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" Ignore letter. Wedding took place to-day "

DnwB by F. H. TowDBCnd

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i he Wall of Partition

Florence L. Barclay

Author of "Tbe Ro&ar>," cto.

G. P. Putnam's Sons

New York and London

Cbe Itnicftcihocfter prc33

1914

(

t
\

^* i'liii:; took place tu- u*

J . "

>re Tj^if .?r)

The Wall of Partition ^^

Florence L. Barclay

Anthor of "The R0M17/' ete.

•

G. P. Putnam*s iSofis

New York and London

tCbe fmicftetbocRet pteM

1914

hVt-

CONTENTS

CHAPm

PAGB

After Ten Years

II.

No Welcome Home .

III.

"To Lord and Lady Hilary — A

Son"

IV.

Billy Attempts Diplomacy

" The Great Divide "

VI.

The Other Side of the Wall .

VII.

"On Behalf of Max Romer" ,

VIII.

A Voice from the Void

IX.

Shut Out

. 95

The Bishop's Concordance

103

XI.

" She Shall Speak Again ! "

III

XII.

The Kind Voice

117

XIII.

" Many Widows Were in Israel '

' 130

XIV.

A Telephone Friendship .

. 148

XV.

The Wind in the Chimney

• 157

XVI.

Suspense

. 165

XVII.

"Come TO Me!"

. 172

XVIII.

The Better Ending .

. 181

XIX.

The Trail of the Serpent

. 199

Contents

PAGB

XX.

The Bishop's Widow

213

XXI.

Rodney Faces the Situation .

233

XXII.

"Why Not? •• . . . .

241

XXIII.

Keeping Tryst

254

XXIV.

The Smile in the Mirror

259

XXV.

Lady Hilary Unraveks the

Tangle . . . .

270

XXVI.

"JAM MaxRomer!"

286

XXVII.

Lady Valeria's Sense of Hu

MOUR

294

XXVIII.

Billy Learns the Truth .

303

XXIX.

Discord in Rodney's Orchestra

^ 315

XXX.

The Baton of the Maestro

328

XXXI.

Into the Desert

340

XXXII.

"So Perish All the King'i

Enemies"

. 344

XXXIII.

The Flaming Sword

. 352

XXXIV.

The Beacon Light .

. 361

XXXV.

House and Home

. 372

XXXVI.

In the Garden of Sleep .

. 388

XXXVII.

The "TrXumerei" .

. 401

XXXVIII.

"Are You There?" .

• 4"

XXXIX.

On the Same Side of the Wal:

L 414

XL.

The Chant of the Purple Hill

s 418

The Wall of Partition

CHAPTER I

AFTER TEN YEARS

A FOG hung over London, on the afternoon of
^^ the 1 2th of December.

This was both right and seasonable within a
fortnight of Christmas Day.

Passengers by the Channel boat had crossed in
brilliant sunshine. Though the sea ran high, the
sky was blue, and the great sea-horses tossed back
white manes of glistening foam, as they rushed to
meet the advancing steamer. Breaking against
her sides, they covered the few travellers who at-
tempted to tramp the decks, with briny spray;
then, diving beneath the vessel's bows, lifted her
high; but, rapidly receding, dropped her again
into the trough of waters, as she pounded and

ploughed her way toward Folkestone.

14 The Wall of Partition

Turning instantly on his heel, he stepped dear
of the crowd, and walked down the empty plat-
form toward the centre of the terminus.

His hands were thrust deep into the pockets of
his ulster, he appeared to have no small luggage
with him ; in fact, but for the travelling rug across
his shoulder, and the deep bronze which betokened,
unmistakably, recent exposure to Eastern sun, his
whole appearance was so casual, so unlike the
hurried eagerness of a long-distance traveller, that
he might very well have been strolling down the
platform, after a ten minutes' run to town on a
suburban train.

As a matter of fact, it was ten years since this
tall traveller had seen a yellow fog, or heard the
distant rumble which is London, and music in
the ears of the true Londoner. No other city in
the world can equal the deep trombone hum of
London's traffic. The tall traveller had sampled
many cities during his ten years of exile; he had
heard the rattle of Paris, the crack of Florence,
the whirl of New York, the rush of Chicago, and
the weird hue and cry of Eastern towns. He had
traversed every continent, had lived in many lands.
And now, as he walked down the platform at Char-
ing Cross, sniffing with keen enjoyment the pe-
culiar busy smell of a London railway station, he

After Ten Years 15

hoped, with an Englishman's instinctive conceal-
ment of emotion, that chance onlookers could see
no signs of the deep stir it caused within him, to
find himself surrounded by the well-remembered
sights and sounds.

He was not expecting anybody to meet him. It
was ten years since "welcome" had meant aught
to him, save memories. Yet — ^toward him up the
empty platform a little lady came, with flying feet.

She was short, and plump, and matronly,
muffled in brown furs, which added to the soft
cosiness of her appearance. Bright, eager eyes
looked out through golden pince-nez. On her
comfortable bosom reposed a huge bimch of violets,
which rose and fell, spasmodically, as she ran,
panting.

Within calling distance of the tall traveller, she
spread wide her arms and, running still, cried:
"Oh, my dearest boy! Welcome home! Ah,
what it means to have you back! Welcome, my
darling boy!"

In another moment the tall traveller expected
to find himself encircled by those outstretched
arms, and pressed against the violets.

He was endeavouring to catch at a suitable
remark to make under such agreeable yet unfore-
seen circumstances, when it dawned upon him that

The Wall of Partition

the bright eyes were looking beyond, rather than
at, him. Glancing over his shoulder he saw a
very small, very pale schoolboy, coming down the
platform behind him, obviously arriving from a
foreign school, and still feeling the effects of the
^' utter beastliness" of the Channel.

The tall. traveller moved to one side.

The little lady swept past him, with a tinkle of
bangles and a delicious fragrance of violets.

In another moment the tired, seasick little
schoolboy was clasped in her embrace, kissed,
questioned, welcomed, and kissed again. He
yielded to the comfort of it. The other fellows
were not there to see. It was so very cheering,
after the long, lonely jotuney, to feel her arms about
him, the fur he knew so well beneath his cheek,
the scent of violets all around. He forgot the
miseries of the Channel, and all the drawbacks of
the wintry journey from Lausanne. Though still
on the platform at Charing Cross station, the lit-
tle English schoolboy had suddenly reached home.

The tall traveller smiled, and walked on.

' ' Welcome, my dearest boy ! Ah, what it means
to have you back!"

How absurd to have imagined, even for one
instant, that such words as these could have been
intended for himself! Why, there was nobody to

After Ten Years 17

whom it meant anything whatsoever that, after
ten long years abroad, he had come back!

He made his way to the railway bookstall. It
struck him as larger and more complete than the
bookstalls he remembered. He saw a satisfactory
pile of his own books, in attractive readable edi-
tions, one for every year of his absence, for he was
a rapid writer, and had had plenty of good material.
His own name met him in large letters on a placard :

LATEST WORK

RODNEY STEELE
"THE FLIGHT OP THE BOOMERANG."

2/- NET.

He took up a copy of The Flight of the Boomerang.
It chanced to be the first bound copy he had seen.
He had mailed his final proof by a shorter route,
before starting homeward. He turned the pages,
glancing quickly through it.

The young man in charge of the bookstall,
prompt and vigilant, was instantly at his elbow.

"Capital book, sir. Rodney Steele's latest.
Just out. "

Steele looked at the youth — a gleam of amuse-
ment in his eyes. This was the first remark ad-

i8 The Wall of Partition

dressed to him in England. Was it his welcome
home?

" Is it selling well? " he asked.

"All Mr. Steele's books sell well here, sir. You
see, the public seems to like 'em for railway jour-
neys. Amusing, plenty of adventure, lots of local
colour, a little mild love-interest thrown in; no
problems, nothing much to think about, and cock-
sure of a happy ending; That's what the travel-
ling public wants. "

" I see. And are these the ingredients which go
to the making of all his books?"

"Much the same, sir. But plenty of variety in
the setting. Mr. Steele is a great traveller. He
sends home a story for every country to which he
goes. Here's The BuUerfly Bride^ that's Japan;
Prince of Pigtails^ China. Among Purple Tassels
is a tale of the west of America; I believe the
title refers to the great fields of Indian com.
TTie Desert Sentinel, is Egypt. About the only
country he hasn't done is India. Perhaps that's
to come. "

Rodney Steele frowned as he laid down The
Flight of the Boomerang.

"They sound rather rotten," he said, abruptly.

The young man's keen face expressed dis-
appointment.

After Ten Years 19

"Well, I don't say they're literature^ sir."
Rodney smiled, as he heard this familiar catch-
word of the baflfled critic. "And they might not
be to your taste. But they're racy and readable,
and full of local colour, and — as I say — ^that's
what the travelling public likes."

He turned to straighten the pile, gave the adver-
tisement-card even greater prominence, and
incidentally sold the very copy Rodney Steele had
handled, to a customer who hurried up, eagerly
demanding it.

There was triumph in his eye, as he turned back
to the tall traveller.

But Steele appeared to have forgotten The
Flight of the Boomerang. He had taken up a six-
shilling novel, strikingly bound in black with
heavy gold lettering. The card displayed above
it, announced: "The book of the season. A new
novel by a new writer."

Rodney Steele looked at the title: The Great
Divide, by Max Romer.

"What is this?" he said.

Again the young salesman was all enthusiasm.

"Ah, sir, that's the book for you, if you've not
seen it already ! Our boss says it's worth all Mr.
Stede's stories put together. It's the book of the
season. Everybody's reading it, and talking of

The Wall of Partition

it, too, which amounts to a lot more. . . . Yes,
madam? 7%e Great Divide? Here you are! Six
shillings. Thank you. . . . You see? That's
the way it goes on all day. And full price they
pay, to get it the moment they want it. . . .
77^ Great Divide? I thought so, sir. Here you
are! Thank you."

"Who is Max Romer?" asked Rodney Steele,
slowly.

" Can't say, sir, " replied the youth. " I believe
it's a nom^'plumef and I have heard it's a lady ;
but I doubt that."

"What are the — ^ingredients? "

The young salesman hesitated. Then: "Love,"
he said simply. "Love, and life."

"Love?" queried Rodney Steele. "I thought
you told me these other books all had a love-
interest?"

"Well, yes," said the youth. "May be, a love-
interest. But this is — ^the Real Thing. "

The tall traveller laughed. "All right," he
said, "I'll have the Real Thing."

He slipped the book into the pocket of
his ulster, and handed the young salesman a
sovereign.

"Keep the change, my boy," he said. "I
have taken up a pound's worth of your time, and

After Ten Years 21

you have given me more than a pound's worth of
information. And now tell me, honestly. Which
do you really, yourself, prefer? Max Romer's
book, or Rodney Steele's ?"

The youth coloured, then answered, with an
obvious effort: **Fact is, sir, I've not read The
Great Divide; I've only heard it talked about.
But I've read all Mr. Steele's, except The Boomer^
ang; and, what's more, I've got 'em all at home."
Then, bracing himself, with true British pluck and
honesty, he looked the tall traveller bravely in
the face. **Pact is, sir, Mr. Steele's my favourite
author. "

"Thank you for telling me, my boy," said
Rodney Steele. He took up a copy of his latest
book, wrote something on the fly-leaf, and handed
it to the youth. "Put that in your library," he
said. "Wait a bit. Here are the two shillings. We
won't take it out of the change. I owe you more
than that. You have given me my welcome home. "

Then he turned, and walked back to claim his
luggage, his rug over his shoulder, his left hand in
his pocket; on his lean, brown face a whimsical
smile; for, in his right-hand pocket, was Max
Romer's famous novel, worth all Rodney Steele's
put together — so said "our boss," and so, prob-
ably, said the world.

22 The Wall of Partition

But the lad at the bookstall remained faithful
to his "favourite author."

There are always compensations, thank the
Lord!

CHAPTER II

NO WELCOME HOME

\ X THEN Steele reached the Customs benches the

' ^ barrier was akeady down, passengers were

crowding round, identifying their luggage, and

loudly declaring that they had nothing to declare.

He found himself, for a moment, dose to the
plump little lady with the violets.

In the appreciative atmosphere of home, the
small schoolboy had completely recovered from
his sea-sickness, and had lost all recollection of
desolation and loneliness. He had forgotten the
"utter beastliness" of the Channel. Mentally
he was beginning to strut.

"We had a jolly good tossin', coming over,"
Steele heard him say to his mother. "Most of
the women and girls had to stay below. "

She was wrestling with keys, and trying to peep
under the arms of tall people in front. Yet she
turned, with love in her eyes, to say : " It is a great
thing to be a good sailor, Bobby dear.

»»

26 The Wall of Partition

of the drums coming along Hyde Park, where
thousands of stricken subjects waited in mournful
silence while the little co£Sn of the Great Queen
passed. How small it had seemed, to hold so great
a queen; to represent, to tens of thousands of
watching eyes, so vast a loss.

"'Lest we forget!'" quoted Rodney Steele, as
he looked at the majestic marble figure, throned
outside the palace, above the rushing waters.
"Yet — could we, who really remember, ever
forget ? "

At Hyde Park Comer the fog hung lower; so
the driver, thinking it safer to go where lights were
brightest, turned down Piccadilly, up Bond Street,
and across Oxford Street.

Shops and thoroughfares were brilliantly lighted.
To Steele's keen glance of interest everything
seemed to have advanced the ftdl ten years — to be
ten times brighter, ten times busier, ten times more
crowded than he remembered. Then his taxi ran
into Wimpole Street, and, after passing the new
post-office, he found himself suddenly back among
the things which change not.

He looked out at No. 50, with the old thrill of
interest. There, high up on the wall, was the
little medallion, recording the fact that in this
house lived, from 1838 to 1846, Elizabeth Barrett

No Welcome Home 27

Browmng, poetess. There were the steps up which
Robert Browning so often passed, the front door
which opened so constantly to admit him, during
those two years of tender, romantic courtship. It
must have been anxious work sometimes, reaching
that quiet study, two flights up. Occasional
awkward moments occurred, when unexpected
visitors were encountered on the stairs. But,
once safely within the sancttun where she waited,
what a certainty of welcome!

Welcome ! Steele seemed pursued by that word
— ^he, who had returned, at last, to where no wel-
come waited. Again he scented the violets and
heard the happy little mother's voice: "Welcome,
my dearest boy ! Ah, what it means to have you
back!"

How extraordinarily crazy he had been to
imagine, even for a moment, that those open arms,
that rush of cosy softness up the platform, had been
toward himself. He had even begun to consider
what he would say, when he found himself em-
braced! Why do we have these moments of
mental aberration, in which, jumping dreamlike
to a false conclusion, we suddenly conceive the
wildest happenings as about to occur, in the very
midst of the utter commonplace of every day?
What could be more dreamlike and absurd than

The Wall of Partition

that a charming little woman, whom he did not
know, in brown furs and gold pince-nez^ should fly
along the platform, crying : '' Welcome, my dearest
boy!" to him — to him? Yet — for just one mo-
ment — before he looked over his shoulder, and saw
the small, pallid schoolboy

Bah! there is always a ''pallid schoolboy'*
in the background of such dreams, if common sense
will but turn in time and glance over the shoulder.
Life's traveller would rarely be overwhelmed by
the rush of romance, had he but the sense to turn
and look behind him.

So thought Rodney Steele, even as he passed the
house where was gradually and delicately evolved
the most perfect romance in our literature. Many
a pallid spectre might have stood behind those poet
lovers, had they faltered and looked back, instead
of going bravely forward, strong in that perfect
love which casteth out fear.

Perfect love? Perfect trust? Good God! Is
there such a thing, in this suspicious, censorious
world, as perfect trust? And can any love
worthy of the name exist, where trust is not? He
had been — ^no fabulous hero — ^but just an hon-
ourable man in a tight place, and the girl he wholly
loved and trusted had turned on him, within a week
of the day which was to make her altogether his.

No Welcome Home 29

and had said: "The least you can do, Rodney
Steele, is to go out of my sight, and never attempt
to speak to me again."

He had gone — ^ten years ago; and he had not
spoken to her since.

"Welcome home, my dearest boy! Ah, what
it means to have you back ! "

The taxi skidded in crossing the Marylebone
Road, and narrowly missed colliding with a motor-
bus; which regardless of fog and of sticky roads,
was pursuing the usual headlong career of the
London motor-buses.

The skid, the shouts, the narrow shave, roused
and braced the man to whom danger of any kind
was as the breath of life.

He leaned forward, enjoying the fury of the bus
driver, and the official frown of a policeman.

Then the taxi passed through iron gates and
drew up at one of the entrances of the handsome
stone buildings, facing the upper end of Wimpole
Street, in which was the flat, placed entirely at his
disposal by his friend and cousin, Billy Cathcart.

As Steele's taxi, entering by one gate, drew up
opposite the entrance bearing the numbers 42 to
55, another taxi, entering by the other gate, drew
up at "the same entrance, the two coming to a
standstill within a few inches of each other.

30 The Wall of Partition

The hall-porter, alert and watchftil, ran down
the steps to see to the luggage; and, as Steele
alighted and paid his driver, a man sprang from
the other taxi, flung a suit-case to the porter, and
stood on the pavement fumbling with a handful
of loose change.

Instantly a loud tattoo was beaten on a window
above.

Both men looked up.

Steele knew which windows on the second floor
were those of Billy's flat, having long before re-
ceived an elaborately marked photograph of the
building, which, for want of other pictures, he
had put up on the wall of his log-hut. He was
therefore quite familiar with the front of Re-
gent House, and easily identified Billy's windows.
The rooms were lighted; but the blinds were
down.

The blinds were up, in the windows of the adjoin-
ing flat on the right; but the rooms were in total
darkness.

On the left, however, the blinds were up, the
rooms brilliantly lighted, and, eagerly pressed
against the window-pane, Steele saw three child-
ren's faces. Behind the curly heads, her hands
on either side of the window-pane above them,
appeared the tall, graceful figure of a woman.

No Welcome Home 31

Three pairs of little hands were beating the
energetic tattoo upon the glass.

The other traveller waved his hand, with a
gay gesture, and paid his driver ; then, turning to
the hall-porter, said: "Run us up, at once, will
you, Maloney? You can come back for the
luggage. "

"All right, sir," said Maloney. "Just give me
time to carry it inside."

The travellers crossed the hall and entered the
lift together. The porter quickly followed,
clanged the gate to, and they mounted to the
second floor.

The hall doors, belonging to the two flats, faced
one another across a small stone landing.

Number 49 was closed; but the door of the
opposite flat stood wide open. From it came the
happy sound of children's voices.

As the gate of the lift swung open, Stede stood
back to let the other man go first.

Following immediately, he could not fail to see
what happened. There was a scamper of little
feet; but, swiftly before them, came the sweep of
velvet and lace. The woman's arms were around
the traveller in the doorway. Steele saw the
gladness in her uplifted face.

"Welcome, my dearest, welcome!" he heard her

32 The Wall of Partition

say. "These ten days have seemed ten years to
me! Ah, it is good to have you back!"

Then she drew him within, and shut the door.

Steele stood alone on the stone landing, a closed
door on either side of him.

What a fuss other people's wives and mothers
were making with their welcomes on this par-
ticular afternoon. It made a sensible, un-
romantic bachelor feel quite shy ! And with the
Real Thing in his pocket, if they cotdd but have
known it! A safer place, perhaps, for the Real
Thing, than in the heart.

He smiled his rather whimsical smile, and rang
the bell of No. 49.

The door was opened, promptly, and there stood
Sergeant Jake — ^Jake in private clothes, trying to
look an old family servant ; Jake, striving to appear
a sort of respectable cross between a butler and a
valet; yet still, notwithstanding all his efforts,
every inch a trooper. At sight of the man who
had helped him carry Billy to safe cover at Spion
Kop, Jake's heels came smartly together; the chest
which owned a row of medals, and the proudest
reward England can give for valour, unconsciously
expanded, and Jake's right hand was lifted in salute.
His left arm had remained in South Africa, the
price he had paid for the life of his young captain.

No Welcome Home 33

"Why, Jake! This is first-rate/' said Rodney
Steele. "I did not know I should find an old
comrade here."

And he stepped into the cosy hall of Billy's flat.

CHAPTER III

"to lord and lady HILARY— a SON"

A N hour later, Stede lay back in a deep armchair
^^ in the library, enjoying a pipe and the ab-
solute qtiiet; the sense of being, at last, at home;
an unlooked-for experience, so near a great London
thoroughfare, and in rooms he had never before
entered.

Jake had removed the tea-things, and left a
copy of TTie Times on the table at his elbow.

Twice Steele had put out his hand for the paper,
then withdrawn it, preferring to think his own
thoughts in peace, undisturbed by the intrusion of
print. He had lost the habit of a daily paper, and
took to it reluctantly when he found it once more
within reach.

He was enjoying to the full the curious sensa-
tion of his first experience of a London flat. He
knew he had entered by a front door, used by other
inhabitants of this portion of the great building;
he had seen the common staircase; the lift ascend-

"To Lord and Lady Hilary — a Son" 35

ing to the many floors. Yet when the door of No.
49 was closed, when he stood in the hall where a
bright fire burned, illumining the fine old prints
upon the walls; when he walked down the long
corridor to his bedroom, or looked into the spacious
dining-room opening out of the hall ; or, better still,
found himself in Billy's delightful library, with
thick curtains drawn, the noise of the thoroughfare
below, a mere hum in the distance, he could fancy
himself in a large country house, miles away from
any other dwelling.

It seemed almost impossible to believe that
unknown people were just above and below him;
that through this wall on his left, somebody else
was probably having tea; that on the other side
of the dining-room wall, the fellow who had received
such a whirlwind of welcome, sat with the beauti-
ful woman, and the three little curly heads. It
seemed curious to be so isolated, and yet so
surrounded.

Billy was due in a few minutes. He had tele-
phoned that he was motoring up, but had been
delayed by fog in the suburbs.

The telephone stood in the hall. The bell had
whirred sharply, twice during the last half -hour.
Jake had answered it each time, and nothing
further had happened; so, apparently, the mes-

38 The Wall of Partition

loving eyes, she said: "Oh, Roddie, I do so love
a baby boy!"

And suddenly he had known what it would
mean to see her with a little son of his, in her
sweet arms.

He laid down his pipe.

He could smell the cowslips still.

"To Lord and Lady Hilary — a son. "

A latchkey rattled in the lock of the hall door.

The hall door banged.

Rodney Steele took up his pipe, rose, and stood,
very tall and straight, upon the hearthrug, his
eyes fixed expectant on the library door.

The door burst open, and Billy bounded in.

CHAPTER IV

BILLY ATTEMPTS DIFLOMAOT

DILLY, fresh and youthful as ever; full of gay
*--' exuberance.

"Hullo, old chap!" he said, as they clasped
hands, a world of glad welcome in his boyish face,
a ring of genuine gladness in his voice.

"Well, Billy," said Rodney Steele, "you see,
I have taken you at your word. Here I am in-
stalled in your flat, and aheady feeling pretty
well at home — a pleasant feeling, that, after ten
years of wandering."

"First-rate!" said Billy, heartily. "You can't
think how jolly it is for me to know you are here
— ^and here for as long as you choose to stay.
We are botmd to be at the Manor for Christmas
and the New Year, and well into January. The
flat would be standing empty, if you were not in
it. Do you like it, Rod?"

"It is quite the last thing in spaciousness and
comfort, Billy. In my ignorance I had pictured

40 The Wall of Partition

a flat as a place in which there was barely room
to turn rotind. You can imagine my amazement
when I walked in here. I hardly know myself in
such magnificent surroundings.''

''I am glad you like it/' said Billy. ''I know
Jake and his wife will make you comfortable.
They run the flat for us. It gives Jake a very
suitable billet. He was lucky in finding such an
excellent and capable little wife. She is alto-
gether devoted to him, and, for his sake, to me.
She was a housekeeper before she married Jake, so
she cooks to perfection, and manages everything,
Jake included. Her favourite remark is: 'Pro-
vidence, thanks be, has given me hands for two ! '
She certainly supplements Jake's lost arm with
an extra amount of energy and handiness. I
know I am not allowed to mention your share
in that day's work, old man, but I can never
forget what I owe to you and to Jake. Since I
came into the property, I often say to myself,
as I canter across the park, or tramp the jolly
old woods: 'If it weren't for Jake, all I should
own now wotdd be a bare six feet of earth tmder
the veldt in the Transvaal.' So I can't ever let
him be a loser by what he sacrificed for me."

"There are worse losses in Kfe than an arm,
old boy," said Steele. "Jake got the V.C. And

Billy Attempts Diplomacy 41

he seems as handy now with one arm, as most
men are with two. With a wife to make much
of him, and with this comfortable billet, no doubt
he feels more than compensated."

"All the same, I can never forget what I owe
him," said Billy. He sat forward in his chair,
looking into the fire, and not at his friend. ''And
my wife feels as I do," said Billy.

There was an indescribable tone of shy pride
in the way Billy said "my wife."

Rodney Steele looked at him, keenly.

Billy's fresh young face was flushed in the
firelight. He looked so much younger than he
actually was.

Steele marked the flush, with inward amuse-
ment. This had to be talked of between them.
Last time they had met, Billy had joined him in
the Rockies, bringing out a hopelessly broken
heart, because Lady Ingleby had married Jim
Airth. It was Billy's faithftd devotion which
had helped to bring them together; yet he had
bolted from England before the wedding; and
Steele had been the recipient of poor Billy's
heart-broken and expansive confidences.

Steele had felt himself somewhat of a brute
for giving no confidence in return. But his
trouble, was too deep a wound to find solace in

42 The Wall of Partition

words; his was not a nattire which cotdd either
take, or give, comfort by self-pity or by self-
revelation.

And here was Billy happily married, and flush-
ing in the firelight at the mere mention of his
wife; whilst he — Steele — ^was still lonely and self-
contained; faithful to a memory which held but
little of sweetness and much of pain.

So you have done it, Billy-boy," he said.
You yotmg scamp! Do you expect me to
congratulate you?"

Then Billy burst forth.

"Wait until you have seen her, Rod; then
you'll know! I can't imagine why she took me.
She might have had anybody. Lots of other
chaps were after her. Yet she took me! Mel
Do you remember what an ass I was out in the
Rockies? Luckily nobody knows of that but
you. I fancied I was badly hit; but now I
know "

' ' Hold hard, Billy. You were badly hit. Don't
be ashamed of it now. The lady was worth it.
Be true to the past, old boy, however much you
glory in the present."

"Ah, but I didn't know the Real Thing then,"
explained Billy. "You have to get married.
Rod, to know the Real Thing." He leaned

Billy Attempts Diplomacy 43

forward eagerly, looking into the stem, quiet
face, opposite. "It is so very — so very trnbe-
lievable, when the most adorable person in the
world chooses you before all other men; likes you
best, trusts you altogether, and keeps nothing
back. One minute you feel too proud and
bucked for words; and the next you feel such
an utter beast, because you don't feel worthy
to— to "

"Tie her shoe-strings," suggested Steele. "I
see. How long have you been married, Billy?"

"Foiu' months yesterday, old man. I took
her to Scotland, to a ripping moor. I loved to
see her walking in the heather. She used to

wear "

Hold hard, Billy ! I don't understand women's
garments. Descriptions will be wasted upon
me. I suppose the lady is tall and graceful, and
trod the heather in queenly fashion, yet as if
she walked on air. Tall women always do, when
men are in love with them, no matter what they
weigh. 'Like dew on the gowan lying, is the
fa' o' her fairy feet.' I have no doubt Annie
Laurie weighed twelve stone. Well, happy man!
may a mere mortal know the lady's name?"

"Valeria," said Billy; and he said it so tenderly
and reverently, that the gay banter was checked

46 The Wall of Partition

of England for ten years, in order to have an old
story raked up directly I return. Whatever
news I require, I find in the papers. I took care
to make sure your sister was in India, before I
arranged to come home. No! Not another
word, or I must be off, bag and baggage. Billy —
I mean it. Do you take that in? . . . All right.
Now let us talk of something else. Are you
thinking of standing for the county? Will Lady
Valeria try her hand at canvassing? Did your
imcle leave the place in good order? I remember
it always pleased the old boy to know you would
stand in his shoes some day."

Billy Cathcart tried to respond to his cousin's
mood, and talk of generalities; but his mind was
full of another subject, and the conversation
became strained and disjointed. BiUy was a
person who could not easily give his mind to other
things, when it was possessed by one idea.

He fidgeted, and looked at the clock.

He had come to Steele charged with a deli-
cate and an important mission. He felt him-
self inadequate to fulfil it. Steele had a most
perplexing way of holding people's minds, in con-
versation. One could not say a thing to him,
however important that he should hear it, if he
did not choose to have it said — ^people found

Billy Attempts Diplomacy 47

themselves forgetting to mention the things he
did not wish to hear.

In his vexation and perplexity, Billy looked
round the room for inspiration. And there, on
the table, he saw a copy of The Great Divide.

"HuUo!" he said. "So you've got Max Ro-
mer's book. What do you think of it?"

"I bought it only this afternoon at the book-
stall at Charing Cross Station. They told me
everybody is reading it, and that it is worth aU
mine put together. Also that it contains the
Real Thing — ^in obvious capitals. Have you
read it, Billy?"

"Of coiu-se I have. I don't often read a novel,
but Valeria made me read The Great Divide.
She sat me down to it and allowed no skipping.
She kept asking me where I was. Don't you
know how awful it is when somebody who knows
the book perfectly, sits in the room while you
are reading, and asks at regular intervals : ' Where
are you now?^ You simply daren't let your
mind wander. And if you happen to have done
a little skipping, when you cheerfully say where
you are, they say: 'Why, you can't be there yet I'
and put you through yotu* paces as to what went
before. I gave in at once, and read every line
of The Great Divide, to please my wife."

48 The Wall of Partition

"Why was she so keen that you should read
it?"

"She wanted to be able to discuss it. Valeria
loves discussing. I'm not much good at an ar-
gument, and I usually see a thing from Valeria's
point of view when she has explained it. But
I could not even agree with her until I had read
the book, cotdd I? I believe I could pass an
exam, in it now. Valeria is very thorough."

"Poor Billy! Were you bored by The Great
Divide?''

"No. To tell you the honest truth, I wasn't.
I daresay I should have skipped the middle, if
my wife would have let me ; but I should certainly
have looked at the end, to see how the book
finished. It — ^it gripped me."

Steele smiled. "Is that an expression of Lady
Valeria's, Billy?"

' * Yes, ' ' said Billy, simply. ' ' It gripped Valeria. ' '

"I thought so. Now, look here, BiUy. All
novels worth reading, should be read twice — ^first
rapidly, for the story and general effect; then
carefully, as a study, psychological and artistic.
Now, I have heaps of work to get through, and
not much time for novel reading. Suppose you
tell me, ia a few words, the plot of this book of
which everybody is talking. It wiU please your

Billy Attempts Diplomacy 49

wife that you should have been able to pass it
on — ^with her impressions and your own."

"Why, of course I will," said Billy. "I told
you I could pass an exam, in it, if necessary."

"WeU? Start with the title. What is 'The

Great Divide'? "

CHAPTER V

"the great divide"

DILLY got up and stood on the hearthrug.

^^ Rodney Steele, his face in the shadow, lay

back in his chair, watching Billy.

"The Great Divide," began Billy, "is a point

on the big watershed of the North American

continent. It is where the waters part in the

Rockies. It is marked by a rustic arch spanning

a stream, under which the waters divide into two

little brooks which, though they have a common

origin, have curiously diflFerent fates. A cupftil

of water thrown down under the arch goes in

two directions — part reaching the Pacific by

the great western rivers, and part flowing into

the Atlantic by way of the Hudson Bay. So,

you see, though they begin together, a whole

vast continent eventually divides them. On

the arch, which spans the streams at the spot

where they part, is inscribed in huge letters: *The

Great Divide.'"

''The Great Divide" 51

"Very interesting," said Steele, "and qtiite
correct. I have stood beneath that arch. But
this is geography, old boy. It is not romance."

"Well, you asked about the title," explained
Billy. "It is told in the introduction."

"I see. Did Lady Valeria make you read the
preface?"

"She read it to me," said Billy.

"Ah, I see. Got you well started. Now go
ahead with the story."

"It begins," said Billy, "with a man and a girl
who are engaged."

"Really? Adam and Eve in the Garden of
Eden. Nothing very new there. As old as the
hills. I suppose the serpent ttims up in the third
or fourth chapter."

"Yes, the serpent turns up, right enough.
But, wait a bit, Rodney. I wish Valeria was here
to explain. It is all very well to say the man and
the girl were engaged; but — ^well, you see, it is
very wonderful love-making. It grips people
when they read it. All the men are in love with
the girl, and all the women are in love with the
man. That's why they talk about it. While I
was reading it, I felt as if the girl was Valeria, all
the time; and the things which happened put
me through a perfect hell."

52 The Wall of Partition

"And did Lady Valeria feel as if the man was
you?"

"Oh, no, she couldn't very well do that," said
Billy, modestly. "He was a clever, dark, artistic
sort of chap. His name was Valentine."

"Hopeless kind of name for a hero," remarked
Rodney Steele. "It makes you think at once
of a guardsman, a nursemaid, and the 14th of
February."

"Well, so I thought, at first," admitted Billy;
"and I said so, to my wife. But Valeria pointed
out that I might as well say Mont Blanc re-
minded me of eggshells, because vulgar people
sometimes picnic there. The name Valentine,
according to Valeria, means 'strong and power-
ful.' Anyway it seems the only possible name,
before you get half way through the book. He
was generally called 'Val'; and, by a curious
coincidence, I sometimes call Valeria, *Val.' "

"Very curious. Get on with the story, Billy.
I can't say I am gripped, as yet."

"Well, they were engaged," said Billy, in a
patient, hopeless voice. "It isn't my fault if
that doesn't grip you. They were awfully happy ;
and reading about it, makes you happy, too. Her
people had not been very keen for her to marry
Val, because an extremely rich individual with

" The Great Divide " 53

a title was after her. But Katherine — did I tell
you her name was Katherine? — Katherine was
not the sort of girl who could be bullied. So she
and Val stood up to the family; and the family
had to Itmip it. They were both pretty young.
Katherine was just twenty, and Val was twenty-
seven. They beUeved in each other tremendously,
and talked out, together, all about the years be-
fore they had met. There seemed to be nothing
to hide."

"Well, they had hardly had time for much in
the way of experience," said Steele. "Was there
anything to hide?"

"You'll hear in a minute," said Billy. "A
year before they met, Val had had a bad hunting
accident, pitched bang on his head, taking a nasty
fence, and had had cerebral haemorrhage as the
result. He was taken to a nursing-home kept
by two sisters — the one, a nice motherly old thing,
who ran the house; the other, younger — ^but a
good bit older than Val — ^very charming and
clever; a trained nurse.

