stood very shamefaced. George clicked to
the mare, and as we started threw coppers to the boys.
While we drove away I watched the little group
diminish down the road.
" It's such a shame," she said, and the tears were in
her voice, " — A sweet little thing like that "
" Ay," said George, softly, " there's all sorts of
things in towns."
Meg paid no attention to him, but sat woman-like
thinking of the forlorn baby, and condemning the
hard world. He, i full of tenderness and protective-
ness towards her, having watched her with softening
eyes, felt a little bit rebuffed that she ignored him,
and sat alone in her fierce womanhood. So he busied
himself with the reins, and the two sat each alone
until Meg was roused by the bustle of the town. The
mare sidled past the electric cars nervously, 'and
jumped when a traction engine came upon us. Meg,
rather frightened, clung to George again. She was
very glad when we had passed the cemetery with its
white population of tombstones, and drew up in a
quiet street.
374 THE WHITE PEACOCK
But when we had dismounted, and given the horse's
head to a loafer, she became confused and bashful
and timid to the last degree. He took her on his
arm ; he took the whole charge of her, and laughing,
bore her away towards the steps of the office. She
left herself entirely in his hands; she was all con-
fusion, so he took the charge of her.
When, after a short time, they came out, she began
to chatter with blushful animation. He was very
quiet, and seemed to be taking his breath.
" Wasn't he a funny little man ? Did I do it all
proper ? — I didn't know what I was doing. I'm sure
they were laughing at me — do you think they were ?
Oh, just look at my frock — what a sight! What
would they think ! " The baby had slightly
soiled the front of her dress.
George drove up the long hill into the town. As
we came down between the shops on Mansfield Eoad
he recovered his spirits.
" Where are we going — where are you taking us ? "
asked Meg.
" We may as well make a day of it while we are
here," he answered, smiling and flicking the mare.
They both felt that they were launched forth on an
adventure. He put up at the " Spread Eagle," and
we walked towards the market-place for Meg's gloves.
When he had bought her these and a large lace scarf
to give her a more clothed appearance, he wanted
dinner.
" We'll go," he said, " to an hotel."
His eyes dilated as he said it, and she shrank away
with delighted fear. Neither of them had ever been
to an hotel. She was really afraid. She begged him
A NEW START IN LIFE 375
to go to an eating house, to a cafe. He was obdurate.
His one idea was to do the thing that he was half-
afraid to do. His passion — and it was almost intoxi-
cation — was to dare to play with life. He was afraid
of the town. He was afraid to venture into the
foreign places of life, and all was foreign save the
valley of Kethermere. So he crossed the borders
flauntingly, and marched towards the heart of the un-
known. We went to the Victoria Hotel — the most
imposing he could think of — and we had luncheon
according to the menu. They were like two children,
very much afraid, yet delighting in the adventure.
He dared not, however, give the orders. He dared
not address anybody, waiters or otherwise. I did
that for him, and he watched me, absorbing, learning,
wondering that things were so easy and so delightful.
I murmured them injunctions across the table and
they blushed and laughed with each other nervously.
It would be hard to say whether they enjoyed that
luncheon. I think Meg did not— even though she
was with him. But of George I am doubtful. He
suffered exquisitely from self consciousness and
nervous embarrassment, but he felt also the intoxi-
cation of the adventure, he felt as a man who has
lived in a small island when he first sets foot on a
vast continent. This was the first step into a new
life, and he mused delightedly upon it over his
brandy. Yet he was nervous. He could not get over
the feeling that he was trespassing.
" Where shall we go this afternoon I " he asked.
Several things were proposed, but Meg pleaded
warmly for Colwick.
" Let's go on a steamer to Colwick Park. There'll
376 THE WHITE PEACOCK
be entertainments there this afternoon. It'll be
lovely."
In a few moments we were on the top of the car
swinging down to the Trent Bridges. It was dinner
time, and crowds of people from shops and ware-
houses were hurrying in the sunshine along the pave-
ments. Sunblinds cast their shadows on the shop-
fronts, and in the shade streamed the people dressed
brightly for summer. As our car stood in the great
space of the market place we could smell the mingled
scent of fruit, oranges, and small apricots, and pears
piled in their vividly coloured sections on the stalls.
Then away we sailed through the shadows of the
dark streets, and the open pools of sunshine. The
castle on its high rock stood in the dazzling dry sun-
light ; the fountain stood shadowy in the green glim-
mer of the lime trees that surrounded the alms-
houses.
There were many people at the Trent. We stood
awhile on the bridge to watch the bright river swirl-
ing in a silent dance to the sea, while the light pleas-
ure-boats lay asleep along the banks. We went on
board the little paddle steamer and paid our " sixpence
return." After much waiting we set off, with great
excitement, for our mile-long voyage. Two banjos
were tumming somewhere below, and the passengers
hummed and sang to their tunes. A few boats dab-
bled on the water. Soon the river meadows with
their high thorn hedges lay green on our right, while
the scarp of red rock rose on our left, covered with
the dark trees of summer.
We landed at Colwick Park. It was early, and
few people were there. Dead glass fairy-lamps were
slung about the trees. The grass in places was worn
A NEW START IN LIFE 377
threadbare. We walked through the avenues and
small glades of the park till we came to the boundary
where the race-course stretched its level green, its
winding white barriers running low into the distance.
They sat in the shade for some time while I wan-
dered about. Then many people began to arrive. It
became noisy, even rowdy. We listened for some
time to an open-air concert, given by the pierrots.
It was rather vulgar, and very tiresome. It took me
back to Cowes, to Yarmouth. There were the same
foolish over-eyebrowed faces, the same perpetual
jingle from an out-of-tune piano, the restless jigging
to the songs, the same choruses, the same escapading.
Meg was well pleased. The vulgarity passed by her.
She laughed, and sang the choruses half audibly, dar-
ing, but not bold. She was immensely pleased.
" Oh, it's Ben's turn now. I like him, he's got such a
wicked twinkle in his eye. Look at Joey trying to
be funny ! — he can't to save his life. Doesn't he look
soft ! " She began to giggle in George's shoul-
der. He saw the funny side of things for the time
and laughed with her.
During tea, which we took on the green verandah
of the degraded hall, she was constantly breaking
forth into some chorus, and he would light up as she
looked at him and sing with her, sotto voce. He was
not embarrassed at Colwick. There he had on his
best careless, superior air. He moved about with a
certain scornfulness, and ordered lobster for tea off-
handedly. This also was a new walk of life. Here
he was not hesitating or tremulously strung; he was
patronising. Both Meg and he thoroughly enjoyed
themselves.
378 THE WHITE PEACOCK
When we got back into Nottingham she entreated
him not to go to the hotel as he had proposed, and he
readily yielded. Instead they went to the Castle.
We stood on the high rock in the cool of the day,
and watched the sun sloping over the great river-flats
where the menial town spread out, and ended, while
the river and the meadows continued into the dis-
tance. In the picture galleries, there was a fine col-
lection of Arthur Melville's paintings. Meg thought
them very ridiculous. I began to expound them, but
she was manifestly bored, and he was half-hearted.
Outside in the grounds was a military band playing.
Meg longed to be there. The townspeople were danc-
ing on the grass. She longed to join them, but she
could not dance. So they sat awhile looking on.
We were to go to the theatre in the evening. The
Carl Rosa Company was giving " Carmen " at the
Royal. We went into the dress circle. " like giddy
dukes," as I said to him, so that I could see his eyes
dilate with adventure again as he laughed. In the
theatre, among the people in evening dress, he became
once more childish and timorous. He had always the
air of one who does something forbidden, and is
charmed, yet fearful, like a trespassing child. He
had begun to trespass that day outside his own estates
of Nethermere.
" Carmen " fascinated them both. The gaudy,
careless Southern life amazed them. The bold free
way in which Carmen played with life startled them
with hints of freedom. They stared on the stage
fascinated. Between the acts they held each other's
hands, and looked full into each other's wide bright
eyes, and, laughing with excitement, talked about the
A NEW START IN LIFE 379
opera. The theatre surged and roared dimly like a
hoarse shell. Then the music rose like a storm, and
swept and rattled at their feet. On the stage the
strange storm of life clashed in music towards tragedy
and futile death. The two were shaken with a tumult
of wild feeling. When it was all over they rose be-
wildered, stunned, she with tears in her eyes, he with
a strange wild beating of his heart.
They were both in a tumult of confused emotion.
Their ears were full of the roaring passion of life,
and their eyes were blinded by a spray of tears and
that strange quivering laughter which burns with real
pain. They hurried along the pavement to the
" Spread Eagle," Meg clinging to him, running, clasp-
ing her lace scarf over her white frock, like a scared
white butterfly shaken through the night We hardly
spoke as the horse was being harnessed and the lamps
lighted. In the little smoke, room he drank several
whiskies, she sipping out of his glass, standing all the
time ready to go. He pushed into his pocket great
pieces of bread and cheese, to eat on the way home.
He seemed now to be thinking with much acuteness.
His few orders were given sharp and terse. He
hired an extra light rug in which to wrap Meg, and
then we were ready.
" Who drives ? " said I.
He looked at me and smiled faintly.
" You," he answered.
Meg, like an impatient white flame stood waiting
in the light of the lamps. He covered her, extin-
guished her in the dark rug.
CHAPTER II
PUFFS OF WIND IN THE SATL
The year burst into glory to usher us forth out of
the valley of Nethercnere. The cherry trees had been
gorgeous with heavy out-reaching boughs of red and
gold. Immense vegetable marrows lay prostrate in
the bottom garden, their great tentacles clutching the
pond bank. Against the wall the globed crimson
plums hung close together, and dropped occasionally
with a satisfied plunge into the rhubarb leaves. The
crop of oats was very heavy. The stalks of corn were
like strong reeds of bamboo ; the heads of grain swept
heavily over like tresses weighted with drops of gold.
George spent his time between the Mill and the
Ram. The grandmother had received them with
much grumbling but with real gladness. Meg was
re-installed, and George slept at the Ram. He was
extraordinarily bright, almost gay. The fact was
that his new life interested and pleased him keenly.
He often talked to me about Meg, how quaint and
naive she was, how she amused him and delighted him.
He rejoiced in having a place of his own, a home, and
a beautiful wife who adored him. Then the public-
house was full of strangeness and interest. No hour
was ever dull. If he wanted company he could go into
the smoke-room, if he wanted quiet he could sit with
Meg, and she was such a treat, so soft and warm, and
380
PUFFS OF WIND IN SAIL 381
so amusing. He was always laughing at her quaint
crude notions, and at her queer little turns of speech.
She talked to him with a little language, she sat on
his knee and twisted his mustache, finding small
unreal fault with his features for the delight of
dwelling upon them. He was, he said, incredibly
happy. Keally he could not believe it. Meg was,
ah ! she was a treat. Then he would laugh, thinking
how indifferent he had been about taking her. A
little shadow might cross his eyes, but he would laugh
again, and tell me one of his wife's funny little
notions. She was quite uneducated, and such fun,
he said. I looked at him as he sounded this note.
I remembered his crude superiority of early days,
which had angered Emily so deeply. There was in
him something of the prig. I did not like his amused
indulgence of his wife.
At threshing day, when I worked for the last time
at the Mill, I noticed the new tendency in him. The
Saxtons had always kept up a certain proud reserve.
In former years, the family had moved into the par-
lour on threshing day, and an extra woman had been
hired to wait on the men who came with the machine.
This time George suggested : " Let us have dinner
with the men in the kitchen, Cyril. They are a rum
gang. It's rather good sport mixing with them.
They've seen a bit of life, and I like to hear them,
they're so blunt. They're good studies though."
The farmer sat at the head of the table. The seven
men trooped in, very sheepish, and took their places.
They had not much to say at first. They were a
mixed set, some rather small, young, and furtive look-
ing, some unshapely and coarse, with unpleasant eyes,
382 THE WHITE PEACOCK
the eyelids slack. There was one man whom we
called the Parrot, because he had a hooked nose, and
put forward his head as he talked. He had been a
very large man, but he was grey, and bending at the
shoulders. His face was pale and fleshy, and his
eyes seemed dull sighted.
George patronised the men, and they did not ob-
ject. He chaffed them, making a good deal of
demonstration in giving them more beer. He invited
them to pass up their plates, called the woman to bring
more bread and altogether played mine host of a feast
of beggars. The Parrot ate very slowly.
" Come Dad," said George " you're not getting on.
Not got many grinders ? "
" What Fve got's in th' road. Is'll 'ae ter get em
out. I can manage wi' bare gums, like a baby again."
" Second childhood, eh % Ah well, we must all
come to it," George laughed.
The old man lifted his head and looked at him,
and said slowly :
" You'n got ter ower th' first afore that."
George laughed, unperturbed. Evidently he was
well used to the thrusts of the public-house.
" I suppose you soon got over yours," he said.
The old man raised himself and his eyes flickered
into life. He chewed slowly, then said :
" I'd married, an' paid for it ; I'd broke a con-
stable's jaw an' paid for it; I'd deserted from the
army, an' paid for that : I'd had a bullet through my
cheek in India atop of it all, by I was your age."
" Oh ! " said George, with condescending interest,
" you've seen a bit of life then % "
They drew the old man out, and he told them, in
PUFFS OF WIND IN SAIL 383
his slow, laconic fashion, a few brutal stories. They
laughed and chaffed him. George seemed to have a
thirst for tales of brutal experience, the raw gin of
life. He drank it all in with relish, enjoying the
sensation. The dinner was over. It was time to go
out again to work.
" And how old are you, Dad ? " George asked.
The Parrot looked at him again with his heavy, tired,
ironic eyes, and answered:
" If you'll be any better for knowing — sixty-four."
" It's a bit rough on you, isn't it," continued the
young man, " going round with the threshing machine
and sleeping outdoors at that time of life ? I should
'a thought you'd 'a wanted a bit o' comfort "
" How do you mean, ' rough on me ' ? " the Parrot
replied slowly.
" Oh, I think you know what I mean," answered
George easily.
" Don't know as I do," said the slow old Parrot.
" Well, you haven't made exactly a good thing out
of life, have you ? "
" What d'you mean by a good thing ? I've had
my life, an' I'm satisfied wi' it. Is'll die with a
full belly."
" Oh, so you have saved a bit ? "
" No," said the old man deliberately, " I've spent
as I've gone on. An' I've had all I wish for. But
I pity the angels, when the Lord sets me before them
like a book to read. Heaven won't be heaven just
then."
" You're a philosopher in your way," laughed
George.
" And you," replied the old man, " toddling about
384 THE WHITE PEACOCK
your back-yard, think yourself mighty wise. But
your wisdom '11 go with your teeth. You'll learn in
time to say nothing."
The old man went out and began his work, carry-
ing the sacks of corn from the machine to the cham-
ber.
" There's a lot in the old Parrot," said George, " as
he'll never tell."
I laughed.
" He makes you feel, as well, as if you'd a lot to
discover in life," he continued, looking thoughtfully
over the dusty straw-stack at the chuffing machine.
After the harvest was ended the father began to
deplete his farm. Most of the stock was transferred
to the " Ram." George was going to take over his
father's milk business, and was going to farm enough
of the land attaching to the Inn to support nine or
ten cows. Until the spring, however, Mr. Saxton
retained his own milk round, and worked at improv-
ing the condition of the land ready for the valuation.
George, with three cows, started a little milk supply
in the neighbourhood of the Inn, prepared his land
for the summer, and helped in the public-house.
Emily was the first to depart finally from the Mill.
She went to a school in Nottingham, and shortly after-
wards Mollie, her younger sister, went to her. In
October I moved to London. Lettie and Leslie were
settled in their home in Brentwood, Yorkshire. We
all felt very keenly our exile from Nethermere. But
as yet the bonds were not broken; only use could
sever them. Christmas brought us all home again,
hastening to greet each other. There was a slight
PUFFS OF WIND IN SAIL 385
change in everybody. Lettie was brighter, more im-
perious, and very gay; Emily was quiet, self -re-
strained, and looked happier; Leslie was jollier and
at the same time more subdued and earnest ; George
looked very healthy and happy, and sounded well
pleased with himself ; my mother with her gaiety at
our return brought tears to our eyes.
We dined one evening at Highclose with the Tem-
pests. It was dull as usual, and we left before ten
o'clock. Lettie had changed her shoes and put on a
fine cloak of greenish blue. We walked over the
frost-bound road. The ice on Nethermere gleamed
mysteriously in the moonlight, and uttered strange
half-audible whoops and yelps. The moon was very
high in the sky, small and brilliant like a vial full
of the pure white liquid of light. There was no
sound in the night save the haunting movement of
the ice, and the clear tinkle of Lettie' s laughter.
On the drive leading to the wood we saw someone
approaching. The wild grass was grey on either
side, the thorn trees stood with shaggy black beards
sweeping down, the pine trees were erect like dark
soldiers. The black shape of the man drew near,
with a shadow running at its feet. I recognised
George, obscured as he was in his cap and his up-
turned collar. Lettie was in front with her hus-
band. As George was passing, she said, in bright
clear tones:
" A Happy New Year to you."
He stopped, swung round, and laughed.
" I thought you wouldn't have known me," he
said.
" What, is it you George ? " cried Lettie in great
386 THE WHITE PEACOCK
surprise — "Now, what a joke! How are you?" —
she put out her white hand from her draperies.
He took it, and answered, " I am very well — and
you — ? " However meaningless the words were, the
tone was curiously friendly, intimate, informal.
" As you see," she replied laughing, interested in
his attitude — " but where are you going I "
" I am going home," he answered, in a voice that
meant " have you forgotten that I too am married ? "
" Oh, of course ! " cried Lettie. " You are now
mine host of the Ram. You must tell me about it.
May I ask him to come home with us for an hour,
mother? — It is New Year's Eve, you know."
" You have asked him already," laughed mother.
" Will Mrs. Saxton spare you for so long ? " asked
Lettie of George.
" Meg ? Oh, she does not order my comings and
goings."
" Does she not ? " laughed Lettie. " She is very
unwise. Train up a husband in the way he should
go, and in after life . I never could quote a text
from end to end. I am full of beginnings, but as for
a finish ! Leslie, my shoe-lace is untied — shall
I wait till I can put my foot on the fence ? "
Leslie knelt down at her feet. She shook the hood
back from her head, and her ornaments sparkled in
the moonlight. Her face with its whiteness and its
shadows was full of fascination, and in their dark
recesses her eyes thrilled George with hidden magic.
She smiled at him along her cheeks while her hus-
band crouched before her. Then, as the three
walked along towards the wood she flung her draper-
ies into loose eloquence and there was a glimpse of
PUFFS OF WIND IN SAIL 387
her bosom white with the moon. She laughed and
chattered, and shook her silken stuffs, sending out a
perfume exquisite on the frosted air. When we
reached the house Lettie dropped her draperies and
rustled into the drawing-room. There the lamp was
low-lit, shedding a yellow twilight from the window
space. Lettie stood between the firelight and the
dusky lamp glow, tall and warm between the lights.
As she turned laughing to the two men, she let her
cloak slide over her white shoulder and fall with silk
splendour of a peacock's gorgeous blue over the arm
of the large settee. There she stood, with her white
hand upon the peacock of her cloak, where it tum-
bled against her dull orange dress. She knew her
own splendour, and she drew up her throat laughing
and brilliant with triumph. Then she raised both
her arms to her head and remained for a moment
delicately touching her hair into order, still fronting
the two men. Then with a final little laugh she
moved slowly and turned up the lamp, dispelling
some of the witchcraft from the room. She had de-
veloped strangely in six months. She seemed to
have discovered the wonderful charm of her woman-
hood. As she leaned forward with her arm out-
stretched to the lamp, as she delicately adjusted the
wicks with mysterious fingers, she seemed to be mov-
ing in some alluring figure of a dance, her hair like
a nimbus clouding the light, her bosom lit with won-
der. The soft outstretching of her hand was like
the whispering of strange words into the blood, and
as she fingered a book the heart watched silently
for the meaning.
" Won't you take off my shoes, darling ? " she said,
388 THE WHITE PEACOCK
sinking among the cushions of the settee. Leslie
kneeled again before her, and she bent her head and
watched him.