"He was in this home, for six weeks. They
pulled him through all right, though he put him-
self back by working at the manuscript of ^ book
he was writing. The doctors found this out,
and took it away, and then he began to mend;

54 The Wall of Partition

but it made him pretty queer for some months
after — queerer than he knew at the time. He
told Katherine all about it, and how good these
women had been to him.

"Well, a few days before the wedding, he
walked in one evening, and found the handsome
nurse having the deuce of a scene with Katherine.
A bimdle of letters lay on the table between them.
They were love-letters — pretty strong ones, too —
written by Val to the nurse. She had brought
them to Katherine to prove that if Val married
anybody, it ought to be she.

"When Val walked in, Katherine — ^very white
and all that, you know — ^handed him the letter
she was holding, and asked him whether or no
he had written it.

"Val took up the letter; looked at it, in silence;
then read it slowly through while the two women
watched him.

" Then he said, yes, it was his writing.

"The nurse triumphantly offered ICatherine a
few more samples, but she refused to read them,
saying the one she had ah-eady seen was more
than enough. Then she turned upon Val, told
him what she thought of him, and ordered him
to leave the house, and never to speak to her again.

"Val seemed stunned. He had nothing to say.

"The Great Divide'' 55

He just took up the letters, and walked out. The
nurse went with him.

"At the hotel where she was staying, Val or-
dered a private sitting-room. Then he sat down
qtiietly, and read all the letters through.

"When he had finished he told her, what was
the absolute fact: that he had not the faintest
recollection of writing those letters; yet that he
could not deny having written them, because he
recognised his own handwriting. Most of them
had been written while he was still convalescing
in the nursing-home, the handsome nurse having
gone off to take a case elsewhere.

"It made him realise that he had been much
more off his chump than he had known at the
time. As he read them, the letters vaguely re-
minded him that he had mixed up himself and
the nurse, in his mind, with the stoiy he had tried
to write, after the accident.

"The horror of reading letters, written by his
own hand, which he could not remember writing,
gave Val a very bad time, as you may suppose.
He felt he had lost everything. Katherine's love,
his own confidence in himself— aU seemed gone.

"Then the nurse tried to persuade him to
marry her, said she had loved him all along, and
would not have turned him down, as ICatherine

56 The Wall of Partition

had done, if he had written love-letters to fifty

women.

And then Val lets fly at her splendidly, and
asks her what sort of love she calls it, which comes
between a man and the pure, perfect happiness
which was so nearly his. He says that if she had
really loved him she would have sent him the
letters, when she heard of his engagement, or seen
him alone. But she has jolly well done for herself
by going to Katherine. Then he shoves all the
letters into the fire, and lets her rave.

" He returns to Katherine; but she is angry and
humiliated, and won't see him. He writes an ex-
planation; but her people return it, unopened.

Then Val goes off to Africa to shoot big game.

Out in camp, in a very wild and lonely place,
he gets a letter from the friend who was to have
been his best man, telling him that Katherine is
engaged to the wealthy individual with a title;
that her people have ptdled it off; but that she
does not look happy, and the friend is sure she is
secretly pining for Val, and advises him to come
back before it is too late.

"Val goes off, quite by himself, after getting
that letter; and does some shooting and some
thinking. All his passionate love for Katherine
wakes up at the thought of her giving herself to

*'The Great Divide" 57

another man. He knows he cotild win her back,
he feels what a fool he has been to go so far away.
He never really meant to lose her. He makes up
his mind to pocket his pride, and go back at once.

"Just as he has come to this decision — ^and
there is a good deal of glow about it and a red sim-
set going on, though I don't exactly remember
how the sunset came in — a runner comes out from
the camp, with a cable message. Val tears it
open. The friend who wrote the letter had sent
it. It simply says: 'Ignore letter. Wedding
took place to-day.* So Val knows he has jxx^keted
his pride too late. He stands, with folded arms,
upon a rock ; the dead beasts he has shot are lying
around ; and the simset fades.

"That's all," said Billy, sitting down.

Steele put out his hand in silence, took up the
book, opened it, glanced at one or two passages;
then laid it down again.

He seemed to find speech di£Scult.

At last he said: "And people are really dis-
cussing this story, Billy?"

" Indeed they are, " said Billy.

"What do they find in it to discuss?"

"Well, one point is whether anybody could
write a lot of letters and absolutely forget them,
one by one, as soon as they were written."

58 The Wall of Partition

''I should think cerebral haemorrhage might
very well account for that," remarked Steele.

"Then comes the question whether the girl
would have handed him over to the other woman.
Jane says she wouldn't, if she were really so fine
a character as Max Romer has made iCatherine.
Valeria says she would; because pride is stronger
than love. When Valeria says that, I am jolly
glad there are no stray love-letters of mine going
around ! The Duchess says : girls are fools enough
to do anything, when they are jealous; and that a
nice sensible woman of thirty — ^that's the nurse,
you know — ^would probably have made a more
satisfactory wife than Katherine! So they go on
talking."

"I see. Well, he did rather fall between two
stools, didn't he? The Great Divide has not the
conventional happy ending."

"It has a perfectly awful ending," said Billy,
impressively. "I didn't half pile it up enough.
You can't imagine the rotten sense of hopeless
loneliness it leaves with you. And Valeria finds
all sorts of meanings in the wild animals lying
dead, and the red stmset dying out. And we leave
Val, who seemed made for such glorious happiness,
standing on a rock, his arms folded, despair in his
eyes, absolutely alone."

"The Great Divide" 59

"Who is Max Romer?" asked Steele, suddenly.

"Nobody seems to know," replied Billy. "I
have an idea "

The telephone-bell in the hall rang sharply.
They heard Jake answer it.

"Ah, by the way, old man," said Billy, "I'm
afraid you will find the telephone a bit of a bother.
Fact is, they've just changed our number. ' Four
nine four Mayfair,' was the nimiber of the Metro-
politan Emergency Hospital, until a month or
two ago. For some reason or other, I have no
notion why, the Hospital was given another num-
ber, and we were given 'four nine four Mayiair.'
The new telephone book comes out in January;
but meanwhile we are being constantly rung up
by people wanting the Hospital. Jake always
answers, and gives them the right number; but
the bell going at all hours is a nuisance. I hope it
won't annoy you."

"Not at all," said Steele. "It will amuse me.
Perhaps you will hardly credit it, but I have not
before lived in a house with a telephone. Of course
I have often used them, in hotels and elsewhere,
while travelling; but a telephone always at hand,
is a novelty to me. I will undertake some of the
answering for Jake."

"You'U soon be sick of it," said Billy. "And

60 The Wall of Partition

look here, Rod! You'll soon be sick of being
alone; at least, I hope you will. Won't you come
down to us for Christmas? You'd like to see the
old Manor House again; and my wife wants to
know you. We would have quite a gay time.
The Duchess has a big party at Overdene for the
New Year; the Dalmains, the Airths, the Wests,
the Brands — ^if he can get away — ^and half-a-dozen
other old friends. You would like to meet them
all again, and you would get no end of a welcome,
Rod."

"Thank you, Billy. May I think it over and
let you know? At present I am afraid I still feel
rather a wild man of the woods. After ten years —
it is difficult — Thanks old chap. I am not
ungrateful."

Billy looked at the clock.

''Hxillo!" he said. "Seven! And I promised
my wife to be home to dinner at half-past eight.
We shall have to speed. Grood-bye, old man.
Remember, the fiat's your own, and all that's in
it. But propose yourself to us as soon as you feel
like it. . . . Whir! There goes the telephone!
Now you can try your hand at answering. . . .
No, Jake. I won't wait for thelift. Good-night. "

And Billy ran down the stairs.

CHAPTER VI

THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL

"DILLY found his chauffeur in the entrance, deep
'-^ in conversation with Maloney. He ran to
start the engine. Billy stopped him.

"I am not going just yet, Loder," he said. "I
shall be back here in half an hour; then we shall
have to do forty, and trust to luck. You can wait
inside."

There was an air of mystery about Billy's
movements. He walked off toward Langham
Place; then doubled back, and ran up the steps
into the entrance leading to the set of flats in
Regent House, next to his own. He took the lift
to the second floor. As he left it, a man stood
waiting to go down.

"Hullo, Billy!" he said.

Billy turned, and saw Ronald Ingram.

"Hullo!" he said, hastily. "Have you been
calling on my sister?"

"I have been trying to do so; but Lady Hilary
is particularly engaged, and can see nobody."

62 The Wall of Partition

Billy laughed. "She expects me," he said.
" In fact, I am the particular engagement, arriving
late."

"Lucky man!" called back Ronald Ingram, as
the lift dropped out of sight.

Billy rang the bell of the door on the right.

"Her ladyship is in the drawing-room, sir,"
said the maid who opened the door.

Billy paused a minute at the drawing-room door,
passed his hand nervously over his sleek head,
and took a deep breath.

Then he went in, carefully closing the door
behind him.

A soft golden radiance shone from the shaded
lights. An Indian screen, drawn across the door-
way, concealed most of the room. Billy came
round it. His step made no sound on the thick
velvet-pile of the carpet.

A tall woman, in an evening gown of soft black,
sat in a low chair, near the fire.

"Hullo, Madge!" said Billy.

She turned quickly ; rose, and came to meet him.

"Oh, Billy; he has arrived!"

"I know he has arrived, my dear," said Billy,
in a stage whisper. "I come from spending an
hour and a half with him, just on the other side of
this wall. He sits there, now" — Billy made a

The Other Side of the Wall 63

dramatic gesture toward the fire-place — "within
a couple of yards of your chair; and, heaven help
us, my good girl, he believes you to be in India ! "

"Billy," said Lady Hilary, "I saw him drive
up in a taxi. I had telephoned to Charing Cross
to know when the boat-train was expected. I
put out all the lights and waited in the window,
partly concealed by the curtain. But the fog
made everything so curiously dark above, though
it was clear below, that I had little fear of being
seen. Two taxis came up at the same moment,
and two men alighted. But I knew Rodney,
instantly. I could not mistake his broad, square
shoulders, and the set of his head. I think some-
one must have been tapping on a window further
along, for they both looked up, and the other man
waved his hand. Just for one instant, Rodney
looked straight up at this window. Oh, Billy-boy,
I hadn't seen him for ten years, and all my heart
went out in welcome ! ' ' She spread wide her arms
in an impulsive gesture, expressing an abandon-
ment of yearning. "I was there to welcome him;
waiting, watching, loving, longing,— and he did
not know it! Don't you think he must have
known it, Billy?"

Billy sat down, giving a decisive hitch to each
knee.

66 The Wall of Partition

it difficult to make you understand what that
talisman was, or how it worked. Now, Billy,
tell me just what passed between you and Rodney;
because it means so desperately much to me, that
I can't risk any misunderstandings. I have often
felt doubtful whether he knew I was free, because,
Gerald's brother being out there, and stepping
straight into Gerald's post as well as into the title,
paragraphs in the papers mentioning Lord and
Lady Hilary went on, exactly as if they applied
to Gerald and me, whereas they really applied to
my brother-in-law and his wife. And, by the way,
I see in to-day's paper, they have a little son, bom
in Simla. I am glad. That means an heir. The
other children are girls.

I'll tell you just what passed, " said BiUy. " I
asked him if he would like news of you. He said
if he required it, he would ask for it. I took the
bull by the horns, and said there was something he
ought to know. He at once replied, that he knew
it already, '.he had seen it in the papers. Then
he grew very 'steely' about not letting me talk
of you. He was a guest under my roof solely on
condition that I didn't, and so forth. After which,
when he had me properly muzzled, he announced
that he had ascertained that you were safely in
India, before he decided to come home. Now,

The Other Side of the Wall 67

how could I, after that, tell him you had had the
flat next door to mine, during the last six months,
and were in all probability, at that very moment,
toasting your toes at the fire, within three yards
of where his Tragic Steeliness was sitting, petrify-
ing your well-meaning brother into silence?"

" Billy dear, tell me just how he looks. "

Billy passed his hand over his own fair head, in
some perplexity.

"Descriptions are not my forte, Madge, as you
know. Let me see. He is very big, and very lean.
His hair is as thick and crisp as ever, but cropped
closer than in the old days, and streaked with
silver on the temples. His eyes are dark and keen,
and still have that horrid trick of looking straight
into you, when you talk ; seeing what you are going
to say next, and considering whether to let you
say it or not."

"I thought he looked sunburnt."

"You thought right; a jolly old mahogany tan,
you could see a mile off. But that always suited
Steele. His thin, keen face can stand being the
colour of a desert Arab's. He still shaves dean —
very clean, and his jaw means business. But I
don't want to frighten you, Madge. He is just the
same good old sort to talk to; and his eyes and
mouth soften a lot when he smiles. "

68 The Wall of Partition

Lady Hilary's eyes and lips softened into more
than tenderness.

"I take a lot of frightening, Billy dear/' she
said. "Strength in a man, doesn't frighten me
so much as weakness. And even if it did, it wottld
be almost a relief to be frightened in that way. "

"Madge, you never told me what it was Rodney
did, which came between you. "

"No, I never told you nor anyone, and I never
shall. It wotdd not have come between us had
I been ten years older, with more experience of
life, and of the ways of men. No girl of nineteen
can love with the woman's love, which all men
need ; the love which is patient and understanding;
which waits, and forgives. A year later, Billy, I
was ten years older! Then I understood; and
then I knew just how much I loved Rodney. "

" My dear girl, wasn't that a bit hard on Gerald? "

" Gerald had all he cared to have, Billy. Gerald,
in after years, had cause to bless my talisman, for
it gave me patience, and it kept me beside him."

"I don't think Steele has had much of a talis-
man," said Billy. "He doesn't look like it.
Somehow he reminds me of the fellow standing
with folded arms lonely on the rock, dead beasts
all around him, in the fading red stmset. "

"Whom on earth are you talking about, Billy?"

The Other Side of the Wall 69

'* Valentine, in ITie Great Divide. Haven't you
readit?'*

"No; I have read no novels lately, excepting
Rodney's."

"Valeria doesn't think much of Rodney's
stories," said Billy. "They told him to-day, at
the bookstall at Charing Cross, that TJie Great
Divide was worth all his put together. They did
not recognise him, of course. When he mentioned
it, I didn't know what to say; because Valeria
made exactly the same remark this morning. "

Lady Hilary flushed, indignantly. "Oh, Billy,
yoii don't mean to say you said nothing? Valeria
is no judge of writing ! All the delicate beauty of
Rodney's wonderful descriptions, all the subtle
htunour and insight, the perfect presentment of
the countries of which he writes, must have es-
caped her. How horribly discouraging to be
greeted by such a remark, immediately on arrival. "

" My dear girl he didn't mind a bit. He laughed
when he told me, as if he rather liked it. "

"People often laugh to hide a wound which has
cut deeply. I wish somebody would dare to say
it to me! What is this Great Divide?**

"A love story, and the Real Thing. You know
Rodney can't write a love story. "

"Billy, he has never cared to try. Cannot you

70 The Wall of Partition

see that he writes of love as a man whom love has
failed, would write? I find an infinitely sad tone
of light mockery in his love scenes. He does not
write of what you call the Real Thing, because he
does not believe in it. He is disillusioned. "

"Well, he'll find it in The Great Divide. "

"Is he reading this book?"

"He bought a copy this afternoon in sheer glee
at being told it was worth all his own, put together.
He is quite keen on it. He made me tell him the
whole story, and I jolly well did it, too. Valeria
will be delighted. It was she who made me read
it so carefully."

"Whose is it, did you say?"

"MaxRomer's."

"Who is Max Romer?"

"Nobody knows. It may be a what d'you call
it?"

"Pseudonjmi?"

"Yes. Some people think Max Romer is a

woman. "

"Is that likely?"

"Well, opinions differ. Some people say the
strong parts are too strong to have been written
by a woman; but other people say the tender
parts are too tender to have been written by a

man."

The Other Side of the Wall 71

" Perhaps a husband and wife collaborated.

"I don't think so. Madge, shall I tell you a
profound secret? I believe Valeria wrote The
Great Divide.*^

" My dear Billy ! What makes you think so? "

"Well, you see, she is so keen about it. She
makes everybody read it. And she says she con-
siders it the cleverest book she knows. All sorts
of little things of that kind, make me think she
wrote it herself."

Lady Hilary's eyes twinkled with amusement.

"Billy-boy," she said, "shall I tell you an even
profounder secret? I believe you and Valeria
wrote it in collaboration!"

"No, I assure you we didn't. On my honour,"
said Billy, quite seriously. "If Valeria did it,
she did it entirely on her own. "

"But, Billy dear, you don't write a full-length
important novel, at odd moments, unknown to
anybody"

"No, / don't," agreed Billy. "I certainly
don't. But it is just the sort of thing Valeria
might do."

"Well, if Rodney is reading it on his side of
the wall," said Lady Hilary, "I may as well be
reading it on mine. I shall send for a copy
to-morrow. Now, BiUy, what is to happen next ? "

72 The Wall of Partition

"Goodness only knows," said Billy. "I sup-
pose you will run into one another in the street.
Please remember, when you do, that he believes
you to be in India.**

''I shall take care nothing of that sort happens.
I must watch him for a few days, and wait. Then,
perhaps, I shall write, telling him that I am here,
and ask him to come and see me. But I dare not
hurry matters; I dare not risk making a mis-
take. Have you any idea how he will spend his
days?"

''He said he had heaps of work to do, and
seemed glad the flat was so quiet. It is, you
know; except for the telephone ntiisance."

"What is that?"

"They have changed our number and given us
494 Mayfair, which used to be the Metropolitan
Emergency Hospital. The new telephone book
isn't out yet, and apparently the Hospital still
has 494 Mayfair on its writing-paper, so we are
perpetually rung up by people asking for the
matron, or urgently wanting to speak to Dr.
Brown. Jake tackles them, and gives them the
new number; but it means the bell going at all
hours. However, Rodney seemed amused, and
said he should like answering it himself. He
apparently looks upon a telephone in the house, as

The Other Side of the Wall 73

a new toy. He'll tire of it in twenty-four hours,
and wish it at Jericho. I say, Madge, I must be
oflf! We axe supposed to dine at half -past eight,
but I shall not be home until nearly nine. I
didn't like leaving Valeria, even for these few hours.
She told me something — something almost too
wonderful to believe — the other day. I mustn't
tell you what it is, because I promised to tell no-
body. But, oh, I say, Madge ! When I think of
it, I hardly know whether I am on my head or
my heels. I don't know how to take enough care
of my wife. I am almost afraid to let her walk
upstairs."

Lady Hilary's eyes were very soft and tender,
yet a little wistful, as she looked at Billy's young,
eager face. Would he ever grow up? What
form of discipline would have to come his way,
before Billy's heart would lose its simple faith,
its boyish joy in love and life?

Lady Hilary rose, and laid her hand upon her
brother's shoulder, as they stood together.

''Billy dear," she said, "don't tell me any-
thing you have promised not to tell. But I am
sure you need not be afraid to let Valeria walk
upstairs* Under any circumstances, exercise is
certainly good for her; and walking upstairs
hurts nobody. My advice to you is: not to fuss

74 The Wall of Partition

over your wife, Billy; and not to worry your dear
old self, by unnecessary anxiety."

"You have had no experience of such things,
Madge," said Billy, gravely.

' ' True, dear, ' ' said Lady Hilary, gently. ' * You
must consult somebody who has. Can't you
motor your wife to Overdene, and suggest her
telling this secret — whatever it is — ^to Jane Dal-
main or the Duchess? And persuade her to let
them talk to you, Billy. Between them you'll
get some good, sensible advice."

"Advice be hanged!" said Billy. "I'm in
the seventh heaven of gladness and wonder. I,
who don't feel worthy to tie her shoe-strings, to
be the fa — Oh, I say! I nearly told you!
You can't possibly know what I feel about it,
Madge."

"Of course I can't, dear, if I do not know what
it is. But I love you to be happy, Billy; and I
am afraid I sometimes feel anxious about you, old
boy; just as you feel anxious about Valeria.
Now, I mustn't keep you. Give me a thought
sometimes; and, if you hear anything of im-
portance from Rodney, let me know. I shall
just wait patiently. It will be easier to wait, now
I have seen him ; and now that I know him safely
next door, with only a wall between. I wish we

The Other Side of the Wall 75

could look through the wall, Billy, and see what
he is doing at this moment.

This is what Rodney Steele was doing, at that
moment.

When he had seen Billy run down the stairs;
when Jake had closed the door; Steele went back
to the Ubrary.

He sat motionless in the deep leather-covered
armchair for a considerable time, wrapped in
thought.

At last he took up The Great Divide and read
portions of it; turning rapidly from passage to
passage, as one finding his way, with ease, along
accustomed paths.

Then he suddenly laughed aloud, and, throw-
ing down the book, took from his breast-pocket
a long envelope addressed to himself, which he had
fotmd awaiting him on his arrival. From this
he drew another envelope addressed: "Max
Romer, Esq., " and, opening it, pulled out a mass
of press-cuttings.

He settled himself comfortably in his chair,
adjusted the electric lamp at his elbow, and took
up his pipe, saying to himself, as he filled and
lighted it :

76 The Wall of Partition

''Now let's see what the papers have to say
about The Great Divide. The very worst the
reviewers can do, could hardly be so bad as hearing
the story told by Billyl"

CHAPTER VII

''on behalf of liAX romer"

/^N the evening of the day after his arrival,
^-^ Rodney Steele sat at work in the cosy little
octagon hall of the flat. He sat there, in prefer-
ence to the library, for several reasons.

Being the very centre of all things, it was
absolutely quiet. The window opened on to an
inner cottrt. With the library and dining-room
doors closed, the distant rumble of the traffic
in the Marylebone Road could not be heard.

A screen was drawn across the outer door.
The doors leading to bedrooms and to the domain
of Mrs. Jake, were also closed and curtained off.

A bright fire burned in the open hearth. An
easy chair, of most comfortable proportions,
awaited him beside it, when his work should be
finished.

A shaded lamp stood on the writing-table.

There was an extraordinary sense of being
completely shut off from the rest of the world,

78 The Wall of Partition

in this hall of Billy's flat. It combined the
advantages of a hermit's cell, with every comfort
of modem Itixury. It lent itself admirably to
the concentration required for proof-reading.
Save for one thing, the quiet and seclusion were
perfect. Yet that one thing supplied the primary
reason for his desertion of the library. To the
wall behind him was fixed the telephone. When
that persistent little bell rang, he had but to
push back his chair, cross the hall ia two strides,
and take down the receiver.

Rodney Steele had had twenty-four hours of
the telephone; and, as Billy had foretold, he
was beginning to have had enough.

At first it had amused him to engage in polite
conversation with various agitated, anxious, or
angry people requiring the Metropolitan Emer-
gency Hospital, and growing perplexed or indig-
nant when 494 Mayf air failed to produce either
a doctor or a matron. But the novelty of this
amusement soon wore off, and Steele began to
make allowance for Jake's irritable formula:
*'If it's the bloomin' 'orspital you want "

Even the interest of being called up by Billy,
and of himself ringing up one or two old friends
with whom he had not spoken for years, and the
convenience of a lengthy conversation with his

" On Behalf of Max Romer ' ' 79

publisher, hardly compensated for the incessant
unnecessary calls, and consequent interruption.

Nevertheless, it was the telephone which was
mainly responsible for the fact that he was estab-
lished in the hall, during his second evening at
the flat.

Jake had asked whether he and Mrs. Jake might
go out for a couple of hoiu^s, when dinner was
over. Steele fotmd himself, therefore, left in
sole charge, and preferred to sit where he could
promptly seize the receiver, and put an instant
stop to the maddening whir of the telephone-bell.

It went off energetically, just as he had really
settled down to the proof of an article which
must be read and dispatched without loss of time.

Proof-reading is, at best, nerve-straining work.
Looking for the mistakes of others, is more trying
than avoiding or correcting your own.

Steele sprang to the receiver.

"Hullo," said a man's voice. "Can I speak to
Dr. Brown?"

"This is not the hospital. It is a private
number."

"Aren't you 494 Mayfair?"

* ' Yes ; but the ntmiber has been changed. If you
want the hospital, you must ring up 4923 Central."

"What?"

82 The Wall of Partition

I doubt whether the Jakes are very competent,
but Billy is so set upon having them there.
Personally, I should prefer a man with the usual
number of limbs, and with previous experience
as a butler. I trust you will excuse any deficiency.

*'I write to endorse, most warmly, Billy's
suggestion that you should come to us for Christ-
mas. Yotir first Christmas in England, after so
long an absence, must certainly not be spent in
solitude. I am most anxious to make your
acquaintance, and to tell you how much I have
enjoyed your charming books. I hope you will
soon give us another. I have done a little writing,
myself; therefore you will understand that I am
very interested in discussing style and technique."

Steele laughed as he leaned forward and kicked
the fire into a blaze.

"The first thing for you to learn concerning
technique and style, my dear Lady Valeria," he
said, "is that you must not say 'very interested.' "

Then he went on with the letter.

"I now want a private word with you — I was
going to say. on behalf of Max Romer, but perhaps
that would go too near to giving away secrets!
So let 'me merely say : I am anxious to give you
a word of explanation concerning The Great
Divide.

'' On Behalf of Max Romer " 83

"Billy came home last night quite elated over
having told you the story. My dear Mr. Steele,
surely I need hardly tell you, Billy is quite in-
capable of tmderstanding such a book as The
Great Divide 1 Still less is he competent to
give an adequate r6sum6 of the story. The
Great Divide is the book of the year. It is a
masterly study of love, of loss, and of loneliness. It
shows the irreparability of the havoc wrought
in two lives, by a false and foolish pride. It will
do much to safeguard lovers against the 'little
rift within the lute.'

"I fear my poor Billy's bungling version may
put you oflE a careful reading of the book; and
this — ^f or a reason which I cannot explain as yet —
would be a great disappointment to me. I want
your opinion of Max Romer's work. To hear
what you think of it — ^you, who are the author
of so many quite delightful books — ^would mean
much to mel

" Cordially yours,

"Valeria Cathcart."

"Great Scott!" said Steele, as he laid down
the letter; and there was an angry gleam, in his
eyes. Then they softened, suddenly. "Poor
old Billy!" he said.

84 The Wall of Partition

He got up at once, went to the table, swept
his proofs aside, and drew forward a sheet of
writing-paper.

He wrote rapidly, without pause or hesitation;
and, as he wrote, Billy might well have said that
his jaw meant business.

"Dear Lady Valeria, — ^Thank you for so
kindly supplementing Billy's invitation. My
pkms at present are uncertain; but Billy was
good enough to say, yesterday, that the question
of my visit to the Manor House might remain
open until rather nearer the date.

"I am most comfortable here. It seems to
me that there is everything, in Billy's flat, which
the heart of man could desire. To a traveller
accustomed to roughing it all over the world, it
certainly appears the very acme of luxury.

"Jake is an old comrade of mine. It was a
pleasure to find him here. As I happen to have
witnessed the magnificent deed of bravery which
gave Billy his life, and cost Jake his arm, I should
prefer Jake as he is, even if he spilt soup down
my back, and upset inkstands over my papers.
These slight concessions on my part are, however,
rendered unnecessary by the fact of Jake's extreme
deftness with his remaining hand. Nobody could

" On Behalf of Max Romer " 85

require a more efficient butler, or a more careful
valet.

"As to the interesting subject of The Great
Divide^ Max Romer is a fortunate man, in that
he has secured the keen partisanship of so en-
thusiastic an admirer.

"At the same time, you will forgive me for
sajring that I think you considerably underrate
Billy's powers as a raconteur. I glanced at the
book last night and found that his version of
the story, though necessarily short, and perhaps
a trifle crude, had been remarkably accurate.

"I shall be pleased to discuss The Great Divide
with you, at the first opportimity. It is un-
doubtedly the work of a man — and of a man who
has drunk deeply of the cup of disappointment
and disillusion.

"I thank you for your kind reference to my
books.

"Believe me,

"Very truly yotirs,

"Rodney Steele."

Rodney closed the letter with a bang of his
great fist, and drove home the stamp with another.

"There, my Lady Valeria," he said; "that
should cook your goose! Good heavens! Poor

86 The Wall of Partition

Billy! She got the 'masterly study of love,
loss, and loneliness' out of a review. I read it
last night. Also the 'little rift within the lute.'
We shall have to make Lady Valeria's 'music
mute,' if she is going to pipe this kind of jig for
us to dance to! Well, I cotddn't say more,
without giving the show away; and that, I will
never do — ^not even for Billy's sake. ... So she
writes on behalf of Max Romer! Well! My
Lady Valeria has cheek, and no mistake."

He stepped outside, and rang up the lift.

"Post this letter at once, please," he said to
the hall porter.

Then he went in again, banging the door behind
him.

He picked up Lady Valeria's letter, replaced
it in its envelope, and slipped it into his pocket-
book. But the next minute he took it out again.

"That won't do," he said. "Too scented!"

He looked around for some safe repository for
the scented missive. Then, suddenly, with a
laugh of disgust, dropped it into the heart of the
fire. "So perish all the king's enemies!" said
Rodney Steele, as the paper curled and crumpled,
was licked up by leaping flame, and fell into a
little heap of charred ashes. Then he went back
to his proof.

'' On Behalf of Max Romer " 87

A distant clock was chiming the hour of ten.

As the last stroke sounded, Rodney found his
place, and took up his pen to delete an unnecessary
word.

At that moment the telephone-bell rang sharply.
He dropped the pen with an exclamation of an-
noyance, walked over to the telephone, and took
up the receiver.

CHAPTER VIII

A VOICE FROM THE VOID

TJULLO!" said Steele, sharply.

This time it was a woman's voice at the
other end.

"Is this 494 Mayfair?"

"Yes."

"Can — can I speak to the Matron?"

"This is not the Metropolitan Emergency
Hospital. You have the wrong nimiber."

"Oh-^I beg your pardon. It is the number
in the book. I am so sorry to have troubled
you."

Steele was mollified. A very polite lady was
at the other end of the telephone; a decided im-
provement upon the lunatic who had refused
to listen to the correct number, and had gone
on clamouring for Dr. Brown.

"Never mind," he said, cordially. "I can
give you the number you waut. You must ask
for 4923 Central."

A Voice from the Void 89

"Thank you very much. I am so sorry to
have disturbed you. . . . Good-night."

"Good-night," said Steele, and hung up the
receiver.

Then complete silence fell; surrounding him,
once more, with that curious sense of isolation
from the outer world.

He tried to give his mind to his work; but
still seemed to hear that gentle voice, saying:
"I am so sorry to have disturbed you. . . . Good-
night."

It was such a kind voice; there was almost a
caress in its tones; a fulness of understanding
and S3mipathy. It seemed to awaken an echo of
a long ago past.

"I am so sorry to have disturbed you. . . .
Good-night."

The distant clock chimed the quarter after ten,

Rodney Steele laid down his pen, put away his
papers, lighted his pipe, and fltmg himself into
the large armchair by the fire.

Then he began to think about the telephone.

What an extraordinary invention it was.

Here was he, in his utter loneliness ; absorbed in
his own work. Yet a woman's voice had expressed
concern that he should have been disturbed, and
had wished him good-night.

90 The Wall of Partition

The sound and sense of it seemed still around
him in the solitude of the silent flat.

"I am so sorry to have disturbed you. . . .
Good-night.*'

How did she know she had disturbed him?
Ah! He remembered the irritable brusqueness
of his first "HuUo!"

He tried to recall the whole conversation. His
own voice now seemed to him to have been
brusque throughout, as compared with the gentle
tones of the kind voice. Yet he remembered,
with satisfaction, that he had said: "Never
mind." One can hardly say "never mind'* in
a rough tone of annoyance.

Then they had wished each other good-night —
he, and this woman with the kind voice, whom he
would never see, never speak with again.

It was just a voice from the void; it had come
into touch with him through a mistake, had ex-
pressed concern that he should have been disturbed,
and had wished him good-night.

He was somewhat of a sentimental fool, to give
it another thought. But why did it awaken such
haunting echoes of a dead and gone past?

"Good-night . . . Good-night." And, in the
soft darkness, Madge used to lift her lips to his.

A Voice from the Void 91

** Good-night, my sweetheart • . . Good-night,
my love, my own. "

He could smell the scent of the new-mown hay,
mingled with sweet-brier and eglantine in the
old Manor garden.

"Good-night, my very own."

No! Another's! Another's! He must not
dwell upon such memories, however sweet. Had
he not put them away for good and all, when
she gave herself to another man, while he — ^her
first lover — still walked the same earth?

Away with such reveries! Why should this
voice from the void so stir his heart — so wake
the buried past?

Turning his mind resolutely to the present,
he began to meditate again upon the subject of
the telephone.

What an extraordinary invention, if one ceases
to regard it as an everyday convenience of which
constant use has cheapened the marvel, and dwells
upon it as an abstract fact. That people, at various
distances from one another, should be connected
at a central ofiSce, and should then speak to each
other as if they stood side by side. The kind voice
had been at his very elbow — even closer. "I am
so sorry to have disturbed you. . . . Good-night.

94 The Wall of Partition

And, with the wall between, she sat and rocked
herself, with empty arms.

Yet she had heard his voice; hard at first,
then growing more gentle.

She had heard him say: "Good-night.*'

After long weary years — after long lonely
years — ^after long hungry years, Roddie and she
had bidden each other good-night.

He was so near. He was all alone. Yet she
rocked herself, with empty arms.

"Good-night, my love, good-night.'*

CHAPTER IX

SHUT OUT

DODNEY STEELE sat at breakfast enjoying—
* ^ not Mrs. Jake's hot coffee and rolls, though
they were of the best — ^but the wonderful London
sunrise.

His horizon was formed by the chimney-stacks
of the tall houses opposite, in Harley Street.
Consequently the sun rose, for him, just before
nine o'clock, on these December mornings.

Looking through the bare, wide-spreading
branches of the great plane-trees, their little
bunches of black balls hanging in clusters against
the clear morning sky, he saw the chimney-pots
stand out against a blaze of gorgeous crimson;
then, in sudden golden glory, the sun appeared —
a great, red ball, rising slowly from behind the
stack of chimneys; mounting, round and fiery,
into the dull, grey, wintry sky.

Each morning, when the fog allowed, this
sunrise through the Harley Street chimneys took

96 The Wall of Partition

place. Each afternoon, soon after three o'clock,
the sun set beyond the stacks of Wimpole Street.
Against the pale yellow of the sunset, stood out
the quaint tower of Marylebone parish church —
that church in which Robert Browning took to
himself his "Lyric Love," and to which he made
a romantic pilgrimage, each time he returned to
London, and, kneeling, kissed the steps up which
had passed her trembling feet on that eventful
morning, when she fled from home to give herself
into his strong safe-keeping. Truly it takes a
great poet soul, to be fearlessly unashamed of
sentiment.