" My feet are a tiny bit cold," she said, plain-
tively, giving him her foot, that seemed like gold in
the yellow silk stocking. He took it between his
hands, stroking it:
" It is quite cold," he said, and he held both he*
feet in his hands.
" Ah, you dear boy ! " she cried with sudden
gentleness, bending forward and touching his
cheek.
" Is it great fun being mine host of i Ye Kamme
Inne ? ' " she said, playfully to George. There
seemed a long distance between them now as she sat,
with the man in evening dress crouching before her
putting golden shoes on her feet.
" It is rather," he replied, " the men in the smoke
room say such rum things. My word, you hear some
tales there."
"Tell us, do!" she pleaded.
" Oh ! I couldn't. I never could tell a tale, and
even if I could — well ."
" But I do long to hear," she said, " what the men
say in the smoke room of ' Ye Eamme Inne.' Is it
quite untellable ? "
"Quite! "he laughed.
" What a pity ! See what a cruel thing it is to be
a woman, Leslie: we never know what men say in
smoke rooms, while you read in your novels every-
thing a woman ever uttered. It is a shame ! George,
you are a wretch, you should tell me. I do envy
you ."
PUFFS OF WIND IN SAIL 389
" What do you envy me, exactly ? " lie asked
laughing always at her whimsical way.
" Your smoke room. The way you see life — or
the way you hear it, rather."
" But I should have thought you saw life ten
times more than me," he replied.
" I ! I only see manners — good manners and bad
manners. You know i manners maketh a man.'
That's when a woman's there. But you wait awhile,
you'll see."
" When shall I see ? " asked George, flattered and
interested.
" When you have made the fortune you talked
about," she replied.
He was uplifted by her remembering the things
he had said.
" But when I have made it — when ! " — he said
sceptically, — " even then — well, I shall only be, or
have been, landlord of ' Ye Ramme Inne.' " He
looked at her, waiting for her to lift up his hopes
with her gay balloons.
" Oh, that doesn't matter ! Leslie might be land-
lord of some Ram Inn when he's at home, for
all anybody would know — mightn't you, hubby,
dear?"
" Thanks ! " replied Leslie, with good humoured
sarcasm.
" You can't tell a publican from a peer, if he's a
rich publican," she continued. " Money maketh the
man, you know."
" Plus manners," added George, laughing.
" Oh they are always there — where I am. I give
you ten years. At the end of that time you must
390 THE WHITE PEACOCK
invite us to your swell place — say the Hall at Eber-
wich — and we will come — ' with all our numerous
array.' "
She sat among her cushions smiling upon him.
She was half ironical, half sincere. He smiled back
at her, his dark eyes full of trembling hope, and
pleasure, and pride.
" How is Meg ? " she asked. " Is she as charming
as ever — or have you spoiled her ? "
" Oh, she is as charming as ever," he replied.
" And we are tremendously fond of one another."
" That is right ! — I do think men are delightful,"
she added, smiling.
" I am glad you think so," he laughed.
They talked on brightly about a thousand things.
She touched on Paris, and pictures, and new music,
with her quick chatter, sounding to George wonder-
ful in her culture and facility. And at last he said
he must go.
" Not until you have eaten a biscuit, and drunk
good luck with me," she cried, catching her dress
about her like a dim flame and running out of the
room. We all drank to the New Year in the cold
champagne.
" To the Vita Nuova! " said Lettie, and we drank
smiling :
" Hark ! " said George, " the hooters."
We stood still and listened. There was a faint
booing noise far away outside. It was midnight.
Lettie caught up a wrap and we went to the door.
The wood, the ice, the grey dim hills lay frozen in
the light of the moon. But outside the valley, far
away in Derbyshire, away towards Nottingham, on
PUFFS OF WIND IN SAIL 391
every hand the distant hooters and buzzers of mines
and ironworks crowed small on the borders of the
night, like so many strange, low voices of cockerels
bursting forth at different pitch, with different tone,
warning us of the dawn of the New Year.
CHAPTER III
THE FIRST PAGES OF SEVERAL ROMANCES
I found a good deal of difference in Leslie since his
marriage. He had lost his assertive self-confidence.
He no longer pronounced emphatically and ulti-
mately on every subject, nor did he seek to dominate,
as he had always done, the company in which he
found himself. I was surprised to see him so
courteous and attentive to George. He moved un-
obtrusively about the room while Lettie was chatter-
ing, and in his demeanour there was a new reserve,
a gentleness and grace. It was charming to see him
offering the cigarettes to George, or, with beautiful
tact, asking with his eyes only whether he should re-
fill the glass of his guest, and afterward replacing it
softly close to the other's hand.
To Lettie he was unfailingly attentive, courteous,
and undemonstrative.
Towards the end of my holiday he had to go to
London on business, and we agreed to take the jour-
ney together. We must leave Woodside soon after
eight o'clock in the morning. Lettie and he had
separate rooms. I thought she would not have risen
to take breakfast with us, but at a quarter-past seven,
just as Rebecca was bringing in the coffee, she came
downstairs. She wore a blue morning gown, and
her hair was as beautifully dressed as usual.
392
SEVERAL ROMANCES S93
" Why, my darling, you shouldn't have troubled to
come down so early," said Leslie, as he kissed her.
" Of course, I should come down," she replied,
lifting back the heavy curtains and looking out on
the snow where the darkness was wilting into day-
light. " I should not let you go away into the cold
without having seen you take a good breakfast. I
think it is thawing. The snow on the rhododendrons
looks sodden and drooping. Ah, well, we can keep
out the dismal of the morning for another hour."
She glanced at the clock — "just an hour!" she
added. He turned to her with a swift tenderness.
She smiled to him, and sat down at the coffee-maker.
We took our places at table.
" I think I shall come back to-night," he said
quietly, almost appealingly.
She watched the flow of the coffee before she an-
swered. Then the brass urn swung back, and she
lifted her face to hand him the cup.
" You will not do anything so foolish, Leslie,"
she said calmly.
He took his cup, thanking her, and bent his face
over the fragrant steam.
" I can easily catch the 7:15 from St. Pancras,"
he replied, without looking up.
" Have I sweetened to your liking Cyril ? " she
asked, and then, as she stirred her coffee she added,
"It is ridiculous Leslie! You catch the 7.15 and
very probably miss the connection at Nottingham.
You can't have the motor-car there, because of the
roads. Besides, it is absurd to come toiling home
in the cold slushy night when you may just as well
stay in London and be comfortable."
394 THE WHITE PEACOCK
" At any rate I should get the 10.30 down to Law-
ton Hill," he urged.
" But there is no need," she replied, " there is not
the faintest need for you to come home to-night. It
is really absurd of you. Think of all the discomfort !
Indeed I should not want to come trailing dismally
home at midnight, I should not indeed. You would
be simply wretched. Stay and have a jolly evening
with Cyril."
He kept his head bent over his plate and
did not reply. His persistence irritated her
slightly.
" That is what you can do ! " she said. " Go to
the pantomime. Or wait — go to Maeterlinck's * Blue
Bird/ I am sure that is on somewhere. I wonder if
Rebecca has destroyed yesterday's paper. Do you
mind touching the bell, Cyril ? " Rebecca came, and
the paper was discovered. Lettie carefully read the
notices, and planned for us with zest a delightful
programme for the evening. Leslie listened to it all
in silence.
When the time had come for our departure Lettie
came with us into the hall to see that we were well
wrapped up. Leslie had spoken very few words.
She was conscious that he was deeply offended, but
her manner was quite calm, and she petted us both
brightly.
" Good-bye dear ! " she said to him, when he came
mutely to kiss her. " You know it would have been
miserable for you to sit all those hours in the train
at night. You will have ever such a jolly time. I
know you will. I shall look for you to-morrow.
Good-bye, then, Good-bye ! "
SEVERAL ROMANCES 395
He went down the steps and into the car with-
out looking at her. She waited in the doorway as
we moved round. In the black-grey morning she
seemed to harbour the glittering blue sky and the
sunshine of March in her dress and her luxuriant
hair. He did not look at her till we were curving to
the great, snow-cumbered rhododendrons, when, at
the last moment he stood up in a sudden panic to
wave to her. Almost as he saw her the bushes came
between them and he dropped dejectedly into his
seat.
" Good-bye ! " we heard her call cheerfully and
tenderly like a blackbird.
" Good-bye ! " I answered, and : " Good-bye Dar-
ling, Good-bye ! " he cried, suddenly starting up in
a passion of forgiveness and tenderness.
The car went cautiously down the soddened white
path, under the trees.
I suffered acutely the sickness of exile in Nor-
wood. For weeks I wandered the streets of the
suburb, haunted by the spirit of some part of Neth-
ermere. As I went along the quiet roads where the
lamps in yellow loneliness stood among the leafless
trees of the night I would feel the feeling of the
dark, wet bit of path between the wood meadow and
the brooks. The spirit of that wild little slope to the
Mill would come upon me, and there in the suburb
of London I would walk wrapt in the sense of a
small wet place in the valley of Nethermere. A
strange voice within me rose and called for the hill
path; again I could feel the wood waiting for me,
calling and calling, and I crying for the wood, yet
the space of many miles was between us. Since I
396 THE WHITE PEACOCK
left the valley of home I have not much feared any-
other loss. The hills of Nethermere had been my
walls, and the sky of Nethermere my roof overhead.
It seemed almost as if, at home, I might lift my
hand to the ceiling of the valley, and touch my own
beloved sky, whose familiar clouds came again and
again to visit me, whose stars were constant to me,
born when I was born, whose sun had been all my
father to me. But now the skies were strange over
my head, and Orion walked past me unnoticing, he
who night after night had stood over the woods to
spend with me a wonderful hour. When does day
now lift up the confines of my dwelling place, when
does the night throw open her vastness for me, and
send me the stars for company ? There is no night
in a city. How can I lose myself in the magnificent
forest of darkness when night is only a thin scatter-
ing of the trees of shadow with barrenness of lights
between !
I could never lift my eyes save to the Crystal
Palace, crouching, cowering wretchedly among the
yellow-grey clouds, pricking up its two round towers
like pillars of anxious misery. No landmark could
have been more foreign to me, more depressing, than
the great dilapidated palace which lay forever pros-
trate above us, fretting because of its own degrada-
tion and ruin.
I watched the buds coming on the brown almond
trees ; I heard the blackbirds, and I saw the restless
starlings ; in the streets were many heaps of violets,
and men held forward to me snowdrops whose white
mute lips were pushed upwards in a bunch : but these
things had no meaning for me, and little interest.
SEVERAL ROMANCES 397
Most eagerly I waited for my letters. Emily wrote
to me very constantly:
" Don't you find it quite exhilarating, almost in-
toxicating, to be so free ? I think it is quite wonder-
ful. At home you cannot live your own life. You
have to struggle to keep even a little apart for your-
self. It is so hard to stand aloof from our mothers,
and yet they are only hurt and insulted if you tell
them what is in your heart. It is such a relief not
to have to be anything to anybody, but just to please
yourself. I am sure mother and I have suffered a
great deal from trying to keep up our old relations.
Yet she would not let me go. When I come home
in the evening and think that I needn't say anything
to anybody, nor do anything for anybody, but just
have the evening for myself, I am overjoyed.
" I have begun to write a story "
Again, a little later, she wrote :
" As I go to school by Old Brayford village in the
morning the birds are thrilling wonderfully and
everything seems stirring. Very likely there will be
a set-back, and after that spring will come in truth.
" When shall you come and see me ? I cannot
think of a spring without you. The railways are the
only fine exciting things here — one is only a few
yards away from school. All day long I am watch-
ing the great Midland trains go south. They are
very lucky to be able to rush southward through the
sunshine.
" The crows are very interesting. They flap past
all the time we're out in the yard. The railways and
the crows make the charm of my life in Brayford.
The other day I saw no end of pairs of crows. Do
398 THE WHITE PEACOCK
you remember what they say at home ? — ' One for
sorrow.' Very often one solitary creature sits on the
telegraph wires. I almost hate him when I look at
him. I think my badge for life ought to be — one
crow ."
Again, a little later:
" I have been home for the week-end. Isn't it
nice to be made much of, to be an important cher-
ished person for a little time ? It is quite a new ex-
perience for me.
" The snowdrops are full out among the grass in
the front garden — and such a lot. I imagined you
must come in the sunshine of the Sunday afternoon
to see them. It did not seem possible you should not.
The winter aconites are out along the hedge. I knelt
and kissed them. I have been so glad to go away, to
breathe the free air of life, but I felt as if I could
not come away from the aconites. I have sent you
some — are they much withered ?
" Now I am in my lodgings, I have the quite un-
usual feeling of being contented to stay here a little
while — not long — not above a year, I am sure. But
even to be contented for a little while is enough for
me ."
In the beginning of March I had a letter from the
father :
" You'll not see us again in the old place. We
shall be gone in a fortnight. The things are most of
them gone already. George has got Bob and Flower.
I have sold three of the cows, Stafford, and Julia
and Hannah. The place looks very empty. I don't
like going past the cowsheds, and we miss hearing
the horses stamp at night. But I shall not be sorry
SEVERAL ROMANCES 399
when we have really gone. I begin to feel as if we'd
stagnated here. I begin to feel as if I was settling
and getting narrow and dull. It will be a new lease
of life to get away.
" But I'm wondering how we shall be over there.
Mrs. Saxton feels very nervous about going. But at
the worst we can but come back. I feel as if I must
go somewhere, it's stagnation and starvation for us
here. I wish George would come with me. I never
thought he would have taken to public-house keep-
ing, but he seems to like it all right. He was down
with Meg on Sunday. Mrs. Saxton says he's getting
a public-house tone. He is certainly much livelier,
more full of talk than he was. Meg and he seem
very comfortable, I'm glad to say. He's got a good
milk-round, and I've no doubt but what he'll do well.
He is very cautious at the bottom; he'll never lose
much if he never makes much.
" Sam and David are very great friends. I'm glad
I've got the boy. We often talk of you. It would be
very lonely if it wasn't for the excitement of selling
things and so on. Mrs. Saxton hopes you will stick
by George. She worries a bit about him, thinking
he may go wrong. I don't think he will ever go far.
But I should be glad to know you were keeping
friends. Mrs. Saxton says she will write to you
about it ."
George was a very poor correspondent. I soon
ceased to expect a letter from him. I received one
directly after the Father's.
" My Dear Cyril,
" Forgive me for not having written you before,
but you see, I cannot sit down and write to you any
400 THE WHITE PEACOCK
time. If I cannot do it just when I am in the mood,
I cannot do it at all. And it so often happens that
the mood comes upon me when I am in the fields at
work, when it is impossible to write. Last night I
sat by myself in the kitchen on purpose to write to
you, and then I could not. All day, at Greymede,
when I was drilling in the fallow at the back of the
church, I had been thinking of you, and I could have
written there if I had had materials, but I had not,
and at night I could not.
" I am sorry to say that in my last letter I did not
thank you for the books. I have not read them both,
but I have nearly finished Evelyn Innes. I get a bit
tired of it towards the end. I do not do much read-
ing now. There seems to be hardly any chance for
me, either somebody is crying for me in the smoke
room, or there is some business, or else Meg won't let
me. She doesn't like me to read at night, she says I
ought to talk to her, so I have to.
" It is half-past seven, and I am sitting ready
dressed to go and talk to Harry Jackson about a
young horse he wants to sell me. He is in pretty low
water, and it will make a pretty good horse. But I
don't care much whether I have it or not. The mood
seized me to write to you. Somehow at the bottom
I feel miserable and heavy, yet there is no need. I
am making pretty good money, and I've got all I
want. But when I've been ploughing and getting the
oats in those fields on the hillside at the back of
Greymede church, I've felt as if I didn't care whether
I got on or not. It's very funny. Last week I made
over five pounds clear, one way and another, and yet
now I'm as restless, and discontented as I can be, and
SEVERAL ROMANCES 401
I seem eager for something, but I don't know what it
is. Sometimes I wonder where I am going. Yes-
terday I watched broken white masses of cloud sail-
ing across the sky in a fresh strong wind. They all
seemed to be going somewhere. I wondered where
the wind was blowing them. I don't seem to have
hold on anything, do I? Can you tell me what I
want at the bottom of my heart? I wish you were
here, then I think I should not feel like this. But
generally I don't, generally I am quite jolly, and
busy.
" By jove, here's Harry Jackson come for me. I
will finish this letter when I get back.
" 1 have got back, we have turned out, but I
cannot finish. I cannot tell you all about it. I've
had a little row with Meg. Oh, I've had a rotten
time. But I cannot tell you about it to-night, it is
late, and I am tired, and have a headache. Some
other time perhaps George Saxton."
The spring came bravely, even in south London,
and the town was filled with magic. I never knew
the sumptuous purple of evening till I saw the round
arc-lamps fill with light, and roll like golden bubbles
along the purple dusk of the high road. Everywhere
at night the city is filled with the magic of lamps:
over the river they pour in golden patches their float-
ing luminous oil on the restless darkness ; the bright
lamps float in and out of the cavern of London
Bridge Station like round shining bees in and out of
a black hive ; in the suburbs the street lamps glimmer
with the brightness of lemons among the trees. I
began to love the town.
402 THE WHITE PEACOCK
In the mornings I loved to move in the aimless
street's procession, watching the faces come near to
me, with the sudden glance of dark eyes, watching
the mouths of the women blossom with talk as they
passed, watching the subtle movements of the shoul-
ders of men beneath their coats, and the naked
warmth of their necks that went glowing along the
street. I loved the city intensely for its movement
of men and women, the soft, fascinating flow of the
limbs of men and women, and the sudden flash of
eyes and lips as they pass. Among all the faces of
the street my attention roved like a bee which clam-
bers drunkenly among blue flowers. I became in-
toxicated with the strange nectar which I sipped out
of the eyes of the passers-by.
I did not know how time was hastening by on still
bright wings, till I saw the scarlet hawthorn flaunt-
ing over the road, and the lime-buds lit up like wine
drops in the sun, and the pink scarves of the lime-
buds pretty as louse-wort a-blossom in the gutters,
and a silver-pink tangle of almond boughs against
the blue sky. The lilacs came out, and in the pen-
sive stillness of the suburb, at night, came the deli-
cious tarry scent of lilac flowers, wakening a silent
laughter of romance.
Across all this, strangely, came the bleak sounds
of home. Alice wrote to me at the end of May :
" Cyril dear, prepare yourself. Meg has got twins
— yesterday. I went up to see how she was this
afternoon, not knowing anything, and there I found
a pair of bubs in the nest, and old ma Stainwright
bossing the show. I nearly fainted. Sybil dear, I
hardly knew whether to laugh or to cry when I saw
SEVERAL ROMANCES 403
those two rummy little round heads, like two larch
cones cheek by cheek on a twig. One is a darkie,
with lots of black hair, and the other is red, would
you believe it, just lit up with thin red hair like a
flicker of firelight I gasped. I believe I did shed
a few tears, though what for, I don't know.
" The old grandma is a perfect old wretch over it.
She lies chuckling and passing audible remarks in
the next room, as pleased as punch really, but so mad
because ma Stainwright wouldn't have them taken in
to her. You should have heard her when we took
them in at last. They are both boys. She did make
a fuss, poor old woman. I think she's going a bit
funny in the head. She seemed sometimes to think
they were hers, and you should have heard her, the
way she talked to them, it made me feel quite funny.
She wanted them lying against her on the pillow, so
that she could feel them with her face. I shed a few
more tears, Sybil. I think I must be going dotty
also. But she came round when we took them away,
and began to chuckle to herself, and talk about
the things she'd say to George when he came —
awful shocking things, Sybil, made me blush dread-
fully.
" Georgie didn't know about it then. He was
down at Bingham, buying some horses, I believe.
He seems to have got a craze for buying horses. He
got in with Harry Jackson and Mayhew's sons — you
know, they were horse dealers — at least their father
was. You remember he died bankrupt about three
years ago. There are Fred and Duncan left, and
they pretend to keep on the old business. They are
always up at the Kam, and Georgie is always driv-
404 THE WHITE PEACOCK
ing about with them. I don't like it — they are a
loose lot, rather common, and poor enough now.
" Well, I thought I'd wait and see Georgie. He
came about half-past five. Meg had been fidgeting
about him, wondering where he was, and how he was,
and so on. Bless me if I'd worry and whittle about
a man. The old grandma heard the cart, and before
he could get down she shouted — you know her room
is in the front — c Hi', George, ma lad, sharpen thy
shins an' com' an' a'e a look at 'em — theeVs two on
'em, two on 'em ! ' and she laughed something awful.
" i 'Ello Granma, what art ter shoutin' about I '
he said, and at the sound of his voice Meg turned to
me so pitiful, and said :
" * He's been wi' them Mayhews.'
" l Tha's gotten twins, a couple at a go ma lad ! '
shouted the old woman, and you know how she gives
squeal before she laughs ! She made the horse shy,
and he swore at it something awful. Then Bill took
it, and Georgie came upstairs. I saw Meg seem to
shrink when she heard him kick at the stairs as he
came up, and she went white. When he got to the
top he came in. He fairly reeked of whisky and
horses. Bah, a man is hateful when he reeks of
drink ! He stood by the side of the bed grinning like
a fool, and saying, quite thick i
11 ' You've bin in a bit of a 'urry, 'aven't you Meg.
An' how are ter f eelin' then ? '
" ' Oh, I'm a' right/ said Meg.
" ' Is it twins, straight ? ' he said, * wheer is 'em ? '
" Meg looked over at the cradle, and he went round
the bed to it, holding to the bed-rail. He had never
kissed her, nor anything. When he saw the twins,
SEVERAL ROMANCES 405
asleep with their fists shut tight as wax, he gave a
laugh as if he was amused, and said:
" ' Two right enough — an' one on 'em red ! Which
is the girl, Meg, the black un ? '
" ' They're both boys/ said Meg, quite timidly.
" He turned round, and his eyes went little.
" ' Blast 'em then ! ' he said. He stood there look-
ing like a devil. Sybil dear, I did not know our
George could look like that. I thought he could only
look like a faithful dog or a wounded stag. But he
looked fiendish. He stood watching the poor little
twins, scowling at them, till at last the little red one
began to whine a bit. Ma Stainwright came push-
ing her fat carcass in front of him and bent over the
baby, saying:
" ' Why, my pretty, what are they doin' to thee,
what are they ? — what are they doin' to thee ? '
" Georgie scowled blacker than ever, and went out,
lurching against the wash-stand and making the pots
rattle till my heart jumped in my throat.
" ' Well, if you don't call that scandylos ! '
said old Ma Stainwright, and Meg began to cry. You
don't know, Cyril ! She sobbed fit to break her heart.
I felt as if I could have killed him.
" That old gran'ma began talking to him, and he
laughed at her. I do hate to hear a man laugh when
he's half drunk. It makes my blood boil all of a
sudden. That old grandmother backs him up in
everything, she's a regular nuisance. Meg has cried
to me before over the pair of them. The wicked, vul-
gar old thing that she is "
I went home to Woodside early in September.
Emily was staying at the Ram. It was strange that
406 THE WHITE PEACOCK
everything was so different. Eethermere even had
changed. Eethermere was no longer a complete,
wonderful little world that held us charmed inhabi-
tants. It was a small, insignificant valley lost in the
spaces of the earth. The tree that had drooped over
the brook with such delightful, romantic grace was
a ridiculous thing when I came home after a year of
absence in the south. The old symbols were trite
and foolish.
Emily and I went down one morning to Strelley
Mill. The house was occupied by a labourer and his
wife, strangers from the north. He was tall, very
thin, and silent, strangely suggesting kinship with
the rats of the place. She was small and very active,
like some ragged domestic fowl run wild. Already
Emily had visited her, so she invited us into the
kitchen of the mill, and set forward the chairs for
us. The large room had the barren air of a cell.
There was a small table stranded towards the fire-
place, and a few chairs by the walls; for the rest,
desert spaces of flagged floor retreating into shadow.
On the walls by the windows were ^Lve cages of cana-
ries, and the small sharp movements of the birds
made the room more strange in its desolation. When
we began to talk the birds began to sing, till we were
quite bewildered, for the little woman spoke Glasgow
Scotch, and she had a hare lip. She rose and ran
toward the cages, crying herself like some wild fowl,
and flapping a duster at the warbling canaries.
" Stop it, stop it ! " she cried, shaking her thin
weird body at them. " Silly little devils, fools, fools,
fools ! ! " and she flapped the duster till the birds
were subdued. Then she brought us delicious scones
SEVERAL ROMANCES 407
and apple jelly, urging us, almost nudging us with
her thin elbows to make us eat.
" Don't you like 'em, don't you ? Well eat 'em,
eat 'em then. Go on Emily, go on, eat some more.
Only don't tell Tom — don't tell Tom when 'e comes
in," — she shook her head and laughed her shrilling,
weird laughter.
As we were going she came out with us, and went
running on in front. We could not help noting how
ragged and unkempt was her short black skirt. But
she hastened around us, hither and thither like an
excited fowl, talking in her high-pitched, unintelligi-
ble manner. I could not believe the brooding mill
was in her charge. I could not think this was the
Strelley Mill of a year ago. She fluttered up the
steep orchard bank in front of us. Happening to
turn round and see Emily and me smiling at each
other she began to laugh her strident, weird laughter
saying, with a leer :
" Emily, he's your sweetheart, your sweetheart
Emily ! You never told me ! " and she laughed
aloud.
We blushed furiously. She came away from the
edge of the sluice gully, nearer to us, crying :
" You've been here o' nights, haven't you Emily —
haven't you ? " and she laughed again. Then she sat
down suddenly, and pointing above our heads,
shrieked :
" Ah, look there ! " — we looked and saw the mis-
tletoe. " Look at her, look at her ! How many kisses
a night, Emily? — Ha! Ha! kisses all the year!
Kisses o' nights in a lonely place."
She went on wildly for a short time, then she
408 THE WHITE PEACOCK
dropped her voice and talked in low, pathetic tones.
She pressed on us scones and jelly and oat-cakes, and
we left her.
When we were out on the road by the brook Emily
looked at me with shamefaced, laughing eyes. I no-
ticed a small movement of her lips, and in an instant
I found myself kissing her, laughing with some of
the little woman's wildness.
CHAPTEK IV
DOMESTIC LIFE AT THE BAM
George was very anxious to receive me at his home.
The Earn had as yet only a six days licence, so on
Sunday afternoon I walked over to tea. It was very
warm and still and sunny as I came through Grey-
mede. A few sweethearts were sauntering under the
horse-chestnut trees, or crossing the road to go into
the fields that lay smoothly carpeted after the hay-
harvest.
As I came round the flagged track to the kitchen
door of the Inn I heard the slur of a baking tin and
the bang of the oven door, and Meg, saying crossly:
" No, don't you take him Emily — naughty little
thing ! Let his father hold him ! "
One of the babies was crying.
I entered, and found Meg all flushed and untidy,
wearing a large white apron, just rising from the
oven. Emily, in a cream dress, was taking a red-
haired, crying baby from out of the cradle. George
sat in the small arm-chair, smoking and looking
cross.
" I can't shake hands," said Meg, rather flurried.
" I am all floury. Sit down, will you " and she
hurried out of the room. Emily looked up from the
complaining baby to me, and smiled a woman's rare,
intimate smile, which says : " See, I am engaged thus
409
410 THE WHITE PEACOCK
for a moment, but I keep my heart for you all the
time."
George rose and offered me the round arm-chair.
It was the highest honour he could do me. He asked
me what I would drink. When I refused every-
thing, he sat down heavily on the sofa, frowning, and
angrily cudgelling his wits for something to say —
in vain.
The room was large and comfortably furnished
with rush-chairs, a glass-knobbed dresser, a cupboard
with glass doors, perched on a shelf in the corner,
and the usual large sofa whose cosy loose-bed and
pillows were covered with red cotton stuff. There
was a peculiar reminiscence of victuals and drink
in the room; beer, and a touch of spirits, and bacon.
Teenie, the sullen, black-browed servant girl came
in carrying the other baby, and Meg called from the
scullery to ask her if the child were asleep. Meg
was evidently in a bustle and a flurry, a most uncom-
fortable state.
" No," replied Teenie, " he's not for sleep this
day."
" Mend the fire and see to the oven, and then put
him his frock on," replied Meg, testily. Teenie set
the black-haired baby in the second cradle. Imme-
diately he began to cry, or rather to shout his re-
monstrance. George went across to him and picked
up a white furry rabbit, which he held before the
child:
" Here, look at bun-bun ! Have your nice rab-
bit ! Hark at it squeaking ! "
The baby listened for a moment, then, deciding
that this was only a put-off, began to cry again.
DOMESTIC LIFE AT RAM 411
George threw down the rabbit and took the baby,
swearing inwardly. He dandled the child on his
knee.
"What's up then?— What's up wi' thee? Have
a ride then — dee-de-dee-de-dee ! "
But the baby knew quite well what was the father's
feeling towards him, and he continued to cry.
" Hurry up, Teenie ! " said George as the maid
rattled the coal on the fire. Emily was walking
about hushing her charge, and smiling at me, so
that I had a peculiar pleasure in gathering for my-
self the honey of endearment which she shed on the
lips of the baby. George handed over his child to
the maid, and said to me with patient sarcasm:
" Will you come in the garden ? "
I rose and followed him, across the sunny flagged
yard, along the path between the bushes. He lit his
pipe and sauntered along as a man on his own estate
does, feeling as if he were untrammeled by laws or
conventions.
" You know," he said, " she's a dam rotten man-
ager."
I laughed, and remarked how full of plums the
trees were.
" Yes ! " he replied heedlessly — " you know she
ought to have sent the girl out with the kids this
afternoon, and have got dressed directly. But no,
she must sit gossiping with Emily all the time they
were asleep, and then as soon as they wake up she
begins to make cake "
" I suppose she felt she'd enjoy a pleasant chat, all
quiet," I answered.
" But she knew quite well you were coming, and
412 THE WHITE PEACOCK
what it would be. But a woman's no dam fore-
sight."
" Nay, what does it matter ! " said I.
" Sunday's the only day we can have a bit of
peace, so she might keep 'em quiet then."
" I suppose it was the only time, too, that she
could have a quiet gossip," I replied.
" But you don't know," he said, " there seems to
be never a minute of freedom. Teenie sleeps in now,
and lives with us in the kitchen — Oswald as well —
so I never know what it is to have a moment private.
There doesn't seem a single spot anywhere where I
can sit quiet. It's the kids all day, and the kids all
night, and the servants, and then all the men in the
house — I sometimes feel as if I should like to get
away. I shall leave the pub as soon as I can — only
Meg doesn't want to."
" But if you leave the public-house — what then ? "
" I should like to get back on a farm. This is
no sort of a place, really, for farming. I've always
got some business on hand, there's a traveller to see,
or I've got to go to the brewers, or I've somebody to
look at a horse, or something. Your life's all
messed up. If I had a place of my own, and farmed
it in peaces "
" You'd be as miserable as you could be," I said.
" Perhaps so," he assented, in his old reflective
manner. " Perhaps so ! Anyhow, I needn't bother,
for I feel as if I never shall go back — to the land."
" Which means at the bottom of your heart you
don't intend to," I said laughing.
" Perhaps so ! " he again yielded. " You see I'm
'doing pretty well here — apart from the public-house :
DOMESTIC LIFE AT RAM 413
I always think that's Meg's. Come and look in the
stable. I've got a shire mare, and two nags: pretty
good. I went down to Melton Mowbray with Tom
Mayhew, to a chap they've had dealings with.
Tom's all right, and he knows how to buy, but he is
such a lazy careless devil, too lazy to be bothered
to sell "
George was evidently interested. As we went
round to the stables, Emily came out with the baby,
which was dressed in a new silk frock. She ad-
vanced, smiling to me with dark eyes :
" See, now he is good ! Doesn't he look pretty ? "
She held the baby for me to look at. I glanced at
it, but I was only conscious of the near warmth of
her cheek, and of the scent of her hair.
u Who is he like ? " I asked, looking up and find-
ing myself full in her eyes. The question was quite
irrelevant : her eyes spoke a whole clear message that
made my heart throb ; yet she answered.
" Who is he ? Why, nobody, of course ! But he
will be like father, don't you think ? "
The question drew my eyes to hers again, and
again we looked each other the strange intelligence
that made her flush and me breathe in as I smiled.
" Ay ! Blue eyes like your father's — not like
yours "
Again the wild messages in her looks.
" No ! " she answered very softly. " And I think
he'll be jolly, like father — they have neither of them
our eyes, have they ? "
" No," I answered, overcome by a sudden hot flush
of tenderness. " No — not vulnerable. To have such
soft, vulnerable eyes as you used makes one feel nerv-
414 THE WHITE PEACOCK
ous and irascible. But you have clothed over the
sensitiveness of yours, haven't you? — like naked
life, naked defenceless protoplasm they were, is it
not so ? "
She laughed, and at the old painful memories she
dilated in the old way, and I felt the old tremor at
seeing her soul flung quivering on my pity.
" And were mine like that % " asked George, who
had come up.
He must have perceived the bewilderment of my
look as I tried to adjust myself to him. A slight
shadow, a slight chagrin appeared on his face.
" Yes," I answered, " yes — but not so bad. You
never gave yourself away so much — you were most
cautious: but just as defenceless."
" And am I altered ? " he asked, with quiet irony,
as if he knew I was not interested in him.
" Yes, more cautious. You keep in the shadow.
But Emily has clothed herself^ and can now walk
among the crowd at her own gait."
It was with an effort I refrained from putting my
lips to kiss her at that moment as she looked at me
with womanly dignity and tenderness. Then I re-
membered, and said:
" But you are taking me to the stable George !
Come and see the horses too, Emily."
" I will. I admire them so much," she replied,
and thus we both indulged him.
He talked to his horses and of them, laying his
hand upon them, running over their limbs. The
glossy, restless animals interested him more than
anything. He broke into a little flush of enthusiasm
over them. They were his new interest. They were
DOMESTIC LIFE AT RAM 415
quiet and yet responsive; he was their master and
owner. This gave him real pleasure.
But the baby became displeased again. Emily
looked at me for sympathy with him.
" He is a little wanderer/' she said, " he likes
to be always moving. Perhaps he objects to the
ammonia of stables too," she added, frowning
and laughing slightly, " it is not very agreeable,
is it?"
" Not particularly," I agreed, and as she moved
off I went with her, leaving him in the stables.
When Emily and I were alone we sauntered aim-
lessly back to the garden. She persisted in talking
to the baby, and in talking to me about the baby, till
I wished the child in Jericho. This made her laugh,
and she continued to tantalise me. The holly-hock
flowers of the second whorl were flushing to the top
of the spires. The bees, covered with pale crumbs
of pollen, were swaying a moment outside the wide
gates of the florets, then they swung in with excited
hum, and clung madly to the fury white capitols,
and worked riotously round the waxy bases. Emily
held out the baby to watch, talking all the time in
low, fond tones. The child stretched towards the
bright flowers. The sun glistened on his smooth
hair as on bronze dust, and the wondering blue eyes
of the baby followed the bees. Then he made small
sounds, and suddenly waved his hands, like rumpled
pink holly-hock buds.
" Look ! " said Emily, " look at the little bees !
Ah, but you mustn't touch them, they bite. They're
coming ! " she cried, with sudden laughing apprehen-
sion, drawing the child away. He made noises of
416 THE WHITE PEACOCK
remonstrance. She put him near to the flowers
again till he knocked the spire with his hand and
two indignant bees came sailing out. Emily drew
back quickly crying in alarm, then laughing with
excited eyes at me, as if she had just escaped a
peril in my presence. Thus she teased me by fling-
ing me all kinds of bright gages of love while she
kept me aloof because of the child. She laughed
with pure pleasure at this state of affairs, and de-
lighted the more when I frowned, till at last I swal-
lowed my resentment and laughed too, playing with
the hands of the baby, and watching his blue eyes
change slowly like a softly sailing sky.
Presently Meg called us in to tea. She wore a
dress of fine blue stuff with cream silk embroidery,
and she looked handsome, for her hair was very
hastily dressed.
" What, have you had that child all this time ? "
she exclaimed, on seeing Emily. " Where is his
father?"
" I don't know — we left him in the stable, didn't
we Cyril? But I like nursing him, Meg. I like it
ever so much," replied Emily.
" Oh, yes, you may be sure George would get off
it if he could. He's always in the stable. As I tell
him, he fair stinks of horses. He's not that fond of
the children, I can tell you. Come on, my pet —
why, come to its mammy."
She took the baby and kissed it passionately, and
made extravagant love to it. A clean shaven young
man with thick bare arms went across the yard.
" Here, just look and tell George as tea is ready,"
said Meg.
DOMESTIC LIFE AT RAM 417
" Where is he ? " asked Oswald, the sturdy youth
who attended to the farm business.
" You know where to find him," replied Meg, with
that careless freedom which was so subtly derogatory
to her husband.
George came hurrying from the out-building.
" What, is it tea already ? " he said.
" It's a wonder you haven't been crying out for
it this last hour," said Meg.
" It's a marvel you've got dressed so quick," he
replied.
" Oh, is it ? " she answered — " well, it's not with
any of your help that I've done it, that is a fact.
Where's Teenie?"
The maid, short, stiffly built, very dark and sullen
looking, came forward from the gate.
" Can you take Alfy as well, just while we have
tea ? " she asked. Teenie replied that she should
think she could, whereupon she was given the ruddy-
haired baby, as well as the dark one. She sat with
them on a seat at the end of the yard. We proceeded
to tea.
It was a very great spread. There were hot cakes,
three or four kinds of cold cakes, tinned apricots,
jellies, tinned lobster, and trifles in the way of jam,
cream, and rum.
" I don't know what those cakes are like," said
Meg. " I made them in such a fluster. Really, you
have to do things as best you can when you've got
children — especially when there's two. I never seem
to have time to do my hair up even — look at it now."
She put up her hands to her head, and I could not
help noticing how grimy and rough were her nails.
418 THE WHITE PEACOCK
The tea was going on pleasantly, when one of the
babies began to cry. Teenie bent over it crooning
gruffly. I leaned back and looked out of the door to
watch her. I thought of the girl in TchekofFs story,
who smothered her charge, and I hoped the grim
Teenie would not be driven to such desperation.
The other child joined in this chorus. Teenie rose
from her seat and walked about the yard, gruffly try-
ing to soothe the twins.
" It's a funny thing, but whenever anybody comes
they're sure to be cross," said Meg, beginning to
simmer.
" They're no different from ordinary," said
George, " it's only that you're forced to notice it
then."
" No, it is not ! " cried Meg in a sudden passion :
" Is it now, Emily ? Of course, he has to say
something ! Weren't they as good as gold this morn-
ing, Emily ? — and yesterday ! — why they never mur-
mured, as good as gold they were. But he wants
them to be as dumb as fishes : he'd like them shutting
up in a box as soon as they make a bit of noise."
" I was not saying anything about it," he replied.
" Yes, you were," she retorted. " I don't know
what you call it then "
The babies outside continued to cry.
" Bring Alfy to me," called Meg, yielding to the
mother feeling.
" Oh, no, damn it ! " said George, " let Oswald
take him."
" Yes," replied Meg bitterly, " let anybody take
him so long as he's out of your sight. You never
ought to have children, you didn't "
DOMESTIC LIFE AT RAM 419
George murmured something about " to-day."
" Come then ! " said Meg with a whole passion of
tenderness, as she took the red-haired baby and held
it to her bosom, " Why, what is it then, what is it,
my precious ? Hush then pet, hush then ! "
The baby did not hush. Meg rose from her chair
and stood rocking the baby in her arms, swaying
from one foot to the other.
" He's got a bit of wind," she said.
We tried to continue the meal, but everything was
awkward and difficult.
" I wonder if he's hungry," said Meg, " let's try
him."