Steele, who had put all such things out of his
own life, keenly enjoyed romance in others.

He now left his eggs and bacon, went over to
the bay window, and stood watching the weird
effect of the sunrise.

It struck him as so typical of London life, that
the horizon should be bounded by the dwellings
of men. He had seen the sun rise out of the ocean,
over the prairie, in the great expanse of eastern
desert, where it rose majestic from the vast
horizon of Nature. But here, himianity had
built a limit; and here the main daily interest
to the mind, was man.

As Rodney stood at the window, into the

Shut Out 97

hum of the continuous traffic below, broke the
loud clang of a swiftly approaching bell.

A fire-engine dashed by; closely followed by
another. The brass helmets of the firemen
gleamed brightly in the sunhght.

At sound of the bell, the three children in the
adjoining flat, rushed to their window. Steele
saw again the curly heads he had seen on his
arrival.

Next door, they were evidently also at breakfast.

The children watched the engines go by; then
saw Steele, and smiled in merry friendliness
through the double glass. He waved his napkin
at them. They waved back with toast, and bread
and butter. The mother appeared, glanced
across at him with a look of amusement, and drove
the children back to breakfast.

Steele went back to his lonely table, and poured
himself out a second cup of the excellent coflFee.

He felt friendly and sociable this morning. He
had had an unusually restful night, and had
awakened with a sense of pecvihar vigour and
well-being. A heavy weight seemed to have been
lifted off him; he felt the gay gladness of youth;
and experienced an unaccountable wish to do
something to make somebody happy.

He wished he could take the three jolly little

98 The Wall of Partition

kids from next door, out on a spree. Would it
astonish their mother very much, if he crossed
the landing outside, rang the bell of No. 48, and
asked leave to take them to the Zoo? He con-
sidered the question carefully, and came to
the conclusion that it would be too unconven-
tional for England.

He finished breakfast ; then walked to the win-
dow and stood looking out.

One of the small boys appeared in the other
window, saw Rodney, and rushed to call the other
children. In a very short time, three bright little
faces were smiling at him from the next bay.

Rodney took a penny from his pocket, and began
deftly conjuring. He could hear faint echoes of
the shouts of glee, when he apparently swallowed
the penny, sneezed, and produced it from his
nose.

There were great searchings for a penny with
which to do likewise; but, fearing accidents,
Rodney shook his head, dashed to the table,
fetched a piece of bread, rolled it into little balls
the size of marbles; held his left hand, palm
downwards, level in front of him; placed a bread
pellet on the back of his fingers; then, smartly
striking the back of his Irft hand with his right,
shot the pellet into his open mouth.

Shut Out 99

There was evidently a helter-skelter rush, to
the next dcx)r breakfast table, for bread.

Back they came, rolling the little balls. Rodney
continued bringing off, at intervals, neat shots
straight into his mouth.

The children stood in an eager row, watching
him, and trying to do the trick themselves. The
boys went at it too wildly, in their excitement;
but the little girl, a small maiden of six, quite
imexpectedly, by the most astonishing fluke, shot
her first pellet not only into her mouth, but
straight down her throat.

She stood for a moment, with her mouth wide
open, very round-eyed and astonished; then
began to cry. Her brothers turned upon her,
trying to see where the ball of bread had gone.

Rodney stood, helplessly watching the result
of his well-meant endeavours to amuse.

A ntu-se arrived, promptly shook the little boys
— ^that being a preliminary suited to all circum-
stances — supplied the little girl with a handker-
chief ; and then proceeded to make inquiries.

The boys indicated Rodney, standing tall and
anxious in his window. Even the little girl lifted
a wet finger and pointed.

The nurse glared at him; then, with a rapid
movement pulled down the bUnd on that side,

386434^

102 The Wall of Partition

upon the library table. He felt a momentary
anxiety about press-cuttings, then remembered
that he had locked them into his dispatch box.

As he dressed tor diimer, he wondered, idly,
whether it was his reply to her letter which had
produced so prompt a call from Lady Valeria.
He was sorry to have missed Billy, but felt in no
mood just then to make the acquaintance of the
lady who had written to him on behalf of Max
Romer.

CHAPTER X

THE bishop's concordance

A FTER dinner that evening, Steele sat smoking
-** in the hall, as Jake passed through from the
dining-room.

"I shall want nothing more to-night, Jake,'*
he said. "You can go out if you like. Should
the telephone ring, I will answer it. You need
not come through. "

"Right, sir," said Jake, and went to his own
quarters.

As Steele spoke, he realised that he had tramped
twenty miles that day in an effort to walk off
the impression made upon him by the kind voice,
and the inexplicable yearning which possessed
him to hear that voice again.

He had a man's instinctive dislike of any
sensation in himself for which he could not fully
account, and which he found himself unable to
control.

He had triod to walk it off, but had not succeeded.

i«3

104 The Wall of Partition

Here he was, making sure of being in sole
possession of the telephone, in the wild, vague
hope that she would ring up again!

It was too absurd for words; and yet somehow
he could not bring himself to believe that a
thing which had impressed his own mind so
strongly, had meant nothing to the other who
had shared the experience.

Ever since that brief conversation took place
he had felt as if some mental force, outside him-
self, was not allowing the matter to drop. Could
that mental force be in any way connected with
the mind of the unknown woman with whom he
had spoken?

He could not work this evening. He felt
comfortably tired and lazy. He sat, in the warm
glow of the firelight, with his pipe, in the absolute
silence of the little hall.

Memories of Madge possessed him.

Why was he calling her "Madge" again?
For years he had schooled himself to think of her
as "Lady Hilary."

Would The Great Divide reach Simla? He
had seen it prominently displayed in every book-
seller's he had passed that day. Would Madge
read it? Would she recognise in it, notwith-
standing his careful changing of most of the

The Bishop's Concordance 105

actual circumstaacesy the tragedy of his life and
hers?

" Whir-r-r, " went the bell of the telephone.

In one bound Steele was out of his chair and had
the receiver in his hand,

"Hullo! Yes? Yes? Hullo!'*

"Is this 494 Mayfair?*' inquired a man's voice.

"It is," said Steele.

"Can I speak to Dr. Brown?"

"No, you can't!" snapped Steele, and rang
oflE.

This was final and conclusive.

He laughed.

Hang the telephone! Why should he have to
explain their rotten change of numbers?

He went back to his chair, and brooded.

Presently the avalanche took place behind the
screen. Mechanically he fetched the letters.

More reviews of The Great Divide^ and a large
cheque from his publishers.

He felt like putting the cheque into the fire.

Of what use was his great success to him? He
had nobody with whom to share it.

He thought of his growing balance at the bank.
It bored him to take the trouble to consider
how to invest his money. Words he had heard

io6 The Wall of Partition

long ago, came into his mind: "He heapeth up
riches, and cannot tell who shall gather them."

Where had he heard those words? Who had
so well expressed the case of a lonely man wha
makes money? Shakespeare, probably.

He mentally ran through the most likely plays..

Shylock? No; he had a daughter. "My
daughter! — O my ducats. — my daughter! Fled
with a Christian? O my Christian ducats! —
Justice! the law! My ducats and my daughter?""
There were plenty of ipeople to gather poor old
Shylock's riches.

"He heapeth up riches — " Somehow he as-
sociated the words with attending his mother's
ftmeral, years ago, in the little village church at
home, as a most small and forlorn chief -mourner.
But she certainly had not heaped up riches, poor
lady!

Were they words of Bible wisdom?

He went into the library, and searched unsuc-
cessfully for a Bible, among Billy's books. Ap-
parently the flat did not contain such a thing.

He returned to his chair, and put the cheque
into his pocket-book.

"He heapeth up riches, and cannot tell who
shall gather them."

Bother! He must find the quotation.

The Bishop's Concordance 107

He rang the bell.

"Jake, can you lend me a Bible?"

Jake lcx)ked as if he feared Mr. Steele had
suddenly been seized by mortal illness.

"I'll see, sir," he said, doubtfully.

In two minutes he returned, jubilant; in his
hand a small, stout book, carefully covered in
brown paper.

"Mrs. Jake, sir," he said, "is happy to oblige."

Steele waited until the door swung to; then
he opened Mrs. Jake's Bible.

It had been presented at a village Stmday-school,
many years before, to "Sarah Mimms — a. prize
for regular attendance, punctuality, and good
conduct." The date went back forty years.

Rodney smiled as he read the inscription. He
could see Mrs. Jake, as little Sarah Mimms, already
round and rosy, trotting to Sunday-school regu-
larly, arriving punctually, and behaving with
the most exemplary correctness of conduct. He
could see her, curtseying to th^ good rector, whose
name figured on the fly-leaf as the donor of the
book; and standing up, a little pattern of pro-
priety, to say the Creed, the Catechism, and the
Ten Commandments, in the vulgar tongue.

The Bible had been made the repository of
many treasures, a fact which partly accounted

iio The Wall of Partition

my card, and ask if she will be good enough to
lend me a concordance."

In five minutes Maloney returned, carrying a
beautifully botmd copy of Young's Analytical
Concordance.

"Mrs. Bellamy's compliments, sir; and she has
the greatest pleasure in sending it up."

"Thanks, Maloney. I knew you were a man
of resource. Fancy being able to put your finger
at once upon a bishop's widow! Now, wait here
half a minute, and you shall take the book back.
The late bishop's concordance in the flat all night,
would be too great a responsibility. Suppose we
caught fire!"

Standing at the table, Steele turned up "riches"
and ran his finger down the page.

Ah! There it was! **Heapeth up riches^**
Ps. xxxix. 6.

He returned the book to the hall-porter.

"Here you are, Maloney. My compliments
and thanks to Mrs. Bellamy; and say I found at
once the passage I wanted."

Steele closed the door, as Maloney and the
concordance dropped down in the Kft; settled
into his chair, and took up Mrs. Jake's Bible.
The whole thing was providing him with the
mental diversion he needed.

CHAPTER XI

''she shall speak again!"

OODNEY STEELE adjusted the light, opened
^ ^ Mrs. Jake's Bible, and turned to the thirty-
ninth Psalm. Yes; these were the words he
wanted, in slightly different form. His recollec-
tion of them was no doubt the Prayer-book version
heard in the solemn funeral service.

He read the sixth verse through.

"Surely every man walketh in a vain shew;
surely they are disquieted in vain: he heapeth up
riches, and knoweth not who shall gather them."

So these words of wisdom were King David's.
He knew a thing or two about the vanity of life.

Having been successful in his search, Steele was
just about to close the book and lay it down, when
the words which followed caught his eye. "And
now. Lord, what wait I for? My hope is in Thee."

He dismissed the last five words as holding no

meaning whatever for him. But the question

which preceded them held his mind.

Ill

112 The Wall of Partition

"And now, Lord, what wait I for?"

He closed the Bible, rose, and opening the door
leading to the kitchen, called Mrs. Jake.

Greatly flustered; hardly believing it was she,
and not Jake, who was wanted, the little woman
hurried forth, smoothing and settling her apron
as she came. Rodney could see the excellent
little Sarah Mimms of forty years before.

"I want to thank you, Mrs. Jake," he said,
"for lending me your valuable Bible. I am sure
it is a possession you greatly prize. Let me give
it safely back into your own hands."

Mrs. Jake received the book with almost a hint
of the curtsey she had dropped so long ago, on
the proud occasion when little Sarah Mimms came
forward to take it from the kind hands of the old
recton

"I thank you, sir. It is my greatest treasure,"
she said, simply. "But I am sure you are very
welcome."

Steele rettimed to the hall, lighted his pipe,
and drew up his chair to the fire.

"And now . . . what wait I for?"

He was clearly conscious that he had reached
a point in his life where he was waiting for some-
thing. He could no longer stand the life of roam-
ing and of exile to which he had condemned

'* She Shall Speak Again ! " 1 13

himself; no, rather, to which a hard fate had
oondemned him. He had come home — ^to a land
which held for him no home, no welcome, nobody
who needed him ; no love to which, in his loneliness,
he could turn.

"And now . . . what wait I for?"

This question had been launched at him out
of the void — ^no, out of the Word. Where was
the answer? "My hope is in Thee/' But that
meant nothing to him.

"God is Love," said little Sarah's marker; but
love had failed him, long ago; and he had no know-
ledge of God.

He was altogether self-sufl5cient ; he was wholly
self-absorbed ; and this meant no hope of anything
outside himself and his own resources. Yet he
was conscious of a pause in the forward march
of life. He had reached, again, a parting of the
ways.

"And now . . . what wait I for?"

He sat, in the complete silence of the hall;
isolated, alone.

Suddenly a faint soimd of music came to him
in the stillness.

Somebody in the adjoining flat, just on the
other side of the wall, was playing Schtimann's
"Traumerei."

1 14 The Wall of Partition

He Kstened to the slow, haunting melody, as
it rose and fell, passed from major to minor, and
back to the major once more; and, as he listened,
the pain of a great bitterness arose within him.

Madge used to play the "Traumerei."

He had worked it into the theme of The Great
Divide.

The melody, with all it recalled of joy, and of
bitter pain and disillusion, seemed to provide the
answer to the question over which he pondered.

He was waitiag for love. He was waitiag for
sweet companionship; for somebody who could
share with him the glory of success, who could
bear with him the pain of misunderstanding or of
failure.

But he had lost Madge; and, because he had
lost Madge, he must wait on endlessly, without
hope of finding love or comradeship.

"My hope is in thee"; but, for him, there was
nobody to Whom that tender pronoun applied.
All his hope, all his love, his life's entire devotion,
had been centred in Madge; and Madge had
thrown him over, and had given herself — ^ta all
her glorious beauty, in all her utter desirableness,
with all her womanly capacity to love and to be
loved — ^Madge had given herself to another.

He hoped she would read The Great Divide.

' ' She Sha// Speak Again ! " 115

He hoped, even if she did not recognise his hand
in it, that it wotdd open her eyes to a poignant
vision of the depth of loneliness and despair into
which she had pltmged him.

The waU of the ''Traumerei" still rose and fell,
in an unutterable yearning of pain and of tender-
ness.

"And now . . . what wait I for?"

The distant clock rang out the hour of ten.

Suddenly, in full force, came back to Rodney
Steele the memory of the night before, and of the
kind voice.

He sprang to his feet.

" She shaU speak to me again," he said. "What
matter that I don't know her number! What
matter that I know neither her name, nor her
address! There is such a thing as mental wireless
telegraphy. There is such a thing as mind call-
ing to mind. Somewhere within reach of this
telephone, the woman with the kind voice sits at
this moment, as she sat at this hour last night.
Her telephone is beside her. She knows my
ntunber. She shaU ring me up again!"

He strode to the telephone.

He did not lift the receiver; but he laid his hand
upon it.

"Speak to me again," he said; "you, who spoke

ii8 The Wall of Partition

Every tone of the Ejnd Voice was balm to his
sore heart, ministering to that desperate htmger
for the past, which had come upon him with his
return to England.

Moreover, he knew that — however she might
account for it by a sudden idea of her own — ^it
was really he who had made her speak again. He
had projected his will into the void ; had launched
out a wireless, voiceless message, in search of this
one mind among the milKons by which he was
surrounded; and, sure and swift, had found her;
and had forced her to respond to his caU.

To have her there, at the other end of the wire,
gave him a delightful sense of power — of being
able to control and use an unexplained force.

Until a few moments ago, it had seemed alto-
gether impossible that he should ever get into
touch with the Kind Voice again. Yet here it
was, murmuring soft requests and apologies into
his ear!

Now, steady! At any moment she might ring
oflf. He must not lose her again. The wireless
telegraphy business — ^like an amateur conjurer's
tricks — ^might not be possible to pull off success-
fully twice. He had her on the other end of the
wire, now; but he must play her carefully.

"Yes," he said. "Yes. . . . Certainly I wiU

The Kind Voice 119

give you the number, with pleasure. But, Ksten !
Will you promise not to ring off when you have
it? There is something more I particularly want
to say."

Complete silence at the other end.

Steele held his breath, and waited. He almost
feared she had instantly hung up her receiver.

Then: "I will not ring oflE," said the Kind Voice,
quietly.

Rodney clenched the receiver, in his relief. If
he could hold her for a minute or two now, he
might be able to keep in touch for as long as he
would.

"Thanks," he said. "The number you want
is 4923 Central. Make a note of it, but don't
ring off."

"I told you I would not ring oflf," said the
Kind Voice. "Thank you for the number. Now
. . . What else do you wish to say?"

"Listen," said Rodney, eagerly. "It's rather
difficult to explain. I'm afraid you'll think there's
a very queer fish at this end of the wire! But —
you remember you said 'good-night* to me last
night? Well — ^perhaps you'll hardly believe it
— ^but it was years since a woman's voice had
wished me a kind 'good-night.' It made an
extraordinary impression upon me. I can't at-

I20 The Wall of Partition

tempt to explain it, but — after I had hung up
the receiver — ^I felt as if I must hear your voice
again ; as if I could not bear the idea that nothing
more should ever pass between us, save that one
'good-night.' Just a voice from the void — and,
ever after — silence. Do you hear? Do you think
me a very queer chap?"

"I hear," said the Kind Voice, gently. "I do
not know quite what to think."

"You see, I am a very lonely fellow," went on
Rodney, hurriedly. "I have absolutely nobody
in the world, belonging to me. Just now I am
living by myself in one of the Regent House flats,
lent me by a friend. I reached England the day
before yesterday, after an absence of ten years;
and I suppose it is coming home to no home, which
has given me a sudden lonely fit."

Rodney paused, listening.

"What do you wish me to do?" asked the Kind
Voice, very gently.

"Well — ^if you won't think it too unconven-
tional — if you don't think me altogether mad for
asking such a thing — will you ring me up, at
about this time, during the next few evenings, just
to say * good-night,' and to let me have a word
with you over the wire?"

There was a moment of evident hesitation.

The Kind Voice 121

Then: ''It certainly is an unoonventional idea,
said the Kind Voice. Then she laughed, — and
Steele's heart gave a throb of painftil pleasure;
her laugh was so like Madge's. "In fact, it is
quite the most unconventional suggestion I ever
heard of."

"'Unconventional' is a stupid word."

"You used it."

"I know. But I abhor it. Why should we
be bound by convention?"

The laugh so like Madge's reached him
again.

"Is it not taking things rather too much for
granted, to talk so definitely of 'we'? "

"Not a bit! It would be ungrammatical to
say 'us'; and if you knew my profession you would
not tempt me to a disregard of grammar."

"WeU, then I think it is time we said 'good-
night, ' and himg up our receivers."

"Wait a moment! I want a promise before
I let you go. Dear Lady of the Kind Voice! I
am at your mercy! You know my number. I
have no idea of yours; and I pledge you my word
of honour, I will never try to discover it. I do
not know your name, and you need never know
mine. I have told you I am sta3ring at Regent
House, but I have no idea from what part of the

122 The Wall of Partition

London district you speak to me. It may be
Kensington, Pimlico, or Maida Vale."
^ ''It is neither Kensington nor Pimlico."

"Then let us conclude it is Maida Vale; though
it may equally be Hampstead, Chelsea, or
Mitcham. Your voice comes to me so clearly,
that you might be in the room; but often, the
further the distance, the clearer will be the voice.
But I ask to know nothing, I seek to tell nothing.
I only want you to ring me up each evening at a
quarter-past ten, during the next six days, to have
a few minutes* talk, and to say ' good-night. ' Is
that much to ask?"

"It depends," replied the Kind Voice. "It
might be nothing; it might be a great deal. How
do you know I can spare the time? I may be a
very busy person, full of engagements. How do
you know I have not a large and inquisitive family
all listening to my side of this astonishing conver-
sation, and fully prepared to be scandalised at
such disregard of the conventions?"

"You found time to ring up twice about the
Metropolitan Emergency Hospital," said Steele.
"And is your telephone in a very public
place?"

"My telephone stands upon my own writing-
table; and, as a matter of fact, I, also, live quite

The Kind Voice 123

alone. I am" — ^the Kind Voice hesitated — "I
am a widow."

Steele's mind played him its usual trick of
ignoring the probable, in a wild leap at the im-
probably possible.

"A bishop's widow?" he suggested.

Again that mellow laugh, canying with it so
poignant an echo of merry old days in the Surrey
lanes and hay-fields.

"No, not a bishop's widow. Why confer so
great a dignity upon me?"

"Because a bishop's widow has just lent me a
concordance."

"A quite imanswerable reason! And I must
say, in passing, that I am glad to find your lack
of conventionality fenced about by a conjunction
of things so wholly correct and unimpeachable.
But, if you look out 'widow' in the concordance,
my friend, you will find that 'many widows were
in Israel in the days of Elias'; and, I fear me,
there are many widows in this great city, to-night.
I wish one could be sure that they are aU as safely
housed, and warmed, and fed, as the bishop's
widow and myself."

"Are you a philanthropist?" asked Steele.

"A what?"

"A p—h-^—Jr^-^ "

124 The Wall of Partition

'*0h, you need not spell the entire word! No,
I am not. But I have known deep sorrow; and
that opens one's heart to the sorrowful.''

"Does it?" he questioned. "My experience
is, that sorrow puts one behind iron bars, and
tends to harden one toward all the world."

"Then you have not taken your sorrow the
right way, my friend. Or, perhaps, it held for
you a bitterness which made it a hard teacher."

"A cruel taskmaster," said Steele, bitterly.
"No matter. I am still the 'Captain of my
soul. ' Do you know Henley's Invictusl^^

"I know it, but I do not agree. There is a
worse slavery than sorrow — ^the slavery of Self."

"What else has a man who stands absolutely
alone? But I am extra bitter to-night. A tire-
some person in. the next flat has been playing the
* Traumerei. ' It always depresses me."

"You should send round a polite note, asking
the tiresome person to play something more
cheerful. But why does the 'Traumerei' depress
you?"

"Associations."

" I see. Now I am going to ring off. I wonder
Exchange has not asked for the wire, before this. "

"One minute! Will you ring up at 10.15 to-
morrow?"

The Kind Voice 125

"Perhaps."

i<TTr-ii ^^"^ff

Perhaps.
Wm you?

"Yes— IwiU."

"You are most awfully good. Look here!
Lots of people ring up this number wanting the
Hospital — as you did, you know.*'

"Yes, I see. As I did. Do you ask them all
to "

"No, I don't! Do please listen! As the
calls are so constant, the man usually answers the
telephone. I shall be on the spot, of course.
But, in case he takes the call first, will you say:
'Are you there?' I will tell him always to call
me at once if he hears: * Are you there?' "

"V^y well. But remember I am just 'A
voice from the void. ' "

" You are the kindest voice in all the world, and
I am beyond words grateful.

"Good-night.
Good-night.

Rodney did not hear the click of her receiver.
He still kept his to his ear.

After a few moments: "Are you there?"
said the Bond Voice, softly.

"Yes, " repUed Rodney, at once. "What is it?"

Again the laugh, so full of haunting memories
of sweetness.

126 The Wall of Partition

"Nothing! You caught me out. I thought
you had rung off, I was merely malring sure that
I remembered."

"Make sure you don't forget."

"I will not forget. Good-night."

"Good-night."

This time he heard the click of hers, and hung
up his receiver.

Then he looked round the empty hall. It did
not seem empty. He hardly felt alone.

He went back to his chair and his pipe.

What an extraordinary thing he had accom-
plished, in thus establishing a friendship with a
voice. During his exile, he had shunned the
society and the friendship of women. But this
was just a voice, with a woman's great, tender,
understanding heart behind it. Moreover, it was
the only voice he had ever heard which recalled
to him the voice of the woman he loved.

Ought he to have told her this?

No; why should he? She would never know
his name, nor he hers. They could never, by
any possibility, meet. But it would help him
through these hard days, to look forward to the
evening, knowing that at 10.15 the telephone-bell
would ring, and the voice so like Madge's in its
rich depth of tone, would say: "Are you there?"

The Kind Voice 127

The heart of the fire still glowed red. It re-
minded him of a sunset, seen through black rocks.

The piano was going again, next door. Once
more the ''Traumerei" came stealing through the
wall. But he did not mind it now. His restless
spirit, for the moment, was content.

What had the Kind Voice said? "Sorrow
opens one's heart to the sorrowful." And when
he questioned this: "Then you have not taken
your sorrow the right way, my friend." Was
there a right way to take a sorrow such as his?
Could it engender aught but bitterness?

Time is supposed to be a healer of woxmds.
Be that as it may, the passing of years certainly
ntunbs and deadens the pain. But his old wound
had broken out afresh, with the reading of that
announcement on the evening of his arrival:
"At Simla, on November the 26th, to Lord and
Lady Hilary — a son."

He wondered what his telephone friend would
say, if she could know the whole history of the
wrecking of his life's happiness. What she had
said to-night, was very true: "Perhaps it held for
you a bitterness which made it a hard teacher."
A hard teacher! Good Heavens! All it had
taught him was never to trust to a woman's
love.

128 The Wall of Partition

He turned deliberately from the past, and dwelt
upon the present. He did not want to lose this
new-found sense of peace.

He was glad his telephone friend was a widow.
Widows were understanding and reasonable.
They knew the ways and vagaries of men, and
were less likely to be impatient of them than
wives. The entire sex gained by the canonisa-
tion of one, probably unworthy, man. Why did
death always create a halo?

Probably the kind vcrfce belonged to one who
was what is called "a widow of a certain age."
Steele hoped so. It would have bored him to
have had a young girl giggling at the other end
of the telephone. He liked the soft maturity of
her laugh, and the measured confidence of her
calm speech.

He felt quite sure she was a philanthropist,
notwithstanding her denial. Probably her in-
stinct for philanthropy had caused her to agree
to take him on.

Perhaps she was planning to open a Home for
Widows. If so he should certainly subscribe.
He would promise a thousand potmds. Then
she would have to tell him to whom to draw the
cheque, and where to send it. Of course it would
be possible to seal up bank-notes in an envelope.

The Kind Voice 129

leave them with the hall-porter, give her a pass-
word on the telephone, and let her send for them.

He wondered how many widows could be
"safely housed, and warmed, and fed,'* for a
thousand a year. He grew quite interested over
working this out. He made up his mind to ask
for full particulars of the Home for Widows,
directly she rang him up on the following evening.
Then he remembered that it was really, more or
less, his own idea.

At length he poked the red sunset into a blaze,
put on more coal, went to the table and did a
good hour's work, before going to bed.

And, as he worked, he softly whistled the yearn-
ing theme of the "Traumerei."
9

CHAPTER XIII

"liANY WIDOWS WERE IN ISRAEL"

\ 7IEWED and reviewed during the practical
^ prose of breakfast, the happenings of the
previous night took on a fantastic form, which
made them appear to belong rather to the phan-
tasm of slumber, than to the sober realities of
waking hours.

Surely he had dreamed that he reached out
•into space and found the Kind Voice; found her
without the help of wires or of bells; aye, even
without the assistance of that omniscient indi-
vidual, known familiarly as "Exchange."

Surely he had slept even more profoundly,
and dreamed even more wildly, when the owner
of the kind voice was promising, gently, to ring
him up at 10.15 to-night.

Yet he started, and kept his seat with diffictilty,
when the telephone-bell rang outside; and when
Jake, instead of giving the hospital number,
opened the dining-room door, saying: "You're

130

** Many Widows Were in Israel " 131

wanted on the telephone, sir," Rodney dashed
to the instrument, vexed at his delay, and per-
fectly certain who was awaiting him at the other
end. Obviously she had thought he meant
10.15 A.M. instead of 10.15 p-^*

He lifted the receiver.

"Hullo? "he said, eagerly. "Hullo! Is it you?"

"Of course it's me, old chap," came Billy's
good-tempered voice, jovial and ungrammatical.
"But, what's up? You sound rather as if I
were a straw, and you, a drowning man! Are
you bored stiflF?"

Steele mastered his annoyance, which indeed
was with himself, rather than with Billy.

"I'm all right, Billy," he said. "Jolly and
comfortable as possible."

"I've rung up," shouted Billy, "to say you
really must come down to us at once. The
fogs and cold must be so beastly in town. Here
we have brilliant stmshine; the ice bears; we
shall be skating on the lake to-morrow. Look
up a train, and come to-day, old chap. "

"Thanks, Billy. I am gratefvd. But I can't
leave town just yet. I am proof-reading, and —
well, I have heaps of work to do. "

"Isn't it beastly rotten to be all alone?"
shouted Billy.

132 The Wall of Partition

"Not at all. Quite used to it. I asstire you,
I'm quite jolly. Wouldn't leave town just now,
for the world."

"All right, Rod. As you like. There's always
a welcome here, waiting. . . . What? . . . No,
we haven't finished. Another three minutes,
please. Hold on, Rodney. Valeria wants to
speak to you."

Steele heard a rustle at the other end, and a
faint laugh. He resisted an impulse to hang
up the receiver before this other woman's voice
should reach him. He could almost imagine the
heavy scent of violet essence which enveloped
Lady Valeria. Then he distinctly heard her
say: "Go away, Billy, do! I can't talk to the
man while you stand grinning there. Shut the
door, will you!" Then, in ingratiating tones:

"How do you do, Mr. Steele?"

"Good-morning, Lady Valeria."

"How nice really to talk to you at last! We
were so sorry you were out yesterday when we
dropped in. Do come down here soon. "

"You are very kind. Lady Valeria. But work
keeps me in town until Christmas."

"How tiresome! Why can't you work here?"

Steele availed himself of the telephonic privi-
lege of leaving an awkward question unanswered.

** Many Widows Were in Israel " 133

'^I particularly want a talk with you, Mr.
Steele — can you hear? — about The Great Divide.
You have read it, haven't you?"

"I have it here."

"I know. I saw it on the table. I want to
know your opinion. Do you think it was written
by a man or by a woman?

" It was written by a man, Lady Valeria.

"Oh, you are decided! You will have to tell
me why you think that. I believe I shall be
able to prove to you that it was written by a

woman."

"You will not be able to do that, Lady Valeria.
The Great Divide is the work of a man. "

" Do you think it strong and clever?"

"I think the man who wrote it, said what he
meant to say, to the best of his ability."

"What qualified praise! Why do authors so
rarely have the generosity to be frankly enthusi-
astic over one another's books?"

Again Steele left the question unanswered.

"Now tell me," began Lady Valeria — ^but here
Trunk intervened with a peremptory "Time's
up!" — "Why does this rude person say 'Time's
up' to me?"

"Because this is a trunk call, and you have had
six minutes."

134 The Wall of Partition

"But I have a great deal more to say."

''Have you finished?" inquired Trunk.

"Yes," said Rodney, quickly.

"I want to know," squeaked Lady Valeria's
pettish voice. Chop went Trunk, sure and swift.
A sudden and complete silence followed.

Rodney stood for a moment in full enjoyment
of not knowing what Lady Valeria wanted to
know.

Then he hung up the receiver, and went back
to breakfast.

Jake, who had been keeping things hot, replaced
the dishes and lifted the covers.

"Jake," said Rodney, "when you answer the
telephone, if the person who rings up says 'Are
you there?* the call will be for me. Be good
enough, in that case, to fetch me immediately,
without mentioning my name or asking theirs."

"Right, sir," said Jake.

This satisfactory word, was Jake's invariable
mode of reply. Steele felt sure that when the
minister who imited Jake to Sarah Mimms put the
question "Wilt thou have this woman to be
thy wedded wife?" Jake must have answered,
"Right, sir."

Steele finished breakfast, in cheerful spirits.

This little interlude at the telephone had

" Many Widows Were in Israel " 135

served to establish completely the reality of the
experiences of the night before. He had now
had a conversation over the telephone with
another woman whom he had not as yet seen,
and the personality behind the Kind Voice was
more real to him than that of Lady Valeria. The
former was his friend, already; and they would
speak again to-night.

He went to his morning's work with energy
and courage.

At noon the wintry sunshine called him out.

He strolled into the park, and came upon the
piece of water in which a large collection of water-
fowl swam and waddled, and over which a doud
of hungry gulls hovered, hoping to be fed.

At sight of them, Steele realised how much
he was missing the beautiful bird-life with which
he had been for so long surrounded.

Little children, out with their nurses, were
throwing scraps of bread into the water.

Steele hastened to the nearest grocer, bought
three pennyworth of cheese, and returned to
the park.

Crusts of stale bread were floating about, too
unappetising even for the hungry birds.

Standing on the frosty grass at the water's

136 The Wall of Partition

edge, Steele took out a pocket-knife, opened his
packet of cheese, chopped it into small pieces,
and began throwing them, one by one. He was
instantly surrotmded by a quacking, eager crowd.

He did not take much interest in the tame
ducks; he wanted the wild sea-birds, circling
above him on gleaming, snowy wings.

He threw little bits of cheese into the air, and
with cries of delight they swooped by, catching
the cheese before it fell. The swift dexterity
with which they caught it as they flew, was pretty
to see; but Steele wanted more than this.

Standing very still, he threw a shorter distance
each time. The white wings flashed nearer and
nearer. He could feel, against his face, the
wind they made in passing.

Presently he laid the cheese on his big palm,
held it out, and imitated, exactly, the cry of the
gulls.

At first they circled higher, answering him.
Then one made a swooping dash at the cheese,
in passing; then another rested one moment
on his sleeve. Soon he had them perched upon
his shoulder, his arm, his wrist, eager and unafraid.

A passing nurse, wheeling a perambtdator,
paused to watch. "Pretty birds," she said to
her small charge. "Look at them! Ducks,

** Many Widows Were in Israel '* 137

Georgie, ducks! See their white wings and pink
feet. And that great big man is their keeper.
He comes to them at feeding-time. See how the
pretty creatures know the keeper! Georgie say:
'Quack, quack!' Now we must go home. It
is Georgie's feeding-time. "

Steele did not dare turn his head. A move-
ment on his part would have meant the instant
lifting of the dainty coral feet from his sleeve,
the rapid spreading of white wings in flight.

But he smiled at the idea of these wild sea-
birds with a keeper. Nothing cotdd keep them
save Love and Need. He loved them, and they
needed that which his love cotdd supply. So
they trusted him, and came.

How like the wild human heart! — ^not to be
held by bolts and bars, not to be caged by any
keepers, save Love and Need.

He heard the wheels of the perambulator move
slowly on, crunching over the gravel.

Then footsteps came by, and paused behind
him.

Somebody stood watching.

The silent watcher coughed.

Steele turned his head. At once there was a
rush of wings.