She turned away and gave him her breast. Then
he was still, so she covered herself as much as she
could, and sat down again to tea. We had finished,
so we sat and waited while she ate. This disjointing
of the meal, by reflex action, made Emily and me
more accurate. We were exquisitely attentive, and
polite to a nicety. Our very speech was clipped with
precision, as we drifted to a discussion of Strauss
and Debussy. This of course put a breach between
us two and our hosts, but we could not help it; it
was our only way of covering over the awkwardness
of the occasion. George sat looking glum and listen-
ing to us. Meg was quite indifferent. She listened
occasionally, but her position as mother made her
impregnable. She sat eating calmly, looking down
now and again at her baby, holding us in slight
scorn, babblers that we were. She was secure in her
high maternity ; she was mistress and sole authority.
George, as father, was first servant ; as an indifferent
father, she humiliated him and was hostile to his
420 THE WHITE PEACOCK
wishes. Emily and I were mere intruders, feeling
ourselves such. After tea we went upstairs to wash
our hands. The grandmother had had a second
stroke of paralysis, and lay inert, almost stupified.
Her large bulk upon the bed was horrible to me, and
her face, with the muscles all slack and awry, seemed
like some cruel cartoon. She spoke a few thick
words to me. George asked her if she felt all right,
or should he rub her. She turned her old eyes slowly
to him.
" My leg — my leg a bit," she said in her strange
guttural.
He took off his coat, and pushing his hand under
the bed-clothes, sat rubbing the poor old woman's
limb patiently, slowly, for some time. She watched
him for a moment, then without her turning her
eyes from him, he passed out of her vision and she
lay staring at nothing, in his direction.
" There," he said at last, " is that any better then,
mother ? "
" Ay, that's a bit better," she said slowly.
" Should I gi'e thee a drink ? " he asked, linger-
ing, wishing to minister all he could to her before
he went.
She looked at him, and he brought the cup. She
swallowed a few drops with difficulty.
" Doesn't it make you miserable to have her
always there ? " I asked him, when we were in the
next room. He sat down on the large white bed and
laughed shortly.
" We're used to it — we never notice her, poor old
gran'ma."
" But she must have made a difference to you —
DOMESTIC LIFE AT RAM 421
she must make a big difference at the bottom, even if
you don't know it," I said.
" She'd got such a strong character," he said mus-
ing, " — she seemed to understand me. She was a
real friend to me, before she was so bad. Sometimes
I happen to look at her — generally I never see her,
you know how I mean — but sometimes I do — and
then — it seems a bit rotten "
He smiled at me peculiarly, " — it seems to take
the shine off things," he added, and then, smiling
again with ugly irony — " She's our skeleton in the
closet." He indicated her large bulk.
The church bells began to ring. The grey church
stood on a rise among the fields not far away, like a
handsome old stag looking over towards the inn.
The five bells began to play, and the sound came beat-
ing upon the window.
" I hate Sunday night," he said, restlessly.
" Because you've nothing to do ? " I asked.
" I don't know," he said. " It seems like a gag,
and you feel helpless. I don't want to go to church,
and hark at the bells, they make you feel uncom-
fortable."
" What do you generally do ? " I asked.
" Feel miserable — I've been down to Mayhew's
these last two Sundays, and Meg's been pretty mad.
She says it's the only night I could stop with her, or
go out with her. But if I stop with her, what can I
do? — and if we go out, it's only for half an hour.
I hate Sunday night — it's a dead end."
When we went downstairs, the table was cleared,
and Meg was bathing the dark baby. Thus she was
perfect. She handled the bonny, naked child with
422 THE WHITE PEACOCK
beauty of gentleness. She kneeled over him nobly.
Her arms and her bosom and her throat had a nobility
of roundness and softness. She drooped her head
with the grace of a Madonna, and her movements were
lovely, accurate and exquisite, like an old song per-
fectly sung. Her voice, playing and soothing round
the curved limbs of the baby, was like water, soft as
wine in the sun, running with delight.
We watched humbly, sharing the wonder from
afar.
Emily was very envious of Meg's felicity. She
begged to be allowed to bathe the second baby. Meg
granted her bounteous permission :
" Yes, you can wash him if you like > but what
about your frock ? "
Emily, delighted, began to undress the baby whose
hair was like crocus petals. Her fingers trembled
with pleasure, as she loosed the little tapes. I always
remember the inarticulate delight with which she
took the child in her hands, when at last his little
shirt was removed, and felt his soft white limbs and
body. A distinct, glowing atmosphere seemed sud-
denly to burst out around her and the child, leaving
me outside. The moment before she had been very
near to me, her eyes searching mine, her spirit cling-
ing timidly about me. Now I was put away, quite
alone, neglected, forgotten, outside the glow which
surrounded the woman and the baby.
" Ha ! — Ha-a-a ! " she said with a deep throated
vowel, as she put her face against the child's small
breasts, so round, almost like a girl's, silken and warm
and wonderful. She kissed him, and touched him,
and hovered over him, drinking in his baby sweet-
DOMESTIC LIFE AT RAM 423
nesses, the sweetness of the laughing little mouth's
wide, wet kisses, of the round, waving limbs, of the
little shoulders so winsomely curving to the arms and
the breasts, of the tiny soft neck hidden very warm
beneath the chin, tasting deliciously with her lips and
her cheeks all the exquisite softness, silkiness,
warmth, and tender life of the baby's body.
A woman is so ready to disclaim the body of a
man's love ; she yields him her own soft beauty with
so much gentle patience and regret ; she clings to his
neck, to his head and his cheeks, fondling them for
the soul's meaning that is there, and shrinking from
his passionate, limbs and his body. It was with some
perplexity, some anger and bitterness that I watched
Emily moved almost to ecstasy by the baby's small,
innocuous person.
" Meg never found any pleasure in me as she does
in the kids," said George bitterly, for himself.
The child, laughing and crowing, caught his hands
in Emily's hair and pulled dark tresses down, while
she cried out in remonstrance, and tried to loosen the
small fists that were shut so fast. She took him from
the water and rubbed him dry, with marvellous gentle
little rubs, he kicking and expostulating. She
brought his fine hair into one silken up-springing of
ruddy gold like an aureole. She played with his tiny
balls of toes, like wee pink mushrooms, till at last she
dare detain him no longer, when she put on his flannel
and his night-gown and gave him to Meg.
Before carrying him to bed Meg took him to feed
him. His mouth was stretched round the nipple, as
he sucked, his face was pressed close and closer to the
breast, his fingers wandered over the fine white globe,
424 THE WHITE PEACOCK
blue veined and heavy, trying to hold it. Meg looked
down upon him with a consuming passion of tender-
ness, and Emily clasped her hands and leaned for-
ward to him. Even thus they thought him exquisite.
When the twins were both asleep, I must tip-toe up-
stairs to see them. They lay cheek by cheek in the
crib next the large white bed, breathing little, ruffling
breaths, out of unison, so small and pathetic with
their tiny shut fingers. I remembered the two larks.
From the next room came a heavy sound of the
old woman's breathing. Meg went in to her. As in
passing I caught sight of the large, prone figure in
the bed, I thought of Guy de Maupassant's " Toine,"
who acted as an incubator.
CHAPTEK V
THE DOMINANT MOTIF OF SUFFERING
The old woman lay still another year, then she sud-
denly sank out of life. George ceased to write to me,
but I learned his news elsewhere. He became more
and more intimate with the Mayhews. After old
Mayhew's bankruptcy, the two sons had remained on
in the large dark house that stood off the Nottingham
Koad in Eberwich. This house had been bequeathed
to the oldest daughter by the mother. Maud May-
hew, who was married and separated from her hus-
band, kept house for her brothers. She was a tall,
large woman with high cheek-bones and oily black
hair looped over her ears. Tom Mayhew was also a
handsome man, very dark and ruddy, with insolent
bright eyes.
The Mayhews' house was called the " Hollies." It
was a solid building, of old red brick, standing fifty
yards back from the Eberwich highroad. Between it
and the road was an unkempt lawn, surrounded by
very high black holly trees. The house seemed to be
imprisoned among the bristling hollies. Passing
through the large gate, one came immediately upon
the bare side of the house and upon the great range
of stables. Old Mayhew had in his day stabled thirty
or more horses there. Now grass was between the
red bricks, and all the bleaching doors were shut, save
425
426 THE WHITE PEACOCK
perhaps two or three which were open for George's
horses.
The " Hollies " became a kind of club for the dis-
consolate, " better-off " men of the district. The
large dining-room was gloomily and sparsely fur-
nished, the drawing-room was a desert, but the smaller
morning-room was comfortable enough, with wicker
arm-chairs, heavy curtains, and a large side-board.
In this room George and the Mayhews met with sev-
eral men two or three times a week. There they dis-
cussed horses and made mock of the authority of
women. George provided the whisky, and they all
gambled timidly at cards. These bachelor parties
were the source of great annoyance to the wives of the
married men who attended them.
" He's quite unbearable when he's been at those
Mayhews'," said Meg. " I'm sure they do nothing
but cry us down."
Maud Mayhew kept apart from these meetings,
watching over her two children. She had been very
unhappily married, and now was reserved, silent.
The women of Eberwich watched her as she went
swiftly along the street in the morning with her
basket, and they gloried a little in her overthrow, be-
cause she was too proud to accept consolation, yet they
were sorry in their hearts for her, and she was never
touched with calumny. George saw her frequently,
but she treated him coldly as she treated the other
men, so he was afraid of her.
He had more facilities now for his horse-dealing.
When the grandmother died, in the October two years
after the marriage of George she left him seven hun-
dred pounds. To Meg she left the Inn, and the two
MOTIF OF SUFFERING 427
houses she had built in Newerton, together with
brewery shares to the value of nearly a thousand
pounds. George and Meg felt themselves to be people
of property. The result, however, was only a little
further coldness between them. He was very careful
that she had all that was hers. She said to him
once when they were quarrelling, that he needn't go
feeding the Mayhews on the money that came out of
her business. Thenceforward he kept strict accounts
of all his affairs, and she must audit them, receiving
her exact dues. This was a mortification to her
woman's capricious soul of generosity and cruelty.
The Christmas after the grandmother's death an-
other son was born to them. For the time George and
Meg became, very good friends again.
When in the following March I heard he was
coming down to London with Tom Mayhew on busi-
ness, I wrote and asked him to stay with me. Meg
replied, saying she was so glad I had asked him : she
did not want him going off with that fellow again;
he had been such a lot better lately, and she was sure
it was only those men at Mayhew's made him what
he was.
He consented to stay with me. I wrote and told
him Lettie and Leslie were in London, and that we
should dine with them one evening. I met him at
King's Cross and we all three drove, west. Mayhew
was a remarkably handsome, well-built man ; he and
George made a notable couple. They were both in
breeches and gaiters, but George still looked like a
yeoman, while Mayhew had all the braggadocio of
the stable. We made an impossible trio. Mayhew
laughed and jested broadly for a short time, then he
428 THE WHITE PEACOCK
grew restless and fidgety. He felt restrained and
awkward in my presence. Later, he told George I
was a damned parson. On the other hand, I was
content to look at his rather vulgar beauty — his teeth
were blackened with smoking — and to listen to his
ineffectual talk, but I could find absolutely no re-
sponse. George was go-between. To me he was
cautious and rather deferential, to Mayhew he was
careless, and his attitude was tinged with contempt.
When the son of the horse-dealer at last left us to
go to some of his father's old cronies, we were glad.
Very uncertain, very sensitive and wavering, our old
intimacy burned again like the fragile burning of
alcohol. Closed together in the same blue flames, we
discovered and watched the pageant of life in the
town revealed wonderfully to us. We laughed at the
tyranny of old romance. We scorned the faded pro-
cession of old years, and made mock of the vast pil-
grimage of by-gone romances travelling farther into
the dim distance. Were we not in the midst of the
bewildering pageant of modern life, with all its con-
fusion of bannerets and colours, with its infinite inter-
weaving of sounds, the screech of the modern toys of
haste striking like keen spray, the heavy boom of busy
mankind gathering its bread, earnestly, forming the
bed of all other sounds; and between these two the
swiftness of songs, the triumphant tilt of the joy of
life, the hoarse oboes of privation, the shuddering
drums of tragedy, and the eternal scraping of the
two deep-toned strings of despair?
We watched the taxicabs coursing with their noses
down to the street, we watched the rocking hansoms,
and the lumbering stateliness of buses. In the silent
MOTIF OF SUFFERING 429
green cavern of the park we stood and listened to the
surging of the ocean of life. We watched a girl
with streaming hair go galloping down the Kow, a
dark man, laughing and showing his white teeth, gal-
loping more heavily at her elbow. We saw a squad of
life-guards enter the gates of the park, erect and glit-
tering with silver and white and red. They came
near to us, and we thrilled a little as we watched the
muscles of their white smooth thighs answering the
movement of the horses, and their cheeks and their
chins bending with proud manliness to the rhythm
of the march. We watched the exquisite rhythm of
the body of men moving in scarlet and silver further
down the leafless avenue, like a slightly wavering
spark of red life blown along. At the Marble Arch
Corner we listened to a little socialist who was flaring
fiercely under a plane tree. The hot stream of his
words flowed over the old wounds that the knowledge
of the unending miseries of the poor had given me,
and I winced. For him the world was all East-end,
and all the East-end was as a pool from which
the waters are drained off, leaving the water-things
to wrestle in the wet mud under the sun, till the whole
of the city seems a heaving, shuddering struggle, of
black-mudded objects deprived of the elements of
life. I felt a great terror of the little man, lest he
should make me see all mud, as I had seen before.
Then I felt a breathless pity for him, that his eyes
should be always filled with mud, and never bright-
ened. George listened intently to the speaker, very
much moved by him.
At night, after the theatre, we saw the outcasts
sleep in a rank under the Waterloo bridge, their heads
430 THE WHITE PEACOCK
to the wall, their feet lying out on the pavement: a
long, black, ruffled heap at the foot of the wall. All
the faces were covered but two, that of a peaked, pale
little man, and that of a brutal woman. Over these
two faces, floating like uneasy pale dreams on their
obscurity, swept now and again the trailing light of
the tram cars. We picked our way past the line of
abandoned feet, shrinking from the sight of the thin
bare ankles of a young man, from the draggled edge
of the skirts of a bunched-up woman, from the pitiable
sight of the men who had wrapped their legs in news-
paper for a little warmth, and lay like worthless
parcels. It was raining. Some men stood at the
edge of the causeway fixed in dreary misery, finding
no room to sleep. Outside, on a seat in the blackness
and the rain, a woman sat sleeping, while the water
trickled and hung heavily at the ends of her loosened
strands of hair. Her hands were pushed in the bosom
of her jacket. She lurched forward in her sleep,
started, and one of her hands fell out of her bosom.
She sank again to sleep. George gripped my arm.
" Give her something,' ' he whispered in panic. I
was afraid. Then suddenly getting a florin from my
pocket, I stiffened my nerves and slid it into her palm.
Her hand was soft, and warm, and curled in sleep.
She started violently, looking up at me, then down at
her hand. I turned my face aside, terrified lest she
should look in my eyes, and full of shame and grief I
ran down the embankment to him. We hurried along
under the plane trees in silence. The shining cars
were drawing tall in the distance over Westminster
Bridge, a fainter, yellow light running with them
on the water below. The wet streets were spilled
MOTIF OF SUFFERING 431
with golden liquor of light, and on the deep blackness
of the river were the restless yellow slashes of the
lamps.
Lettie and Leslie were staying up at Hampstead
with a friend of the Tempests, one of the largest
shareholders in the firm of Tempest, Wharton & Co.
The Raphaels had a substantial house, and Lettie
preferred to go to them rather than to an hotel,
especially as she had brought with her her infant son,
now ten months old, with his nurse. They invited
George and me to dinner on the Friday evening.
The party included Lottie's host and hostess, and also
a Scottish poetess, and an Irish musician, composer of
songs and piano-forte rhapsodies.
Lettie wore a black lace dress in mourning for one
of Leslie's maternal aunts. This made her look older,
otherwise there seemed to be no change in her. A
subtle observer might have noticed a little hardness
about her mouth, and disillusion hanging slightly on
her eyes. She was, however, excited by the company
in which she found herself, therefore she overflowed
with clever speeches and rapid, brilliant observations.
Certainly on such occasions she was admirable. The
rest of the company formed, as it were, the orchestra
which accompanied her.
George was exceedingly quiet. He spoke a few
words now and then to Mrs. Eaphael, but on the
whole he was altogether silent, listening.
" Really ! " Lettie was saying, " I don't see that
one thing is worth doing any more than another. It's
like dessert : you are equally indifferent whether you
have grapes, or pears, or pineapple."
432 THE WHITE PEACOCK
" Have you already dined so far ? " sang the Scot-
tish poetess in her musical, plaintive manner.
" The only thing worth doing is producing," said
Lettie.
" Alas, that is what all the young folk are saying
nowadays ! " sighed the Irish musician.
" That is the only thing one finds any pleasure in —
that is to say, any satisfaction," continued Lettie,
smiling, and turning to the two artists.
" Do you not think so ? " she added.
" You do come to a point at last," said the Scot-
tish poetess, " when your work is a real source of
satisfaction."
" Do you write poetry then ? " asked George of
Lettie,
" I ! Oh, dear no ! I have tried strenuously to
make up a Limerick for a competition, but in vain.
So you see, I am a failure there. Did you know I
have a son, though ? — a marvellous little fellow, is he
not, Leslie? — he is my work. I am a wonderful
mother, am I not, Leslie ? "
" Too devoted," he replied.
" There ! " she exclaimed in triumph — " When I
have to sign my name and occupation in a visitor's
book, it will be ' Mother.' I hope my business
will flourish," she concluded, smiling.
There was a touch of ironical brutality in her now.
She was, at the bottom, quite sincere. Having
reached that point in a woman's career when most,
perhaps all of the things in life seem worthless and
insipid, she had determined to put up with it, to
ignore her own self, to empty her own potentialities
into the vessel of another or others, and to live her
MOTIF OF SUFFERING 433
life at second hand. This peculiar abnegation of self
is the resource of a woman for the escaping of the re-
sponsibilities of her own development. Like a nun,
she puts over her living face a veil, as a sign that the
woman no longer exists for herself : she is the servant
of God, of some man, of her children, or may be of
some cause. As a servant, she is no longer responsi-
ble for her self, which would make her terrified and
lonely. Service is light and easy. To be responsible
for the good progress of one's life is terrifying. It
is the most insufferable form of loneliness, and the
heaviest of responsibilities. So Lettie indulged her
husband, but did not yield her independence to him ;
rather it was she who took much of the responsibility
of him into her hands, and therefore he was so de-
voted to her. She had, however, now determined to
abandon the charge of herself to serve her children.
When the children grew up, either they would uncon-
sciously fling her away, back upon herself again in
bitterness and loneliness, or they would tenderly
cherish her, chafing at her love-bonds occasionally.
George looked and listened to all the flutter of con-
versation, and said nothing. It seemed to him like
so much unreasonable rustling of pieces of paper, of
leaves of books, and so on. Later in the evening Let-
tie sang, no longer Italian folk songs, but the frag-
mentary utterances of Debussy and Strauss. These
also to George were quite meaningless, and rather
wearisome. It made him impatient to see her wast-
ing herself upon them.
" Do you like those songs ? " she asked in the
frank, careless manner she affected.
" Not much," he replied, ungraciously.
434 THE WHITE PEACOCK
" Don't you?" she exclaimed, adding with a smile,
" Those are the most wonderful things in the world,
those little things " — she began to him a Debussy
idiom. He could not answer her on the point, so he
sat with the arrow sticking in him, and did not
speak.
She enquired of him concerning Meg and his
children and the affairs of Eberwich, but the interest
was flimsy, as she preserved a wide distance between
them, although apparently she was so unaffected and
friendly. We left before eleven.
When we were seated in the cab and rushing down
hill, he said:
" You know, she makes me mad."
He was frowning, looking out of the window away
from me.
" Who, Lettie ? Why, what riles you ? " I asked.
He was some time in replying.
" Why, she's so affected."
I sat still in the small, close space and waited.
" Do you know ? " he laughed, keeping his
face averted from me. " She makes my blood boil.
I could hate her."
" Why I " I said gently.
" I don't know. I feel as if she'd insulted me.
She does lie, doesn't she ? "
" I didn't notice it," I said, but I knew he meant
her shirking, her shuffling of her life.