Behind him, on the path, stood a woman's

140 The Wall of Partition

was not the Kind Voice. She was not even the
Concordance. He felt sure the bishop's widow
would not have said ^'mis-er-able sea-gulls," in
that hollow, litany-like tone, of those gleaming
white wings, bright eyes, and coral feet.

"Many widows were in Israel in the days of
Elias." This was one of them! He felt so glad
he had mentioned the whitebait. It was the
kind of thing you think of afterwards, and wish
you had said.

He wondered whether the gaunt widow would
tell the story at a committee for feeding the
hungry and deserving poor. He felt quite certain
she would never advocate feeding the i^ndeserving
poor, however hungry.

If she ever fell on evil days herself, she shotdd
not be admitted to the Widows* Home. He
would make that a stipulation before handing
over his subscription. No widow would be
eligible for admission, who did not fully approve
of three pennyworth of cheese being thrown to
hungry birds. He should tell the Kind Voice
so, to-night. If she had already drawn up her
paper of rules, this must be added as a postscript,
or he would withdraw his promised thousand
pounds.

He hurried through his solitary luncheon ; then

" Many Widows Were in Israel " 141

went out again. The whirl of the gulls' white
wings, the touch of their clinging feet upon his
wrist, had stirred in him the instinctive need of
open air ; of the freedom of stm, and sky, and wind.
He felt cooped up, between fotir walls. The cosy
flat became a prison. He must have liberty to
move, to walk, to breathe.

He made his way to the Marble Arch, and so
into Hyde Park.

By the time he turned homeward, it seemed
to him that his entire afternoon had been spent
in chasing widows.

He overtook them in the park, walking serenely
by straight or devious ways, according to the will
and pleasure of tiny Pekinese dogs, who trotted
proudly, each with a widow at the other end of
his lead, and stared indignantly at Rodney, with
angry, bulging eyes, if he paused to overhear the
voice which addressed them.

Widows flew past him in motors; or lay back
stoutly in high barouches, swung upon easy
springs, and drawn by high-stepping steeds.

Widows looked out of brougham windows, in
the blocks in Bond Street; angry annoyance on
their chastened faces.

Widows hurried into the shops in Regent
Street, intent upon Christmas shopping. If

142 The Wall of Partition

Rodney saw a likely one, he followed her in,
contrived to hear her voice ; then promptly walked
out again. In one very fashionable shop, he
marched absently upstairs in the wake of a widow,
and suddenly found himself challenged by an aus-
tere person in black satin, who said, pointedly:
"What can we do for you hercy sir?" The
emphasis upon the "here," caused Rodney to
look around him. Abashed, he turned and fled.

Widows, widows, everywhere ! He had no idea
London held so many. Israel, in the days of Elias,
can have been nothing to it. And all of them
prosperous and well-fed.

Just one he chanced upon, at the comer of a
quiet street, whose mourning was thin and frayed.
She shivered, and sold matches.

"Are you a widow?" asked Rodney, lifting his
hat.

The white lips quivered.

" I am, sir, " she said.

'* Do you think it would be a sinful waste, to
give three pennyworth of cheese to hungry birds?"

She looked up into his face, surprised at the
question. Then a smile dawned in her tired eyes.

"I don't know about cheese, sir," she said;
"but I share my crumbs with the little birds,
when I have any to share. "

" Many Widows Were in Israel " 143

"Why do you share your crumbs with the little
birds, my friend? " asked Rodney, gently.

She looked at him again, and this time the smile
reached the pale lips.

"Because, sir, it says somewhere: 'Your heav-
enly Father feedeth them.' I am too poor to do
much; but I like a share, no matter how small and
humble, in God's work. "

Rodney felt in his pocket for a sovereign.

" May I have the privilege, " he said, " of bujring
a box of your matches? And will you oblige me
by not troubling yourself to give me change?"

The weary woman looked at the gold in her
hand.

"Dear God!" she said. "It means house and
home for me! How did you know?"

"I didn't know," said Rodney, pocketing
his matches. "But it says somewhere: 'Your
heavenly Father knoweth that ye have need of
all these things.'"

He walked rapidly on ; for the widow was catch-
ing her breath in quick, short sobs, and trying to
thank him. Also, he was half-ashamed of having
quoted Scripture. The passage came into his
mind, and was too apt to be resisted. See what
came of borrowing little Sarah Mimms's Bible,
and the bishop's concordance! And, after all,

144 The Wall of Partition

why should one be ashamed of quoting the Bible?
One quotes Shakespeare and Byron, Voltaire and
Virgil. Yet the Bible is older and wiser than they.

As he mounted the steps at Regent House, in
the entrance hall he saw yet another widow,
talking to Maloney, A gentle widow, this; elderly
and gracious. Her peaceful face was softly
framed by folded wings of silvery hair. The kind
eyes, looking past Maloney, rested on the tall
figure and bronzed face of the man who had paused
in the doorway.

As he met those kind old eyes, Rodney's heart
stood still.

Was it — ? It must be! How had she found
him out? Good heavens! The preposterous
cheek of having asked her to ring him up!

Following the lady's look, Maloney turned, and
saw Steele standing in the doorway.

"Here is Mr. Steele, madam, " said Maloney.

Rodney advanced, hat in hand.

"The lady was inquiring for you, sir," volun-
teered Maloney, by way of introduction. Then
he stepped back, and Rodney stood looking down
into those kind old eyes.

"I must apologise," he began, lamely. "I am
afraid my request of last night must have seemed
to you the most unmitigated cheek. "

"Many Widows Were in Israel" 145

"Not at all, Mr. Steele. It afforded me the
greatest pleasure to render the least little service
to a writer whose delightftd books "

But Rodney was himself again.

At the first soimd of her voice, he had dropped
his apologetic bearing. It was a sweet voice; it
held a sympathetic caress. But — ^it was not the
IQnd Voice. No, no ! It had not the magic depth
and richness which reminded him of Madge. This
was no doubt the bishop's widow. She was speak-
ing of the concordance.

They entered the lift together.

She laid her hand, in motherly fashion, on his
sleeve.

"Mr. Steele, you are welcome to the use of any
books in my late dear husband's library. The
Bishop was a great reader, and always purchased
a book he valued, never borrowed it. The Bishop
used to say: 'A book worth reading, is a book
worth buying.' Are you engaged upon a theologi^
calwork?"

"No," said Rodney. "I suddenly wanted to
find one particular text."

"How interesting," said the bishop's widow.
"I wonder whether I might ask which text?"

"'He heapeth up riches,'" said Rodney, "'and
knoweth not who shall gather them.'

f ft

146 The Wall of Partition

The kind eyes were full of gentle interest.

"What can have led you to dwell upon that
passage?"

"A big cheque from my publishers," said
Rodney, "and having nobody with whom to share
it."

The lift stopped at the first floor.

The bishop's widow stepped out.

"Good-evening, Mr. Steele, " she said. *'Come
and see me if you ever feel inclined to do so. It
would give me very great pleasure."

"Thank you," said Rodney, through the brass
gate. "I should feel it a privilege."

As he mounted higher, he realised that there
had been tears in the eyes of the bishop's widow.

How easily women weep ! This was the second
widow whom he had left in tears, within the last
quarter of an hour !

He let himself into the flat, with a feeling of
relief, and a sense of safety.

In less than three hours he would hear the Kind
Voice again.

After all he was glad that his hunt among the
widows of London had not resulted in a meeting
with her. A telephone friendship was wiser and
better. Even a widow can't weep down the
telephone!

*' Many Widows Were in Israel " 147

"Jake/* he said, "a whisky and soda,
please. I've been on the go, the whole after-
noon. "

Right, sir, " said Jake.

CHAPTER XIV

A TELEPHONE FRIENDSHIP

PUNCTUALLY at 10.15 the telephone-bell
rang,

Rodney took down the receiver.

"Hullo!"

"Are you there?" asked the Kind Voice.

"I should jolly well think I am!" said Rodney,
gleefully. "I wouldn't be anywhere else, for a
king's ransom. I've lived all day, for this hour. "

"I do not propose talking to you for an hour,
my friend."

"Don't be so literal. I used the expression,
figuratively."

" Well? Have you had a good day? "

"First-rate. I worked until noon. And since
then "

"What have you been doing since then? "

"I've been out — chasing widows."

"Chasing widows! What an interesting occu-
pation ! Did you find many? "

148

A Telephone Friendship 149

Crowds ! I found a gaunt widow, and a stout
widow; a placid widow, aud a worried widow;
many busy widows, and one frayed widow; and,
last of all, in the entrance to these flats, the bishop's
widow. I did not know, until to-day, what lots of
widows there are in London. I found them in the
park, and in Piccadilly; in Bond Street, Oxford
Street, and Regent Street. But I found only one
in any way eligible for admission to your Widows'
Home."

To my what?
To your W, i, d-

Yes, I heard! But what Home? And why
mine?"

"Aren't you starting a Home for Widows, where
they will be safely housed, and warmed, and
fed?"

"This is the first I have heard of it."

"How odd. I have been taking the greatest
interest in the plan, since our talk last night. I
propose to subscribe one thousand potmds, an-
nually."

"Excellent! Such a subscription shotdd start
the idea."

" I have been revising your rules of admission.

"We will draw them up together.

"Over the telephone?"

ciuinissiuii.

150 The Wall of Partition

"Why not? It will oblige us to be definite and

concise. "

"All right, " said Rodney. "You think it out,
and submit the rules to me, when ready. Now
let's drop philanthropy. I want to hear of your
day. Have you had a good time? "

"Very. The sunshine called me out. I took
a long walk. After a while I fotmd myself in
Regent's Park, and saw such a pretty sight. "

"What was that?"

" I saw a man feeding the guUs, beside the piece
of water where they keep ducks, and geese, and
foreign birds."

"Oh!"

"He wasn't just throwing bread into the water,
as most people do. He stood upon the bank and
called them. At first they hovered above, in a
white cloud; and then, down they swooped and
perched upon him. He was a very tall man. I
thought it such a pretty sight. "

"Oh! . . . Did you notice — did you by any
chance see — er, what he gave them?"

" No; I was not near enough to see that. I kept
at a distance, partly concealed among the shrubs,
for fear of frightening them away. But they fed
from his hand. I think he must be a lover of wild
birds. I longed to ask him to teach me the secret."

A Telephone Friendship 151

"Oh! • . . What else have you done to-day?"

"Well, this evening I have been reading. Ah
— and, by the way, has your tiresome person next
door been playing the 'Traumerei' again?"

"Not to-night. Why?"

"Because my mind has been running on the
*Traumerei.' I have just begun a book in which
it occurs as a constant theme. A deeply interesting
book, I think; though I am no further, at present,
than the third chapter. It is called The Great
Divide. Have you read it?"

"Yes, I have read it. I say! I am awfully
glad you are reading The Great Divide, because
— well, since I got back to England, I have heard
it a good deal discussed; I have read a great many
reviews, and — I should immensely like to know
your opinion. Will you ring up and tell me what
you think of it, to-morrow night?"

"Certainly I will; but I read slowly. I shall
hardly finish it by to-morrow night."

" No hurry. We can talk it over up to the point
you have reached. Have you any idea as to the
identity of the author?"

"None. But I was told the other day by — the
friend who recommended me to read it, that
*Max Romer* is a nom-de-plume, and possibly a

woman."

152 The Wall of Partition

"Your friend was wrong. The Great Divide is
a man's work. A woman would have given the
book a different ending. No woman could have
suffered as the man must have suffered who wrote
TTie Great Divide.**

"Don't you believe women to be capable of
suffering?"

' ' Not as men suffer. Women have more outlets.
Their griefs evaix)rate."

"And yours?"

"Harden, crystallise, petrify; turn that which
was warm in us, to ice; that which was soft, to
stone. You'll find all about it, in Max Romer's
book. What do you think of it, so far?"

"I think it is a wonderfully tender description
of a very young and very simple love. I think
Max Romer, whoever he is, knows exactly what
the first fresh love of two yoimg hearts can be.
It rings true; yet somehow it makes one ache a
little for them. They are so very sure of each
other, and of themselves. It will be so terrible if
either fails the other."

"Have you finished the third chapter?"

"Not quite."

"Shall you read any more io-night?"

"Yes, I shaU read until half -past eleven."

"Oh, I say! Look here! Will you ring me up

A Telephone Friendship 153

at half -past eleven, and tell me where you leave
off, and what you think of the development? "

"No, my friend; I think not. Once is enough.
I promised only for 10.15."

"All right. You're more than good, as it is.
But I am specially keen about The Great Divide.
However — I must wait."

"Only until 10.15 to-morrow evening. I will
not forget."

"Must you go? Are you sure you don't know
what the gulls were having in the park this morn-
ing?"

" I have not the faintest idea ; but I think it was
something they liked better than bread. Good-
night."

"Are you sure you did not mind what I said
about chasing widows? "

"Not a bit. It is excellent for widows to be
chased. Someday, perhaps, you will chase me,
in Regent Street."

"No such luck! Are you really going? Well
—Good-night. "

Silence followed. She had hung up her receiver.

"Have you finished there?" inquired Exchange,
with some asperity ; and Rodney rang off.

He returned to his chair, sobered and grave; also
inclined to feel a little flat and disappointed.

154 The Wall of Partition

He had so greatly counted upon that evening's
telephone talk; yet somehow there had been less of
romance about it to-night. It had been so very
matter-of-fact and prosaic. She had taken their
telephone friendship so completely as a matter of
course. She had discussed things as calmly as if
they had talked together over the telephone for
years.

Yet it was the same kind voice; so sweet an
echo of the past. But she had not laughed to-
night; and he had been cotmting upon hearing
her laugh. Perhaps her mind had been somewhat
taken up with other things. And, by the way, the
conversation had given him much food for thought.

So she had actually been in the park that
morning, and had seen him feeding the gulls ! For
a moment dismay had seized him, remembering
the gaunt widow. But that stem person's voice
and her mental attitude, had been utterly foreign,
in every possible way, to the voice and mind of his
telephone friend.

No, she had evidently, as she said, remained at
a distance, and had not now the faintest suspicion
that it was he whom she had seen.

What a strange coincidence !

And then to think that she was reading his own
book — that book into which he had put, under

A Telephone Friendship 155

deftly changed circumstances, his owa life's
tragedy.

What would she think of it? Would she tmder-
standit?

He wanted her to understand. It would mean
so much to him if Has woman, with the voice so
like Madge's voice, admitted that his book rang
true; that The Great Divide was the Real Thing.
Already he dehghted in her words about the open-
ing chapters — in what she had said of the first
fresh love of two young hearts; and she seemed
to have a premonition that they might fail each
other.

Where was she now?

He fetched the book from the library; drew his
chair nearer to the fire, turned on the portable
light which stood upon the little table beside him,
and began the fourth chapter. He would read
until half-past eleven. Then he would know,
approximately, whereabouts she left off.

But, as he read, he soon lost touch with his
surroundings. He forgot even th e lan d voice of

his telephone friend. ^H8c5v^"* *J^S!•'''Ol

His work possessed that "=~-t:-^^^«»_^ -^_ «■*.•_ _
subconscious work: the power to
sorb even its author.

Rodney read on imtil midnight.

156 The Wall of Partition

He did not hear the chimes of the distant dock,
nor the slow tolling of the hotir; but, a few minutes
later, he flung down the book, and rose to his feet.
The silence around him had been broken sharply
by a sudden sound: the loud, insistent call of the
telephone.

Still half dazed, Rodney crossed the hall and
took down the receiver.

CHAPTER XV

THE WIND IN THE CHIMNEY

" TTULLO? " said Rodney Steele. And instantly

'■' -■• the Kind Voice cried : "Are you there?"

He could scarcely believe his ears; and yet,
after the first moment, he was not stirprised.

"Oh, are you there, my friend?"

"Yes, " he said, "of course I'm here! I believe
I knew you would ring up. I have been reading it,
too ; ever since we said ' good-night.' I had just
reached the scene in which she returns his letter,
unopened."

"Ah!" said the Kind Voice, and for once it had
lost its measured calm; "I am even beyond that;
and — I simply couldn't bear it alone. I had to
ring up. "

"I asked you to do so, didn't I? And you
refused. Now The Great Divide has forced you
to it." There was tritunph in his tone. "It is a
victory for The Great Divide. ^^

"It is," she said, "Max Romer might be proud.

157

i6o The Wall of Partition

all I am saying? It is not easy to talk so oon-
secutively through the telephone! ... I grant
you, Katherine's love was the love of a girl; but
it was the noble love of a noble girl. The critics
are perfectly right when they say that she would
not have thrown her lover over for the reason
Max Romer gives. He has written his book with
intense conviction; yet he fails to convince those
who really know love and life. Katherine would
not have acted so."

"She would, and she did!" said Rodney,
vehemently.

There was the pause of a surprised silence.
Then the Kind Voice at his ear, inquired gently:
"What do you mean, my friend? Why do you
speak so strongly? Are we not merely discussing
the much discussed work of fiction of a new and
tmknown writer? "

"We are discussing facts!" cried Rodney.
"We are discussing the tragedy of a man's spoilt
life, which he has been fool enough to dress up
in the garb of fiction and give to the world, in
order that the world may wag its head so wisely,
and say: *This is not true to life. The girl
would not have acted so.' I say, she did act so;
and, in acting so, she broke the man who loved
and trusted her. My friend, as we may never

The Wind in the Chimney i6i

meet but thus, I will trust you with a secret

I known to nobody. I shall feel it something of

a relief for once to have it shared; and you will
understand how maddening it is to me to hear
The Great Divide condemned as not tru^ to life.

' You are speaking to Max Romer. I am he ! Into

that book I have woven the tragedy of my own
life. Val's mischance fell upon me. Then the

^ girl I worshipped and trusted, treated me pre-

cisely as Katherine, in The Great Divide^ treated
Valentine. This is why I know I am right, and
I know the critics are wrong. Now — do you
understand?"

Rodney paused, listening,

^ No answer came.

He waited. A tense silence followed his impetu-
ous outburst.

I At length: "Hullo!" he called. "Are you

there?"

> No reply reached him.

k He rang up the Exchange.

"Why have you cut us oflf? We had not
finished."

" I didn't, " snapped Exchange, crossly. " They

^ rang off at the other end."

\ "It must have been a mistake. Can't yoit

put me through again?"

i62 The Wall of Partition

"Number, please."

"I don't know the number."

"Then I can't put you through."

"Oh— aU right. Good-night."

Rodney walked back to his chair, and sat down.

He felt perplexed — ^almost bewildered.

Why had she rung off at the most important
point in their conversation?

His confidence — so great a thing for him to
have given — seemed flung back at him, without
one word of sjrmpathy or of comprehension.

It was tmUke the Kind Voice to do this.

He would not credit her with unkindness.

It must have been a mistake — probably on the
part of the telephone operator.

Very likely they had been disconnected before
his impulsive confession could reach her. This
was, perhaps, for the best. Already he had begim
to regret it. It was so essential for him, that his
identity with Max Romer should not become
known.

How strange that she should side with those
who questioned the probability of the main fact
in the plot of The Great Divide. He would have
credited her with a more accurate knowledge of
Ufe.

Well, anyway, there was one woman in the

The Wind in the Chimney 163

world who, if she ever chanced to read it, would
know it to be true — ^bitterly, remorselessly, true.

Rodney brooded over his pipe for a while, half
hoping to be called again to the telephone. But
no call came; and at length he went to bed.

His sleep, at first, was fitful and restless. He
woke at two o'clock in the morning, fancying he
heard, through the wall, the desperate, hopeless
sobbing of a woman. But when he sat up and
listened, he came to the conclusion that it had
been the gusty moaning of the December wind
in the chimney.

He had been dreaming of the frayed widow,
selling matches at the bleak street-comer.

As he turned over, he made up his mind to
seek her out, and ensure that she should be per-
manently "safely housed and warmed, and fed."
A sovereign could not mean house and home for
very long. And it was no good waiting until the
proposed Home for Widows should be in working
order.

He must have been asleep a minute later, for
a gull settled on his wrist, and, looking up at him
with bright black eyes, remarked: "A sinful
waste of cheese, I call it." As it flew away,
Rodney noticed that it wore widow's weeds. He
tried to keep it in view, amongst the flock of

i64 The Wall of Partition

gulls, to make sure it got no cheese; then found
they all flew by, in bonnets and black veils. He
turned from them, disgusted; and, out from
behind the trees, over the grass, toward him
came Madge — radiant and wonderf td — both hands
outstretched.

" Oh, Madge ! " he said. " Oh, Madge ! ''

And, smiling serenely, Madge said: "Are you
there?"

"Where is the little child, Madge?" he asked,
standing before her, with folded arms.

And Madge replied: "There is no little child,
Roddie. There never was."

Then he put his arms around her.

Yes, he slept. And, at last, the sad "wind in
the chimney" sobbed itself, also, to silence; and
all was still.

CHAPTER XVI

SUSPENSE

OTEELE awoke the next morning with a sense of
^^ frustration weighing heavily upon him. He
had been balked.

He hated to be balked. Something had gone
wrong. What was it?

Then he remembered that his telephone friend
had cut herself oflf from him, the moment she
knew he was Max Romer. Why had she done
this?

Last night he had tried to persuade himself
that the sudden silence was a mistake of the
Exchange.

This morning he knew she had done it herself.

But why? Was she vexed that he had trapped
her into giving a frank criticism of his book,
before she knew it to be his? She would not
have spoken either so strongly or so freely as
she had done, if he had said: "I wrote The
Great Divide^ and I want your opinion of the

165

1 66 The Wall of Partition

book. I should like to know whether you think
it really true to life." She would have answered
honestly — the Kind Voice could not be other than
honest — but she would have expressed herself
differently. Probably she had rung oflf under
an impulse of very natural annoyance with him
for a lack of perfect straightforwardness toward
her.

Steele reviewed his share of the conversation,
while he breakfasted, and watched the sunrise
gleam, pale gold, between the Harley Street
chimneys.

Undoubtedly he had not been quite honest in
the matter — and any lack of sincerity between
friends, was unpardonable.

He had said: "I am interested" — "I have
heard" — "I have read." That would have been
all right to a bookseller, to a reporter, or even
to Billy, or to any chance acquaintance. But,
to the Kind Voice there was but one thing he
could say, if he said anything at all: "I wrote."

Steele possessed an instinctive scorn of subter-
fuge. Years spent in other lands, had but served
to accentuate his natural British honesty.

He justified her vexation, and resolved on
frank apology directly she rang him up that
evening.

Suspense 167

But — would she ring him up? That was the
question! He thought she would. She had
promised. Yet women have a queer way, some*
times, of not considering a promise to be binding
if circumstances — displeasing to themselves — have
intervened.

He worked steadily all the morning.

A charming note came up from the bishop's
widow, inviting him to take tea with her on the
following afternoon.

"Many people would like to be asked to meet
you," wrote Mrs. Bellamy, "but I am going to
beg you to forgive me, if I deny my friends that
pleasure, and keep you to myself this time. The
Bishop used to say: 'Only when people know
one another very well, can they enjoy conversing
in a crowd.' So we will keep out the crowd to-
morrow, my dear Mr. Steele, if you will give
me the great pleasure of your company at
tea."

This graceful invitation pleased Steele. He
replied at once, accepting it.

In the afternoon he went to the Zoological
Gardens. His books had brought him a con-
siderable reputation as an authority on wild
animals and foreign birds. He had written to a
Fellow of the Society, with whom he had long

168 The Wall of Partition

corresponded, and now met him there, by appoint-
ment.

He spent several delightftil hours, absorbed in
a subject he loved ; winning the trust and response
of birds and beasts in a magic way of his own,
which amazed even the keepers.

At length, his identity becoming known, an
interested crowd followed him round. When
Steele first noticed this, he wondered why so
many people should chance to be interested in
the particular animal he had come to that house
to see. But presently it dawned upon him that
the crowd was there, not to see the animals, but
to see him see the animals!

Steele disliked that kind of thing. He declined
to be lionised — even at the Zoo.

He left abruptly, accepting an invitation for
Sunday from his friend.

He felt oppressed and saddened by the cages.
Bars and bolts, even of the kindest, mean loss of
liberty; and loss of liberty comes second only, in
disastrous effect, to loss of life.

He strode rapidly through the park, making
for the piece of water close to Regent House,
where he would find the swoop of free white
vnngs.

Life, Light, Liberty! Death, Darkness, Doom,

Suspense 169

Dungeons, Despair! Why does the letter L
stand so often for the lovely, lovable things of
life, whereas D denotes those which are dark,
dismal, dreadful, and despondent?

Rodney worked this out, as he walked. He
even arrived at: "Only Luke is with me. De-
mas hath forsaken me." Then smiled to think
that the effect of the bishop's concordance still
lingered in his subconsciousness.

"Lazarus and Dives" came into his mind, as he
saw the crowd of humble sparrows on the path,
waiting for chance crumbs which might fall from
the food thrown to birds of richer, rarer plumage.
This reminded him of the poor frayed widow,
selling matches, and of the £ s. d. which stood for
his own large income; the S in the centre indi-
cating that, whether his possession of money
should be lifted to the L's, or dropped down to
the D's, would largely depend upon how he spent
it.

Then he thought of The Great Divide, the final
word so expressive of the desolation of his own
life, and realised that Love alone could have
bridged that chasm.

He did not have much success that afternoon
in his attempt to tame the gulls. He could not
give them an undivided mind. He kept watching

CHAPTER XVII

"come to me!"

"NTOT only here," said Steele, "but here with

^ ^ an apology."

"Wait," said the Kind Voice. "Mine comes
first. Will you forgive me for ringing off so
suddenly last night, just as you had entrusted me
with so important and thrilling a secret?"

"It is I who should ask forgiveness," Steele
hastened to say, as she paused, listening. "I
had no right to trap you into giving me a candid
opinion of my own book, by allowing you to
suppose that I had merely read and not written
it. You were entirely justified in ringing c^.
I am ashamed to have deceived you."

"I do not call that deceiving," said the Kind
Voice. "You had a perfect right to continue
to keep your identity from me. I had no claim
to know it."

"As a matter of fact," said Rodney, "it is not

my identity. 'Max Romer' is a pseudonym.^

172

>»

''Come to Me!" 173

"Well, you have a perfect right to shield your-
self behind your nam-de-guerre. Your remarks
gave me a false impression. I do not call that
'deception.'"

"It depends," said Rodney, "to whom the
false impression is given, rather than upon the
impression itself."

She laughed — ^the sweet, low laugh so like
Madge's.

"Oh my friend, this goes too deep for the tele-
phone! And so does most of that which I have
to say to you to-night. I have finished The
Great Divide.*^

"One minute!" said Rodney. "If my dupli-
city had not disgusted you, why did you ring
off?"

"Simply because the room suddenly went
round with me. My table began to sway to and
fro, and to recede into darkness. I thought I had
better ring off, while I could still see the telephone.
I recovered after a short rest upon the floor! I
suppose I was over-tired. Perhaps The Great
Divide had been too much for me. And then
to be told, with the utmost suddenness, that my
bold criticisms of a book, which I really hugely
admire, had been made to its author ! A stronger
than I, might have fainted — Max Romer."

176 The Wall of Partition

And a great English statesman has said : ' One of
the chief ftinctions of literature, in a world which
is full of sadness and difficulty, is to cheer.' "

"But this was not fiction," objected Rodney.
"This was hard, cruel fact."

"Then it was not artistic, my friend," said the
Kind Voice. "Does the true artist put himself
into a book?"

"You have me there," said Rodney. "And
I simply can't explain to you, over the telephone,
how I came to do it. However, as that was the
end, it had to be. There was no other."

"I think I could suggest a better ending," said
the ICind Voice.

" Do. I am listening."

A pause.

"I simply can't explain it to you, over the
telephone!"

Steele laughed. "Then we are at a deadlock."

"Not quite. I know a way out of the diffi-
culty."

"What is that?"

"Would you like to come and see me? Then
I will tell you what I think wotild be a better
ending."

"Of course I should," said Rodney. "When
do you mean? To-night?"

*'Come to Mel'* 177

"Yes, this evening; now — ^at once."

For a moment Rodney stood, with the receiver
in his hand, too much surprised to take in the
full import of the invitation. He very nearly
accidentally rang off, in his amazement.

Then he said : "If you really mean it, you must
tell me how to get to you. Shall I take taxi, tube,
or train? Remember, I have not the faintest
idea from which part of the London district you
speak to me."

"You need not take either taxi, tube, or train,"
said the Kind Voice, slowly. "You can walk.
I have a flat in Regent House. You have only
to go downstairs and out at your entrance; then
turn to the left, and in at the next entrance.
My flat is No. 34, on the second floor, and adjoins
yours. I fear I must plead guilty to being the
tiresome person who plays the 'Traumerei.' "

"Grood heavens!" said Rodney. "We have
talked to one another each evening, with only the
wall bet ween ! "

"With only the wall between." She laughed;
and — as it always did when she laughed — ^his
heart stood still. "Yet, so long as the wall re-
mains between, twenty miles could not be more
dividing. Come round, my friend, and let us
bridge the Great Divide."

178 The Wall of Partition

Rodney hesitated. There was a side of hm
which would have dashed rotind to her at once,
without further parley; wild for the adventure;
madly keen to see her.

But there was another side, which was strong,
and faithful, and steady; the man's firm grip
upon the boy in his own nature.

The silence remained unbroken, while he paused,
considering.

At last he said, quietly: "Are you there?"

"Yes," answered the Bond Voice, very softly.
"I am here."

"You are too good to me," said Rodney. "I
do not deserve so great an honour as the trust you
place in me. I hope I may always prove worthy
of your confidence and friendship. But I should
fail that trust if I came to you without telling you
two things. First, that my eager wish to hear
you speak again, after that first call, was chiefly
because your voice is more like the voice of the
girl I loved, than any I have heard since last I
heard her speak. Secondly, that she is Kather-
ine in The Great Divide, and that — though she
failed me and left me, as Katherine failed and
left Val — I can never cease to love her. While
life lasts, to no other woman could I ever give the
love which has been always, wholly hers. For

''Come to Me!'' 179

years that love has been as a dead thing, shrined.
But, such as it is, it is the only love I shall ever
know, or ever have, to give."

He was not sure whether it was a sob or a laugh
which reached him down the telephone. But
the Kind Voice had lost its firmness, and soimded
tremulous, as she answered.

"My friend — oh, my dear friend — I quite
understand! And, listen! Your voice reminded
me of the man I loved. So we are quits! For
the rest, have I not told you that I am a widow —
for over a year, I have been a widow. And I have
never really loved but one man in my whole life.
My heart belongs to him, and to none other, until
death ; and, I trust, after. Now — will you come? "

"Of course I will come, and come without
delay," cried Rodney, gaily. "At last we shall
talk without the chaperonage of Exchange! But
tell me for whom to ask."

"You need not ask at all. Just ring the bell
of No. 34. My maid will show you straight into
the drawing-room. I am alone."

"Right!" said Rodney, and rang off; then
laughed aloud; partly because he had used Jake's
word; partly because his blood danced with a
glad excitement. He was going actually to see
the owner of the kind voice, the "widow of a

i8o The Wall of Partition

certain age/' who had somehow come to mean to
him all that was gracious, iDeautif ul and consoling
in womanhood. He would sit down in her sweet
presence, and she would tell him how his book
should have ended !

He did not wait for the lift.

He ran down the flights of stone stairs.

But he took the lift at the other staircase, lest
he should walk into her drawing-room, seeming
hurried or breathless.

Glad expectation was in his eyes, as he stepped
from the lift at the second floor, and rang the bell
of No. 34.

CHAPTER XVIII

THE BETTER ENDING

A MAID answered his ring, and Rodney Steele
found himself in a hall not unlike the hall
in Billy's flat.

"Her ladyship is in the drawing-room, sir,"
said the maid, opening a door which corresponded
to Billy's dining-room.

Steele passed in, and the door closed behind him.

A screen was drawn across the doorway. The
room was illumined by the soft golden glow of
many shaded lights.

Steele passed roxmd the screen.

At the farther end of the room a fire burned on
a low hearth.

In an easy chair beside the fire, reclined a tall
woman in a black evening gown, which fell around
her in soft folds.

His first view of her did not reveal her face, for
she was reading, and holding up her book so that
the light behind her should fall upon its pages.

i8i

1 82 The Wall of Partition

But he saw, above the book, a crown of soft brown
hair, and marked the grace of her long limbs, and
the firm whiteness of her hands. She was a
yotmger woman than he had expected to see.

He crossed the room, and stood before her, his
step making no sound on the thick pile of the
carpet.

The book she was holding, trembled in her
hand ; yet she seemed tmaware of his presence.

"Well?" he said. "I have come to hear the
better ending."

Then she laid down the book, rose to her feet,
and stood before him.

Steele fell back a pace, in blank amazement;
for he foimd himself looking into the beautiful
face of the woman he had loved and lost, so long
ago.

"Madge!" he said. "Madge! Is it you?"

"Yes, Roddie, it is I," said the Kind Voice —
the voice he had all along thought so like Madge's
— ^but now it was low and tremulous with deep
emotion. She held out both hands to him.
"Oh, Roddie! Is not this a better ending?"

But Rodney Steele, white, stem, amazed, fell
back from her, yet another pace.

"Lady Hilary," he said; "how can it be you?
How come you to be here? On the 26th of

The Better Ending 183

November, you were in Simla. I read of the
birth of your boy. *At Simla, on November the
26th, to Lord and Lady Hilary — a son.' How
come you to be here; holding out your hands —
to me; and calling yourself a widow?"

She laughed — the sudden uncontrollable laugh-
ter of tense emotion; of nerves strained to their
uttermost.

"Oh, Roddie dear! Don't stand looking at
me like some stem accusing angel barring the
way to paradise! I don't 'call' myself a widow,
dear. I am a widow. I have been a widow for
over a year. Did you not know it, Rodney?
Oh, you did know it! You told Billy you had
seen it in the papers."

"I told Billy nothing of the kind. The day
I landed, five minutes before Billy came in, I had
seen in a daily paper: 'At Simla, on November the
26th, to Lord and Lady Hilary — a son.' Billy
said there was something about you which I
ought to know; and I said I had already seen it
in the paper. Nothing more passed."

"Oh, Rodney, what a misunderstanding! Poor
old Billy was doing his best, but he did make a
mess of it. Didn't he? He was to make stire
you knew of--of what happened fourteen months
ago; and he came rotmd here to me, and told me

1 84 The Wall of Partition

you said you had seen it in the papers. It was
an unfortunate instance of cross questions and
crooked answers, wasn't it?" She laughed again,
rather tremtilously, "But anyway, dear, you
know the truth now. You know that the woman
who holds out both hands to you, Rodney — the
love of her whole heart within them — is as free
as was the girl who was so foolish, ten years ago,
as to thrust from her, with both hands, the happi-
ness which lay within her grasp. Rodney, she
soon awoke to her mistake. Through all these
long weary years, the deepest depth of her love
has always been faithfully yours. Oh, my dear-
est, may I really believe what you said to me
just now on the telephone — that you have never
ceased to love me; that your love has also always
been wholly mine?"

Steele passed his hand over his eyes, as if trying
to dispel a mist, or to adjust a blxured and in-
distinct vision.

"I — I said nothing to you on the telephone.
Lady Hilary. I spoke to a woman whom I had
never seen, whose name I did not know, who did
not know my name; a woman whom I trusted;
in whom, for some reason for which I could not
account, I placed implicit confidence. I was not
speaking to you — Lady Hilary."

The Better Ending 185

He stood before her, very erect, stem, and
relentless.

Then, suddenly, he groaned, and put out his
hand, feeling for something to grip and lean
against.

The woman who loved him, loved him enough
to put him first, relegating her own feelings to
the background. She saw he was suffering;
though, as yet, she realised but dimly why.

"Sit down, Rodney," she said. "Take the
chair opposite to mine. Now let us have a quiet
talk together, and all will come right. Billy's
mistake cannot make any real difference between
you and me. Ask me anything you like, and I
will answer, and, if possible, explain. The one
essential fact, which nobody can take from us, is
that you and I are sitting here together, on either
side of the fire — the wall of partition gone; that
we can say what we will to each other; and that
nobody in the whole world has any claim upon
either of us, or any right to come between us. I
am content, just now, to sit still and realise this.'*

She lay back in her chair, purposely not looking
at him, but into the warm glow of the fire. She
knew he must be free to look at her, unobserved,
if that strained, bewildered, almost horrified ex-
pression was to pass from his eyes.

1 86 The Wall of Partition

She lifted a hand-screen, and fanned herself
with it, gazing steadily into the fire.

Rodney clenched his hands upon the arms of
his chair, and looked at her.

He saw the girl he had loved, grown to full
womanhood. The face, which had been soft and
flowerlike in girlhood, now held a perfect loveli-
ness of which then there had been but the radiant
promise. The large h^el eyes were luminous
and tender; the lips, mobile and sweet, and ready
to curve and part in smiles and laughter, closed
firmly, when at rest, in lines of quiet self-control.
The beautifully moulded chin denoted strength
of will, the broad white brow gave an appearance
of thoughtful intellectuality. It was the face of
a woman who had lived and suflfered, yet whose
suffering had left her, not embittered, but sweet,
calm, and patient, with an infinitely pathetic
patience ; a look of having endured a hard present,
because those sweet eyes had been ever fixed upon
something high and beautiful, beyond.

There was a gracious gracefulness about her
every movement, a calm assurance, denoting one
accustomed to rule and to be obeyed; that in-
describable air of the woman of the world, who
rules by virtue of her position, of her grace, and
of her beauty ; who is never at a loss as to what to

.•K

The Better Ending 187

do next; who knows the right thing to say, and
says it.

As she lay back now, slowly fanning herself,
in the firelight, Steele knew that she intended
him to speak next; that the silence would not be
broken, until he broke it. It might last an hour;
but the next word spoken would have to be his.

He firmly closed his lips. Why should he
speak? He had nothing to say, as yet; he — ^who
had been trapped into saying so much already.

How tall she was. Her figure had kept its
graceful lines, though developed into complete
maturity. The soft folds of her black gown accen-
tuated the whiteness of her skin; her only orna-
ment, a string of perfect pearls around her neck.
Hilary's wedding-ring gleamed on the third finger
of the hand which lay so still upon the arm of her
chair.

The slow movement of her fan maddened
Rodney.

A sudden wild impulse seized him, to fling him-
self at the feet of this lovely woman, lay his head
upon her knees, and put his arms arovmd her.

In self-defence he spoke.

"Lady Hilary "

She raised her hand in protest.

"Not that!" she said. "It is the one thing

i88 The Wall of Partition

I cannot bear from you, Roddie. If you can't
call me 'Madge,' call me nothing."

"I don't know what to say, Madge. I don't
know where to begin. I have to readjust all my
ideas. Will you try to realise that for years I
have been schooling myself, when I thought of
you, to think always of you as belonging to another
man. It takes a lot of — ^readjusting."

*' There is no hurry, dear. We, who have waited
so long, can wait yet longer."

"I have not waited," he said. "I had nothing
to wait for. You took all from me. I had not
a hope or an ideal left."

She fanned on, gently; ignoring his interruption.

"And as for not knowing where to begin, begin
just where we are, Rodney. Let me help you
to readjust. Ask me any questions you like."

"How came that notice in the paper: *To Lord
and Lady Hilary — a. son'?"

"It referred to the present Lord and Lady
Hilary. Gerald's yoimger brother acted as his
secretary. During the latter years, he really did
most of the work. Gerald was — ^well, incapaci-
tated. At Gerald's death he not only came into
the title, but was at once given Gerald's post.
He and his wife took the house and furniture and
everything, off my hands. I came home aJone,

The Better Ending 189

with just my own private possessions. The
cause of Gerald's death was hushed up as much
as ix)ssible. Details were kept out of the papers.
Paragraphs concerning Lord and Lady Hilary
appeared as usual; but they had reference to
Tom and his wife, not to Gerald and me. It is
fourteen months since a line about me has been
in any paper. I came quietly back alone; took
this flat, and a cottage in the country, settled
down, and — ^waited."

"Waited?"

"Yes, Roddie; waited.'*

"For what?"

She slowly turned her head, and looked at him.
He was not making things very easy. But her
eyes were full of a tender patience.

"For you to come home, dear."

" What made you suppose I should come home? "

"You had told Billy you expected to be back
at the end of this year; and I knew it was a pro-
mise that, when you did rettim, you would come
to Billy's flat."

" Did you know I was coming, on the day when
I arrived?"

"Did I know? Oh, Roddie! I was watching
at the window for a first sight of you. Do you
remember the heavy fog, hanging overhead? I

190 The Wall of Partition

put out all the lights, and stcxxl leaning against
the window-frame, half hidden by the curtain.
I saw you get out of the taxi, turn to pay the
driver, and look up at a window where some one
was tapping. For a moment you glanced, with
unseeing eyes, at me. My whole heart went out
in welcome."

Steele looked at her. There was anger in his
eyes.

So he had been cheated of this welcome, which
would have meant so much to him.

He remembered the motherly little lady in furs
and violets, at the station, running with open
arms to meet the returning schoolboy. "Wel-
come, my dearest boy! Ah, what it means to
have you back!"

He remembered the man who had leapt from
the other taxi and gone up with him in the lift,
to be met in his doorway with a rush of greeting.
** Welcome, my dearest, welcome!" he had heard
that other woman say. "These ten days have
seemed ten years to me. Ah, it is good to have
you back!"

With this atmosphere of welcome all around
him, how sore his heart had been, because he had
come back, and there was none to welcome him.
L And all the while she had stood, watching

The Better Ending 191

and waiting, behind a curtain, at a darkened
window.

His eyes were sombre. He had been cheated.

"Then you knew I was next door, in Billy's
flat?"

"Of course I knew. I had been in to see that
all was comfortable. I had laid my hand upon
the back of the library chair, where I knew your
head would rest. I had dropped a kiss upon
your pillow, Roddie. Of course I knew!"

"Did Billy know you knew?"

"Billy? Why, yes. When he left you, he
came straight in here and reported; told me just
how you looked, and what you said. But what
you said, Rodney, was not very promising. Still
I knew you would not wear your heart upon your
sleeve, even for good old Billy to see; so I would
not be too much discouraged. It seemed enough
happiness for one night, to know you safely just
on the other side of the wall."

She paused, hoping for some response. As none
was forthcoming, she continued :

"Next day I had glimpses of you as you went
out and came in ; but, by evening, I wanted more.
I yearned to hear your voice. Only the wall
between us; I on one side, you on the other; yet
I could not hear your voice. K I could but bid

192 The Wall of Partition

you * good-night, ' and have a 'good-night' from
you! It was ten years since you and I had said
' good-night ' to one another.

"Then, suddenly, my eye fell on the telephone.
I remembered what Billy had told me of people
ringing up his ntmiber and asking for the hospital.
I thought there was just a chance that, if I rang
up, you, yourself, would answer. It was only
just once to hear your voice, Roddie. I did not
think it would lead to more; and Billy had told
me that you believed me to be still in India.

"I rang up; and, in another minute, we were
talking together — ^you and I! It seemed so
strange and sweet to say 'good-night' again, and
with only the wall between."

Again she paused, fanning herself slowly, and
gazing steadily into the fire.

Still, no response from the silent man in the
chair opposite.

"I had no thought of ringing you up again,"
she continued, after waiting a few moments in
case he wished to speak. "But, on the following
evening, at exactly the same hour, while I was
playing the 'Traumerei,' an irresistible impulse
came over me to do so. It seemed almost like
something outside myself, a call I could not
ignore, a bidding I could not disobey. I had

The Better Ending 193

given your number before I realised that I could
not again ask for the hospital. Then it occurred
to me that I might ask you to repeat the new
ntunber; and then — oh, Rodney — ^you know the
rest. This wonderful thing happened. You,
yourself, proposed our telephone friendship. You
made me promise to ring you up each evening.
You needed me. In your loneliness you turned
to me. Ah, how gladly I promised ; yet how care-
fully I had to keep the gladness out of my voice,
lest you should guess. You nearly caught me
out, that first time, after you had told me to say :
*Are you there?' I thought you had rung oflE;
and I said the words, just to hear how lovely they
would sound; and almost — ^almost, I said: 'Are
you there, my Roddie ? ' "

She paused again, smiling into the fire. When
she smiled there was a dimple in the cheek he could
see best ; a dimple he remembered long ago.

"And it has been so sweet, Rodney, to know
that each day you coimted on the time when I
should ring up, sajring: 'Are you there?' But
now it is no longer 'Are you there?' for you are
here!"

She did not say — this woman who loved him —
how bitterly he was disappointing her. She did
not say how she had counted upon this first meet-
13

194 The Wall of Partition

ing, dreaming of all it must surely mean. She
just said: *'You are here," with a sweet, quiet
joy; as though the fact of his near presence was
meaning to her all she had hoped. She did not
tell him that she had expected "You are here,"
to mean his strong arms arotmd her, his words
of love outpoured.

A long silence followed. Then in the stillness
they heard distant chimes. They both glanced
at the mantelpiece. The clock was chiming the
quarter after ten.

" I cannot bring myself to realise," said Rodney,
huskily, "that you are the Kind Voice."

She rose at once, went over to her writing-table,
on which stood the telephone, drew up a chair
and, sitting down, lifted the receiver.

"494 Majrfair, please," she said.

She sat and waited; her elbow on the table,
the receiver in her hand.

Rodney marked the glint of gold in her beauti-
ful hair, as she bent slightly forwgid toward the
Ught.

Then: "Are you there?" she said, clearly. Yes,
it was indeed the Kind Voice. . . . "Out? Oh,
very well. Thank you. . . . No; there is no
message. I will ring up to-morrow. . . . Good-
night."

The Better Ending 195

Replacing the receiver, she returned to her chair.

"There, Roddie! Now you have seen exactly
where I sat, and how I rang you up each
evening."

Rodney got up, and stood on the rug, with his
back to the fire. He towered above her, as she
sat looking up at him. How well she remembered
his habit of always standing, when he had any-
thing important to say.

"I have seen," he said, slowly, "exactly how
I was deceived and taken in; but I have yet to
hear why this deception was considered necessary."

She sat up, with a quick movement of protest^
flushing painfully', as she answered.

"Oh, Roddie! Are not 'deceived' and 'decep-
tion' rather hard words to use?"

"Not at all," said Rodney. "I was trapped
into talking to you, believing you to be a com-
plete stranger, as ignorant of my name as I was
of yours. Do you think a man Ukes to be fooled
and deceived? You began with a prevarication.
Did you want to speak to the Matron of the
Metropolitan Emergency Hospital? You went
on with another. Did you want to make a note
of the new number of the hospital? All through,
you fooled and deceived me; and the fact that it
was you — ^you, Madge, of all people in the world

196 The Wall of Partition

— ^makes it worse instead of better. Did Billy
know of this telephone business?

" No, Rodney. Nobody knew of it.'

''But Billy knew I was to be kept in ignorance
of the fact that you were living in the same
buflding?"

"Yes; BiUy knew that."

"Anyone else?"

"Billy's wife was asked not to mention me, if
she saw you. "

"Anyone else?"

"Oh, Roddie, the Jakes knew that nothing was
to be said about me, until you and I had met.
Dear, I am sorry you mind so much. Can't you
understand that it seemed to me impossible to
meet you again, with all the tragedy of sorrow
and parting, and lost years, which lay between us,
without first finding out something of what your
feelings were about it — about me? I feared that
if we once met in an ordinary way, we might drop
into an ordinary friendship, and neither of us have
the courage to break it down. I wanted just to
wait a little; to go carefully; to try to meet tmder
the best and easiest circumstances; not to be
hurled at each other's heads, by some well-mean-
ing but tactless hostess. Had the telephone
friendship not chanced to happen, I should prob-

The Better Ending 197

ably have written to you, asking you to come and
see me here. But in that case, Rodney, I could
not have been free to show you my heart, because
I should not have known yours. Now you have
told me yours, in aU its perfect faithfulness of
enduring, abiding love ; and, however much I have
angered you by what appears to have been a mis-
take, you camiot take from me the words you
spoke only an hour ago. I cUng to them; and I
tell you, without shame or fear, that I, also, love
you, wholly. While life lasts I could never give
to another man, the love which has been always,
wholly yours. "

"I did not say that to y(w," said Rodney,
sullenly. "I said it to the tmknown owner of
the kind voice — a woman I entirely trusted. I
did not say it to a woman who was deceiving me. "

"Dear, if you did not say it to me, you said it
of me. Cannot you forgive a mistake brought
about by a great love; a mistake which was in-
tended to ensure your happiness? As great a
love as ours, has done this before, to work out
the same end. "

"I know of whom you are thinking," said
Rodney. "But I am not made like that. Some
men may not resent having been fooled, if love
has done the befooling. I do. That's all. "

198 The Wall of Partition

**Very well/' she said rather wearily , yet with
infinite patience. "Let us leave it at that. If
I have committed the unpardonable sin, I must
take the consequences. Only — so far as I am
concerned — I shall not allow so poor a thing as
pride, to come between you and me. Don't you
think you might sit down now, and talk of other
things? There is so much else we have to say
to-night. "

He sat down at once, his elbows on his knees,
his chin in his hands, staring into the fire.

As she watched him, a great tenderness stirred
in her heart. She realised how much of the child
there is, in even the strongest man.

Presently: "Rodney," she said, "we have to
talk of The Great Divide. How came you to
write it?"

CHAPTER XIX

THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT

RODNEY STEELE looked up quickly, at Lady
Hilary's question. Into his eyes sprang the
sudden immense relief of being able at last to
speak freely and without reserve.

He returned to his steady contemplation of the
fire, but his whole attitude relaxed and became
more friendly.

"Great bitterness of soul drove me to it," he
said, slowly. "AU I had suffered, through the
breaking off of our engagement, ate into my life
like a canker. I don't think I meant to publish it,
at first. I simply felt that if I could fling it on to
paper, I should get some relief. Then, when it
was written, I saw I had at last done the real
thing. Into all my other stories I had put love-
making in which I did not, myself, believe; often
I wrote of love with levity, and of marriage in
mockery ; yet people took me seriously, and called

it the ' love-interest ' in my books.

199

200 The Wall of Partition

''At last, in writing our own tragedy, I found
I had done the real thing. It was true to life,
and I knew it. I sent it in, tmder another name.
I did not know it would make such a hit. I hoped
you wotdd come across it some day, and realise
the truth, and know what I had suffered. Madge
— ^why do you say Katherine's throwing over of
Val as she did, is not true to life? You, of all
women in the world, know that it is. "

She turned upon him eyes which were grave and
sad, full of a wondering question.

"Why did not you write the truth, Rodney?"
she asked.

"I did," he said. "Of course, I had to change
the setting and circtmistances. I made it a hunting
accident, instead of a crack in South Africa.
And I made her a nurse in a nursing-home in
England. Of course, really, she followed me home
from South Africa, as soon as she heard of our
engagement. There was no love in it, Madge,
on her part. She was out for what she could get.
It was money she wanted — ^nothing more. I
believe she knew, all along, that I was off my
chump when I wrote those fool letters. "

"Had you really forgotten them completely,
Roddie?"

Absolutely. I shall never forget the horror

The Trail of the Serpent 201

of taking that letter out of your hand, reading it,
recognising my own handwriting, yet not having
the faintest recollection of having written one
line of it. It was a ghastly experience. I think
it was because I was so bowled over by the fact
of it, that I didn't stand up to you about it in
her presence. My one idea was to get the woman,
and the letters, and myself too, for that matter,
out of your sight as quickly as possible. I walked
oflf with her, knocked all of a heap, hardly knowing
where I was, or who I was, or what to believe. I
little thought I should not see you again." He
lifted sombre eyes to hers. "Why would you not
see me, Madge, or even look at my explanation?"

" I did not dare to do so, Roddie. "

"Did not dare? That was queer. Would it
not be more honest to say you were too proud?"

"I do not think I was proud, Roddie. I
know I was heart-broken. What happened
next?"

"Next? Why, she merely wanted money. I
bought her off. But the first thing I did, to get
my own mind settled, was to go straight to Brand
and ask him what it all meant. He has specialised
in these cases. He was most awfully kind and
helpful. He said cerebral haemorrhage often
produced temporary loss of memory — ^wiping out

204 The Wall of Partition

knew that two wrongs do not make a right, and
that a loveless marriage is, perhaps, the worst sin
of all. But I was young and inexperienced when,
in my horror and misery, I sent you from
me.

She spoke very low, shading her face, and not
looking at the man before her. But when he
suddenly rose to his feet, she looked up, and her
heart stood still at what she saw.

Murder was in Steele's face. His ftiry was the
more terrible, that it was inarticulate. He
clenched and unclenched his big hands, looking
wildly round for something out of which he could
crush the life.

Lady Hilary stood up instantly, and faced him.

''Don't!" she said. ''Oh, Rodney, don't!"
He stared at her, in dumb misery.

"Speak to me, Rodney! Never mind what
you say, but say something! Hurt me if it will
help you. But, oh, my dear, don't suffer as you
are suflEering now!"

Still speechless, he turned from her, with a
groan, and walked over to the window.

He flung aside the curtain, and stood looking
down into the street below, his forehead pressed
against the glass.

In the tense silence of the room, the little clock

The Trail of the Serpent 205

upon the mantelpiece seemed suddenly to start
ticking with painful loudness.

The rumble of the passing trafl&c came up from
below, as something sinister and threatening.

The hoot of speeding motors seemed to hold a
jeering menace.

Silently Lady Hilary sat down again, and waited.

Neither could have said whether minutes passed,
or hours.

At last she heard him draw the curtain back
across the window.

He came and sat down in the chair opposite
hers, leaned forward, and looked full into her eyes.

"It was an absolute lie, Madge," he said.
"There was not a vestige of truth in it."

"Oh, Rodney!" she whispered. Then, as
they looked into one another's grief-stricken
faces, the ten long hard years rose between them,
the remembrance of all they had suffered — ^he in
loneliness, she in worse than loneliness; and the
tragedy of it seemed beyond words.

Once she whispered: "Rodney, are you sure?
You did not — ^as with the letters — ^forget?"

And he answered: "Absolutely certain. Be-
sides, I can prove it by the paper she signed saying
my payment satisfied all claims. Her wretched
claims were sjpecifically mentioned. Oh, Madge,

206 The Wall of Partition

he cried, with sudden violence, "I will never
forgive that woman ! If she had been in this room
to-night, I believe I should have broken every
bone in her body. "

"I know you would, my poor old boy. I saw
it in your face, and it terrified me. But breaking
her poor wretched body, would not have mended
our happiness. And, Roddie, though she came
between us and wrought havoc in our lives, she
could not rob us of our love. Cannot we take
comfort from that fact? And this terrible revela-
tion, if we look at it rightly, has done a beautiful
thing for you and me, Rodney. It has lifted from
each a cause of reproach. I now know that my
lover was guilty of nothing more, than of writing
a dozen foolish letters; and that, even for this,
he was not morally responsible. And you now
realise that I did not send you from me merely
out of pique or jealousy or foolish pride, but
because I had been deceived into believing that
I had no right to hold you to me. And through it
all, our love has stood. Roddie, we aren't so very
old! I am twenty-nine; you are thirty-seven.
All the best of life lies before us still. *'

She smiled across at him, a little wistfully.
" Can't we help each other to forget past sadness
in a new-found joy?"

The Trail of the Serpent 207

Rodney got up, leaned his shoulders against the
mantelpiece, looking beyond her as he answered,
with trouble in his eyes :

"I hate to say it, Madge, but — it comes too
late for me. I am afraid I don't want now, what
I wanted so desperately ten years ago. I've got
into the way of living a free, roving life, and I
hold to my world-wide liberty — here to-day,
oflf to-morrow; consulting no man, beholden to
nobody. * I am the master of my fate ; I am the
captain of my soul.' I am no good for anything
else now. I have nothing to offer, worthy of your
acceptance — you, who deserve the very best a
man could give. I must just go my own way,
and do my own work — and even that isn't up to
much," he added, with a rueful smile, "For,
after all, you see, the critics were right. The
Great Divide isn't true to life."

She answered bravely, though she was begin-
ning to wonder how much more she could bear:
"Don't let that discourage you, Roddie. There
will always be plenty of people to maintain that
Katherine could not have done otherwise. You
wrote of life as you believed it to be. And, you
see, you were right in saying that yours was the
only possible ending. Now I am afraid I must
really send you away. "

208 The Wall of Partition

He stood looking down upon her. A haunting
regret was in his eyes.

"Madge, may I ask you one question?"

" You may ask me anjrthing you wish, Rodney. "

"Why did you marry Hilary?"

"I did him a great wrong," she answered,
gravely, "though I admit I did it without in the
least realising how great a wrong it was; also I
atoned for it by nine years of endurance, with-
out once uttering a reproach. I married Gerald
becatise I could not trust myself, if I remained
free, not to call you back. It was a wrong to
him, but truly I did it in ignorance; and, after-
wards, I was the chief sufferer. "

She rose and moved to the middle of the room.

"Roddie, we must say good-bye. I cannot
let you stay longer. "

"Good-bye?" he said. "Is it for another ten
years, Madge?"

"That is as you will, dear. I shall be here;
you will know I am here, if you want me. I have
done you one great wrong. Not until to-night,
did I know how great. Please God, I shall never
do you another. No pride or pain of mine shall
spoil your life again, my dearest. Had you wanted
me, I was here. As you do not need me, I do not
ask you to stay. At least this night's meeting

The Trail of the Serpent 209

has not been in vain, for now no misunderstanding
remains between us. Good-night, Roddie. I am
afraid you must let yotirself out. We keep early
hours in my little household. "

She held out her hand, with a smile of gentle
dismissal.

Rodney <etood before her, humbled, half-
ashamed, yet honest.

"Madge," he said, "I can't shake hands. I'm
awfully sorry. Don't think me a brute. I feel
one, after all your great goodness to me. But —
if I shook hands" — his voice grew husky — "if I
attempted to shake hands, that wouldn't be all»
If I touched you, Madge, I couldn't go. "

"I know you couldn't, dear," she said. "I
understand. We won't shake hands. Good-
night."

She moved to the fireplace and stood with her
back to him, looking down into the faint glow of
the dying embers.

He got out of the room, somehow.

The door of the flat closed behind him.

He felt as if that clang — of his own making —
cut him oflF for ever from Madge.

He paused outside.

Could he go? After all, could he go? He
wanted her so desperately; yet he did not want

210 The Wall of Partition

to live for her. Every fibre of his being ached
for her; yet he knew he could not put her first.
He had got into the way of living to himself
alone, and he felt like Esau, who after he had sold
his birthright, "when he would have inherited
the blessing, found no way to change his mind,
though he sought it carefully with tears. "

Rodney stood quite still, outside the door of
Lady Hilary's flat, fighting out this battle with
himself.

He could not offer that glorious woman a
second best, yet he had no best to offer. He would
not yield to a physical need of her, which was not
equalled by a mental desire.

While he waited, motionless, a hand within,
quietly put up the chain and double-locked the
door.

He tried to call her name. No sound would
pass his lips.

He tapped on the panel of the door; but she
had evidently moved away.

He turned and walked slowly down the stairs.
He had received his answer.

He let himself in, with a latch-key, to Billy's flat.

The Jakes had evidently gone to bed, after
making up the fire. It all looked very cosy; it
all felt utterly desolate.

The Trail of the Serpent 211

He walked over to the telephone, and stood
gloomily regarding it.

It was the telephone which had spoilt every-
thing. He had not been able to pull round from
the shock of having been deceived, the mortifica-
tion of having been fooled.

He had a miserable idea that if it had not been
for that, all might have been different. Now —
it was too late.

Well, it was no good to stand there, cursing
the telephone.

He ignored Jake's careful arrangement of
sandwiches and whisky and soda. He felt too
wretched, and savage, and sick at heart, even for a
pipe.

He seemed to have lost everything. He had
lost the Kind Voice, and the interest of the tele-
phone friendship. He had lost Madge. He had
lost faith in The Great Divide. This, in his pre-
sent mood, was perhaps the hardest blow of all.

He went to bed, and lay tossing in the dark.

Madge was on the other side of the wall,
thinking him an ungrateful brute; Madge, who
had waited for his return, who had been ready
with a welcome. She had even been into Billy's
flat — into this very room — to make sure that all
was ready for him.

212 The Wall of Partition

Suddenly, in the darkness, he remembered
something Madge had said. Then the boy in
him, bounding away from^ the stem control of
the man, gave a great leap.

He flung his arm over his pillow, turned with
a deep sigh of relief, and buried his face in its
softness.

He must have found there, what he sought;
for, in two minutes, he was asleep.

CHAPTER XX

THE bishop's widow

TTHE bishop's widow handed Rodney his third

'■' cup of tea.

"Now tell me what steps you have taken to
find this poor woman," she said, settling herself
in her chair, and regarding him with an expression
which betokened an expert knowledge of every
possible step which could be taken, to inquire into
the needs of the deserving poor.

I have htmted high and low," said Rodney.

I started at the quiet comer where I met her

the other night. I marched through all the

adjacent streets; I searched the squares. I tried

the churches, forgetting I was in London, where

I)eople are too busy for religion, excepting on

Sundays. Had she been a Florentine widow, I

should most certainly have f oimd her resting in

the sacred shadow of some old church portico.

Being a London widow, even had she chanced

upon a church which was open, an ofiBcious verger

213

214 The Wall of Partition

would probably have told her to move on. I
suppose it is the position given to the Madonna
in the Roman Church, which makes it so tender
to lonely women, so sure and safe a sanctuary for
the forsaken and the desolate.

"I jostled through the crowds of Christmas
shoppers in Oxford Street, Regent Street, and
Piccadilly. I strolled in the moving procession
up and down Bond Street. Everywhere I drew a
blank. I got back, my pockets bulging with
boxes of matches which I had bought of other
match-sellers of whom I made inquiries; but
not one of them had either seen her or heard of
her.

"The only person I could find who had noticed
her at all, was a crusty old chap with a broom,
who sweeps a crossing at the very comer where I
foimd her standing. She had hurried over his
crossing, after I had walked on. He said she was
still crying, and he heard her say: 'Home!
Yes, it means home!' As she passed him she
stopped, and gave him one of her boxes of matches.
Imagine the delicacy of feeling which made one so
poor as she, pause to pay the old curmudgeon's
toll! He remarked that she was not in the pro-
fession, and spoke of her scornfully as a 'hammer-
chewer.* I pocketed the sixpence I had ready,

The Bishop's Widow 215

and substituted a copper. I object to my pathetic,
frayed widow being called a 'hammerchewer/"

"Why do you call her the 'frayed widow*?"

"Because the adjective precisely describes her.
She is too obviously respectable to be called re-
spectable. If you say a person is really quite
respectable, you imply that they might con-
ceivably be supposed or expected to be other-
wise. Nobody would think of calling you or
me 'respectable,' because we are so, without
question; at least you certainly are, and I hope
I am. I consider 'respectable' a highly insulting
adjective. I would sooner be called a hanMner-
chewer."

The bishop's widow smiled.

" Nobody could call you that, " she said. " And
I think the Bishop would have agreed with you
as to the other word. He was always most
courteous to the poor, and most punctilious where
their feelings were concerned. He was qtiite
wonderful in finding out the really deserving and
the really needy, and in knowing how best to help
them. But the Bishop always refused to lend
money. I well remember, on one occasion, when
I had pressed him to lend instead of feiving, he
said: 'My dear, give if you can afford to do so;
but never lend. Remember the old couplet :

2i6 The Wall of Partition

' If you ever money lend,
You lose your money, and lose your friend.*

Do you know the adage, Mr. Steele?"

Rodney smiled.

"I know Shakespeare's verskm of it, Mrs.
Bellamy."

"Shakespeare's version?"

" Perhaps I should have rather said, the passage
from Shakespeare, of which it is a simplified and
easily-remembered form."

"Has Shakesx)eare expressed the same idea?"

" When do any of us say anything which Shake-
speare has not already said better? The lines
occur in Hamlet:

* Neither a borroiver nor a lender he;
For loan oft loses both itself and friend,
And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry.* "

"Ah," said Mrs. Bellamy, "beautiful! And
quite the same idea. The Bishop was a great
student of Shakespeare. He undoubtedly knew
the passage; but gave it to me in a form I should
be certain to remember. Another instance of
his constant thought and care for me."

Rodney was enjoying himself extremely, at tea

The Bishop's Widow 217

with the bishop's widow. In the atmosphere of
her genuine appreciation, generously expressed,
his self-confidence — ^rudely shaken by the happen-
ings of the previous evening — ^was restored; her
obvious pride and pleasure in the fact that he had
so readily accepted the invitation to a t6te-^-t6te
tea with herself, gratified him; and the almost
affectionate manner toward himself, which her
enthusiastic temperament suggested and her age
ipermitted, warmed and comforted Rodney's sore
heart, wrapping about him for the moment a
sense of home.

He expanded beneath the influence of Mrs.
Bellamy's kindly smile and admiring interest;
talked delightfully of his travels and of his ex-
periences in many lands, and modestly of himself
and his books, when she insisted upon working
back again and again to that subject ; for Rodney's
self-confidence never approached conceit.

The late bishop had enjoyed Rodney's stories,
when away on his holidays, had appreciated the
vigorous style in which they were written, the
freshness of the descriptions, the accurate know-
ledge of the lands of which he wrote. He had
read several of them aloud to Mrs. Bellamy, a
thing he did only with books he considered really
worth while. The memory of this made a personal

2i8 The Wall of Partition

meeting with Steele an event of real importance
to the bishop's widow.

To Rodney that aftemooon's experience meant
that, from the moment Prudence, the elderly
parlourmaid, opened the door, asking him — with
an old-fashioned smile of respectful welcome —
to "step in," he stepped, at her bidding, into
surroundings which awakened vivid memories of
the beautiful old rectory, the home of his early
childhood; of the parents he had lost, just when
he most needed them; of the old creeds, beliefs,
and habits of life, which he seemed to have put
off with his sailor-suits, and left behind with his
popgun and toy wheel-barrow.

Yet — ^the first seven years! Ah, the inefface-
able, ineradicable memories of those earliest years,
cut deep into the plastic mind of a little child!
Those who guide and mould the cutting, should
remember they are graving for eternity, and cut
high and holy things; things which are noble and
true. Half a century hence, when much that has
intervened has faded and been forgotten, the man
of to-morrow will look back and remember — ^for
good or for ill — ^the most passing things said to
the child of to-day.

The flat Rodney entered at the bidding of
Prudence, was more like a bishop's palace than

The Bishop's Widow 219

he would have imagined anything short of a
bishop's palace could be.

The portraits on the walls, the Ubrary of
valuable books, the magnificent old furniture,
all still held the atmosphere of their former
venerable setting.

Moreover, Rodney soon foimd that the spirit
and tone of the saintly old bishop ipervaded the
place.

His bust stood in the hall, a benign smile upon
the marble lips, a look of fine .benevolence and of
deep intellectuality upon the noble brow.

A life-size portrait, in his robes, dominated the
dining-room, looking down in blessing from a
central position over the mantelpiece.

Various photographs held places of honour in
the drawing-room; and close beside the chair
in which Mrs. Bellamy usually sat, a portrait in
crayon stood upon an easel, a lifelike reminder
of the bishop at home — simple, restful, intent
upon a book; a strenuous thinker, peacefully
reminiscent at eventide.

But to meet the bishop's widow, was to realise,
at once, that his best memorial was in her devoted,
tender memory. Almost her every sentence re-
corded his words, or expressed his opinions. To
know her, was also to know the man whom she had

220 The Wall of Partition

so loved and venerated. It has been said: ''To
five in the hearts of those we love, is not to die/'
If that trite saying be true, then most certainly
the bishop was not dead.

''I have no desire to lend money to my frayed
widow," said Rodney. "But I want to make
sure that the 'house and home,' secured by the
coin I gave her, is a permanent shelter. Also, I
want to find out why a sovereign should have
meant 'home' to her. The expression struck

me as curious."

"Probably," said the bishop's widow, "she
was to be turned out of rooms in which she was
lodging, unless the rent was paid on that day.

"But that would have meant only a lodging,
persisted Rodney, "not a permanency, not 'home.'
I feel sure her outburst of thankfulness implied
more than merely overdue rent, and I want to
find out precisely what. Oh, it's not philan-
thropy ! It is pure curiosity. It seems hard luck
that I cannot find her. Just as I started out on
my search this morning, in fact as I stood on the
steps of our entrance debating which way to go,
a motor glided past me. It had just started from
the next entrance, on the left. In it was seated a
charming widow — I know her to be a widow,
though her get-up was most unwidowlike. She

The Bishop's Widow 221

was wearing black velvet and furs, and a
bunch of lilies of the valley at her breast. She
bowed to me and smiled, in passing; then her
car glided into the stream of trafiSc, and dis-
appeared at once from view. She had no need of
me, or of anything I could give or do. Yet, will
you believe it, twice in the course of my walk, I
came across that car; once in the park, and once in
Bond Street? Twice the beautiful wearer of lilies
had the bother of bowing and smiling in my direc-
tion. It became quite embarrassing. Yet my
frayed widow, to whom it might have meant so
much that I should have f otmd her, was nowhere to
be seen. Such is life ! She is a widow in need, and,
therefore, what St. Patd would have called 'a
widow indeed.'"