" And you think of those poor devils under the
bridge — and then of her and them frittering away
themselves and money in that idiocy "
He spoke with passion.
" You are quoting Longfellow," I said.
MOTIF OF SUFFERING 435
" What ? " he asked, looking at me suddenly.
" ' Life is real, life is earnest ' "
He flushed slightly at my good-natured gibe.
" I don't know what it is," he replied. " But it's
a pretty rotten business, when you think of her fool-
ing about wasting herself, and all the waste that goes
on up there, and the poor devils rotting on the em-
bankment — and "
" And you — and Mayhew — and me " I con-
tinued.
He looked at me very intently to see if I were
mocking. He laughed. I could see he was very
much moved.
" Is the time quite out of joint ? " I asked.
"Why!"— he laughed. "No. But she makes
me feel so angry — as if I should burst — I don't know
when I felt in such a rage. I wonder why. I'm
sorry for him, poor devil. ' Lettie and Leslie ' —
they seemed christened for one another, didn't
they?"
"What if you'd had her?" I asked.
" We should have been like a cat and dog ; I'd
rather be with Meg a thousand times — now ! " he
added significantly. He sat watching the lamps and
the people and the dark buildings slipping past us.
" Shall we go and have a drink ? " I asked him,
thinking we would call in Frascati's to see the come-
and-go.
" I could do with a brandy," he replied, looking
at me slowly.
We sat in the restaurant listening to the jigging
of the music, watching the changing flow of the peo-
ple. I like to sit a long time by the hollyhocks
436 THE WHITE PEACOCK
watching the throng of varied bees which poise and
hesitate outside the wild flowers, then swing in with
a hum which sets everything aquiver. But still
more fascinating it is to watch the come and go of
people weaving and intermingling in the complex
mesh of their intentions, with all the subtle grace
and mystery of their moving, shapely bodies.
I sat still, looking out across the amphitheatre.
George looked also, but he drank glass after glass of
brandy.
" I like to watch the people," said I.
" Ay — and doesn't it seem an aimless, idiotic busi-
ness — look at them ! " he replied in tones of con-
tempt. I looked instead at him, in some surprise
and resentment. His face was gloomy, stupid and
unrelieved. The amount of brandy he had drunk
had increased his ill humour.
" Shall we be going 1 " I said. I did not want him
to get drunk in his present state of mind.
" Ay — in half a minute," he finished the brandy,
and rose. Although he had drunk a good deal, he
was quite steady, only there was a disagreeable look
always on his face, and his eyes seemed smaller and
more glittering than I had seen them. We took a
bus to Victoria. He sat swaying on his seat in the
dim, clumsy vehicle, saying not a word. In the vast
cavern of the station the theatre-goers were hasten-
ing, crossing the pale grey strand, small creatures
scurrying hither and thither in the space beneath the
lonely lamps. As the train crawled over the river we
watched the far-flung hoop of diamond lights curv-
ing slowly round and striping with bright threads
the black water. He sat looking with heavy eyes,
MOTIF OF SUFFERING 437
seeming to shrink from the enormous unintelligible
lettering of the poem of London.
The town was too large for him, he could not take
in its immense, its stupendous poetry. What did
come home to him was its flagrant discords. The
unintelligibility of the vast city made him apprehen-
sive, and the crudity of its big, coarse contrasts
wounded him unutterably.
" What is the matter ? " I asked him as we went
along the silent pavement at Norwood.
" Nothing," he replied. " Nothing ! " and I did
not trouble him further.
We occupied a large, two-bedded room — that
looked down the hill and over to the far woods of
Kent. He was morose and untalkative. I brought
up a soda-syphon and whisky, and we proceeded to
undress. When he stood in his pajamas he waited as
if uncertain.
" Do you want a drink ? " he asked.
I did not. He crossed to the table, and as I got
into my bed I heard the brief fizzing of the syphon.
He drank his glass at one draught, then switched off
the light. In the sudden darkness I saw his pale
shadow go across to the sofa in the window-space.
The blinds were undrawn, and the stars looked in.
He gazed out on the great bay of darkness wherein,
far away and below, floated a few sparks of lamps
like herring boats at sea.
" Aren't you coming to bed ? " I asked.
" I'm not sleepy — you go to sleep," he answered,
resenting having to speak at all.
" Then put on a dressing gown — there's one in that
corner — turn the light on."
438 THE WHITE PEACOCK
He did not answer, but fumbled for the garment
in the darkness. When he had found it, he said :
" Do you mind if I smoke ? "
I did not. He fumbled again in his pockets for
cigarettes, always refusing to switch on the light. I
watched his face bowed to the match as he lighted
his cigarette. He was still handsome in the ruddy
light, but his features were coarser. I felt very sorry
for him, but I saw that I could get no nearer to him,
to relieve him. For some time I lay in the darkness
watching the end of his cigarette like a ruddy, ma-
lignant insect hovering near his lips, putting the
timid stars immensely far away. He* sat quite still,
leaning on the sofa arm. Occasionally there was a
little glow on his cheeks as the cigarette burned
brighter, then again I could see nothing but the dull
red bee.
I suppose I must have dropped asleep. Suddenly
I started as something fell to the floor. I heard him
cursing under his breath.
" What's the matter ? " I asked.
" I've only knocked something down — cigarette
case or something," he replied, apologetically.
" Aren't you coming to bed ? " I asked.
" Yes, I'm coming," he answered quite docile.
He seemed to wander about and knock against
things as he came. He dropped heavily into bed.
" Are you sleepy now \ " I asked.
" I dunno — I shall be directly," he replied.
" What's up with you % " I asked.
" I dunno," he answered. " I am like this some-
times, when there's nothing I want to do, and no-
where I want to go, and nobody I want to be near.
MOTIF OF SUFFERING 439
Then you feel so rottenly lonely, Cyril. You feel
awful, like a vacuum, with a pressure on you, a sort
of pressure of darkness, and you yourself — just noth-
ing, a vacuum — that's what it's like — a little vacuum
that's not dark, all loose in the middle of a space of
darkness, that's pressing on you."
" Good gracious ! " I exclaimed, rousing myself in
bed. " That sounds bad ! "
He laughed slightly.
" It's all right," he said, " it's only the excitement
of London, and that little man in the park, and that
woman on the seat — I wonder where she is to-night,
poor devil — and then Lettie. I seem thrown off my
balance. — I think, really, I ought to have made some-
thing of myself "
" What ? " I asked, as he hesitated.
" I don't know," he replied slowly, " — a poet or
something, like Burns — I don't know. I shall laugh
at myself for thinking so, to-morrow. But I am born
a generation too soon — I wasn't ripe enough when I
came. I wanted something I hadn't got. I'm some-
thing short. I'm like corn in a wet harvest — full,
but pappy, no good. Is'll rot. I came too soon ; or I
wanted something that would ha' made me grow
fierce. That's why I wanted Lettie — I think. But
am I talking damn rot ? What am I saying ? What
are you making me talk for ? What are you listening
for?"
I rose and went across to him, saying:
" I don't want you to talk ! If you sleep till morn-
ing things will look different."
I sat on his bed and took his hand. He lay quite
still.
440 THE WHITE PEACOCK
" I'm only a kid after all, Cyril," he said, a few
moments later.
" We all are," I answered, still holding his hand.
Presently he fell asleep.
When I awoke the sunlight was laughing with the
young morning in the room. The large blue sky
shone against the window, and the birds were calling
in the garden below, shouting to one another and
making fun of life. I felt glad to have opened my
eyes. I lay for a moment looking out on the morn-
ing as on a blue bright sea in which I was going to
plunge.
Then my eyes wandered to the little table near the
couch. I noticed the glitter of George's cigarette
case, and then, with a start, the whisky decanter. It
was nearly empty. He must have drunk three-quar-
ters of a pint of liquor while I was dozing. I could
not believe it. I thought I must have been mistaken
as to the quantity the bottle contained. I leaned out
to see what it was that had startled me by its fall the
night before. It was the large, heavy drinking glass
which he had knocked down but not broken. I could
see no stain on the carpet.
George was still asleep. He lay half uncovered,
and was breathing quietly. His face looked inert
like a mask. The pallid, uninspired clay of his fea-
tures seemed to have sunk a little out of shape, so
that he appeared rather haggard, rather ugly, with
grooves of ineffectual misery along his cheeks. I
wanted him to wake, so that his inert, flaccid features
might be inspired with life again. I could not be-
lieve his charm and his beauty could have forsaken
him so, and left his features dreary, sunken clay.
MOTIF OF SUFFERING 441
As I looked he woke. His eyes opened slowly.
He looked at me and turned away, unable to meet
my eyes. He pulled the bedclothes up over his shoul-
ders, as though to cover himself from me, and he lay
with his back to me, quite still, as if he were asleep,
although I knew he was quite awake ; he was suffer-
ing the humiliation of lying waiting for his life to
crawl back and inhabit his body. As it was, his
vitality was not yet sufficient to inform the muscles
of his face and give him an expression, much less to
answer by challenge.
CHAPTER VI
PISGAH
When her eldest boy was three years old Lettie re-
turned to live at Eberwich. Old Mr. Tempest died
suddenly, so Leslie came down to inhabit " High-
close." He was a very much occupied man. Very
often he was in Germany or in the South of England
engaged on business. At home he was unfailingly
attentive to his wife and his two children. He had
cultivated a taste for public life. In spite of his
pressure of business he had become a County Coun-
cillor, and one of the prominent members of the Con-
servative Association. He was very fond of answer-
ing or proposing toasts at some public dinner, of en-
tertaining political men at " Highclose," of taking
the chair at political meetings, and finally, of speak-
ing on this or that platform. His name was fairly
often seen in the newspapers. As a mine owner, he
spoke as an authority on the employment of labour,
on royalties, land-owning and so on.
At home he was quite tame. He treated his wife
with respect, romped in the nursery, and domineered
the servants royally. They liked him for it — her
they did not like. He was noisy, but unobservant,
she was quiet and exacting. He would swear and
bluster furiously, but when he was round the corner
they smiled. She gave her orders and passed very
442
PISGAH 443
moderate censure, but they went away cursing to
themselves. As Lettie was always a very good wife,
Leslie adored her when he had the time, and when he
had not, forgot her comfortably.
She was very contradictory. At times she would
write to me in terms of passionate dissatisfaction:
she had nothing at all in her life, it was a barren
futility.
" I hope I shall have another child next spring, ,,
she would write, " there is only that to take away the
misery of this torpor. I seem full of passion and
energy, and it all fizzles out in day to day domes-
tics "
When I replied to her urging her to take some
work that she could throw her soul into, she would
reply indifferently. Then later:
" You charge me with contradiction. Well, natu-
rally. You see I wrote that screeching letter in a
mood which won't come again for some time. Gen-
erally I am quite content to take the rain and the
calm days just as they come, then something flings
me out of myself — and I am a trifle demented: —
very, very blue, as I tell Leslie."
Like so many women, she seemed to live, for the
most part contentedly, a small indoor existence with
artificial light and padded upholstery. Only occa-
sionally, hearing the winds of life outside, she clam-
oured to be out in the black, keen storm. She was
driven to the door, she looked out and called into the
tumult wildly, but feminine caution kept her from
stepping over the threshold.
George was flourishing in his horse-dealing.
In the morning, processions of splendid shire
444 THE WHITE PEACOCK
horses, tied tail and head, would tramp grandly
along the quiet lanes 'of Eberwich, led by George's
man, or by Tom Mayhew, while in the fresh clean
sunlight George would go riding by, two restless nags
dancing beside him.
When I came home from France five years after
our meeting in London I found him installed in
the " Hollies." He had rented the house from the
Mayhews, and had moved there with his family,
leaving Oswald in charge of the " Ram." I called
at the large house one afternoon, but George was
out. His family surprised me. The twins were tall
lads of six. There were two more boys, and Meg
was nursing a beautiful baby-girl about a year old.
This child was evidently mistress of the household.
Meg, who was growing stouter, indulged the little
creature in every way.
" How is George I " I asked her.
" Oh, he's very well," she replied. " He's always
got something on hand. He hardly seems to have a
spare moment; what with his socialism, and one
thing and another."
It was true, the outcome of his visit to London
had been a wild devotion to the cause of the down-
trodden. I saw a picture of Watt's " Mammon,"
on the walls of the morning-room, and the works of
Blatchford, Masterman, and Chiozza Money on the
side table. The socialists of the district used to meet
every other Thursday evening at the " Hollies " to
discuss reform. Meg did not care for these earnest
souls.
" They're not my sort," she said, " too jerky and
bumptious. They think everybody's slow-witted but
PISGAH 445
them. There's one thing about them, though, they
don't drink, so that's a blessing."
" Why ! " I said, " Have you had much trouble
that way % "
She lowered her voice to a pitch which was suf-
ficiently mysterious to attract the attention of the
boys.
" I shouldn't say anything if it wasn't that you
were like brothers," she said. " But he did begin to
have dreadful drinking bouts. You know it was
always spirits, and generally brandy: — and that
makes such work with them. You've no idea what
he's like when he's evil-drunk. Sometimes he's all
for talk, sometimes he's laughing at everything, and
sometimes he's just snappy. And then " here
her tones grew ominous, " — he'll come home evil-
drunk."
At the memory she grew serious.
" You couldn't imagine what it's like, Cyril," she
said. " It's like having Satan in the house with you,
or a black tiger glowering at you. I'm sure nobody
knows what I've suffered with him "
The children stood with large, awful eyes and
paling lips, listening.
" But he's better now ? " I said.
" Oh, yes — since Gertie came," — she looked fondly
at the baby in her arms — " He's a lot better now.
You see he always wanted a girl, and he's very fond
of her — isn't he, pet ? — are you your Dadda's girlie ?
— and Mamma's too, aren't you ? "
The baby turned with sudden coy shyness, and
clung to her mother's neck. Meg kissed her fondly,
then the child laid her cheek against her mother's.
446 THE WHITE PEACOCK
The mother's dark eyes, and the baby's large, hazel
eyes looked at me serenely. The two were very calm,
very complete and triumphant together. In their
completeness was a security which made me feel
alone and ineffectual. A woman who has her child
in her arms is a tower of strength, a beautiful, un-
assailable tower of strength that may in its turn
stand quietly dealing death.
I told Meg I would call again to see George. Two
evenings later I asked Lettie to lend me a dog-cart
to drive over to the " Hollies." Leslie was away on
one of his political jaunts, and she was restless. She
proposed to go with me. She had called on Meg
twice before in the new large home.
We started about six o'clock. The night was dark
and muddy. Lettie wanted to call in Eberwich vil-
lage, so she drove the long way round Selsby. The
horse was walking through the gate of the " Hollies "
at about seven o'clock. Meg was upstairs in the
nursery, the maid told me, and George was in the
dining-room getting baby to sleep.
" All right ! " I said, " we will go in to him.
Don't bother to tell him."
As we stood in the gloomy, square hall we heard
the rumble of a rocking-chair, the stroke coming
slow and heavy to the tune of " Henry Martin," one
of our Strelley Mill folk songs. Then, through the
man's heavily-accented singing floated the long, light
crooning of the baby as she sang, in her quaint little
fashion, a mischievous second to her father's lullaby.
He waxed a little louder ; and without knowing why,
we found ourselves smiling with piquant amusement.
The baby grew louder too, till there was a shrill ring
PISGAH 447
of laughter and mockery in her music. He sang
louder and louder, the baby shrilled higher and
higher, the chair swung in long, heavy beats. Then
suddenly he began to laugh. The rocking stopped,
and he said, still with laughter and enjoyment in
his tones:
" Now that is very wicked ! Ah, naughty Girlie
— go to boh, go to bohey ! — at once."
The baby chuckled her small, insolent mockery.
" Come, Mamma ! " he said, " come and take
Girlie to bohey ! "
The baby laughed again, but with an uncertain
touch of appeal in her tone. We opened the door
and entered. He looked up very much startled to
see us. He was sitting in a tall rocking-chair by the
fire, coatless, with white shirtsleeves. The baby, in
her high-waisted, tight little night-gown, stood on his
knee, her wide eyes fixed on us, wild wisps of her
brown hair brushed across her forehead and glint-
ing like puffs of bronze dust over her ears. Quickly
she put her arms round his neck and tucked her
face under his chin, her small feet poised on his
thigh, the night-gown dropping upon them. He shook
his head as the puff of soft brown hair tickled him.
He smiled at us, saying:
"You see I'm busy!"
Then he turned again to the little brown head
tucked under his chin, blew away the luminous cloud
of hair, and rubbed his lips and his moustache on the
small white neck, so warm and secret. The baby put
up her shoulders, and shrank a little, bubbling in his
neck with hidden laughter. She did not lift her
face or loosen her arms.
448 THE WHITE PEACOCK
" She thinks she is shy," he said. " Look up,
young hussy, and see the lady and gentleman. She
is a positive owl, she won't go to bed — will you,
young brown-owl ? "
He tickled her neck again with his moustache,
and the child bubbled over with naughty, merry
laughter.
The room was very warm, with a red bank of fire
up the chimney mouth. It was half lighted from
a heavy bronze chandelier, black and gloomy, in the
middle of the room. There was the same sombre,
sparse furniture that the May hews had had. George
looked large and handsome, the glossy black silk of
his waistcoat fitting close to his sides, the roundness
of the shoulder muscle filling the white linen of his
sleeves.
Suddenly the baby lifted her head and stared at
us, thrusting into her mouth the dummy that was
pinned to the breast of her night-gown. The faded
pink sleeves of the night-gown were tight on her fat
little wrists. She stood thus sucking her dummy,
one arm round her father's neck, watching us with
hazel solemn eyes. Then she pushed her fat little
fist up among the bush of small curls, and began to
twist her fingers about her ear that was white like
a camelia flower.
" She is really sleepy," said Lettie.
" Come then ! " said he, folding her for sleep
against his breast. " Come and go to boh."
But the young rascal immediately began to cry
her remonstrance. She stiffened herself, freed her-
self, and stood again on his knee, watching us sol-
emnly, vibrating the dummy in her mouth as she
PISGAH 449
suddenly sucked at it, twisting her father's ear in her
small fingers till he winced.
" Her nails are sharp," he said, smiling.
He began asking and giving the small information
that pass between friends who have not met for a
long time. The baby laid her head on his shoulder,
keeping her tired, owl-like eyes fixed darkly on us.
Then gradually the lids fluttered and sank, and she
dropped on to his arm.
" She is asleep," whispered Lettie.
Immediately the dark eyes opened again. We
looked significantly at one another, continuing our
subdued talk. After a while the baby slept soundly.
Presently Meg came downstairs. She greeted us
in breathless whispers of surprise, and then turned
to her husband.
" Has she gone ? " she whispered, bending over
the sleeping child in astonishment. " My, this is
wonderful, isn't it ! "
She took the sleeping, drooping baby from his
arms, putting her mouth close to its forehead, mur-
muring with soothing, inarticulate sounds.
We stayed talking for some time when Meg had
put the baby to bed. George had a new tone of
assurance and authority. In the first place he was
an established man, living in a large house, having
altogether three men working for him. In the sec-
ond place he had ceased to value the conventional
treasures of social position and ostentatious refine-
ment. Very, very many things he condemned as
flummery and sickly waste of time. The life of an
ordinary well-to-do person he set down as adorned
futility, almost idiocy. He spoke passionately of
450 THE WHITE PEACOCK
the monstrous denial of life to the many by the for-
tunate few. He talked at Lettie most flagrantly.
" Of course," she said, " I have read Mr. Wells
and Mr. Shaw, and even Niel Lyons and a Dutch-
man — what is his name, Querido ? But what can I
do? I think the rich have as much misery as the
poor, and of quite as deadly a sort. What can I do ?
It is a question of life and the development of the
human race. Society and its regulations is not a
sort of drill that endless Napoleons have forced on
us: it is the only way we have yet found of living
together."
" Pah ! " said he, " that is rank cowardice. It is
feeble and futile to the last degree."
" We can't grow consumption-proof in a genera-
tion, nor can we grow poverty-proof."
" We can begin to take active measures," he re-
plied contemptuously.
" We can all go into a sanatorium and live miser-
ably and dejectedly warding off death," she said,
" but life is full of goodliness for all that."