"Purs and lilies of the valley?" questioned
Mrs. Bellamy, wrinkling her smooth brow. " And
starting from next door? That soimds like
Madge Hilary. She dropped in to see me at four
o'clock, but would not stay to tea. I remember
she was wearing lilies of the valley and black
velvet, with a small fur toque on her pretty brown
hair.

"It was Lady Hilary," said Steele.

"Ah, then how nearly you met her a third
time! I told her you were coming to tea with

222 The Wall of Partition

me in a few minutes, and asked her to stay in
order to meet you. But she would not be per-
suaded. I know I had planned to have you to
myself; but we should have enjoyed having her.
She is a charming creature. I am very fond of
Madge Hilary."

"I used to know her, years ago," said Steele.
Before her marriage?"
Yes, before her marriage."

"Ah, that was such a tragedy! You remarked
just now that, in her furs and flowers, she looked
unlike a widow. Well, I hold most strictly by
widow's weeds; yet, I tell you frankly, I could
not have blamed Madge Hilary had she not worn
them at all. She must want to put all remem-
brance of those years out of her mind. Mr.
Steele, that brave girl passed through ten years
of veritable martyrdom."

"In what way?"

"Well, I don't know that I ought to give you
details. Lord Hilary was a first cousin of my
husband's; so we knew more than most people,
of the miserable facts, which were kept more or
less secret. He was already a victim of the drug-
habit, even at the time of the marriage. I do not
think the Bishop would have wished me to say
more. Besides, it is over now. I think it made of

The Bishop's Widow 223

her the noble woman she is. Her patience and
devotion were wonderful. We did not meet her
until after her marriage to Gerald. Did you say
you knew her in the old days?"

"Lady Hilary is a distant cousin of mine,
Mrs. Bellamy. But, until yesterday, we had not
met for ten years. "

"Well, you must come and meet her here.
She is a great admirer of your work. By the way,
here is a book I have been reading lately which
has much interested me. Do you know it? The
Great Divide, by — Ah, find the name of the
author for me, Mr. Steele ! I have a bad memory
for names, and for the moment I have mislaid
my glasses. "

Steele took the volume from her hands, and
gravely opened it at the title-page.

"By Max Romer, " he said. "Yes, I know the
book well."

"Do you admire it?" asked the bishop's
widow.

Rodney closed the book, and laid it on the
table.

"I think the man says what he has to say, fairly
forcibly. But the main incident is not true to
life. So fine a character as he has drawn in
Katherine, would not have dismissed her lover

224 The Wall of Partition

merely because he had written a dozen crazy
love-letters to some other woman. It would have
taken a stronger reason than that to induce her
to throw over Valentine, refuse to see him again,
and so soon put between herself and him the im-
passable barrier of her marriage to another
man/

"Ah, but I cannot agree with you there, my
dear Mr. Steele ! I think it was perfectly natural
that a nice girl — a really nice girl — such as Kather-
ine — should have acted exactly as she acted.
She felt herself deceived ; she thought that dreadful
nurse had a prior claim, and that the only thing
for her to do was to break off the engagement and
give poor Val up. She could not know of the
unfortunate effect of his accident. "
"Do you consider that also possible?"
"I know it to be possible, by sad experience.
The very same thing happened to the Bishop.
Oh, not the love-letters! Dear me, no! But
loss of memory from cerebral haemorrhage. The
Bishop was in our closed motor, with his chaplain.
He had held two confirmations and an induction,
and was somewhat t^ed. It was a long nm
home, over lonely country roads. The Bishop
had removed his hat and was dozing. They
reached a place where a small stream ran under the

The Bishop's Widow 225

road. There was a slight rise, which the chauffeur
did not notice. He did not slacken speed to cross
it, and the car leapt as they went over, flinging
the Bishop violently up off the seat. He struck
the top of his head on the roof of the car, and the
blow caused cerebral haemorrhage at the base
of the brain. He was very ill during many
weeks, and felt the after-effects for over a year.
Not many people knew it, but he used to have
what he called ''blank days" — days when, in the
evening, he could not recall any of the events of
the day. As time went on, he merely had blank
conversations — conversations which were wholly
effaced from his mind immediately they had taken
place. This tried the Bishop, greatly. But after
a period of complete rest abroad — a time when
we read several of your books, together — ^he fully
recovered; only very occasionally having a blank
moment, when overtired. But only those who
have been through it, can tmderstand the serious
mental suffering which results from cerebral
haemorrhage.

Then you like The Great Divide}

On the whole, I like it immensely. But I
grieve over the ending. It is not right that any
book shotdd close in such hopeless gloom. And
there is a bitterness in the sorrow, a total loss of

226 The Wall of Partition

ideals — of belief in love — ^which is not calculated
to help or to uplift the reader. "

"It is life," said Rodney, gloomily. "Life
tends to make a man lose faith in love."

"Ah, no!" exclaimed the bishop's widow,
intense earnestness in her look and tone. "Not
if life, with its joys and its sorrows, is approached
in the right attitude of mind. May I tell you the
Bishop's way of meeting all difficulties, sorrows,
and perplexities?"

"Do tell me," said Rodney.

"He met them with his favourite text. "

"What was his favourite text?" asked Rodney,
gently.

The sweet face lighted, with a tender joy.
She glanced at the crayon portrait beside her.

" ' God is love,' " said the bishop's widow; then
her voice suddenly failed.

"I know that text," put in Rodney, hurriedly,
to give her time to recover from her emotion.
"When I was a very small boy, my mother used
to draw texts for me, and I used to prick them
with a pin. And, later on, I painted a text
every Sunday afternoon, and brought it down to
her at tea-time. 'God is Love' was a great
favourite, because it was so short. I can see it
now, gaily smudged in blue, orange, and crimson.

The Bishop's Widow 227

I had a crimson paint in my box called 'lake/
I always wondered why that particular colour
was called ' lake.' "

"It is short," said the bishop's widow, wiping
her eyes. "Three little words, each of one
syllable. Yet it holds the truth of greatest im-
port to our poor world ; and its right understanding
readjusts our entire outlook on life, and should
affect all our dealings with our fellow-men. The
Bishop used to say to me : ' My dear, when you
have to reprove a child, or to scold a servant,
always begin by sa3dng to yourself: "God is
love."' I remember, on one occasion, seeing him
walk across the lawn to speak to a young tmder-
gardener who had been so insolent to the head
man, and generally insubordinate in conduct,
that we felt he must be dismissed. As the Bishop
crossed the lawn, his lips moved, and I felt sure
he was saying: 'God is love.' I do not know
what passed in that interview; but the lad apolo-
gised to the head-gardener, was kept on, and
became one of our most trusted and faithful
servants. "

The bishop's widow paused. Not knowing
exactly what to say, Rodney said nothing. The
three words did not mean anything at all to
him, but he saw they meant very much to her..

228 The Wall of Partition

He respected her sincerity, and valued her con-
fidence.

His silence cannot have appeared unsympathetic,
for presently Mrs. Bellamy continued:
! "You were speaking of the sad happenings
of life, being apt to cause loss of faith. I will tell
you of a time through which we passed, when my
husband's favourite text upheld us in sorrow and
kept us from bitterness.

''It was many years before he was made a
bishop. We were living in our first home together
— a country parish in Surrey.

"We had three precious children, two girls
and a boy — Griselda, Irene, and little Launcelot.

"Scarlet fever and diphtheria broke out in the
village, a terrible epidemic, causing grief and
anxiety in many homes. So much has been done,
nowadays, to prevent the spread of infectious
illness; but forty years ago these widespread
epidemics were more frequent, and more fatal in
their results.

1- "We were almost worn out with helping our
poor people — nursing, consoling, encouraging.

"Then — ^just as the epidemic appeared to be
abating — it reached our own happy home. Our
darlings were stricken suddenly. Mr. Steele, we
lost all three, within a fortnight. My little

The Bishop's Widow 229

Lancy was the last to go. When he died in my
arms, I felt I could bear no more. Such utter
depth of sorrow, seemed too much for the poor
human heart.

"My husband took me out into the garden.
It was a soft, sweet, summer's night. The sky
was deep purple. The stars were bright, above us;
the planets hung luminous. The night breeze
blew gently about us. He took me in his arms,
and stood long in silence, looking up to the quiet
stars, while I sobbed upon his breast. At. last he
said: 'My wife, there is one rope to which we
must cling steadfastly, in order to keep our heads
above water, amid these overwhelming waves of
sorrow. It has three golden strands. It will not
fail us. "God — ^is — ^love." '

"The nursery was empty. There was no
more patter of little feet; no children's merry
voices shouted about the house. The three little
graves in the churchyard bore the names, Griselda,
Irene, and Launcelot; and on each we put the
text, spelt out by the initials of our darlings'
names: 'God is love.' And in our own heart-life
we experienced the great calm and peace of a
faith which had come through the deepest depths
of sorrow, without losing hold of the sustaining
certainty of the love of God. "

230 The Wall of Partition

Steele looked at the sweet, chastened face of
the bishop's widow. As she spoke it was illumined
by a pecttliar radiance which seemed a shining out
of some inner light, rather than a reflection of
outer brightness. Sorrow, bereavement, loneli-
ness, had left their mark, but had left no trace of
bitterness.

The bishop's motto meant nothing to Rodney
Steele. He did not believe in the truth it set
forth. But he believed in the effect of a belief
in that truth, on the mind and life of the bishop's
widow.

In response to her confidences he talked to her,
quietly, comprehendingly. He was deeply touched
and impressed, and he let her know it.

When he rose, at length, to take his leave, he
knew he had made a friend for life; a friaid who
would not fail him.

He held her hand in both his own, as he thanked
her for her goodness to him.

"It is pleasant to remember that we live in
the same building," she said. "You are just
above me. We share the view of the plane-trees,
the sunrise and the simset; the quaint minaret-
like tower of Marylebone Church. "

"The Brownings' church," he said. "Have
you read the * Love Letters ' ? "

The Bishop's Widow 231

"Ah, yes," she answered. "I have, indeed!
The Bishop and I read them together. Nothing
in fiction can touch that love-idyl of two poet
souls. But, tell me. Were they really married
in Marylebone Parish Church? His Life men-
tions St. Pancras. "

"I know," said Rodney. "But that is an
unaccoimtable mistake. I have seen their signa-
tures in the registers at St. Marylebone. "

"Really?" she said. "How I should love to
see them!"

"Will you let me take you?"

"Gladly."

"When?"

"The sooner the better. "

"To-morrow, at twelve?"

"Yes, to-morrow at twelve o'clock would suit
me, perfectly.

" Good ! I will call for you.

She smiled a kind farewell.

As Rodney passed through the hall, the marble
lips of the bishop seemed to smile on him in
pleased approval. The benign look followed him
in blessing.

Rodney went up the stairs to Billy's flat, think-
ing to himself: "I don't know as to the truth of
the bishop's text; but, anjrway, the bishop's

232 The Wall of Partition

widow is love. She lives what she believes,
and that certainly makes a belief worth hav-
ing. I am glad Madge, also, has her for a
friend."

CHAPTER XXI

RODNEY FACES THE SITUATION

OODNEY had not intended to spend that
■• ^ evening at home. After his second meeting
with Madge, in Bond Street, he had turned into
Keith, Prowse, and booked a seat at a place where
he was likely to be amused, and where he would
be given the least possible leisure for thought.

Yet nine o'clock fotmd him quietly settled into
his chair, with his pipe, wholly disinclined for
the entertainment he had chosen, and resolved
to face out the situation in which he now foimd
himself placed.

When he had awakened, that morning, with
the sudden return to consciousness which is apt
to follow particularly soimd slumber, it had
seemed to him that the happenings of the evening
before had been a vivid, but wholly impossible,
dream. As he tubbed and whistled, dressed and
shaved, he had repeated at intervals, as if to
silence a hatmting, growing certainty: "I have

233

234 The Wall of Partition

had a fiendish dream; an altogether impossible^
fiendish dream!"

But, with breakfast, came Jake's report of his
having been rung up, on the previous evening, by
a lady who said: "Are you there?" and when
Jake had replied, informing her that Mr. Steele
was out, had declined to give any message, saying
she cotdd ring up again to-morrow; "Meaning
to-day," Jake had added; hastening, after the
manner of his kind, to make the obvious, unmis-
takably clear.

Meaning to-day! "She cotdd ring up again!"
Perhaps she will? Ah, fool to hope it, knowing
that she will not! He had indeed committed
the impardonable sin — that which no woman
could ever forgive. He had turned from her
generous offer of herself; and this rebuff he had
given to the only woman he had ever really loved
or desired.

He had driven himself out of Paradise. He
had nobody else to blame; not even a lying
serpent, this time. With his own hand he had
pulled to the door, which, closing with a clang,
kept him outside. The hand which afterwards
put up the chain and double-locked the door
within, did but acquiesce in his decision that he
preferred to find himself outside.

Rodney Faces the Situation 235

He continued his mental review of the happen-
ings of the morning.

He had breakfasted unusually early, and after
breakfast had stood at the library window, waiting
for the late sunrise, and aimlessly counting the
little balls hanging from the gaunt branches of
the plane-trees, in sooty bunches against the grey
sky.

He had turned to the left and looked through
into the bay-window of Madge's drawing-room
where he stood during those ghastly minutes the
night before, fighting the fierce desire to throttle,
crush, and kill with his own hands.

For the first time since his arrival, the blinds
in that window had been up. He had seen a
comer of Madge's writing-table, upon which lay
a round bevelled ruler. He had noticed that
ruler the night before, and had resisted an impulse
to snatch it up, in the first fury of his pain, and
snap it across, as if it had been a mere dead twig
broken from these branching plane-trees.

As he sat thinking in the firelight, his big
brown hands clenched and unclenched themselves
again.

Oh, damnable, blackmailing fiend! Forgive
her? Never! He would curse her with the last
breath he drew.

236 The Wall of Partition

His impotent f my hurt him, so that he groaned
aloud.

Then suddenly he remembered Madge's tender
appeal to him to speak — ^to ease his own pain by
words, even if those words were hard for her to
hear. "Hurt me," she had said: "hurt me, if
it will help you. But, oh, my dear, don't suffer
as you are suffering now!"

Was that a woman's love?

Did she court pain herself, sooner than let the
man she loved have it to bear?

He had turned away in silence, at the moment.
Even in his frenzy of anger, he had realised that
the words which came to his lips must not be
spoken in her presence. But — ^had he spared
her any pain later on? Had he said one single
thing to make that hard talk easier for her? No,
not one. All the courage, all the patience, all
the tenderness, had been hers. He had blamed,
reproached, and — finally — deserted her.

His anger died down ; a sad compunction awoke
within him.

He took up, once more, the thread of the events
of the morning.

The grey sky had turned to pale lemon, between
the chimney stacks. Then the fiery sim had
appeared, huge at first, but growing smaller

Rodney Faces the Situation 237

as it rose, a round red ball, into the wintry
sky.

And then — ah, then he had felt as a schoolboy
might feel, caught trespassing — ^he had looked
again toward the bay on the left, and there stood
Madge, watching the sunrise.

There had been an ineffable calm about the
pose of her graceful figure. The rising sun had
shone on the coils of her brown hair. She had
not turned her head or looked his way; but,
whilst he watched, she had leaned her forehead
against the pane, as he had leant his the night
before.

Somehow she had seemed so remote from him
— ^remote from any man.

He had grown hot with shame at the remem-
brance of his response to all she had said to him.

Turning quickly back into the room, he had
vainly tried to settle to his work. The insistent
need of rapid movement with some definite object
in view, in order to keep his mind from dwelling
upon himself and Madge, had driven him out
on his fruitless quest after the frayed widow,
which had resulted only in three rencontres with
Lady Hilary.

How beautiful she had looked, seated alone in
her car. Her smile for him, instantly following

238 The Wall of Partition

the formality of her bow — a quick shaft of in-
timate friendliness — ^had been so simply and
naturally given. Then, when she passed him
again, and yet again, during her morning drive,
she had dropped the bow, but the smile had
gained in friendliness by the addition of a little
gleam of amusement, so natural and spontaneous
that it might have been a daily occurrence that
he and she should meet and greet, and pass and
go their ways.

Steele wondered whether chance meetings with
Madge would become easier or more difficult,
as time went on.

Well? If they became more difficult he could
put an end to that complication at any moment.
He was his own master, thank goodness, bound
by nobody's whims, compelled to consider no-
body's convenience save his own. He could
leave London, England, or Europe for that matter,
whenever he chose.

He wondered idly who had given her the lilies
she was wearing. Billy, probably. But, after all,
what did it matter to him, who had given them?

He liked the soft fur toque on her brown hair.
It was most tmwidow-like; but, as Mrs. Bellamy
had said, why should she keep constantly before
her the reminders of her widowhood?

Rodney Faces the Situation 239

Probably she would many again. She had
f aithf tdly awaited his return ; but, as he had given
her to understand that he had no mind for marriage,
he would now be out of the running.

There must be many men ready to console so
charming a woman as Lady Hilary.

He would have to go through again, that which
he had gone through before; only, this time it
would not be as bad.

He set his teeth, and admitted the truth. This
time it would be worse.

He was older now. Then, he had been little
more than a boy. She was more lovely; more
altogether alluring.

Yet — he did not desire her perpetual com-
panionship; he did not want to be bound. He
wanted only herself; but that was a big "only."

Oh, why could he not have had her, when he
was yotmg, and when he wanted all?

Now he had lost everything. Even the com-
fort of the Kind Voice was gone. He could not
expect her to ring him up, again.

Her smile had been very friendly; but pride
would have prompted a gay, friendly smile.

He went to his table, and settled to the work he
had pushed aside in the morning.

240 The Wall of Partition

At a quarter past ten, the telephone-bell rang.

He took up the receiver.

"Are you there?" It was Madge's voice.

"Yes," he said.

"Good-night, Rodney."

"Good-night, Madge."

He waited a few moments.

Then: "I say, Madge?" he whispered, tenta-
tively.

There was no reply.

She had rung off.

He hung up the receiver.

After all, women do sometimes remember and
keep a promise.

CHAPTER XXII

"why not?

/^N the next day, Steele called for Mrs. Bellamy
^^ as he had promised, and took her across to
Marylebone Parish Church.

There they went to the vestry and f oimd the
entry, in the register, of the romantic marriage
in which, on the 12th of September, 1846, that
wonderful series of love-letters, which passed be-
tween the poets, culminated.

They saw the bold signature of Robert Brown-
ing, firm assurance in every stroke; the trembling
''Elizabeth Barrett Moulton Barrett" beneath
it, in the delicate handwriting of the poetess, so
expressive of the nervous tremor of the frail bride,
who was taking such great risks at the bidding of
a great love; the stiflF signature of the faithftd maid,
Elizabeth Wilson, her sole confidante in this
stupendous undertaking; and the name of James
Silverthome, Robert Browning's cousin, who won
lasting fame, by this one act of loyal friendship.
16 241

242 The Wall of Partition

Rodney enjoyed Mrs. Bellamy's esctreme in-
terest and enthusiasm.

And to think/' she remarked at intervals,
that the Bishop could have seen this, by merely
paying a shilling, and we did not know it!"

On leaving the church, they walked down Wim-
pole Street and looked at the outside of No. 50.
Mrs. Bellamy wanted to send in her card, asking
leave to see for one moment Mrs. Browning's
sanctum on the second floor, where the first, and
all subsequent meetings, between the poets took
place; but Steele asstired her that he had already
tried to obtain this privilege, and failed. After
all, it could hardly be expected of the owners of
a private house, that they should ttun it into a
show-place for enthusiasts.

Mrs. Bellamy, who would cheerfully herself have
conducted streams of visitors to any comer of her
house which interested them, was hard to convince.

However, at last she yielded; gave a final im-
pressive reading to the little tablet on the wall,
and asked to be taken to see the comer of the street
where Mrs. Browning and Wilson found a cab,
and the chemist's shop at which they stopped for
sal-volatile. After which romantic pilgrimage,
the bishop's widow and Steele returned to Regent
House by the exact route the fugitive bride must

"Why Not?" 243

have taken from her father's house to Marylebone
Church.

Steele was amused and pleased at Mrs. Bel-
lamy's enthusiasm. It voiced his own deep,
though more silent, interest, and added to the
enjoyment he already found in her companionship.

He lunched with her, and as they sat talking
afterwards, in growing intimacy, she told him
how constantly she missed the bishop's practice
of reading aloud to her in the evening ; of the many
books associated for her with his beautifully
modulated voice; and, finally, of the great trial of
her rapidly failing sight.

At mention of the reading, Steele wondered
whether she would like him to oflfer to drop in
occasionally and read to her; yet feared lest it
should seem presumption on his part, even in so
small a thing as this, to suggest that he could
stand in the sacred episcopal shoes.

But when she spoke of her failing sight, he rose
and stood on the hearthrug. Had Lady Hilary
been present she would have smiled and settled
herself down to listen, knowing he had something
which seemed to him of earnest import to say.

"Nobody need allow sight to fail, Mrs. Bel-
lamy, who knows of a remedy of which I can tell
you."

244 The Wall of Partition

"My dear," said the bishop's widow, "don't
give me the address of a new oculist! I have been
to so many. But, like the poor woman in the
gospels "

"No oculists," said Rodney, "no glasses; no
artificial treatment of any kind. A remedy of
Nature's own. A remedy so simple that, like
Naaman of old, preferring the great rivers of
Abana and Pharpar, you may scorn it, as he
scorned the htmible little stream called Jordan."

"But I do not prefer Pharpar and Abana, " said
Mrs. Bellamy. "Pharpar and Abana are most
expensive; and, as I say, I am nothing bettered,
but rather grow worse. I am quite ready to dip
in Jordan. "

"WeU, this will cost you nothing," said Steele.
"And your readiness to dip in Jordan promises
well for the success of my prescription. "

"I spoke figuratively," explained the bishop's
widow, alarmed. "I cannot undertake a pil-
grimage to Palestine. "

"No need you should," said Rodney. "The
Jordan shall come to you. Now, listen. If your
eyes hurt you when you use them, if reading in-
creases the discomfort and glasses give no relief,
you are probably suffering from a strain to the
focusing muscles, rather than from failing sight.

''Why Not?" 245

You may have strained yotir focusing muscles,
years ago, by using small print, reading or working
in twilight, or reading while Ijmig down, holding
your book sideways or above you, "

Mrs. Bellamy smiled.

*'I fear I must plead guilty to having done, at
one time or other, all these things. "

"I thought so. Now, instead of increasing the
weakness of your focusing muscles by the use
of strong glasses, you must take measures to
strengthen those muscles, so that they can once
again adjust the focus of your sight, without
causing you pain or inconvenience. "

"Is dipping seven times in Jordan, warranted
to do this?"

"I spoke figuratively! Now listen to a story
told me by a Russian political prisoner, and you
will realise at once where the dipping comes
in.

"My friend was a man of great intellectuality,
a writer himself, and devoted to reading and study.
On a political charge, the details of which do not
concern us, he was thrown into a Russian prison
and kept there, during a long term of years. His
cell was underground. The only light which
reached him came through a grating high up in the
wall. This meant a poor light always, and a very

246 The Wall of Partition

long twilight. He was allowed writing materials,
manuscript-paper^ and practically any books for
which he chose to ask. He read and wrote for
hours. He had nothing else to do. But reading
in a bad light tried his eyes severely. He knew he
was straining his focusing muscles, yet the tempta-
tion to go on with a book, long after the fading
light had warned him to desist, was too great to be
resisted. At last he found himself confronted by
the appalling fear that he was losing his eyesight.
He could read, even when the light was at its best,
only for a few minutes at a time, and the agony
caused by those few minutes was almost unbear-
able. The burning pain in his eyeballs, night and
day, nearly drove him mad.

"One night, as he lay tossing in the dark, he
tried to gain relief by putting the palms of his
hands against the clammy stone walls of his dtm-
geon and then pressing them upon his eyes.
Suddenly he remembered the delicious sensation,
so cooling to the eyeballs, of opening the eyes
tmder water while diving. This gave him an idea,
at first only with a view to relieving his actual
suffering. He put it into practice as soon as the
grey dawn-light crept into his cell.

"He was allowed a tin basin and plenty of
water. He filled the basin with cold water.

^' Why Not?" 247

plunged the top of his head into it so that his eyes
were covered, then opened them under the water,
keeping them thus for twenty minutes. This he
did three times a day.

"The burning pain was relieved almost imme-
diately; but he continued the treatment, for he
began to notice a most extraordinary difference in
his eyesight. After a few weeks his sight was not
only completely restored, but became stronger
than it had ever been. He could write and read
in the bad light without strain or effort, and during
the whole of the remainder of his time in prison
his sight did not fail him. If there was any threat-
ening of the old trouble, he at once pltmged his
eyes into cold water, holding them open, and al-
lowing the water to play around the sockets and
around all the muscles which hold, turn, and
focus the eyes.

''When I met him, a year after he had regained
his liberty, he was a man of sixty, with the bright-
est eyes and the keenest sight I have ever come
across.

"I was writing myself, at the time, pretty long
hours, often without good light, and had begun to
fear I might soon need glasses. I tried his plan,
and found it answer perfectly. It requires some
patience and determination; but the result well

248 The Wall of Partition

repays the effort; particularly as five minutes,
night and morning, is quite sufficient in an ordin-
ary case of strained or fatigued sight. I shall never
require artificial aids to vision while a basin of cold
water is to be had. It has done so much for me,
that I have made up my mind never to lose a
chance of telling the story, and passing on a
knowledge of the wonders worked by this extra-
ordinarily simple remedy."

Mrs. Bellamy looked at Rodney. Prom the
first she had been struck by the dear brightness
of his keen eyes, the blue whites, the shining
pupils.

"What an interesting story," she said; "and
what a remarkable cure! But is it not almost
impossible to open one's eyes under water? "

"Not at all," said Rodney; "we always do so
in swimming and diving. Have you ever done
deep diving?" asked Rodney, of the bishop's
widow.

Gentle Mrs. Bellamy cast her mind back to the
long-ago days when she used to bathe in the sea.
She had a mental vision of herself, clinging tightly
to a rope attached to her bathing-machine, and
feeling very courageous when, by its aid, she
jumped, at the rush of each incoming wave.

"No, I never exactly dived," she said. "But

"Why Not?" 249

an old bathing-womaxi, in a large stin-bonnet,
used to take me by the wrists and plunge me
beneath a wave, when I first entered the sea. I
am sure I never kept my eyes open, I used to
close them tightly, imtil the terrifying ordeal was
over."

Rodney laughed. He also had a sudden vision
of Mrs. Bellamy clinging to the rope, and bobbing
up and down in the waves.

"Well, there is nothing alarming about a basin
of water, ' ' he said. ' ' Yet you need to do it rightly.
It is best to pltmge the eyes, one at a time, first
one side and then the other. And keep your
mouth and nose well out of the water. Just put
in the top of your head, and make yourself open
your eyes wide. Keep stretching and relaxing
them. Breathe .deeply, all the time. It is apt
to be a little suffocating at first."

I should like to try it," said Mrs. Bellamy;

in fact, I most certainly will try it. But it
sounds a little — well, a little diflBcult."

"Really, it isn't," said Rodney, "if you do it
right."

He looked round the pretty drawing-room as
if seeking for something which was missing.
"Cotdd we send for a good deep basin of water,
Mrs. Bellamy? Then you might experiment

250 The Wall of Partition

at once, and I could make sure you do it
right."

Mrs. Bellamy's enthusiasms fully equalled
Rodney's on most points, but she really could
not fancy herself removing her cap and proceed-
ing to plunge the top of her head into a basin
of water, in her drawing-room. To begin with,
Prudence's face when requested to bring the basin
in, would be most paralysing. And Rodney's
firm insistence upon thoroughness would allow of
no tentative little experimental essays.

"My dear Mr. Steele," she said, "you are more
than kind. And indeed I intend to take your
advice. But I am sure I shall manage best in
the privacy of my own apartment. Suppose a
visitor arrived whilst I was dipping in Jordan!
But truly I am not ungrateful. And I will faith-
fully report progress to you. And now, while I
think of it, I want you to dine with me the day
after to-morrow. Madge Hilary is coming; and,
unless you would prefer a larger party, I will ask
nobody else. We will have a cosy little dinner,
and spend a pleasant evening together. You
and she can renew the acquaintance of old
days. Madge shall play to us. She is a charm-
ing pianist. And she will love to hear the
story of the Russian prisoner. At eight o'clock.

"Why Not?" 251

the day after to-morrow. Now, say you will
come!"

Rodney considered, in quick flashes of thought.

Could he thus meet Madge at dinner, and spend
a long evening with her, beneath the loving wing
of the bishop's widow?

Could he sit near her, watch her, hear her talk?

Could he shake hands with Madge on meeting?

If asked to play, would she sit down and play
"TheTraumerei"?

Could he stand it, if she did?

To all these questions, propounded by his wiser
self, his riotous desire provided but one answer:
''Why not? . . . Why not? . . . Why not? . . .
Why not?"

The pause had been but momentary; rendered
almost unnoticeable by the fact that Mrs. Bellamy,
stooping, scooped her toy poodle up into her lap,
arranging his collar with whispered endearments.

"Thank you," said Steele, "I will come with
pleasure. And now I must be off. I have a
business appointment in the city at half -past
three and another at four o'clock. I'm dining
at the Ritz to-night with some people I knew in
America, and afterwards going with them to
QuaJity Street. Is it worth seeing?"

"A charming play," said Mrs. Bellamy, "from

252 The Wall of Partition

all I hear. I do not, myself, go to theatres. But
I always rejoice when those who do go, find some-
thing which cheers and uplifts, presenting ideals
of chivalry and beauty. You must give me your
opinion of Quality Street.**

"I will," said Rodney. "Good-bye. I hope
I have not stayed too long or talked too much,
and tired you."

"Not at all," she said, gently patting the hand
she held. "You would never tire me, my dear.
You are one of the life-givers. You bring a sense
of health and energy, wherever you go."

Rodney laid his other hand over both the pretty,
frail hands of the bishop's widow.

"You are one of the love-givers," he said.
"You do a fellow no end of good. I feel more
charitably disposed toward the world in general,
when I have been with you."

As the door closed behind him, the bishop's
widow turned and bent over the crayon portrait
of the fine head in repose.

"How that would have pleased you, my dear
one," she whispered. "And you could have
helped him so much better than I. Such a dear
lad — but not happy, not content. Something
is wrong ; something is missing. " I dare say Madge

"Why Not?" 253

will be helpful. She is so capable and bright.
Oh, dear me! How does one open one's eyes
under water? I must most certainly lock Pru-
dence out, when I make the attempt. Biffy ! poor
mistress greatly prefers Abana and Pharpar, to
this terrifying dipping in Jordan!"

Biffy, peeping through his silken curls, looked
very wise and sympathetic.

He and Prudence knew a thing or two, about
terrifying dippings.

CHAPTER XXIII

KEEPING TRYST

T^HE distant clock chimed the quarter after ten.
'^ The telephone-bell rang.
Are you there?

I am," said Rodney. "I ought not to be,
though. I dined at the Ritz with some people
I knew in America — awfully nice people. We
went to a play after dinner. At ten o'clock I
made an excuse, walked out, jtimped into a taxi,
and raced back here. They must have thought
me quite mad. I think myself a bit of a fool.
It was a rattling good play."

"Is it your first visit to Quality Street?'*
"Yes. But how on earth did you know it was
Quality Street?"

"Because I came out two minutes after you.
I watched you grow restive ; saw you consult your
watch, get up, and leave the stalls. It is a charm-
ing play. We had better both go back. You

254

Keeping Tryst 255

will see me, if you look up, in a box on your left.
Good-night, Roddie."

"Good-night, Madge."

He caught up his coat and hat, and made a
dash for the door.

Just as he closed it, the telephone-bell sounded
again.

Hullo! She had probably changed her mind,
and wished for a talk, instead of returning to the
theatre.

What a deuced tight fit a latchkey is, when one
is in a hurry.

Yet he got the door open before Jake could
reach the telephone.

"All right, Jake. It's my call. Shut that
door, please."

He caught up the receiver.
Hullo! Yes, Madge?"

Can I speak to Dr. Brown?" asked an un-
known voice.

"No, you can't!" shouted Rodney. "It's his
night off. He has taken the Matron out in an
aeroplane."

''In a what?''
In an aeroplane.''

Spell it!" squeaked the unknown voice, in
angry bewilderment.

a
it

256 The Wall of Partition

"A-e-r-o-p-l-a-n-e!" shouted Rodney, and rang
off.

He ran down the stairs, laughing.

What a mad night! It was only fair to let
Dr. Brown and the Matron have a small share
in the general madness. Beautiful frosty night!
Bright moon! Perfect for flying! Any matron
with an atom of spunk would enjoy skimming
over London with Dr. Brown; well out of reach
of the squeaky wrath of the tmknown voice.

As he ran down the steps, Lady Hilary's car
glided away from the next entrance.

He dashed across the road, and jumped into a
taxi.

Rodney walked into his seat in the stalls during
the interval between the second and third acts.
The lights were up.

Madge was already seated in her box, in the
absolute calmness of complete serenity, as if she
had not moved from it since taking her seat at
half -past eight.

But as his eyes met hers, she sent him a smile
of vivid amusement, and it seemed to Steele that
her eyes held a half -mocking tenderness.

Really they had behaved like a couple of child-
ren! Dashing home to say good-night to one

Keeping Tryst 257

another over the telephone! Of course had he
seen her here, he need not have gone. But he
could not let her ring him up, and be answered
by Jake.

He glanced again at the box.

She was not looking his way this time. He
could observe her more critically.

Good heavens! How beautiful she was! And
lilies of the valley at her breast again. He did
not believe, for a moment, that Billy gave her
the lilies. It was probably some ass of a fellow
who was fool enough to imagine that such a
woman as Lady Hilary could be won by a few
picturesque attentions.

How regal she looked, and aloof from all sur-
roundings, alone in her box.

And a quarter of an hour ago, she had bidden
him good-night, in that rich, tender voice of hers.
She had flown quickly home, in order to keep her
promise, and save him from disappointment.

He rather enjoyed sitting in the stalls while she
was in a box; half the house between them, and
— ^this intimate fact.

She turned and spoke to somebody at the door.

At that instant the lights went down ; the curtain
rose.

For a while Rodney's attention was fixed upon

258 The Wall of Partition

the stage. But by and by he glanced up again
at the box.

A man sat beside Madge. They both leaned
forward, watching the stage. His head was very
near hers. Rodney could not see his face; but
there were lilies of the valley in his buttonhole.

You enjoy the exquisite humour and pathos of
Quality Street better, with a freer mind.

After all, what did it matter if a dozen men,
all wearing lilies of the valley, sat in Lady Hilary's
box? It was no concern of his.