" It is fuller of misery," he said.
Nevertheless, she had shaken him. She still kept
her astonishing power of influencing his opinions.
All his passion, and heat, and rude speech, analysed
out, was only his terror at her threatening of his
life-interest.
She was rather piqued by his rough treatment of
her, and by his contemptuous tone. Moreover, she
could never quite let him be. She felt a driving
force which impelled her almost against her will to
interfere in his life. She invited him to dine with
them at Highclose. He was now quite possible. He
PISGAH 451
had, in the course of his business, been sufficiently
in the company of gentlemen to be altogether
m comme il faut " at a private dinner, and after
dinner.
She wrote me concerning him occasionally:
" George Saxton was here to dinner yesterday.
He and Leslie had frightful battles over the na-
tionalisation of industries. George is rather more
than a match for Leslie, which, in his secret heart,
makes our friend gloriously proud. It is very amus-
ing. I, of course, have to preserve the balance of
power, and, of course, to bolster my husband's dig-
nity. At a crucial, dangerous moment, when George
is just going to wave his bloody sword and Leslie
lies bleeding with rage, I step in and prick the vic-
tor under the heart with some little satire or some
esoteric question, I raise Leslie and say his blood is
luminous for the truth, and vous voila! Then I
abate for the thousandth time Leslie's conservative
crow, and I appeal once more to George — it is no
use my arguing with him, he gets so angry — I make
an abtruse appeal for all the wonderful, sad, and
beautiful expressions on the countenance of life, ex-
pressions which he does not see or which he distorts
by his oblique vision of socialism into grimaces —
and there I am! I think I am something of a
Machiavelli, but it is quite true, what I say "
Again she wrote:
" We happened to be motoring from Derby on
Sunday morning, and as we came to the top of the
hill, we had to thread our way through quite a large
crowd. I looked up, and whom should I see but our
friend George, holding forth about the state endow-
452 THE WHITE PEACOCK
ment of mothers. I made Leslie stop while we lis-
tened. The market-place was quite full of people.
George saw us, and became fiery. Leslie then grew
excited, and although I clung to the skirts of his coat
with all my strength, he jumped up and began to
question. I must say it with shame and humility —
he made an ass of himself. The men all round were
jeering and muttering under their breath. I think
Leslie is not very popular among them, he is such an
advocate of machinery which will do the work of
men. So they cheered our friend George when he
thundered forth his replies and his demonstrations.
He pointed his finger at us, and flung his hand at
us, and shouted till I quailed in my seat. I cannot
understand why he should become so frenzied as
soon as I am within range. George had a triumph
that morning, but when I saw him a few days later
he seemed very uneasy, rather self -mistrustful "
Almost a year later I heard from her again on
the same subject.
" I have had such a lark. Two or three times I
have been to the i Hollies ' ; to socialist meetings.
Leslie does not know. They are great fun. Of
course, I am in sympathy with the socialists, but I
cannot narrow my eyes till I see one thing only.
Life is like a large, rather beautiful man who is
young and full of vigour, but hairy, barbaric, with
hands hard and dirty, the dirt ingrained. I know
his hands are very ugly, I know his mouth is not
firmly shapen, I know his limbs are hairy and
brutal: but his eyes are deep and very beautiful.
That is what I tell George.
The people are so earnest, they make me sad.
PISGAH 453
But then, they are so didactic, they hold forth so
much, they are so cock-sure and so narrow-eyed, they
make me laugh. George laughs too. I am sure we
made such fun of a straight-haired goggle of a girl
who had suffered in prison for the cause of women,
that I am ashamed when I see my " Woman's
League " badge. At the bottom, you know, Cyril, I
don't care for anything very much, except myself.
Things seem so frivolous. I am the only real thing,
I and the children "
Gradually George fell out of the socialist move-
ment. It wearied him. It did not feed him alto-
gether. He began by mocking his friends of the con-
fraternity. Then he spoke in bitter dislike of Hud-
son, the wordy, humorous, shallow leader of the
movement in Eberwich; it was Hudson with his
wriggling and his clap-trap who disgusted George
with the cause. Finally the meetings at the ( Hol-
lies ' ceased, and my friend dropped all connection
with his former associates.
He began to speculate in land. A hosiery factory
moved to Eberwich, giving the place a new stimulus
to growth. George happened to buy a piece of land
at the end of the street of the village. When he got
it, it was laid out in allotment gardens. These were
becoming valueless owing to the encroachment of
houses. He took it, divided it up, and offered it as
sites for a new row of shops. He sold at a good
profit.
Altogether he was becoming very well off. I heard
from Meg that he was flourishing, that he did not
drink " anything to speak of," but that he was always
out, she hardly saw anything of him. If getting-on
454 THE WHITE PEACOCK
was to keep him so much away from home, she would
be content with a little less fortune. He complained
that she was narrow, and that she would not entertain
any sympathy with any of his ideas.
" Nobody comes here to see me twice," he said.
" Because Meg receives them in such an off-hand
fashion. I asked Jim Curtiss and his wife from
Everley Hall one evening. We were uncomfortable
all the time. Meg had hardly a word for anybody —
'Yes' and < No ' and <Hm Hm!'— They'll never
come again."
Meg herself said :
" Oh, I can't stand stuck-up folks. They make me
feel uncomfortable. As soon as they begin mincing
their words I'm done for — I can no more talk than a
lobster "
Thus their natures contradicted each other. He
tried hard to gain a footing in Eberwich. As it was
he belonged to no class of society whatsoever. Meg
visited and entertained the wives of small shop-keep-
ers and publicans: this was her set.
George voted the women loud-mouthed, vulgar, and
narrow — not without some cause. Meg, however,
persisted. She visited when she thought fit, and en-
tertained when he was out. He made acquaintance
after acquaintance: Dr. Francis; Mr. Cartridge, the
veterinary surgeon ; Toby Heswall, the brewer's son ;
the Curtisses, farmers of good standing from Everley
Hall. But it was no good. George was by nature a
family man. He wanted to be private and secure in
his own rooms, then he was at ease. As Meg never
went out with him, and as every attempt to enter-
tain at the " Hollies " filled him with shame and
PISGAH 455
mortification, he began to give up trying to place him-
self, and remained suspended in social isolation at the
" Hollies."
The friendship between Lettie and himself had
been kept up, in spite of all things. Leslie was some-
times jealous, but he dared not show it openly, for
fear of his wife's scathing contempt. George went to
" Highclose " perhaps once in a fortnight, perhaps
not so often. Lettie never went to the " Hollies," as
Meg's attitude was too antagonistic.
Meg complained very bitterly of her husband. He
often made a beast of himself drinking, he thought
more of himself than he ought, home was not good
enough for him, he was selfish to the back-bone, he
cared neither for her nor the children, only for him-
self.
I happened to be at home for Lettie's thirty-first
birthday. George was then thirty-five. Lettie had
allowed her husband to forget her birthday. He was
now very much immersed in politics, foreseeing a
general election in the following year, and intending
to contest the seat in parliament. The division was
an impregnable Liberal stronghold, but Leslie had
hopes that he might capture the situation. Therefore
he spent a great deal of time at the conservative club,
and among the men of influence in the southern divi-
sion. Lettie encouraged him in these affairs. It re-
lieved her of him. It was thus that she let him for-
get her birthday, while, for some unknown reason,
she let the intelligence slip to George. He was in-
vited to dinner, as I was at home.
456 THE WHITE PEACOCK
George came at seven o'clock. There was a strange
feeling of festivity in the house, although there, were
no evident signs. Lettie had dressed with some
magnificence in a blackish purple gauze, over soft satin
of lighter tone, nearly the colour of double violets.
She wore vivid green azurite ornaments on the fair-
ness of her bosom, and her bright hair was bound by
a band of the same colour. It was rather startling.
She was conscious of her effect, and was very excited.
Immediately George saw her his eyes wakened with a
dark glow. She stood up as he entered, her hand
stretched straight out to him, her body very erect,
her eyes bright and rousing, like two blue pennants.
" Thank you so much/' she. said softly, giving his
hand a last pressure before she let it go. He could
not answer, so he sat down, bowing his head,
then looking up at her in suspense. She smiled at
her.
Presently the children came in. They looked very
quaint, like acolytes, in their long straight dressing-
gowns of quilted blue silk. The boy, particularly,
looked as if he were going to light the candles in some
childish church in paradise. He was very tall and
slender and fair, with a round fine head, and serene
features. Both children looked remarkably, almost
transparently, clean : it is impossible to consider any-
thing more fresh and fair. The girl was a merry,
curly headed puss of six. She played with her
mother's green jewels and prattled prettily, while the
boy stood at his mother's side, a slender and silent
acolyte in his pale blue gown. I was impressed by his
patience and his purity. When the girl had bounded
away into George's arms, the lad laid his hand timidly
PISGAH 457
on Lettie' s knee and looked with a little wonder at
her dress.
" How pretty those green stones are, mother ! " he
said.
" Yes," replied Lettie brightly, lifting them and
letting their strange pattern fall again on her bosom.
" I like them."
" Are you going to sing, mother % " he asked.
" Perhaps. But why ? " said Lettie, smiling.
" Because you generally sing when Mr. Saxton
comes."
He bent his head and stroked Lettie's dress shyly.
" Do I," she said, laughing, " Can you hear ? "
" Just a little," he replied. " Quite small, as if it
were nearly lost in the dark."
He was hesitating, shy as boys are. Lettie laid
her hand on his head and stroked his smooth fair
hair.
" Sing a song for us before we go, mother " he
asked, almost shamefully. She kissed him.
" You shall sing with me," she said. " What shall
it be?"
She played without a copy of the music. He stood
at her side, while Lucy, the little mouse, sat on her
mother's skirts, pressing Lettie's silk slippers in turn
upon the pedals. The mother and the boy sang their
song.
" Gaily the troubadour touched his guitar
As he was hastening from the war."
The boy had a pure treble, clear as the flight of
swallows in the morning. The light shone on his lips.
Under the piano the girl child sat laughing, pressing
458 THE WHITE PEACOCK
her mother's feet with all her strength, and laughing
again. Lettie smiled as she sang.
At last they kissed us a gentle " good-night," and
flitted out of the room. The girl popped her
curly head round the door again. We saw the white
cuff on the nurse's wrist as she held the youngster's
arm.
" You'll come and kiss us when we're in bed,
Mum | " asked the rogue. Her mother laughed and
agreed.
Lucy was withdrawn for a moment ; then we heard
her, " Just a tick, nurse, just half-a-tick! "
The curly head appeared round the door again.
" And one teenie sweetie," she suggested, " only
oner'
" Go, you ! " Lettie clapped her hands in
mock wrath. The child vanished, but immediately
there appeared again round the door two blue laugh-
ing eyes and the snub tip of a nose.
" A nice one, Mum — not a jelly-one ! "
Lettie rose with a rustle, to sweep upon her. The
child vanished with a glitter of laughter. We heard
her calling breathlessly on the stairs — " Wait a bit,
Freddie, — wait for me ! "
George and Lettie smiled at each other when the
children had gone. As the smile died from their
faces they looked down sadly, and until dinner was
announced they were very still and heavy with melan-
choly. After dinner Lettie debated pleasantly which
bon-bon she should take for the children. When she
came down again she smoked a cigarette with us over
coffee. George did not like to see her smoking, yet
he brightened a little when he sat down after giving
PISGAH 459
her a light, pleased with the mark of recklessness in
her.
" It is ten years to-day since my party at Wood-
side," she said, reaching for the small Roman salt-
cellar of green jade that she used as an ash-tray.
" My Lord — ten years ! " he exclaimed bitterly.
" It seems a hundred."
" It does and it doesn't," she answered, smiling.
" If I look straight hack, and think of my excite-
ment, it seems only yesterday. If I look between
then and now, at all the days that lie between, it is
an age."
" If I look at myself," he said, " I think I am an-
other person altogether."
" You have changed," she agreed, looking at him
sadly. " There is a great change — but you are not
another person. I often think — there is one of his
old looks, he is just the same at the bottom ! "
They embarked on a barge of gloomy recollections
and drifted along the soiled canal of their past.
" The worst of it is," he said. " I have got a miser-
able carelessness, a contempt for things. You know
I had such a faculty for reverence. I always believed
in things."
" I know you did," she smiled. " You were so
humbly-minded — too humbly-minded, I always con-
sidered. You always thought things had a deep reli-
gious meaning, somewhere hidden, and you rever-
enced them. Is it different now J "
" You know me very well," he laughed. " What
is there left for me to believe in, if not in myself ? "
" You have to live for your wife and children,"
she said with firmness.
460 THE WHITE PEACOCK
"Meg has plenty to secure her and the children
as long as they live," he said, smiling. " So I don't
know that I'm essential."
" But you are," she replied. " You are necessary
as a father and a husband, if not as a provider."
" I think," said he, " marriage is more of a duel
than a duet. One party wins and takes the. other
captive, slave, servant — what you like. It is so, more
or less."
" Well ? " said Lettie.
" Well ! " he answered. " Meg is not like you.
She wants me, part of me, so she'd kill me rather than
let me go loose."
" Oh, no ! " said Lettie, emphatically.
" You know nothing about it," he said quietly.
" In the marital duel Meg is winning. The woman
generally does; she has the children on her side. I
can't give her any of the real part of me, the vital
part that she wants — I can't, any more than you could
give kisses to a stranger. And I feel that I'm losing
— and don't care."
" No," she said, " you are getting morbid."
He put the cigarette between his lips, drew a deep
breath, then slowly sent the smoke down his nostrils.
" No," he said.
" Look here ! " she said. " Let me sing to you,
shall I, and make you cheerful again ? "
She sang from Wagner. It was the music of
resignation and despair. She had not thought of it.
All the time he listened he was thinking. The music
stimulated his thoughts and illuminated the trend of
his brooding. All the time he sat looking at her his
eyes were dark with his thoughts. She finished the
PISGAH 461
" Star of Eve " from Tannhauser and came over to
him.
" Why are you so sad to-night, when it is my birth-
day ? " she asked plaintively.
u Am I slow ? " he replied. " I am sorry."
u What is the matter ? " she said, sinking onto the
small sofa near to him.
" Nothing ! " he replied — " You are looking very
beautiful."
" There, I wanted you to say that ! You ought to
be quite gay, you know, when I am so smart to-night."
" Nay," he said, " I know I ought. But the to-
morrow seems to have fallen in love with me. I can't
get out of its lean arms."
" Why ! " she said. " To-morrow's arms are not
lean. They are white, like mine." She lifted her
arms and looked at them, smiling.
" How do you know ? " he asked, pertinently.
" Oh, of course, they are," was her light answer.
He laughed, brief and sceptical.
" No ! " he said. " It came when the children
kissed us."
"What?" she asked.
" These lean arms of to-morrow's round me, and
the white round you," he replied, smiling whimsical-
ly. She reached out and clasped his hand.
" You foolish boy," she said.
He laughed painfully, not able to look at her.
" You know," he said, and his voice was low and
difficult. " I have needed you for a light. You will
soon be the only light again."
" Who is the other? " she asked.
" My little girl ! " he answered. Then he con-
462 THE WHITE PEACOCK
tinued, " And you know, I couldn't endure complete
darkness, I couldn't. It's the solitariness."
" You mustn't talk like this," she said. " You
know you mustn't." She put her hand on his head
and ran her fingers through the hair he had so ruffled.
* It is as thick as ever, your hair," she said.
He did not answer, hut kept his face bent out of
sight. She rose from her seat and stood at the back
of his low arm-chair. Taking an amber comb from
her hair, she bent over him, and with the translucent
comb and her white fingers she busied herself with
his hair.
" I believe you would have a parting," she said
softly.
He laughed shortly at her playfulness. She con-
tinued combing, just touching, pressing the strands in
place with the tips of her fingers.
" I was only a warmth to you," he said, pursuing
the same train of thought. " So you could do with-
out me. But you were like the light to me, and
otherwise it was dark and aimless. Aimlessness is
horrible."
She had finally smoothed his hair, so she lifted her
hands and put back her head.
" There ! " she said. " It looks fair fine, as Alice
would say. Raven's wings are raggy in compari-
son."
He did not pay any attention to her.
" Aren't you going to look at vourself ? " she said,
playfully reproachful. She put her finger-tips under
his chin. He lifted his head and they looked at each
other, she smiling, trying to make him play, he smil-
ing with his lips, but not with eyes, dark with pain.
PISGAH 463
" We can't go on like this, Lettie, can we ? " he
said softly.
" Yes," she answered him, " Yes ; why not ? "
" It can't ! " he said, " It can't, I couldn't keep it
up, Lettie."
" But don't think about it," she answered. " Don't
think of it."
" Lettie," he said. " I have to set my teeth with
loneliness."
" Hush ! " she said. " No ! There are the chil-
dren. Don't say anything — do not be serious, will
you?"
" No, there are the children," he replied, smiling
dimly.
" Yes ! Hush now ! Stand up and look what a
fine parting I have made in your hair. Stand up,
and see if my style becomes you."
" It is no good, Lettie," he said, " we can't go on."
" Oh, but come, come, come ! " she exclaimed.
" We are not talking about going on ; we are con-
sidering what a fine parting I have made you down
the middle, like two wings of a spread bird " she
looked down, smiling playfully on him, just closing
her eyes slightly in petition.
He rose and took a deep breath, and set his
shoulders.
" No," he said, and at the sound of his voice, Lettie
went pale and also stiffened herself.
" No ! " he repeated. " It is impossible. I felt
as soon as Fred came into the room — it must be one
way or another."
" Very well then," said Lettie, coldly. Her voice
was " muted " like a violin.
464 THE WHITE PEACOCK
" Yes," he replied, submissive. " The children."
He looked at her, contracting his lips in a smile of
misery.
" Are you sure it must be so final ? " she asked,
rebellious, even resentful. She was twisting the
azurite jewels on her bosom, and pressing the blunt
points into her flesh. He looked up from the fasci-
nation of her action when he heard the tone of her
last question. He was angry.
" Quite sure ! " he said at last, simply, ironically.
She bowed her head in assent. His face twitched
sharply as he restrained himself from speaking again.
Then he turned and quietly left the room. She did
not watch him go, but stood as he had left her.
When, after some time, she heard the grating of his
dog-cart on the gravel, and then the sharp trot of
hoofs down the frozen road, she dropped herself on
the settee, and lay with her bosom against the cush-
ions, looking fixedly at the wall.
CHAPTEK VII
THE SCARP SLOPE
Leslie won the conservative victory in the general
election which took place a year or so after my last
visit to " Highclose."
In the interim the Tempests had entertained a con-
tinuous stream of people. I heard occasionally from
Lettie how she was busy, amused, or bored. She told
me that George had thrown himself into the struggle
on behalf of the candidate of the Labour Party ; that
she had not seen him, except in the streets, for a very
long time.
When I went down to Eberwich in the March suc-
ceeding the election, I found several people staying
with my sister. She had under her wing a young
literary fellow who affected the " Doady " style —
Dora Copperfield's " Doady." He had bunches of
half-curly hair, and a romantic black cravat; he
played the impulsive part, but was really as calculat-
ing as any man on the stock-exchange. It delighted
Lettie to u mother " him. He was so shrewd as to
be less than harmless. His fellow guests, a woman
much experienced in music and an elderly man who
was in the artistic world without being of it, were
interesting for a time. Bubble after bubble of float-
ing fancy and wit we blew with our breath in the
evenings. I rose in the morning loathing the idea of
more bubble-blowing.
465
466 THE WHITE PEACOCK
I wandered around Nethermere, which had now
forgotten me. The daffodils under the boat-house
continued their golden laughter, and nodded to one
another in gossip, as I watched them, never for a
moment pausing to notice me. The yellow reflection
of daffodils among the shadows of grey willow in the
water trembled faintly as they told haunted tales in
the gloom. I felt like a child left out of the group of
my playmates. There was a wind running across
ISTethermere, and on the eager water blue and glisten-
ing grey shadows changed places swiftly. Along the
shore the wild birds rose, flapping in expostulation as
I passed, peewits mewing fiercely round my head,
while two white swans lifted their glistening feathers
till they looked like grand double water-lilies, laying
back their orange beaks among the petals, and front-
ing me with haughty resentment, charging towards
me insolently.