What a rotten finish to a pleasant day.

Well — anyway Dr. Brown and the Matron
were having a good time. And Jake had probably,
by this time, sworn a few mild and quite meaning-
less oaths at the unknown voice, and finally given
it the right number.

What a crooked world !

CHAPTER XXIV

THE SMILE IN THE MIRROR

IDILLY rang up, early the next morning, to say
^^ that he and Valeria were motoring to town
and wotdd come to the flat for tea, at about four
o'clock. Valeria greatly hoped that Steele would
be in, and would take tea with them.

''Please do, old man," Billy added. "My wife
has set her heart upon seeing you. She is not
very strong— nothing serious, you know— I mean,
nothing — er— fatal — ^but not very strong, and
must not be crossed or contradicted."

Billy's voice, usually so cheerful, sounded anx;
ious and worried, even through the telephone.

"Certainly, old chap," answered Rodney. "I
will arrange to be in at four."

"And — Glisten, Rod. Don't mention Valeria's
illness. I have said more than I ought, already.
She doesn't like her health talked about."

"All right! I'll make no 'kind inquiries.' I

gay, Billy? It's nothing infectious, I suppose.

259

26o The Wall of Partition

IVe had whooping-cough, chicken-pox, and
measles; but I've not had mumps."

"Rotter!" said Billy, more cheerfully. "It's
nothing catching. Don't be a silly fool. I want
you to hit it off with Valeria, But she mustn't
be crossed or contradicted."

"My dear fellow, I don't cross and contradict
people, in their own house, the first time I meet
them; particularly delicate people, suffering from
mtunps."

"I tell you it's not mtmips!" shouted Billy.
"If you mention mumps in Valeria's presencct

ru "

"Do be calm, old chap. I have already pro-
mised not to allude to Lady Valeria's mumps.
You have only mentioned it — or do you call it
'them'? — in confidence. I am not supposed to
know anything "

Billy rang off.

Steele went back to the dining-room, chuck-
ling.

, "Poor old boy! That's done him good. He
sounded too mysteriously tragic for words. Why
do cheerful, happy-go-lucky people, such as Billy,
burden themselves with family cares? Fancy be-
ing tied to a woman who must not be crossed or
contradicted! One might as well go at once and

The Smile in the Mirror 261

be measured for a muzzle. Now for a mental
picture of Lady Valeria ! Tall and florid, I should
say; one of those large, all-pervading women;
masses of fluffy fair hair, very carefully arranged,
yet never looking tidy; great, grey eyes, with
black lashes which startle you at first, until you
realise that their blackness is Lady Valeria's
mistake — not Nature's. Full in the face, and,
of course, now she has mumps, even fuller; in
fact, painfully full. I knew from the first sentence
she spoke over the *phone, that Lady Valeria
had a swelled head ! I am sure she is taller than
Billy. Thank goodness she can't very well top
me, or Billy with pride would have mentioned
her height as abnormal. Well, this afternoon we
shall hear Lady Valeria's views on Max Romer.
I fancy Max Romer will survive it. But she
must not be crossed or contradicted. Poor old
Billy!"

When, however, rather before four o'clock, a
latchkey was fitted noiselessly into the lock, the
hall-door opened, and Lady Valeria glided in,
closing the door, without a sound, behind her,
Rodney had the surprise of his life.

A mirror hung upon the wall, immediately to
the right of the door, hidden by a high screen from
the greater part of the hall, but not from the

262 The Wall of Partition

fire-place, before which Rodney happened to be
standing. Thus it came to pass, that he first saw
Lady Valeria's face, reflected in a mirror.

She had paused before it, and was looking at
herself with a gaze of absorbed interest.

She opened a little gold bag which hung from
her left wrist, took from it an oval enamelled box,
and from that something soft and white. She
passed this, lightly and rapidly over her face,
with an extra touch here and there; returned
it to her bag; and gave her hair a few little
pats.

Then she put her face close to the glass and
smiled — a most extraordinary smile; a smile
which combined admiration, condescension, in-
terest, and greeting, all in one. Lady Valeria
smiled this smile, suddenly, into the mirror.

Rodney, erect upon the hearthrug, watched her,
spellbound.

All at once she glanced past her own face, and
met his gaze, stem, searching, silent, in the mirror.
It was her first intimation that she was not
alone.

A look of fury passed into Lady Valeria's eyes,
a look of such venomous anger that, if mirrored
looks could slay, Rodney would then and there
have reached his last moment. Almost instantly

The Smile in the Mirror 263

it passed; but he knew that in that moment he
had had a glimpse of the real Lady Valeria.

She tiamed and glided forward, both hands
outstretched; upon her face a smile which com-
bined admiration, condescension, interest, and
greeting, all in one. It was the smile of the
mirror.

"My dear Mr. Steele, this is delightful! At
last we meet."

Rodney shook hands with Lady Valeria.

As he responded with a quiet commonplace to
her effusive greeting, he was thinking to himself:
"Never was I more totally at fault in a precon-
ceived conception."

Lady Valeria was petite, fragile, almost fairy-
like in figure. Her black eyebrows and eyelashes
were Nature's own gift and required no assistance
from appUed art. Her hair lay demurely, in
smooth folds, on either side of the perfect oval of
her face. Her large, dark eyes appeared pools of
mystery and wonder. Her hands came on before,
as she advanced and spoke, each finger moving
and working, as if with those little grasping hands
she would pluck the soul from out a man, toy with
it, and then throw it aside. At her waist was a
bunch of crimson carnations; yet the pervading
scent she brought with her was essence of violets.

264 The Wall of Partition

Steele realised, immediately, how entirely charac-
teristic was this. Had Lady Valeria worn violets,
the scent wafted around her would probably have
been carnation.

At first sight of her he mentally exclaimed:
"How yotmg!" A few moments later he revised
that impression into: "How much older than I
thought."

As she talked to Rodney, she came so close to
him that he stepped back almost into the fire,
feeUng as if those working fingers were going to
catch hold of him, the white oval of that face to
be pressed against his breast. But this was only
a way of Lady Valeria's when she talked. To
men and women alike, she did it. It had drawn
poor Billy's honest yotmg heart clean out of him.
His arms had been around her, before he realised
how little— how very Uttle— this pressing against
him, with large, appealing eyes, and parted lips,
really meant.

"Let us come into the library and talk," said
Lady Valeria. " We wiU not have tea until half-
past four. I sent Billy off, to pay a call next door.
Two's company, you know." The smile grew
arch and intimate. "Billy's presence is not con-
ducive to intellectual conversation."

Steele followed her into the library.

The Smile in the Mirror 265

" I cannot agree with you, there, Lady Valeria.
I would as soon talk to Billy as to anybody I
know."

She sank into a chair, looking up at him with
mocking eyes.

"Really, Mr. Steele? You must be easily
satisfied."

"BiUy is my friend," said Rodney, stiffly.

Billy's wife laughed.

" Don't be so alarmingly serious. Have you no
sense of humotir? I was joking."

"I am glad to hear it. Lady Valeria."

She lay back in her chair; crossed her knees,
displaying a good deal of silk petticoat; took a
carnation from her belt, and laid it against the
whiteness of her cheek. The pose was distinctly
effective. Steele recognised it instantly, as one
which had J^een perfected before a mirror.

Ah, poor Billy !

Steele felt he could almost have liked the big,
aggressive, fluflfy-haired Lady Valeria of his
imagination. Mumps and all, he would have
welcomed her.

He now found himself confronted by that
most terrible of all the devil's devices — an alluring
woman, absolutely devoid both of conscience and
of heart.

266 The Wall of Partition

Poor foolish Billy, to have laid his honest heart
in those little clawing hands; to have made this
the mistress of his lovely home; the mother of
his child.

''Sit down/' she said, waving him to a chair
with the carnation. *' Now which shall we discuss
first, Mr. Steele? Your delightful books, or
The Great Divide?*'

"Neither subject appeals to me. Lady
Valeria."

"Indeed! What a combination of modesty
and jealousy."

"How so?"

"Modesty about your own work. Jealousy of
MaxRomer's."

" I am not jealous of Max Romer. I am merely
sorry for him."

"Sorry for him! You! Sorry for the author
of the most successful book of the season! And
why, pray?"

"Because," said Stede, deliberately, looking
Lady Valeria steadily in the face, "the main
incident of his book is not true to life. He has
misjudged his values. Since I realised this, the
whole book, to my mind, has been put out of
drawing. The perspective is faulty, therefore
the entire fabric totters."

The Smile in the Mirror 267

"Well! Really! — I do not agree, I com-
pletely disagree. It is true to life, at every point,
or — allow me to assure you — Max Romer would
not have written it."

"I do not think you can be in a position, Lady
Valeria, to vouqh for what Max Romer would, or
would not, have done."

She laughed— a silvery little laugh — tapping
her lips with the carnation.

"How amusing that you should say that to
me I You almost tempt me to trust you with a
great secret."

" Please do not do that. I keep my own secrets;
but I cannot tmdertake to keep those of other
people."

She dropped the carnation, framed the oval of
her face in both her hands, and leaning forward
gazed with large, pathetic eyes at Steele, speaking
in the appealing, confiding voice, and with the
childlike manner, which usually brought about
the capitulation of those who were attempting
to resist her.

"You are not very kind to me, Cousin Rodney.
I am almost inclined to think you are trying to
snub me. Yet I have so looked forward to meet-
ing you. I adore your books."

"It is kind of you to say so, Lady Valeria. I

268 The Wall of Partition

was told the other day that The Great Divide is
worth all my books put together."

She clapped her hands, laughing gleefully.

"Oh, how amusing that you should say that
to me I Have you a sense of humour? Yes, I
know you have. I think I must trust you with
my secret."

The telephone sounded sharply, in the hall.
They heard Jake answering it.

"What is that?" asked Lady Valeria.

"Probably a call for the hospital. A great
many people seem perpetually anxious to speak
to the Matron or to Dr. Brown."

"What a nuisance they are! When will they
realise the change of number?"

Jake entered.

"A lady asking for you on the 'phone, sir."

"Will you excuse me for a moment?" said
Steele. He left the room, closing the door behind
him. As he lifted the receiver, he saw the library
door noiselessly open, a few inches.

"Hullo?" said Steele. "... Yes. .. . Yes.
: . .Yes Yes Yes."

As he hung up the receiver, the library door
closed as noiselessly as it had opened.

Steele walked across the hall. Billy would have
said his jaw meant business.

The Smile in the Mirror 269

Lady Valeria was standing at the window
when he re-entered the library, her fingers pressed
upon the pane, gazing down into the road below.

"How the taxis fly past," she began, without
turning her head, directly she heard his step in the
room behind her. *' While you have been gone,
I have counted thirty-two. I wonder how many
there are in the whole of London now."

Steele closed the door, and walked over to the
fire-place.

CHAPTER XXV

LADY HILARY UNRAVELS THE TANGLE

T ADY HILARY was writing letters, when her
^ brother was announced.

She came forward at once, with a bright smile
of welcome.

"Why, Billy? What a pleasure! Take your
favourite chair, old boy. Have you come to
tea?'*

Billy sat down. There was about him an air
of grave preoccupation, which did not escape his
sister.

"Not to tea, thank you, Madge. We are
having tea at the flat. Valeria is calling on Mrs.
Bellamy, and then going on up. She wishes to
meet Rodney alone. She sent me in h^re; and
I was glad to come. I am keen for a talk."

Billy settled into his chair, and looked across
at his sister.

"So you and Rod have met?"

"Yes, dear. I asked him to come round, three

270

Lady Hilary Unravels the Tangle 271

evenings ago. We had a long chat. We have
spoken together once or twice since; and passed
each other in the street- To-morrow we both
dine with dear old Mrs. Bellamy. This shotdd
be quite pleasant."

"Oh, 'pleasant' be blowed!" said Billy, with
brotherly candour. "Is it all right for you,
Madge?"

"Quite all right, Billy dear. But naturally
it takes us a little while to become used to the
change of circumstances. We have both been
through deep waters since I broke oflf our en-
gagement. It has been harder for Rodney than
for me. The situation requires patience; and
a good deal of mental adjustment."

Rot!" said Billy, with fraternal brevity.

I should say its requirements would be best
met by a parson and a special license. However,
I won't bother you with advice gratis about yoiu*
own private affairs. IVe quite enough to do,
with managing my own. I say, Madge! IVe
something awfully important and interesting to
tell you. Valeria says I may tell you now, on
condition that you keep it a profound secret."

As Lady Hilary looked into his eager face, a
shade of sadness passed into her own. But her
smile was very tender, as she answered: "Billy

€1

272 The Wall of Partition

dear, of course anjrthing you tell me in confidence
goes no further. But is there any need for so
much mystery? I think I have guessed the
secret already."

"I dare say you have," said Billy. "In fact
I can't imagine, now, how it was we didn't all
guess it, knowing how fearfully clever Valeria
is; just the kind of woman to pull off a thing on
her own, without a word about it to anybody.
Of course I'm proud and delighted — ^any man
would be. And yet I'm a bit perplexed and
anxious, too."

"Billy dear," said Lady Hilary, gently, "we
are talking at cross-purposes. What is this
secret?"

"Why, you said you had guessed it. If not,
my dear girl, sit tight! My wife is the author
of The Great Divide. 'Max Romer' is Valeria's
nom-de-plume.^*

Lady Hilary certainly " sat tight"; so "tight"
that even Billy could hardly fail to be satisfied
with the speechless amazement with which she
regarded him. The vivid colour rushed into
her cheeks, then slowly faded, leaving them very
white. Her eyes, wide with astonishment,
mutely questioned Billy; and, as she marked the
triumph at her surprise, writ large upon his

Lady Hilary Unravels the Tangle 273

honest, boyish face, they slowly filled with tears,
drowning her surprise in floods of fathomless pity
and compunction.

Ah, poor Billy; poor honest, straightforward
Billy ! incapable of deceit himself ; or of suspecting
crooked ways in others.

"Lead me in a plain path, because of mine
enemies."

Madge remembered learning the twenty-seventh
psalm by heart, with Billy, in the old schoolroom
days. They had to repeat, it aloud, taking
alternate verses. Billy usually asked to begin,
because to do so pulled him safely through the
first verse, just after his final peep into the book.
This gave him the eleventh verse. The words
now came back to Lady Hilary. She could hear
Billy's clear treble repeating, gaily: "Lead me
in a plain path, because of mine enemies." A
plain path had always been necessary for Billy;
but, so far, he had had no enemies.

"A man's foes shall be they of his own house-
hold. ' ' Alas, poor Billy !

"It was all written and finished before I met
Valeria, " her brother was explaining, when Lady
Hilary forced herself to take in the sense of his
excited flow of words. "She knew she had done
a strong and clever bit of work, but was deter-

274 The Wall of Partition

mined it should stand on its own merits and not
have the advantage of her — ^her name," sub-
stituted Billy, for the word Lady Valeria had
used.

Madge made no comment. Her pitying eyes
still searched his face.

"She has kept the secret wonderfully. Even
the publishers do not know the identity of Max
Romer. She sent them the manuscript through
an agent she could absolutely trust, and all the
business side of the thing is in his hands. The
book is bringing her in a small fortune, but she
gives it all to charities. Did you notice that
anonymous gift of a thousand pounds to the
London Hospital the other day? It was from
Valeria. She had just received it in payment of
the royalty due on The Great Divide. Isn't
she wonderftd, Madge? And she told it all to
me so simply last night, sitting by the fire in her
bedroom, in a rose-pink what-d*you-call-it? with
her beautiful hair falling arotmd her like a veil.
We talked imtil two o'clock in the morning.
Valeria very rarely gets any sleep before three,
and she likes me to sit up listening while she
talks."

Again Lady Hilary's eyes filled with tears. This
explained Billy's jaded look, which had often

Lady Hilary Unravels the Tangle 275

perplexed her of late; his loss of the fresh colour-
ing of perfect health; his tired eyes, and nervous
manner.

Alas, poor Billy !

"She told me a curious thing, Madge. She
said that all her life she has always so loved her
own hands, and longed to do something great
with them; something about which the world
should talk. She tried to paint; but her pictures
were too full of subtle, inner meaning to be un-
derstood by so-called critics, or by ordinary in-
dividuals like — ^well, like me, " said Billy, humbly.
I "She took up music, and her playing was
wonderful. Everybody who heard her said she
ought to have been a professional. But she only
felt able to play when alone; because the in-
spiration left her fingers if people sat by,
thinking common thoughts, and making absurd
comments.

"At last she made up her mind to write a book
— a book which everybody should read, under-
stand, and admire. So she wrote The Great
Divide. And now when she looks at her hands,
she feels they have indeed done something worthy
of her love for them. Madge, did you ever feel
inclined to love your own hands in such a curious
way?"

276 The Wall of Partition

Never!'* said Lady Hilary, emphatically.
And what's more, Billy-boy, if such an idea
had entered my head, I should very quickly
have used my own hands to box my own

ears."

Billy laughed. A healthy sentiment, tersely
expressed, still appealed irresistibly to his nattiral
man, notwithstanding Lady Valeria's attempts
to develop him along the lines of the morbidly
aesthetic.

"You and I are commonplace, Madge," he
said, good-temperedly. "We are like everybody
else — ^just peas in a pod! Since our marriage,
Valeria has told me scores of times that I am
too commonplace for words; and, of course, I
know I am. But she has always been unusual —
unlike the ordinary ruck; and now she has justified
herself, by doing a big thing. I am immensely
proud and glad; and yet — there is one point
which troubles me."

"What is that, dear?"

"I remember Valeria saying when first the
book appeared, long before I began to have any
suspicion that it was hers, that whoever wrote
that story must have been writing a personal
experience. I am certain she does not now re-
collect saying this; but I have not forgotten;

Lady Hilary Unravels the Tangle 277

and I am worried to-day by the idea that the
lonely chap on the rock — with the dead beasts,
and the sunset, and all that, you know — ^may
have gone to the devil on my wedding-day be-
cause I had had the luck to win Valeria. And —
worse than that, Madge — I hate to think that all
the moonlight, and kissing, and hayfields, and —
you know? — ^were Valeria's own experience before
she married me; that she loved some other man
as — as desperately as Katherine loved Valentine.
You remember how often it mentions Katherine's
beautiful hands, and what Val thought of them?
Madge, I haven't dared to touch Valeria's
hands since I knew she had written The Great
Divide. "

Alas, poor Billy! "Lead me in a plain path,
because of mine enemies."

Lady Hilary grew cold as she realised the duty
which lay before her.

She held her beautiful hands to the warmth
of the fire.

She did iiot love them, herself; but they had
been passionately loved — ^long ago; and the man
who had loved them, and who had kissed them in
the hayfields, was the man who had written The
Great Divide.

"Lead me in a plain path," she said again,

278 The Wall of Partition

within herself; and at once decided to take,
without hesitation, the only direct way of un-
ravelling this tangle of deception.

"Billy dear," she said, looking into the fire,
and not at her brother, "does Valeria take any
sort of drug to make her sleep?"

Billy hesitated.

"Well — ^yes, Madge; she does. But she would
not be pleased if she knew I had told you. She
can't sleep without it. The first dose excites
her, and makes her talkative; the second, puts
her to sleep; but she mustn't take them too near
together. That is why we often sit up for hours
and talk."

"Did you know this before you married
her?"

"Of course not. How should I? But I knew
directly after."

Ah, poor Billy!

"Has it ever struck you that she imagines
unlikely things about herself and other people,
when under the influence of this drug?"

"Imagines? Unlikely? Oh, no! Of course
she tells me heaps of things of which I should
not have thought. But I make no pretence to
such cleverness as Valeria's."

"I see."

Lady Hilary Unravels the Tangle 279

Lady Hilary turned from the fire, and de-
liberately faced her brother.

"Billy, long ago, when we were children
together, you once made me angry, and I slapped
your face. I was sorry directly afterwards, and
spent my only penny on bull's-eyes as a peace-
offering. Whereupon, you generously forgave
me.

Billy laughed.

"You were a little wild-cat, in those days;
weren't you, Madge?"

"I was, dear. I am a wild-cat now, when I
am fairly roused; only I don't slap people's faces!
Billy, I remember, after you had forgiven me,
you remarked, with even greater generosity,
that you wotild sooner have your face slapped
full and fair and have done with it, than be nagged
at, in an underhand way, as some boys you knew
were nagged by their sisters. Do you remember ? ' '

"No, I don't remember saying so. But I can
quite believe I said it. I should feel the same,

now."

"Billy dear, I am afraid I am going to give you
a bad slap in the face; and I must ask you to
believe that this time it is prompted by love —
a love too true to allow me to know a thing which
you ought to know also, without frankly telling

280 The Wall of Partition

you that thing, however painful it may be to us
both that I should have to say it, and you to
hear it/'

" AU right, " said Bifly. " Slap away ! "

"Billy," said Lady Hilary, "Valeria is not the
author of The Great Divided

"What the devil do you mean?" inquired
Billy, staring at his sister.

"I am afraid I mean exactly that, dear. The
Great Divide was not written by your wife, and
I am bound to tell you so; because, if you said
to anybody else what you have said to me this
afternoon, and the real author became known,
you would find yourself in a position of qtiite
intolerable shame."

"And who the dickens do you call 'the real
author'?"

"I am not at liberty to say. The secret of
Max Romer's identity will be faithfully kept by
the few to whom it is entrusted."

Billy whitened.

"And may I ask who told you this — this —
invention?"

"Rodney told me. He knows the author of
The Great Divide.^ ^

"ItisaKe!"saidBiUy.

Lady Hilary flushed.

Lady Hilary Unravels the Tangle 281

''I think you are the first person who has ever
accused Rodney Steele of lying."

''My dear girl, I don't accuse Rodney. Good
old Rod is straight enough. Don't we always
say: 'True as Steele'? But the fellow who
dared to pretend to Rodney that he had written
my wife's book, is a damnable liar; and if ever I
meet him, I'll jolly well tell him so, and punch
his head if he dares deny it!"

Lady Hilary waited patiently imtil Billy's
outbiu^t was over. Then she said :

''Have you told anybody else that Valeria
wrote The Great Divide}**

"Nobody," said Billy. "I only knew it for
certain myself, at two o'clock this morning. She
had thrown out little hints, but I hardly took
them seriously. It seemed too big a thing, to
be possible. Besides, it has almost always been
considered a man's book."

"It is a man's book, " said Lady Hilary, firmly.
"Max Romer is a man."

"Do you wish to make me angry, Madge?'*
inquired Billy, in a voice of fury.

"No, dear. But I wish to save you, if possible,
from a public humiliation. Has Valeria told
anybody else?"

"I think not. But she is probably telling

282 The Wall of Partition

Rcxlney, at this very moment." Billy looked at
the clock. ''It is a quarter past four. She was
going to the flat at four o'clock. She said she
shotdd tell Rodney 'if the way opened.' I expect
she meant to hint a bit, and let him jump to it.
I only hope to goodness he isn't telling her any
rotten story about some friend of his pretending
to be Max Romer."

"I think," said Madge, slowly, "from what I
know of Rodney, that he will probably tell Valeria
the exact truth."

"In that case," said Billy, "the sooner I go
round the better. I will not have Valeria crossed
or upset."

Madge pondered this, in silence.

Then: "Billy," she said; "I think you had
better go round, tell Rodney, quite simply, that
you believe Valeria to be the author of The Great
Divide f and see what he says."

"And I think you had better come too, Madge,
and hear me tell him; and hear what Valeria
and I have to say, if he trots out any preposterous
story about some chap he knows, claiming to be
Max Romer."

Lady Hilary considered this. Billy was asking
her to do a harder thing than he knew. But
she was not given to sparing herself, if the

Lady Hilary Unravels the Tangle 283

happiness of those for whom she cared was at
stake.

"Certainly I will come," she said. "We can
all have tea together; and after tea you can
bring up the subject, quite naturally. And now,
Billy, while I get ready, will you go through to
Nanny's room, and give her a few minutes?
She was greatly disappointed the other evening
because Master Billy came, and went, and never
a sight did she have of him ! She is knitting little
jackets for a bazaar. Go, like a good boy, and
admire them."

As the door closed behind her brother, Lady
Hilary flew to the telephone.

" Mayfair, 494, " she said ; and waited anxiously.

''Hullo?"

It was Jake's voice.

''Is Mr. Steele at home?"

"He'sintheUbrary."

"Kindly say he is wanted at once at the
telephone."

"Right," said Jake; "hold the line."

The moments seemed hours.

Then she heard Rodney's deep voice.

"Hullo?"

" Roddie, it is I speaking— Madge. Is my sister-
in-law with you? Answer only 'yes' or 'no.

f »»

284 The Wall of Partition

"Yes."

"I thought so. And if Valeria is anywhere in
the flat, she is now overhearing every word you
say to me. 'Yes* is all I want from you; but
don't miss a word of what I have to say. Can
you hear me?"

"Yes."

"Rodney, Valeria has told poor old Billy, with
many elaborate details, that she is Max Romer,
author of The Great Divide. BiUy believes it
absolutely, and is much elated. We can't let
it go on, Roddie. For Billy's sake we must stop
it. Do you agree?"

"Yes."

"Billy is coming round, almost immediately,
and I am coming with him. I am sorry to be
obliged to do this; but Billy insisted. We shall
all have tea together, and then Billy will tell you
that Valeria is the author of The Great Divide.
I can trust you to judge what it will be best to
do then. I have already told him that you and
I know Max Romer, but that I am not at liberty
to divulge Max Romer's real name. Was this
right?"

"Yes."

"Billy, naturally, uses very strong language
concerning your friend who pretends to have

Lady Hilary Unravels the Tangle 285

written his wife's book. He believes in her
absolutely. You will know how much of the
truth it is necessary to tell him. For their own
sakes, they will keep our secret. Have I made it

quite clear?"

"Yes."

"Very well. In about a quarter of an hour
you must expect us to walk in. I know you will
do what is really best for poor Billy, and for us
all. Good-bye."

Lady Hilary rang off.

CHAPTER XXVI

"/ AM MAX ROMER!"

T X THEN Stede returned to the library, after
^ ^ receiving Lady Hilary's important com-
munication through the telephone, he knew that he
had but a very few moments in which to decide
upon his line of action.

Madge's carefully explained programme, he at
once swept on one side. It was not in his nature
to face a difficult situation, hampered by a pre-
arranged plan of campaign. A difficult thing
had to be done, and Steele did not propose to sit
through tea, mildly awaiting a cue from Billy.

An unpleasant scene was inevitable; therefore
his first idea was to spare Madge as far as pos-
sible, by getting the worst of it over before she
arrived.

Also, his instinct told him that he could deal

with this woman more easily alone. The presence

of three people, would mean the complication of

three different poses from Lady Valeria.

286

'' I Am Max Romer I '' 287

He realised that this gave him but a very few
minutes.

For Billy's sake, Lady Valeria mustbeumnasked;
for his own sake, and Madge's, she must be
silenced.

He stood on the hearthrug, his eyes bent upon
the slim figure at the window, in its trailing
draperies. The slender hands were pressed against
the glass, as if they would force their way through,
and, reaching down into the street below, steal
from some passing wajrfarer, the thing he valued
most.

Steele waited.

At any moment he might hear Billy's latchkey
turn in the lock of the hall-door; yet, with im-
mense self-control, he waited in silence. The
least change of tone or manner on his part, would
put this woman instantly on her guard.

She turned from the window and glided back
to her chair.

"Well, Cousin Rodney, you have not much
to say! Can you not even hazard a guess
as to the number of taxis now rtmning in
London?"

She looked up at him with an ingratiating
smile. His morose silence stimulated her deter-
mination to make him talk. His aversion to

290 The Wall of Partition

her power to htuniliate the person who p to Qresooied
to resist her. She could not forego this c att%|Qce of
htuniliating Steele. She would make hinr i wish to
hide, not his books only, but himself in the ^Q ^ihs
of the sea. "^s*.

She smiled at him sweetly — the smile of the
mirror; but this time a touch of venom was
mingled with the former ingredients.

"Of course you have a sense of humour," she
said; ''and for that reason I am going to trust
you with my secret. If you betray me, your
friend Billy will shoot you! I cannot let you
miss the exquisite humour of this situation. I —
I, who am not in a position to know anjrthing
whatever of the heart of an author — I am Max
Romer, author of The Great Divide/'*

Then there awoke in Steele a sensation he
had never before experienced — the intense, in-
dignant wrath of a writer, against one who falsely
claims to be the creator of his most cherished
work.

Outwardly he remained grimly calm; but this
inward impulse of fury at the audacious lie
uttered by those smiling lips, enforced by the
mockery in those half -closed eyes, tore from him
every shred of compunction over the unmasking
of Lady Valeria; all remembrance of Madge

" / Am Max Romer 1 " 291

^ and BUly; all thought of the importance of
*^ safeguarding his own secret.

He walked over to the writing-table,
^ "In that case, Lady Valeria," he said, "it will

add to the exquisite humour of the situation,
if I show you the original manuscript of The Great
Divide.^*

He pulled open a drawer, took from it a large
bundle of closely written sheets, which he placed
upon a little table at Lady Valeria's elbow.

Then he took up his position upon the hearth-
rug, facing her.

"Do look at it," he said. "It must be of the
most exceptional interest to Max Romer, to see,
for the first time, the original manuscript of The
Great Divide.*'

Lady Valeria's hands flew to her mouth.

Steele realised that the movement had been
just in time to stifle a scream.

She turned and bent over the manuscript,
scrutinising it in silence.

Steele felt an impulse of gratitude for her
really remarkable self-control. It would have
been distinctly awkward if she had screamed, and
Jake had come in.

Suddenly those little clawing hands made a
movement as if to seize and tear the manuscript.

292 The Wall of Partition

But Rodney was too quick for her. In an
instant it was back in the drawer, and he had
turned the key in the lock.

As he put the key into his pocket, Lady Valeria
rose, glided to the fire-place, dropped a crushed
carnation into the hottest place in the fire, and
watched it shrivel and blacken.

Then she turned upon Steele, on her face a
look of such livid rage and malice, that even he
stepped back a pace.

"It is an impudent forgery," she whispered.
"I will expose it."

"In that case," he said, "I shall be compelled
to show you an even more impudent forgery:
namely, the agreement between Max Romer and
the publishers of The Great Divide, dtily signed
and witnessed. And I shall require you. Lady
Valeria, to produce, within twenty-four hours,
your manuscript of The Great Divide, and your
agreement for its publication."

"How came you by that manuscript?" she
demanded, leaning forward and pointing at him
with the forefingers of both hands. "And what
right have you to require anything in the matter?"

"Merely this right," said Steele, "that the
manuscript is my own."

" / Am Max Romer ! " 293

He came a step nearer, towering over the woman
who had tried to steal his best work from him.

She put up both hands to ward him off, but
could not remove her frightened eyes from his
dark face of righteous scorn.

/ am Max Romer," said Rodney Steele.
And I give you fair warning that if the worid
leams this fact through you, it will also immedi-
ately be told how you came into possession of
a secret which otherwise would never have been
known. "

They stood in silence, confronting one another,
while a latchkey turned in the lock outside.
Following on the bang of the front door, Billy's
voice soimded in the hall.

The tension of Lady Valeria's attitude relaxed.
She smiled at Steele; and every ingredient, save
venom, had passed from that smile.

She glided to her chair, sank gracefully into its
depths, and selected with care a fresh bloom
from the bunch at her waist.

She was waving a red carnation playfully at
him, when the library door opened, and Madge
walked in, closely followed by Billy.

CHAPTER XXVII

LADY Valeria's sense of humour

**T X rELL," said Madge — and the sound of the

^ * Kind Voice brought to Rodney an instant

sense of comfort and peace — "here we are at last!

I am afraid we have kept you waiting. Billy and

I went in to see old Nanny, Valeria; and it is

always difficult to escape from Nanny's room.

Her delight in having us, holds us beside her

chair. We become 'Miss Madge,' and 'Master

Billy,' and the old sense of nursery discipline

reasserts itself when Nanny says: 'Sit you down,

my dears.' Down we sit as meekly as if Nanny

were going to put on our pinafores, and help us

to bread-and-milk. Don't we, Billy? Rodney,

you must come round and call upon old Nanny.

She has read all your books, and speaks of you

with most appropriating pride."

"Ring for tea, Billy," said Lady Valeria.

"You have kept us waiting nearly half an hour.

If Mr. Steele and I had not been engaged in

294

Lady Valeria's Sense of Humour 295

most absorbing conversation, we should have
sent for tea long ago, and begun without you.

Billy rang, without comment. His mind was
completely occupied by one idea. Madge had
bidden him to say nothing about The Great Divide
until tea was over. He would be guided by Madge
in this. But, with so important a thing on his
mind, he must not be expected to talk upon other
matters.

Rodney, also, was inclined to be silent. The
strenuous scene with Lady Valeria, already seemed
an impossible nightmare. She practically ceased
to exist for him, as soon as Madge stepped into
the room, as soon as her voice — gracious, helpful,
comforting — fell upon his ear. It meant so
much to have her, in this room where he sat
alone each day; to look up and meet her calm,
kind eyes; to watch her, unobserved; to see her
do the little everyday things which everybody
does; but which Madge did, as only Madge would
do them.

When tea arrived. Lady Valeria, from the
depths of a chair, remarked languidly: "You
pour out, Madge. I am tired; and having got
into this chair, I really cannot be bothered to
move. Billy, put me a little table here, beside
my chair. No, not that one ! I loathe that table!

296 The Wall of Partition

I never wish to see it again. Put it in the hall,
and tell your one-armed creature, that it is to be
sent at once to a Church Army Home. . . .
Yes, that one will do. . . . Don't be clumsy!"

So Lady Hilary poured out the tea; and, after
ten years, Rodney again took his cup from her
hand.

Memories awoke, vivid, searching, insistent.
Each knew the other was remembering, things
until that moment forgotten. That cup of tea
might almost have bridged the Great Divide.
But Billy spoke.

" Rodney, do come to us for Christmas. Madge
is coming — ^aren't you, Madge? We shall be
such a jolly party. We should hate to think of you
here, alone. Shouldn't we, Valeria?"

"Do come," said Lady Valeria, sweetly, "if
you have no other plans for Christmas. "

Rodney looked at Madge.

Madge looked into the teapot, and added
boiling water.

"Will anybody have some more tea?"

Rodney passed his cup.

"You are very kind, Billy," he said. "I have
no other plans for Christmas. "

"You see," explained Lady Valeria, "we could
not definitely ask you to the Manor, tmtil you

Lady Valeria's Sense of Humour 297

and Madge had met. There was a tremendous
lot of fuss and mystery about not allowing you to
know that Madge was next door/'

"Not 'mystery,' Valeria," said Madge, gaily;
"only a foolish whim of mine, to give Rodney a
surprise. We soon found each other out, though;
didn't we, Rodney? I might just as well have
come to the station. "

Lady Valeria laughed; not a very pleasant
laugh.