I wanted to be recognised by something. I said to
myself that the dryads were looking out for me from
the wood's edge. But as I advanced they shrank,
and glancing wistfully, turned back like pale flowers
falling in the shadow of the forest. I was a stranger,
an intruder. Among the bushes a twitter of lively
birds exclaimed upon me. Finches went leaping past
in bright flashes, and a robin sat and asked rudely:
"Hello! Who are you?"
The brachen lay sere under the trees, broken and
chavelled by the restless wild winds of the long
winter.
The trees caught the wind in their tall netted
twigs, and the young morning wind moaned at its
captivity. As I trod the discarded oak-leaves and the
THE SCARP SLOPE 467
bracken they uttered their last sharp gasps, pressed
into oblivion. The wood was roofed with a wide
young sobbing sound, and floored with a faint hiss
like the intaking of the last breath. Between, was
all the glad out-peeping of buds and anemone flow-
ers and the rush of birds. I, wandering alone, felt
them all, the anguish of the bracken fallen face-down
in defeat, the careless dash of the birds, the sobbing
of the young wind arrested in its haste, the trem-
bling, expanding delight of the buds. I alone among
them could hear the whole succession of chords.
The brooks talked on just the same, just as gladly,
just as boisterously as they had done when I had
netted small, glittering fish in the rest-pools. At
Strelley Mill a servant girl in a white cap, and white
apron-bands, came running out of the house with
purple prayer-books, which she gave to the elder of
two finicking girls who sat disconsolately with their
black-silked mother in the governess cart at the gate,
ready to go to church. Near Woodside there was
barbed-wire along the path, and at the end of every
riding it was tarred on the tree-trunks, " Private."
I had done with the valley of Nethermere. The
valley of Nethermere had cast me out many years
before, while I had fondly believed it cherished me
in memory.
I went along the road to Eberwich. The church
bells were ringing boisterously, with the careless
boisterousness of the brooks and the birds and the
rollicking coltsfoots and celandines.
A few people were hastening blithely to service.
Miners and other labouring men were passing in aim-
468 THE WHITE PEACOCK
less gangs, walking nowhere in particular, so long as
they reached a sufficiently distant public house.
I reached the l Hollies.' It was much more
spruce than it had been. The yard, however, and the
stables, had again a somewhat abandoned air. I
asked the maid for George.
" Oh, master's not up yet," she said, giving a little
significant toss of her head, and smiling. I waited a
moment.
" But he rung for a bottle of beer about ten min-
utes since, so I should think " she emphasised
the word with some ironical contempt, " — he won't
be very long," she added, in tones which conveyed
that she was not by any means sure. I asked for
Meg.
" Oh, Missis is gone to church — and the children
— But Miss Saxton is in, she might "
" Emily ! " I exclaimed.
The maid smiled.
" She's in the drawing-room. She's engaged, but
perhaps if I tell her "
" Yes, do," said I, sure that Emily would receive
me.
I found my old sweetheart sitting in a low chair
by the fire, a man standing on the hearthrug pulling
his moustache. Emily and I both felt a thrill of old
delight at meeting.
" I can hardly believe it is really you," she said,
laughing me one of the old intimate looks. She had
changed a great deal. She was very handsome, but
she had now a new self-confidence, a fine, free indif-
ference.
" Let me introduce you. Mr. Kenshaw, Cyril.
THE SCARP SLOPE 469
Tom, you know who it is you have heard me speak
often enough of Cyril. I am going to marry Tom in
three weeks' time," she said, laughing.
" The devil you are ! " I exclaimed involuntarily.
" If he will have me," she added, quite as a play-
ful afterthought,
Tom was a well-huilt fair man, smoothly, almost
delicately tanned. There was something soldierly in
his bearing, something self-conscious in the way he
bent his head a-nd pulled his moustache, something
charming and fresh in the way he laughed at Emily's
last preposterous speech.
" Why didn't you tell me ? " I asked.
" Why didn't you ask me ? " she retorted, arching
her brows.
" Mr. Renshaw," I said. " You have out-ma-
noeuvred me all unawares, quite indecently."
" I am very sorry," he said, giving one more twist
to his moustache, then breaking into a loud, short
laugh at his joke.
" Do you really feel cross ? " said Emily to me,
knitting her brows and smiling quaintly.
" I do ! " I replied, with truthful emphasis.
She laughed, and laughed again, very much
amused.
" It is such a joke," she said. " To think you
should feel cross, now, when it is — how long is it
ago ?"
" I will not count up," said I.
" Are you not sorry for me?" I asked of Tom
Renshaw.
He looked at me with his young blue eyes, eyes so
bright, so naively inquisitive, so winsomely medita-
470 THE WHITE PEACOCK
tive. He did not know quite what to say, or how to
take it.
" Very ! " he replied in another short burst of
laughter, quickly twisting his moustache again and
looking down at his feet.
He was twenty-nine years old ; had been a soldier
in China for five years, was now farming his father's
farm at Papplewick, where Emily was schoolmistress.
He had been at home eighteen months. His father
was an old man of seventy who had had his right
hand chopped to bits in the chopping machine. So
they told me. I liked Tom for his handsome bearing,
and his fresh, winsome way. He was exceedingly
manly : that is to say he did not dream of questioning
or analysing anything. All that came his way was
ready labelled nice or nasty, good or bad. He did
not imagine that anything could be other than just
what it appeared to be: — and with this appearance,
he was quite content. He looked up to Emily as one
wiser, nobler, nearer to God than himself.
" I am a thousand years older than he," she said
to me, laughing. " Just as you are centuries older
than I."
" And you love him for his youth ? " I asked.
" Yes," she replied. " For that and — he is won-
derfully sagacious — and so gentle."
" And I was never gentle, was 1 8 " I said.
" No ! As restless and as urgent as the wind,"
she said, and I saw a last flicker of the old terror.
" Where is George ? " I asked.
" In bed," she replies briefly. " He's recovering
from one of his orgies. If I were Meg I would not
live with him."
THE SCARP SLOPE 471
* Is he so bad ? " I asked.
" Bad ! " she replied. " He's disgusting, and I'm
sure he's dangerous. I'd have him removed to an
inebriate's home."
" You'd have to persuade him to go," said Tom,
who had come into the room again. " He does
have dreadful bouts, though! He's killing him-
self, sure enough. I feel awfully sorry for the fel-
low."
" It seems so contemptible to me," said Emily,
" to become enslaved to one of your likings till it
makes a beast of you. Look what a spectacle he is
for his children, and what a disgusting disgrace for
his wife."
" Well, if he can't help it, he can't, poor chap,"
said Tom. " Though I do think a man should have
more backbone."
We heard heavy noises from the room above.
" He is getting up," said Emily. " I suppose I'd
better see if he'll have any breakfast." She waited,
however. Presently the door opened, and there
stood George with his hand on the knob, leaning,
looking in.
" I thought I heard three voices," he said, as if it
freed him from a certain apprehension. He smiled.
His waistcoat hung open over his woollen shirt, he
wore no coat and was slipperless. His hair and his
moustache were dishevelled, his face pale and stupid
with sleep, his eyes small. He turned aside from
our looks as from a bright light. His hand as I
shook it was flaccid and chill.
" How do you come to be here, Cyril ? " he said
subduedly, faintly smiling.
472 THE WHITE PEACOCK
" Will you have any breakfast ? " Emily asked
him coldly.
" I'll have a bit if there's any for me," he re-
plied.
" It has been waiting for you, long enough," she
answered. He turned and went with a dull thud of
his stockinged feet across to the dining-room. Emily
rang for the maid, I followed George, leaving the
betrothed together. I found my host moving about
the dining-room, looking behind the chairs and in the
corners.
" I wonder where the devil my slippers are ! " he
muttered explanatorily. Meanwhile he continued
his search. I noticed he did not ring the bell to have
them found for him. Presently he came to the fire,
spreading his hands over it. As he was smashing
the slowly burning coal the maid came in with the
tray. He desisted, and put the poker carefully
down. While the maid spread his meal on one cor-
ner of the table, he looked in the fire, paying her no
heed. When she had finished:
"It's fried white-bait," she said. "Shall you
have that ? "
He lifted his head and looked at the plate.
" Ay," he said. " Have you brought the vine-
gar?"
Without answering, she took the cruet from the
sideboard and set it on the table. As she was closing
the door, she looked back to say:
" You'd better eat it now, while it's hot."
He took no notice, but sat looking in the fire.
" And how are you going on ? " he asked me.
" I ? Oh, very well ! And you ? "
THE SCARP SLOPE 473
" As yon see," he replied, turning his head on one
side with a little gesture of irony.
" As I am very sorry to see," I rejoined.
He sat forward with his elbows on his knees, tap-
ping the back of his hand with one finger, in monoto-
nous two-pulse like heart-beats.
" Aren't you going to have breakfast ? " I urged.
The clock at that moment began to ring a sonorous
twelve. He looked up at it with subdued irritation.
" Ay, I suppose so," he answered me, when the
clock had finished striking. He rose heavily and
went to the table. As he poured out a cup of tea he
spilled it on the cloth, and stood looking at the stain.
It was still some time before he began to eat. He
poured vinegar freely over the hot fish, and ate with
an indifference that made eating ugly, pausing now
and again to wipe the tea off his moustache, or to
pick a bit of fish from off his knee.
" You are not married, I suppose ? " he said in one
of his pauses.
" No," I replied. " I expect I shall have to be
looking round."
" You're wiser not," he replied, quiet and bitter.
A moment or two later the maid came in with a
letter.
" This came this morning," she said, as she laid it
on the table beside him. He looked at it, then he
said:
" You didn't give me a knife for the marmalade."
"Didn't I?" she replied. "I thought you
wouldn't want it. You don't as a rule."
" And do you know where my slippers are ? " he
asked.
474 THE WHITE PEACOCK
" They ought to be in their usual place." She
went and looked in the corner. " I suppose Miss
Gertie's put them somewhere. I'll get you another
pair."
As he waited for her he read the letter. He read
it twice, then he put it back in the envelope, quietly,
without any change of expression. But he ate no
more breakfast, even after the maid had brought the
knife and his slippers, and though he had had but a
few mouthfuls.
At half-past twelve there was an imperious wom-
an's voice in the house. Meg came to the door. As
she entered the room, and saw me, she stood still.
She sniffed, glanced at the table, and exclaimed, com-
ing forward effusively:
" Well I never, Cyril ! Who'd a thought of see-
ing you here this morning ! How are you ? "
She waited for the last of my words, then imme-
diately she turned to George, and said :
" I must say you're in a nice state for Cyril to see
you! Have you finished? — if you have, Kate can
take that tray out. It smells quite sickly. Have you
finished?"
He did not answer, but drained his cup of tea and
pushed it away with the back of his hand. Meg rang
the bell, and having taken off her gloves, began to
put the things on the tray, tipping the fragments of
fish and bones from the edge of his plate to the mid-
dle with short, disgusted jerks of the fork. Her atti-
tude and expression were of resentment and disgust.
The maid came in.
" Clear the table Kate, and open the window.
Have you opened the bedroom windows ? "
THE SCARP SLOPE 475
"No'm — not yet/' — she glanced at George as if
to say he had only been down a few minutes.
" Then do it when you have taken the tray," said
Meg.
" You don't open this window," said George churl-
ishly. " It's cold enough as it is."
" You should put a coat on then if you're starved,"
replied Meg contemptuously. " It's warm enough
for those that have got any life in their blood. You
do not find it cold, do you Cyril ? "
" It is fresh this morning," I replied.
" Of course it is, not cold at all. And I'm sure
this room needs airing."
The maid, however, folded the cloth and went out
without approaching the windows.
Meg had grown stouter, and there was a certain
immovable confidence in her. She was authoritative,
amiable, calm. She wore a handsome dress of dark
green, and a toque with opulent ostrich feathers. As
she moved about the room she seemed to dominate
everything, particularly her husband, who sat ruffled
and dejected, his waistcoat hanging loose over his
shirt.
A girl entered. She was proud and mincing in
her deportment. Her face was handsome, but too
haughty for a child. She wore a white coat, with
ermine tippet, muff, and hat. Her long brown hair
hung twining down her back.
" Has dad only just had his breakfast ? " she ex-
claimed in high censorious tones as she came in.
" He has ! " replied Meg.
The girl looked at her father in calm, childish cen-
sure.
476 THE WHITE PEACOCK
" And we have been to church, and come home to
dinner," she said, as she drew off her little white
gloves. George watched her with ironical amuse-
ment.
" Hello ! " said Meg, glancing at the opened
letter which lay near his elbow. " Who is that
from ? "
He glanced round, having forgotten it. He took
the envelope, doubled it and pushed it in his waist-
coat pocket.
" It's from William Housley," he replied.
" Oh ! And what has he to say ? " she asked.
George turned his dark eyes at her.
" Nothing ! " he said.
" Hm-Hm ! " sneered Meg. " Funny letter, about
nothing ! "
" I suppose," said the child, with her insolent,
high-pitched superiority, " It's some money that he
doesn't want us to know about."
" That's about it ! " said Meg, giving a small laugh
at the child's perspicuity.
" So's he can keep it for himself, that's what it
is," continued the child, nodding her head in rebuke
at him.
" I've no right to any money, have I ? " asked the
father sarcastically.
" No, you haven't," the child nodded her head at
him dictatorially, "you haven't, because you only
put it in the fire."
" You've got it wrong," he sneered. " You mean
it's like giving a child fire to play with."
"Urn! — and it is, isn't it Mam?" — the small
woman turned to her mother for corroboration. Meg
THE SCARP SLOPE 477
had flushed at his sneer, when he quoted for the
child its mother's dictum.
" And you're very naughty ! " preached Gertie,
turning her back disdainfully on her father.
" Is that what the parson's been telling you ? " he
asked, a grain of amusement still in his bitterness.
" No it isn't ! " retorted the youngster. " If you
want to know you should go and listen for yourself.
Everybody that goes to church looks nice " she
glanced at her mother and at herself, pruning herself
proudly, " — and God loves them," she added. She
assumed a sanctified expression, and continued after
a little thought : " Because they look nice and are
meek."
" What ! " exclaimed Meg, laughing, glancing with
secret pride at me.
" Because they're meek ! " repeated Gertie, with a
superior little smile of knowledge.
" You're off the mark this time," said George.
" No, I'm not, am I Mam ? Isn't it right Mam ?
1 The meek shall inevit the erf ' ? "
Meg was too much amused to answer.
" The meek shall have herrings on earth," mocked
the father, also amused. His daughter looked dubi-
ously at him. She smelled impropriety.
" It's not, Mam, is it ? " she asked, turning to her
mother. Meg laughed.
" The meek shall have herrings on earth," re-
peated George with soft banter.
" No it's not Mam, is it ? " cried the child in real
distress.
" Tell your father he's always teaching you some-
thing wrong," answered Meg.
478 THE WHITE PEACOCK
Then I said I must go. They pressed me to stay.
" Oh, yes — do stop to dinner," suddenly pleaded
the child, smoothing her wild ravels of curls after
having drawn off her hat. She asked me again and
again, with much earnestness.
" But why ? " I asked.
" So's you can talk to us this afternoon — an' so's
Dad won't be so dis'greeable," she replied plaintively,
poking the black spots on her muff.
Meg moved nearer to her daughter with a little
gesture of compassion.
" But," said I, " I promised a lady I would be back
for lunch, so I must. You have some more visitors,
you know."
* Oh, well ! " she complained, " They go in another
room, and Dad doesn't care about them."
"But come!" said I.
" Well, he's just as dis'greeable when Auntie
Emily's here — he is with her an' all."
" You are having your character given away," said
Meg brutally, turning to him.
I bade them good-bye. He did me the honour of
coming with me to the door. We could neither of us
find a word to say, though we were both moved.
When at last I held his hand and was looking at him
as I said " Good-bye," he looked back at me for the
first time during our meeting. His eyes were heavy
and as he lifted them to me, seemed to recoil in an
agony of shame.
CHAPTEE VIII
A PROSPECT AMONG THE MARSHES OF LETHE
George steadily declined from this time. I went to
see him two years later. He was not at home. Meg
wept to me as she told me of him, how he let the busi-
ness slip, how he drank, what a brute he was in
drink, and how unbearable afterwards. He was ruin-
ing his constitution, he was ruining her life and the
children's. I felt very sorry for her as she sat, large
and ruddy, brimming over with bitter tears. She
asked me if I did not think I might influence him.
He was, she said, at the " Earn." When he had an
extra bad bout on he went up there, and stayed some-
times for a week at a time, with Oswald, coming back
to the " Hollies " when he had recovered — " though,"
said Meg, " he's sick every morning and almost after
every meal."
All the time Meg was telling me this, sat curled
up in a large chair their youngest boy, a pale, sensi-
tive, rather spoiled lad of seven or eight years, with a
petulant mouth, and nervous dark eyes. He sat
watching his mother as she told her tale, heaving his
shoulders and settling himself in a new position when
his feelings were nearly too much for him. He was
full of wild, childish pity for his mother, and furious,
childish hate of his father, the author of all their
trouble. I called at the " Earn " and saw George.
He was half drunk.
479
480 THE WHITE PEACOCK
I went up to Highclose with a heavy heart. Let-
tie's last child had been born, much to the surprise of
everybody, some few months before I came down.
There was a space of seven years between her young-
est girl and this baby. Lettie was much absorbed in
motherhood.
When I went up to talk to her about George. I
found her in the bedroom nursing the baby, who was
very good and quiet on her knee. She listened to me
sadly, but her attention was caught away by each
movement made by the child. As I was telling her
of the attitude of George's children towards their
father and mother, she glanced from the baby to me,
and exclaimed:
" See how he watches the light flash across your
spectacles when you turn suddenly — Look ! "
But I was weary of babies. My friends had all
grown up and married and inflicted them on me.
There were storms of babies. I longed for a place
where they would be obsolete, and young, arrogant,
impervious mothers might be a forgotten tradition.
Lettie's heart would quicken in answer to only one
pulse, the easy, light ticking of the baby's blood.
I remembered, one day as I sat in the train hasten-
ing to Charing Cross on my way from France, that
that was George's birthday. I had the feeling of him
upon me, heavily, and I could not rid myself of the
depression. I put it down to travel fatigue, and tried
to dismiss it. As I watched the evening sun glitter
along the new corn-stubble in the fields we. passed,
trying to describe the effect to myself, I found myself
asking : " But — what's the matter ? I've not had bad
news, have I, to make my chest feel so weighted ? "
AMONG THE MARSHES 481
I was surprised when I reached my lodging in New
Maiden to find no letters for me, save one fat budget
from Alice. I knew her squat, saturnine handwrit-
ing on the envelope, and I thought I knew what con-
tents to expect from the letter.
She had married an old acquaintance who had been
her particular aversion. This young man had got
himself into trouble, so that the condemnations of the
righteous pursued him like clouds of gnats on a sum-
mer evening. Alice immediately rose to sting back
his vulgar enemies, and having rendered him a service,
felt she could only wipe out the score by marrying
him. They were fairly comfortable. Occasionally,
as she said, there were displays of small fireworks in
the back yard. He worked in the offices of some
iron foundries just over the Erewash in Derbyshire.
Alice lived in a dirty little place in the valley a mile
and a half from Eberwich, not far from his work.
She had no children, and practically no friends; a
few young matrons for acquaintances. As wife of a
superior clerk, she had to preserve her dignity among
the work-people. So all her little crackling fires were
sodded down with the sods of British respectability.
Occasionally she smouldered a fierce smoke that made
one's eyes water. Occasionally, perhaps once a year,
she wrote me a whole venomous budget, much to my
amusement.
I was not in any haste to open this fat letter, until,
after supper, I turned to it as a resource from my
depression.
" Oh dear Cyril, I'm in a bubbling state, I want to
yell, not write. Oh, Cyril, why didn't you marry me,
or why didn't our Georgie Saxton, or somebody. I'm
482 THE WHITE PEACOCK
deadly sick. Percival Charles is enough to stop a
clock. Oh, Cyril, he lives in an eternal Sunday suit,
holy broad-cloth and righteous three inches of cuffs!
He goes to bed in it. Nay, he wallows in bibles when
he goes to bed. I can feel the brass covers of all his
family bibles sticking in my ribs as I lie by his side.
I could weep with wrath, yet I put on my black hat
and trot to chapel with him like a lamb.
" Oh, Cyril, nothing's happened. Nothing has
happened to me all these years. I shall die of it
When I see Percival Charles at dinner, after having
asked a blessing, I feel as if I should never touch a bit
at his table again. In about an hour I shall hear him
hurrying up the entry — prayers always make him
hungry — and his first look will be on the table. But
I'm not fair to him — he's really a good fellow — I
only wish he wasn't.
" It's George Saxton who's put this seidlitz powder
in my marital cup of cocoa. Cyril, I must a tale un-
fold. It is fifteen years since our George married
Meg. When I count up, and think of the future, it
nearly makes me scream. But my tale, my tale !
"Can you remember his faithful-dog, wounded-
stag, gentle-gazelle eyes? Cyril, you can see the
whisky, or the brandy combusting in them. He's got
d — t's, blue-devils — and I've seen him, and I'm
swarming myself with little red devils after it. I
went up to Eberwich on Wednesday afternoon for a
pound of fry for Percival Charles' Thursday dinner.
I walked by that little path which you know goes
round the back of the ' Hollies ' — it's as near as any
way for me. I thought I heard a row in the paddock
at the back of the stables, so I said I might as well see
AMONG THE MARSHES 483
the fun. I went to the gate, basket in one hand, nine-
pence in coppers in the other, a demure deacon's wife.
I didn't take in the scene at first.
" There was our Georgie, in leggings and breeches
as of yore, and a whip. He was flourishing, and
striding, and yelling. ' Go it old boy,' I said, l you'll
want your stocking round your throat to-night.' But
Cyril, I had spoken too soon. Oh, lum! There
came raking up the croft that long, wire-springy race-
horse of his, ears flat, and, clinging to its neck, the
pale-faced lad, Wilfred. The kid was white as death,
and squealing ' Mam ! mam ! ' I thought it was a
bit rotten of Georgie trying to teach the kid to jockey.
The race-horse, Bonny-Boy — Boney Boy I call him —
came bouncing round like a spiral egg-whish. Then
I saw our Georgie rush up screaming, nearly spitting
the moustache off his face, and fetch the horse a cut
with the whip. It went off like a flame along hot
paraffin. The kid shrieked and clung. Georgie went
rushing after him, running staggery, and swearing,
fairly screaming, — awful — ' a lily-livered little
swine ! ' The high lanky race-horse went larroping
round as if it was going mad. I was dazed. Then
Meg came rushing, and the other two lads, all scream-
ing. She went for George, but he lifted his whip
like the devil. She daren't go near him — she rushed
at him, and stopped, rushed at him, and stopped,
striking at him with her two fists. He waved his
whip and kept her off, and the race-horse kept tearing
along. Meg flew to stop it, he ran with his drunken
totter-step, brandishing his whip. I flew as well. I
hit him with my basket. The kid fell off, and Meg
rushed to him. Some men came running. George
484 THE WHITE PEACOCK
stood fairly shuddering. You would never have
known his face, Cyril. He was mad, demoniacal. I
feel sometimes as if I should burst and shatter to bits
like a sky-rocket when I think of it. I've got such a
weal on my arm.
" I lost Percival Charles' ninepence, and my nice
white cloth out of the basket, and everything, besides
having black looks on Thursday because it was mut-
ton chops, which he hates. Oh, Cyril, ' I wish I was
a cassowary, on the banks of the Timbuctoo.' When
I saw Meg sobbing over that lad — thank goodness
he wasn't hurt — ! I wished our Georgie was dead ;
I do now, also ; I wish we only had to remember him.
I haven't been to see them lately — can't stand Meg's
ikeyness. I wonder how it all will end.
"There's P. C. bidding ' Good-night and God Bless
You ' to Brother Jakes, and no supper ready "
As soon as I could, after reading Alice's letter, I
went down to Eberwich to see how things were.
Memories of the old days came over me again till
my heart hungered for its old people.
They told me at the " Hollies " that, after a bad at-
tack of delirium tremens, George had been sent to
Papplewick in the lonely country to stay with Emily.
I borrowed a bicycle to ride the nine miles. The
summer had been wet, and everything was late. At
the end of September the foliage was heavy green,
and the wheat stood dejectedly in stook. I rode
through the still sweetness of an autumn morning.
The mist was folded blue along the hedges ; the elm
trees loomed up along the dim walls of the morning,
the horsechestnut trees at hand flickered with a few
yellow leaves like bright blossoms. As I rode through
AMONG THE MARSHES 485
the tree tunnel by the church where, on his last night,
the keeper had told me his story, I smelled the cold
rotting of the leaves of the cloudy summer.
I passed silently through the lanes, where the chill
grass was weighed down with grey-blue seed-pearls
of dew in the shadow, where the wet woollen spider-
cloths of autumn were spread as on a loom. Brown
birds rustled in flocks like driven leaves before me.
I heard the far-off hooting of the " loose-all " at the
pits, telling me it was half-past eleven, that the men
and boys would be sitting in the narrow darkness of
the mines eating their " snap," while shadowy mice
darted for the crumbs, and the boys laughed with red
mouths rimmed with grime, as the bold little crea-
tures peeped at them in the dim light of the lamps.
The dog-wood berries stood jauntily scarlet on the
hedge-tops, the bunched scarlet and green berries of
the convolvulus and bryony hung amid golden trails,
the blackberries dropped ungathered. I rode slowly
on, the plants dying around me, the berries leaning
their heavy ruddy mouths, and languishing for the
birds, the men imprisoned underground below me, the
brown birds dashing in haste along the hedges.
Swineshed Farm, where the Renshaws lived, stood
quite alone among its fields, hidden from the highway
and from everything. The lane leading up to it was
deep and unsunned. On my right, I caught glimpses
through the hedge of the corn-fields, where the shocks
of wheat stood like small yellow-sailed ships in a
wide-spread flotilla. The upper part of the field was
cleared. I heard the clank of a wagon and the voices
of men, and I saw the high load of sheaves go lurch-
ing, rocking up the incline to the stackyard.
486 THE WHITE PEACOCK
The lane debouched into a close-bitten field, and
out of this empty land the farm rose up with its
buildings like a huddle of old, painted vessels float-
ing in still water. White fowls went stepping dis-
creetly through the mild sunshine and the shadow.
I leaned my bicycle against the grey, silken doors of
the old coach-house. The place was breathing with
silence. I hesitated to knock at the open door.
Emily came. She was rich as always with her large
beauty, and stately now with the stateliness of a
strong woman six months gone with child.
She exclaimed with surprise, and I followed her
into the kitchen, catching a glimpse of the glistening
pans and the white wood baths as I passed through
the scullery. The kitchen was a good-sized, low room
that through long course of years had become abso-
lutely a home. The great beams of the ceiling bowed
easily, the chimney-seat had a bit of dark-green cur-
tain, and under the high mantel-piece was another
low shelf that the men could reach with their hands
as they sat in the ingle-nook. There the pipes lay.
Many generations of peaceful men and fruitful
women had passed through the room, and not one but
had added a new small comfort ; a chair in the right
place, a hook, a stool, a cushion, a certain pleasing
cloth for the sofa covers, a shelf of books. The room,
that looked so quiet and crude, was a home evolved
through generations to fit the large bodies of the men
who dwelled in it, and the placid fancy of the women.
At last, it had an individuality. It was the home of
the Renshaws, warm, lovable, serene. Emily was in
perfect accord with its brownness, its shadows, its
ease. I, as I sat on the sofa under the window, felt
AMONG THE MARSHES 487
rejected by the kind room. I was distressed with a
sense of ephemerality, of pale, erratic fragility.
Emily, in her full-blooded beauty, was at home. It
is rare now to feel a kinship between a room and the
one who inhabits it, a close bond of blood relation.
Emily had at last found her place, and had escaped
from the torture of strange, complex modern life.
She was making a pie, and the flour was white on her
brown arms. She pushed the tickling hair from her
face with her arm, and looked at me with tranquil
pleasure, as she worked the paste in the yellow bowl.
I was quiet, subdued before her.
" You are very happy ? " I said.
" Ah very ! " she replied. " And you ? — you are
not, you look worn."
" Yes," I replied. "lam happy enough. I am
living my life."
" Don't you find it wearisome ? " she asked pity-
ingly-
She made me tell her all my doings, and she mar-
velled, but all the time her eyes were dubious and piti-
ful.
" You have George here," I said.
" Yes. He's in a poor state, but he's not as sick
as he was."
" What about the delirium tremens ? "
" Oh, he was better of that — very nearly — before
he came here. He sometimes fancies they're coming
on again, and he's terrified. Isn't it awful! And
he's brought it all on himself. Tom's very good to
him."
" There's nothing the matter with him — physically,
is there ? " I asked.
488 THE WHITE PEACOCK
"I don't know," she replied, as she went to the oven
to turn a pie that was baking. She put her arm to
her forehead and brushed aside her hair, leaving a
mark of flour on her nose. For a moment or two she
remained kneeling on the fender, looking into the fire
and thinking. " He was in a poor way when he
came here, could eat nothing, sick every morning. I
suppose it's his liver. They all end like that." She
continued to wipe the large black plums and put them
in the dish.
" Hardening of the liver ? " I asked. She nodded.
" And is he in bed ? " I asked again.
" Yes," she replied. " It's as I say, if he'd get up
and potter about a bit, he'd get over it. But he lies
there skulking."
" And what time will he get up ? " I insisted.
" I don't know. He may crawl down somewhere
towards tea-time. Do you want to see him ? That's
what you came for, isn't it ? "
She smiled at me with a little sarcasm, and added :
" You always thought more of him than anybody,
didn't you ? Ah, well, come up and see him."
I followed her up the back stairs, which led out of
the kitchen, and which emerged straight in a bedroom.
We crossed the hollow-sounding plaster-floor of this
naked room and opened a door at the opposite side.
George lay in bed watching us with apprehensive
eyes.
" Here is Cyril come to see you," said Emily, " so
I've brought him up, for I didn't know when you'd
be downstairs."
A small smile of relief came on his face, and he
put out his hand from the bed. He lay with the
AMONG THE MARSHES 489
disorderly clothes pulled up to his chin. His face
was discoloured, and rather bloated, his nose swollen.
" Don't you feel so well this morning ? " asked
Emily, softening with pity when she came into con-
tact with his sickness.
" Oh, all right," he replied, wishing only to get
rid of us.
" You should try to get up a bit, it's a beautiful
morning, warm and soft — " she said gently. He did
not reply, and she went downstairs.
I looked round to the cold, whitewashed room,
with its ceiling curving and sloping down the walls.
It was sparsely furnished, and bare of even the slight-
est ornament. The only things of warm colour were
the cow and horse skins on the floor. All the rest
was white or grey or drab. On one side, the roof
sloped down so that the window was below my knees,
and nearly touching the floor, on the other side was
a larger window, breast high. Through it one could
see the jumbled, ruddy roofs of the sheds and the
skies. The tiles were shining with patches of vivid
orange lichen. Beyond was the corn-field, and the
men, small in the distance, lifting the sheaves on the
cart.
" You will come back to farming again, won't
you ? " I asked him, turning to the bed. He smiled.
" I don't know," he answered dully.
" Would you rather I went downstairs % " I asked.
" No, I'm glad to see you," he replied, in the same
uneasy fashion.
" I've only just come back from France," I said.
" Ah ! " he replied, indifferent.
" I am sorry you're ill," I said.
490 THE WHITE PEACOCK
He stared unmovedly at the opposite wall. I went
to the window, and looked out. After some time, I
compelled myself to say, in a casual manner:
" Won't you get up and come out a bit ? "
" I suppose Is'll have to," he said, gathering him-
self slowly together for the effort. He pushed him-
self up in bed.
When he took off the jacket of his pajamas to
wash himself I turned away. His arms seemed thin,
and he had bellied, and was bowed and unsightly. I
remembered the morning we swam in the mill-pond.
I remembered that he was now in the prime of his
life. I looked at his bluish feeble hands as he labo-
riously washed himself. The soap once slipped from
his fingers as he was picking it up, and fell, rattling
the pot loudly. It startled us, and he seemed to grip
the sides of the washstand to steady himself. Then
he went on with his slow, painful toilet. As he
combed his hair he looked at himself with dull eyes
of shame.
The men were coming in from the scullery when
we got downstairs. Dinner was smoking on the
table. I shook hands with Tom Renshaw, and with
the old man's hard, fierce left hand. Then I was in-
troduced to Arthur Renshaw, a clean-faced, large,
bashful lad of twenty. I nodded to the man, Jim,
and to Jim's wife, Annie. We all sat down to table.
" Well, an' W are ter f eelin' by now, like ? " asked
the old man heartily of George. Receiving no an-
swer, he continued, " Tha should 'a gor up an' com'
an' gen us a 'and wi' th' wheat, it 'ud 'a done thee
good."
" You will have a bit of this mutton, won't you ? "
AMONG THE MARSHES 491
Tom asked him, tapping the joint with the carving
knife. George shook his head.
" It's quite lean, and tender," he said gently.
" No, thanks," said George.
" Gi'e 'im a bit, gi'e 'im a bit ! " cried the old man.
" It'll do 'im good — it's what 'e wants, a bit o'
strengthenin' nourishment."
" It's no good if his stomach won't have it," said
Tom, in mild reproof, as if he were speaking of a
child. Arthur filled George's glass with beer with-
out speaking. The two young men were full of kind,
gentle attention.
" Let 'im 'a'e a spoonful o' tonnup then," persisted
the old man. " I canna eat while 'is plate stands
there emp'y."
So they put turnip and onion sauce on George's
plate, and he took up his fork and tasted a few
mouthfuls. The men ate largely, and with zest.
The sight of their grand satisfaction, amounting
almost to gusto, sickened him.
When at last the old man laid down the dessert
spoon which he used in place of a knife and fork, he
looked again at George's plate, and said :
" Why tha 'asna aten a smite, not a smite ! Tha
non goos th' raight road to be better."
George maintained a stupid silence.
" Don't bother him, father," said Emily.
" Tha art an owd whittle, feyther," added Tom,
smiling good-naturedly. He spoke to his father in
dialect, but to Emily in good English. Whatever she
said had Tom's immediate support. Before serving
us with pie, Emily gave her brother junket and dam-
sons, setting the plate and the spoon before him as if
492 THE WHITE PEACOCK
he were a child. For this act of grace Tom looked
at her lovingly, and stroked her hand as she passed.
After dinner, George said, with a miserable strug-
gle for an indifferent tone:
" Aren't you going to give Cyril a glass of
whisky ? "
He looked up furtively, in a conflict of shame and
hope. A silence fell on the room.
" Ay ! " said the old man softly. " Let 'im 'ave a
drop."
" Yes ! " added Tom, in submissive pleading.
All the men in the room shrank a little, awaiting
the verdict of the woman.
" I don't know," she said clearly, " that Cyril
wants a glass."
" I don't mind." I answered, feeling myself
blush. I had not the courage to counteract her will
directly. Not even the old man had that courage.
We waited in suspense. After keeping us so for a
few minutes, while we smouldered with mortifica-
tion, she went into another room, and we heard her
unlocking a door. She returned with a decanter con-
taining rather less than half a pint of liquor. She
put out five tumblers.
" Tha nedna gi'e me none," said the old man.
" Ah'm non a proud chap. Ah'm not."
" Nor me neither," said Arthur.
" You will Tom ? " she asked.
" Do you want me to ? " he replied, smiling.
" I don't," she answered sharply. " I want no-
body to have it, when you look at the results of it.
But if Cyril is having a glass, you may as well have
one with him."
AMONG THE MARSHES 493
Tom was pleased with her. She gave her husband
and me fairly stiff glasses.
" Steady, steady ! " he said. " Give that George,
and give me not so much. Two fingers, two of your
fingers, you know."
But she passed him the glass. When George had
had his share, there remained but a drop in the de-
canter.
Emily watched the drunkard coldly as he took this
remainder.
George and I talked for a time while the men
smoked. He, from his glum stupidity, broke into a
harsh, almost imbecile loquacity.
" Have you seen my family lately ? " he asked,
continuing. " Yes ! Not badly set up, are they, the
children? But the little devils are soft, mard-soft,
every one 'of 'em. It's their mother's bringin' up —
she marded 'em till they were soft, an' would never
let me have a say in it. I should 'a brought 'em up
different, you know I should."
Tom looked at Emily, and, remarking her angry
contempt, suggested that she should go out with him
to look at the stacks. I watched the tall, square-
shouldered man leaning with deference and tender-
ness towards his wife as she walked calmly at his
side. She was the mistress, quiet and self-assured,
he her rejoiced husband and servant.
George was talking about himself. If I had not
seen him, I should hardly have recognised the words
as his. He was lamentably decayed. He talked
stupidly, with vulgar contumely of others, and in
weak praise of himself.
The old man rose, with a:
494 THE WHITE PEACOCK
" Well, I suppose we mun ma'e another dag at it,"
and the men left the house.
George continued his foolish, harsh monologue,
making gestures of emphasis with his head and his
hands. He continued when we were walking round
the buildings into the fields, the same babble of brag-
ging and abuse. I was wearied and disgusted. He
looked, and he sounded, so worthless.
Across the empty cornfield the partridges were
running. We walked through the September haze
slowly, because he was feeble on his legs. As he be-
came tired he ceased to talk. We leaned for some
time on a gate, in the brief glow of the transient
afternoon, and he was stupid again. He did not
notice the brown haste of the partridges, he did not
care to share with me the handful of ripe blackber-
ries, and when I pulled the bryony ropes off the
hedges, and held the great knots of red and green
berries in my hand, he glanced at them without in-
terest or appreciation.
" Poison-berries, aren't they ? " he said dully.
Like a tree that is falling, going soft and pale and
rotten, clammy with small fungi, he stood leaning
against the gate, while the dim afternoon drifted with
a flow of thick sweet sunshine past him, not touching
him.
In the stackyard, the summer's splendid monu-
ments of wheat and grass were reared in gold and
grey. The wheat was littered brightly round the ris-
ing stack. The loaded wagon clanked slowly up the
incline, drew near, and rode like a ship at anchor
against the scotches, brushing the stack with a crisp,
sharp sound. Tom climbed the ladder and stood a
AMONG THE MARSHES 495
moment there against the sky, amid the brightness
and fragrance of the gold corn, and waved his arm to
his wife who was passing in the shadow of the build-
ing. Then Arthur began to lift the sheaves to the
stack, and the two men worked in an exquisite, subtle
rhythm, their white sleeves and their dark heads
gleaming, moving against the mild sky and the corn.
The silence was broken only by the occasional lurch
of the body of the wagon, as the teamer stepped to
the front, or again to the rear of the load. Occa-
sionally I could catch the blue glitter of the prongs
of the forks. Tom, now lifted high above the small
wagon load, called to his brother some question about
the stack. The sound of his voice was strong and
mellow.
I turned to George, who also was watching, and
said:
" You ought to be like that."
We heard Tom calling, " All right ! " and saw him
standing high up on the tallest corner of the stack,
as on the prow of a ship.
George watched, and his face slowly gathered ex-
pression. He turned to me, his dark eyes alive with
horror and despair.
"I shall soon — be out of everybody's way!" he
said. His moment of fear and despair was cruel.
I cursed myself for having roused him from his
stupor.
" You will be better," I said.
He watched again the handsome movement of the
men at the stack.
" I couldn't team ten sheaves," he said.
" You will in a month or two," I urged.
496 THE WHITE PEACOCK
He continued to watch, while Tom got on the ladder
and came down the front of the stack.
" Nay, the sooner I clear out, the better," he re-
peated to himself.
When we went in to tea, he was, as Tom said,
" downcast." The men talked uneasily with abated
voices. Emily attended to him with a little, palpitat-
ing solicitude. We were all uncomfortably im-
pressed with the sense of our alienation from him.
He sat apart and obscure among us, like a condemned
man.
THE END
..:::.. .:..;.:.