"I did not wish to make a fuss, Valeria,"
Madge added, quickly, in response to the sugges-
tiveness of her sister-in-law's laugh. "But Rod-
ney and I are very old friends, and it meant
a good deal to us to meet again, after ten
years."

Then Lady Valeria spoke, very deliberately,
looking from one to the other of the party, with
malicious amusement in her eyes.

"Katherine, in The Great Divide,'^ she said,
"has always reminded me of Madge. It was
clever of me to notice that, even before I had f oimd
out the secret of the identity of Max Romer. "

Billy started.

"The identity of Max Romer?" he said, and
looked at Valeria, in bewilderment. Then he
turned to Steele. " I gather my wife has entrusted

298 The Wall of Partition

you with her secret, Rod She is the author of
The Great Divide.''

Lady Valeria burst out laughing.

"Don't be a fool, my dear Billy/* she said.
"We need not keep up that joke any longer.
My little ruse has succeeded beyond my wildest
expectations. Long ago, when I first read it, I
suspected Mr. Steele of being the author of that
much-discussed book. I detected a decided
similarity of style between The Great Dvoide^
and his other books. I remembered the trick
played upon Sir Walter Scott, in order to induce
him to confess to being the author of Waverley.
It amused me to try it, in this case. Mr. Steele
fell at once into the trap. He not only admitted
the authorship, but showed me the original
manuscript of The Great Divide. Most inter-
esting, I assure you. I noticed a place where
'Madge' had been originally written, then crossed
through and 'Katherine' substituted. You are
evidently the heroine, Madge. One is almost
tempted to ask you for news of poor Valentine. "

The mocking eyes rested on Lady Hilary's
troubled face.

Billy, white to the lips, turned to Steele.

"Are you the author of my wife's book?" he
said.

Lady Valeria's Sense of Humour 299

"No, old man," said Steele, quietly. "But I
am the author of my own. The Great Divide is
mine; but, for various reasons, I chose to publish
it under a pseudonym. I shall not allow my
identity with Max Romer to be made public.
We who are now present in this room, alone
know of it. Even my publisher believes me to
have sent him the typewritten work of a friend.
I trust my secret, Billy, without a qualm, to
Madge's honour and yours. I have already told
Lady Valeria that if my identity with Max
Romer ever becomes public property through
her, I shall immediately make known the circum-
stances under which she became possessed of that
knowledge, and it is only fair to warn you that
my account will not bear much resemblance to
the story we have just heard from Lady Valeria."

Billy passed his hand across his forehead. He
seemed dazed.

"You — you, Max Romer, Rod?" he said.
Then he turned to his wife. "But Valeria — I
don't understand? How did you obtain the
thousand poimds you gave to the hospital, if you
have not the royalties from the sales of The Great
Divide ? Why did you "

"Oh, don't be such an idiot, Billy!" cried
Lady Valeria, sharply. "Have you no sense of

302 The Wall of Partition

Then he shut the door.

A moment later the hall door closed also; the
lift bell rang. The clang of the gate resounded.
Then silence fell.

Madge and Rodney, left standing together in
the library, turned upon one another faces of
sorrowful dismay.

When at length they foimd speech possible,
they both spoke at the same moment, and each
said the same words :

"Poor old Billy!"

Then Lady Hilary sank into her chair, and lay
back, listening for the sound of Billy's motor-horn
in the drive below; while Steele walked over to
the hearthrug, and stood looking into the red
heart of the fire — ^that hottest place, into which
Lady Valeria had dropped the crushed carnation,
watching it shrivel, blacken, writhe, and disappear.

"So perish all the king's enemies!"

CHAPTER XXVIII

BILLY LEARNS THE TRUTH

AS soon as the door of the car had closed upon
them, and Billy had carefully tucked the rug
around his wife, he switched off the lights,
and leaned back in his comer, in complete
silence.

No humbly affectionate hand, lingered on hers.
No eager question as to how she was feeling, came
from Billy. He sat so closely into his comer of
the car, that there would have been ample room
for a third person between them.

Valeria's intuition, rarely at fault, warned her

that she now had to deal with a side of Billy

hitherto unknown to her. But her anger against

Rodney Steele, and her furious mortification at

her own false move and subsequent exposure, gave

her scant patience for any careful manipulation

of Billy. The full flood of her anger, which she

had not dared to outpour upon Steele, must be

vented upon somebody. It fell upon Billy, sitting

303

304 The Wall of Partition

stunned and silent in his comer. They had barely
passed through the iron gates, into the Marylebone
Road, when she turned upon him.

"Why did you rush me out of the flat in this
unheard of way, I should like to know?" she
began, sharply.

Billy shivered at her voice, but made no
reply.

"Can't you answer when I speak to you, silly?
You had plenty to say just now, when a little tact
would have taught you to hold your tongue. Why
did you rush me out of the flat like this?"

"Because," said Billy, slowly, "I did not sup-
pose that either my friend or my sister would feel
able to shake hands with you, Valeria; and I did
not choose that they should be placed in the im-
possible position of having to refuse to shake hands
with my wife, in the room they were occupying as
my guests."

Lady Valeria gave a little shriek of derisive
laughter.

Bravo!" she cried, and clapped her h^ds.
What high-flown melodrama! It more than
compensates for the inconvenience of being landed
breathless, in the motor. And why, pray, should
your friend and your sister prestmie to decline to
shake hands with me?"

Billy Learns the Truth 305

"Because," said Billy, in a broken voice, yet
with carefully weighed deliberation, "you stood
revealed a thief — and a thief of the most despicable
kind. Had you attempted to steal Rodney's
cheque-book, or Madge's pearls, such an action
would have been more easy to forgive than this
attempt to steal his nom^-plume^ his reputation,
and the glory of his fine achievement. It was a
despicable theft; and you and I have got to face
that out together, Valeria."

For a moment this stem, new Billy, whose de-
sperate pain was enabling him to hold his own, and
to express himself with dignity and with clearness,
cowed Valeria ; and, because he cowed and fright-
ened her, she hated him even more than she had
hated Steele. Yet she knew that if she really laid
herself out to do so, she could easily talk Billy
rotmd, before they reached home, into believing
her ingenious explanation of the evening's
fiasco.

Was it wortli while?

She drew off her gloves. Her hands must
be ready to stroke and fondle, if necessary,
that absurd clenched fist of Billy's, as she
talked.

"I am sure I don't know what you mean," she
said, more calmly. "You heard my perfectly

306 The Wall of Partition

reasonable explanation just now ; and, though you
evidently possess neither the wits nor the sense of
humour to understand it, in all its bearings, you
most certainly accepted it, and admitted that you
were chiefly to blame."

"Of course, I accepted your explanation, in the
presence of Madge and Rodney," said Billy's
sad voice, from the dark recesses of his comer.
"And, of course, I endeavoured to shoulder the
blame. I love you ; and you are my wife. If you
had committed a murder, I should do my level
best to hang for it, were there no other way of
securing your safety and freedom. But I accepted
your explanation, only in the presence of others.
Between ourselves — ^you and I alone together —
we must face out the truth. There is no further
need that you should weave elaborate lies for

me.

"Now or never," whispered the demon, Valeria
would have called "Diplomacy."

"Is it worth while?" suggested the demon of
Contempt.

To determine the point, Valeria suddenly
switched on the lights, leaned forward, and looked
at Billy.

Billy's face was stem and set; but the usual
freckles were visible on Billy's nose.

Billy Learns the Truth 307

This tendency to freckle, in season and out of
season, was a peculiarity of Billy's which had
already served to annoy Valeria. An hour's
skating in bright sunshine — even the pale,
wintry stm of England — was quite sufficient
to pepper Billy's countenance with a wholly
unseasonable sprinkling of gay little sandy
freckles.

Leaning forward in the car, Valeria saw the
freckles on Billy's rather inadequate nose. The
sight suddenly turned her contempt into loathing ;
her fear of him, into reckless fury.

"You fool!" she said. "You stupid, sense-
less fool! Why should I trouble to lie to
you?"

Then she poured forth upon Billy, the pent-up
torrent of invective, which had been held in check
by the stem force of Steele's masterful personality.

BiUy knew the language of public-school and
college; of the mess-room and the barracks; of
camp and battlefield. He had heard the pro-
verbial trooper swear. But never, in his whole
life, had he heard such language as now fell
in a reckless torrent from the lips , of Lady
Valeria.

At first he tried to stop her. Then, finding that
useless, he turned up his coat-coUar, leaned farther

3o8 The Wall of Partition

back in his comer, and tried not to hear the shrill
voice of his wife.

But the vileness of her language, and the in-
tolerable pain of her galling words, became more
than even Billy could bear.

He took out his watch.

" Look here, Valeria, " he said. " I give you two
minutes to control yourself and cease talking.
If, when two minutes are up, you are not silent,
I shall stop the car, get out, and return to town,
leaving you to go home alone. I mean it, Valeria."

Lady Valeria made full use of the first minute.
The end of the second, found her lying back in
sullen silence, feigning an exhausted sleep.

Billy switched oflE the lights, let down the win-
dow, and looked up at the stars, shining in a frosty
sky. The heavy scent of violets oppressed him.
He could hardly breathe in the atmosphere of the
closed car.

Presently, the lights of London were left behind.
The motor sped along cotmtry roads. Fir-trees
showed dark against the evening sky. Holly-
berries, in flashes of scarlet, frost, like coimtless
diamonds, upon the hedges, gleamed and sparkled
in the powerful head-lights, as the car flew On.

Lady Valeria coughed.

Billy put up the window.

Billy Learns the Truth 309

Presently he heard a sound which made his
heart stand still. It came from the slight figure,
all muffled in her furs, in the other comer. A
spasmodic, hysterical sound. It seemed to re-
semble uncontrollable sobbing, with difficulty held
in check. Was Valeria weeping?"

The thought was more than Billy's tender heart
could bear. He laid his hand upon her muff.

" Don't cry, Valeria, *' he said, huskily. " I can't
have you cry."

Lady Valeria sat up, and gave vent to a ripple
of merriment.

"I am not crying," she said. "I never cry.
I'm laughing."
Laughing?"

Yes, laughing. You can call it 'suppressed
laughter,' in the stage directions, when you write
your melodrama. "

And why are you laughing, Valeria?"
Because your friend has given himself away,
so deliciously. First of all, in allowing me to see
your sister's name figuring in the rough draft of
his 'fine achievement.' Next, by telling me that
the main incident of the book is not true to life.
He must mean by this, that no girl would have
broken with a man for the cause which is there
given as Katherine's reason for throwing over

3IO The Wall of Partition

Valentine. Therefore, it is easy to deduce that
something, even more scandalous, must have come
between Rodney Steele and yotir excellent sister.
I shall make it my business to find out what it
was."

"I forbid you to do anything of the kind,"
said Billy.

** Darling Billy," murmured Lady Valeria,
"you are too amusing!"

The car sped on into the darkness; over wide
commons, through pine-woods ; along narrow lanes.

Billy wrestled silently with the hard problem
now sternly confronting him. How was he to
reconstruct the shattered fabric of his short-lived
happiness?

Although Valeria's suppressed sobs, had proved
to be derisive laughter; although he knew the
term of endearment she had used, had been spoken
in sarcasm ; yet both had taken effect upon Billy's
susceptible nature.

His indignation was weakening. His righteous
anger had burned itself out.

He yearned to put his arm around her, to find
some little comfort from physical contact, in this
great barren waste of mental and moral desolation.
{ Nothing could alter the fact that she was his
wife, and that they loved each other. Nothing

Billy Learns the Truth 311

altered another fact which, since he knew of it,
had been a source of such pride to Billy; a cause
of so much tender solicitude ; but which now filled
him with a sense of shame and dismay. Yet,
might it not partly account for Valeria's extra-
ordinary lapse from rectitude and honour?

He tried to find her hand within her muflf.

"Darling," he said, "anyway, there is one
little crumb pf comfort for me, in this miserable
business. "

"What is that?" murmured Lady Valeria.
**I did not have much tea, Billy. Share your
crumb with me. "

"Why, when I thought you had written The
Great Divide, I was half afraid Valentine was a
man you had loved before we met — ^before I won
you. I didn't know how to bear that you should
have loved any other man, perhaps more than you
loved me, Valeria. "

Then Billy's wife turned upon him, with a cruel
shriek of laughter.

"Oh, you poor, fatuous fool!" she cried. "I
have never loved any man — ^neither you nor
another! You say that there is no further need
that I should weave elaborate lies for you? Very
well, then. Hear the truth. I have never loved
you! Never! Of course, you will now ask the

312 The Wall of Partition

tisual senseless question: 'Then why did you
marry me ? * I not only forestall it, but I will
answer it. I married you because you bored me
one degree less than other mea. I married you
because I knew I could get my own way com-
pletely, with very little effort to m3rself . I married
you because I was sick of being important, yet
poor; too poor to live up to the position which by
right of birth and up-bringing was mine. At my
father's death, the death-duties practically ruined
us. We had to let Beaucourt, and live at the Dower
House. If I was asked to open a bazaar, I could
not afford the price of a new frock in which to
grace the function; still less could I make a grand
tour of the stalls, spending freely at each. My
dress-allowance barely kept me in gloves! Now I
will tell you what I wanted ! I wanted a beautiful
cotmtry place; a flat in town; horses, motor-cars,
new gowns; the power and prestige which rank
cannot give, unless tmited to wealth. By my
marriage with you, I secured all these. The price
I had to pay was a fairly easy price. I am quite
fond of you, my good BiUy, and have you
well in hand. You come to heel, without a
whimper, if I do but lift a finger. I appreciate
your devotion. But — ^love you? Good heavens,
no!

Billy Learns the Truth 313

Lady Valeria laughed again. She no longer felt
cowed by Billy.

Yet his first remark was not what she ex-
pected.

"And your^ouf — ^will be the mother of my
son!"

The horror and aversion in his voice, sttmg
Valeria into a yet fuller impulse of unusual can-
dour.

"Indeed, I shall not!" she said. "I hate
children. I have not the slightest expectation
or intention of ever having any. "

"Then that was also a lie?"

"That — ^as you so politely put it — ^was also a lie.
Your attentive care of me seemed to be somewhat
on the wane. It suited me, by means of a few
gentle hints, to give it a fresh stimulus, and to
provide you, temporarily, with a Kttle pleasurable
expectation. That was all. "

"Thank God!" said Billy; and putting down the
window, he leaned forward and lifted a despairing
face toward the stars.

The car sped up the avenue.

The old Manor House came into view. Lights
shone brightly from its windows. Its gables and
chimneys stood out against the frosty sky.

314 The Wall of Partition

The footman sprang from his seat beside the
chatiffeur, and rang the belL

TheUt as the great doors were flung wide, and a
flood of golden light streamed down the steps, he
opened the door of the car, drew out the rug, and
stood waiting.

Lady Valeria stepped daintfly out, and mounted
the stone steps, dropping dead carnations on the
way. Then with a smile of pure enjoyment at
sight of the huge log fire in the hall, she let fall her
fur doak from her shoulders, and advanced, both
hands outstretched, to the glowing warmth of the
blaze.

But the man whose home she had desecrated,
whose love she had scorned, whose life she had
done her best to wreck, stood outside in the frosty
night, uncertain whether to follow her in, to the
place he could no longer call "home," or to re-
enter his car, and order his chauffeur to return at
high-speed to towiL

CHAPTER XXIX

DISCORD IN Rodney's orchestra

nPHE two who remained together in the library,
-■- after the hurried departure of Billy and Lady
Valeria from the flat, though filled with sadness
and cx)nstemation, experienced a sense of relief,
and of exceeding calm after tempest.

Their mutual concern over Billy, held their
minds at first from any constraint which might
have arisen owing to the fact that they thus
found themselves so unexpectedly alone to-
gether.

Their own strained relations could not stand
between them, while the instinct was so strong
to draw near to one another, in the comfort
of a complete understanding of the heavy blow
which had 'fallen upon poor Billy — a blow
which their love for him had been powerless
to avert.

3i6 The Wall of Partition

Rodney, ttiming from his silent contemplation
of the fire, met the question in Lady Hilary's
anxious eyes, and told her, in response thereto,
exactly what had passed between Lady Valeria
and himself.

As they sat thus, in quiet conversation, a sense
of exceeding restf ulness came to Rodney. There
was a depth of understanding in Madge's every
look and word, which enveloped him in an atmo-
sphere of trust and ssrmpathy — a new experience,
after the long years of standing always alone, of
facing every situation without the comfort of
consultation with another mind; the mental
companionship of one who cared and who could
understand.

Madge did not blame Rodney for having felt
it necessary to take so decisive a step; yet her
heart sank within her, as she realised its full
import.

"I fear we have made a dangerous enemy,"
she said; "there is peril in Valeria's friendship;
there is disaster in her enmity. "

"She can do us no harm, Madge. I have her
well muzzled. If she speaks, / speak. She is
clever enough to know that she stands to lose
more in the long run, than I. "

"Valeria is not so clever as she seems, Rodney.

Discord in Rodney's Orchestra 317

I have known her make inconceivably stupid
blunders, while apparently working with the utmost
artfulness to secure her own ends. In the bitter-
ness of this mortification, she will probably throw
prudence to the winds in her desire to punish you
and me for her exposure. Unless her temper leads
her into further self-betrayal, she is now twisting
Billy's honest mind arotmd her taper fingers. She
will have him convinced and on her side, before
they reach the Manor. I am sorry to say it, but
my brother's wife is a woman utterly without
either heart or conscience. "

"How on earth did Billy come to marry her?"
"Billy succtmibed to the strong physical attrac-
tion which Valeria can exert when she chooses.
There is something feline about it. On the few
occasions upon which I saw them together during
their engagement, Valeria always reminded me of
a cat playing with a mouse. Billy was infatuated.
I tried to warn him, to dissuade him, with the sole
result that I came within an ace of losing Billy's
affection. I dared not risk that, any farther,
knowing there would come a time when Billy
would stand sorely in need of a love which
would not fail him. "

"Has she ever really cared for him?"

"My dear Roddie, Valeria has never really

3i8 The Wall of Partition

loved any creature on this earth, save herself!
She loved the luxuries Billy could give her; she
enjoyed the devotion he lavished upon her. She
purred most sweetly while Billy, in the seventh
heaven of a lover's bliss, stroked and petted her.
But I always knew there were daws concealed
behind those velvet pads; and I greatly fear my
poor Billy will find himself with those claws in his
faithful heart, one of these days. "

"Billy — of all people!" said Steele; and they
fell silent, over the pity of it; looking into the
fire, and wondering how matters were going with
Billy at that moment.

Presently Lady Hilary exclaimed impulsively:

"Ah, how I hate to have had to speak so, of
Valeria. One longs to believe the best, to think
the best, to speak the best, of everybody. Let us
hope I am mistaken. Let us believe there is good
in her, which I have failed to discover. Should her
name come up at Mrs. Bellamy's table, to-morrow,
we are certain to hear good, and only good, of
Valeria."

Rodney smiled.

" * God is love, ' " he said. " At least, so the late
bishop would have remarked, before holding forth
upon the intricate subject of the morals and
manners of the Lady Valeria. "

Discord in Rodney's Orchestra 319

*'So you know the bishop's motto? Don't
laugh at ity Rodney. It has helped me over
many a rough place."

A long silence fell between them. Her last re-
mark had turned their thoughts upon each other
and themselves. To the minds of both came the
remembrance of the rough place over which they
had stumbled together, the last time they met.
The roughness had been of Rodney's own making;
yet he had not put out a hand to help her.

He looked at her; and, as he looked, a gnawing
ache of compunction, misery, fierce regret, awoke
within him.

Why had he no "best" to lay at the feet of this
noble woman, so worthy of a man's entire de-
votion? Why had Fate wrenched her from him,
when he would have been able to give her all;
restoring her to him now, when it was too late?
During all the intervening years, he had held
himself faithful to the love he had given to the
girl of his choice ; but that love had been as a dead
thing, shrined; not a living thing which could
grow with his growth, adapting itself to his ex-
panding needs and interests; always put first,
even in the midst of his manhood's strivings and
ambitions. And, even could he now take it from
its niche, and interweave it with his daily life.

320 The Wall of Partition

was his boyish adoration of a lovely girl a thing
worthy of the acceptance of so glorious a woman
as Madge had become? Did it not rather belong
to the hayfields, the sweet-brier lanes, and the
wild-rose bowers of youth?

His own heart perplexed him. He could not
tmderstand the gnawing htmger of need, the fierce
pang of regret, which he felt as he looked at Lady
Hilary and then mentally surveyed his carefully
shrined love for Madge. Even when severed from
Madge, almost on the eve of their wedding, he
had not suffered torment such as this.

As he gazed and brooded in sombre perplexity,
she turned unexpectedly from her contemplation
of the fire, and her steadfast eyes, calm and serene,
looked full into his.

Steele rose, and took his stand uix)n the
hearthrug.

" Madge," he said, " I am sorry. I am ashamed ;
I am perplexed. I am furious with myself. I
am still more furious with Fate. Everything is
in a hopeless jumble. Life is chaos. Shall I
tell you of what it reminds me?

" Last time I was in Florence I was keen to hear
Dagmara Renina, a young Russian prima donna
with a voice of extraordinary beauty and pro-
mise, sing the part of the Goose-girl in Figli Di Re.

Discord in Rodney's Orchestra 321

I had to be off, before the first night; so was
invited to attend the final dress rehearsal.

"When it was nearly time for the performance
to begin, I left my friend the tenor in his dressing-
room, and made my way round to the front.

"I took my seat in the stalls of the huge empty
opera-house. The members of the orchestra were
all in their places. Pandemonium reigned ! Each
man was playing little snatches of the score before
him; all in the same key, but with no attempt
at time, tune, or order. The piping of the flute,
the sighing of the fiddle, the grunt of the double-
bass, the clear call of the comet, the bray of the
trombones, all went on together. Each man
practised some particular phrase he wished to
perfect. The confused hubbub of soimd was
indescribable.

"Suddenly a slim, alert figure leapt upon the
estrade, and struck the desk sharply with a baton.
It was the maestro!

"Instantly the hubbub hushed into silence.

"There followed a moment of tense expecta-
tion. Every eye was bent upon that alert
figure; every instrtunent was held in perfect
readiness.

"The maestro adjusted his score; looked to
the right, looked to the left ; then raised his baton

322 The Wall of Partition

— and lo! full, rich, sweet, melodious, blending in
perfect harmony, sounded the opening chords
of the overture.

" Madge, I feel just nowlike that great orchestra,
before the maestro entered and took controL
I have the will for harmony. Each part of me is
honestly doing its best. Yet all within is hopeless
hubbub and confusion. I know but two things,
of a certainty. The one, throbs and thtmders
like the beat of the kettle-drums. The other,
sounds clear, as the silver comet, above the general
hurly-btirly. The first is: that I will never for-
give the woman whose slanderous tongue came
between us. The second; that I will never, to
satisfy any selfish need of my own nature, offer
you a second best."

Lady Hilary made no immediate reply.

Her hands were folded upon her knees. Her
eyes gazed steadily into the fire.

Presently she said: "You are waiting for the
Maestro, Roddie. I do not know how He will
deal with the comet; but He will have to silence
the beat of that kettle-drum in your life's orchestra,
if there is to be harmony in its music."

"Where is the maestro who could do that?"
he asked.

She smiled, but let the question pass.

Discord in Rodney's Orchestra 323

"His baton will reduce chaos to order, with a
measure of three beats."

"Three beats?"

"Yes; three almighty beats. The bishop's
motto : ' God is Love. ' "

He laughed, and shook his head.

" I think not, Madge. I left oflE pricking texts,
when I was five; and gave up painting them,
when I was nine."

"It is not what you do to the texts, Rodney;
it is what the texts do to you."

He smiled again, his eyes upon her face.

He liked to hear her argue. He did not care
to differ. What did it matter whether he was
right, or she?

How lovely she was !

What did anything matter in heaven above,
or in the earth beneath, so long as she sat here,
in this quiet library, on his side of the wall.

Then Lady Hilary looked up, and met his eyes.

A sudden flush, flooded the loveliness of her
face.

She rose to her feet.

"Oh, I must be going!" she said.

"Wait," said Rodney, huskily. "Wait, Madge!
You said I might ask you any questions. Who
gives you those lilies you wear so constantly?"

324 The Wall of Piutition

"Nobody gives them to me, Rodney. I grow
them in my own little greenhouse, at Haslemere.*'

"Oh! — ^Well, who was the fellow with lilies in
his buttonhole who came to your box, at the
play, last night?"

"My dear Roddie, the questions I allow you
to ask, concern you and me. They do not in-
clude an inventory of all my friends."

"You might spare me a pubUc exhibition of
your intimacy with other men, while I am kept
at arm's length."

Her eyes grew amused and tender.

" Roddie, you talk as an unreasonable and angry
little boy might talk. When have I kept you at
arm's length?"

"I hate the thought of all these other men.
And I never for a moment believed that the lilies
were given you by Billy."

"I have told you, dear, that the lilies are of
my own growing. Do not hurt me and yourself
by being tmreasonable, Rodney."

He turned to the mantelpiece, and gripped it
with both hands.

"Can't you tmderstand how I have suffered?"
he said. "Can't you understand the torture,
to me, of the thought of all those years when you
belonged to Hilary?"

Discord in Rodney's Orchestra 325

She stood behind him in silence for a few
moments. Then she spoke; and a great tender-
ness thrilled in the low music of her voice.

"Oh, my poor Roddie," she said. "Don't
suffer more than you need. Dear — it is so diffi-
cult to explain! There are things one cannot
say, even to — even to the man one loves. But,
if you knew all — ^indeed there was very little, in
those sad, miserable years, which need cause you
any pain."

He did not answer, or look at her. He still
gripped the mantelpiece, his face averted.

She waited a moment; then moved toward the
door.

"Well, I must go," she said. "Good-bye,
Roddie."

Then he swung rotmd and faced her.

"What?'' he said. "Going? Without even
shaking hands!"

She came swiftly back to where he stood.

"Roddie dear, truly you are unreasonable.
You, yourself, said that you felt you could not
shake hands with me. I made it quite easy for
you this afternoon, even though we had to meet
before Billy and Valeria, by coming gaily in, with
both hands occupied while I gave my greetings.
I shall do the same at Mrs. Bellamy's to-morrow

326 The Wall of Partition

night. I will do all I can to help you, Roddie.
But I cannot have you unjust and unreasonable."

He looked at her with hungry eyes.

"You keep me at arm's length/' he muttered,
"though once you were my own."

"Then shake hands, if you wish," said Lady
Hilary, and held out a beautiful, ungloved hand
toward him.

Rodney looked at it, hesitated; then slowly,
deliberately, took it in his own.

She let her hand rest in his grasp for a few
moments, then gently withdrew it.

"Now, I mtist really go. Good-bye, Roddie."

Turning, she walked swiftly to the door. But
Rodney was there before her.

Cajtching her in his arms, he kissed her hair,
her eyes, her Ups, her throat, and then her lips
again.

She did not attempt to resist him; but neither
did she return his kisses. She stood passive
within those straining arms, with white face and
averted eyes ; silent, motionless.

He caught her closer, pressing her head against
his breast ; then, stooping, kissed once again those
unresisting lips.

Then, with a groan, he let fall his arms from
about her, walked back to the mantelpiece, folded

Discord in Rodney's Orchestra 327

his arms upon it, and laid his forehead upon
them.

Not a word had been spoken. No word was

spoken then.

In absolute silence, Lady Hilary left the room.

CHAPTER XXX

THB BATON OF THB UAESTRO

AT nine o'clock on that same evening, Steele
^^ rang the bell of the flat below.

"Can I see Mrs. Bellamy for a few minutes?"
he asked.

Prudence smiled a welcome.

"Step in, sir, if you please. My mistress is in
the drawing-room."

The bishop's widow sat very close to the crayon
portrait, knitting a stocking.

" Come in," she said. " Come in, and welcome,
my dear Mr. Steele! At that very moment my
thoughts were with you. I was thinking how
pleasant an evening, you and Madge Hilary and I
will be spending together, at this time to-morrow."

Rodney held the outstretched hand, for a

moment, in both his own; then sat down upon

a low seat dose beside her.

"I am awfully sorry, Mrs. Bellamy," he said;

328

The Baton of the Maestro 329

"but I have come to tell you I can't come. I
find myself obliged to leave here at once. An
unavoidable change of plans. I am very
sorry.*'

The bishop's widow went on with her knitting.
She did not need to look again at the dark face
close beside her. A first glance had shown her
that deep trouble of mind had brought him to
her.

"That is a disappointment, my dear," she
said. "But we must look upon our little dinner
together, as a pleasure merely deferred. Do you
expect to be away for long?"

"I don't know."

"Where are you going?"

" I am not sure. Somewhere wild and desolate;
away from walls, and houses, and chimneys;
where winds will blow, and wild birds will swoop
and circle, and where I shall be able to walk, and
walk, and walk — alone with earth, and sky, and

sea.

<«

Who has given you so sudden and so deep a
hurt, dear boy?"

"Nobody," he said. "Why should you think
I am hurt? I have lived so long with nature,
wild and tmtrammelled These walls seem a
prison. I must break away, and go free."

330 The Wall of Partition

"These walls did not seem a prison, yesterday.
You were happy and content. A glad, free heart
sets the bounds of its own limitless horizon. Must
you carry your trouble away into solitude, or
can you share it with an old woman who truly
cares for you? Do whatever will help you most,
my dear."

Rodney bent his head, tmtil his forehead al-
most rested against the arm of Mrs. Bellamy's
chair.

Then he said, very low: "I have failed where
I thought I was strongest."

"That is precisely where we usually do fail.
Simon Peter was perfectly certain that, though
all the rest forsook the Master, he would stand
firm; yet a few hours later he was denying, with
oaths and curses, that he had any knowledge of
his LfOrd. The Bishop used to say: 'When your
strongest point has become yotu* weakest, then
your weakest can be made truly strong.' Life's
lessons often have to be learned through deep
discouragement ; only, we must see to it that we
do not allow discouragement to drift into despair."

Rodney made no reply. He was wishing he
could tell the bishop's widow everything, yet
knew he could tell her nothing.

At last: "I feel like Valentine, in the closing

The Baton of the Maestro 331

scene of The Great Divide^** he said. "Do you
remember? The scene you do not like; in which
he stands with folded arms, despairing, on a rock,
at the end of all things,"

"I told you that scene would do harm," said
the bishop's widow, sadly. "It has done you
harm. Max Romer's score will be a heavy one.
You are the second person, within forty-eight
hours, in whom I have noticed the baleful effect
of that unfortunate book."

Rodney smiled — a rather uneasy, twisted smile.

"Who was the other victim?" he asked.

" Madge Hilary. I could not but be conscious
yesterday that the bright hopefulness of that
brave spirit was somewhat dimmed; and when I
questioned her, she had to confess that she had
just finished reading The Great Divide. There
will be a day of reckoning for Max Romer!"

"Oh, draw it mild," said Rodney. "A fellow
must write of life as he has found it. I daresay
Max Romer has plenty of dead beasts of his own
to depress him."

"That provides no excuse for inflicting them
upon other people. But there is one wild beast
which dies harder than any other."

"What is that?"

"Self," said the bishop's widow; and taking up

334 The Wall of Partition

theless I live; yet not I, but Christ Kveth in me:
and the life which I now live in the flesh, I live
by the £aith of the Son of God, who loved me, and
gave Himself for me/' '

" I can see the Bishop now,'' said Mrs. Bellamy,
'' standing upon a rock, the golden sunset behind
him, the keen faces of the Cornish miners all
around. What a contrast to the final scene in
The Great Dwide^ where the man, absorbed in his
own selfish sorrow, stands lonely, with folded arms,
surrounded by death and desolation."

Steele, sitting with bent head, his chin in his
hands, made no answer.

The bishop's widow took up her knitting, and
again softly counted the stitches.

Presently Rodney said: "The other day some-
body, with whom I was discussing the book,
suggested a better ending to The Great Di-
vider

"What was that?"

"That after ten years of separation, Katherine
and Valentine should meet again. The man she
married had meanwhile died. She was free.
She had never really been able to put away her
love for Valentine. She had soon come to realise
her mistake in sending him from her. He had
remained faithful during the interv^iing years.

The Baton of the Maestro 335

So they made it up, married, and — it is to be
supposed — ^lived happily ever after!"

"Eighteen, nineteen, twenty," said Mrs. Bel-
lamy. Then she smiled.

"A charming ending," she said. "Max Romer
should write a sequel."

"I disputed its feasibility," said Steele. "The
man's loss of faith in a woman's love, had driven
him into what you call * the sin of self -sufficiency . *
His memory of the girl had been shrined in his
heart, as a beautiful dead thing, to be regretfully
contemplated in morbid moments. His love for
her was not a vital force, influencing his actions,
growing with his growth, maturing as he matured.
How could Valentine, if suddenly confronted
with a noble woman developed and matured, as
Katherine would undoubtedly have matured and
developed, offer her this old love he had felt for
the girl of long ago?"

"Obviously, he could not," said Mrs. Bellamy.

"Then away goes your happy ending! The
last state of that man is worse than the first."

"Not at all, my dear Mr. Steele! I can show
you a more excellent way."

"What is that?"

Mrs. Bellamy laid down her knitting.

" My dear, it is evident. He must begin again

336 The Wall of Partition

at the beginning, and fall in love with the woman,
just as years before he fell in love with the
girl."

"Might not his — self-sufficiency render that
impossible?"

Mrs. Bellamy took up a beautifully bound
volume of Tennyson's poems, which lay upon the
table close to her hand, turned to a certain page,
and softly read, without comment :

" Love took up the harp of Life^ and smote on all
the chords with might ;
Smote the chord of Self^ that^ trembling, pass'd
in music out of sight.**

As the tender words fell on his ear, Rodney
recalled his own illustration of the waiting or-
chestra, producing a noisy hubbub of confused,
discordant sotmds, before the coming of the
maestro.

Was Love the maestro?

Had his life's discords lasted too long to hush
into silence, or to blend into harmony, in response
to the beat of even that magic baton?

He dropped his head upon his hands.

There was comfort in silence.

The bishop's widow seemed to realise this

The Baton of the Maestro 337

She spoke no word; but her silent thought of him,
merged itself into uplifted prayer.

Presently she laid her hand very gently upon
the dark head beside her.

"My dear," she said, "may I cease discussing
fiction, and speak to you, for one moment, of fact?
The self-centred life narrows year by year, until
at last it closes in a lonely end, and in the narrow
compass of a six-foot grave. The life which gives
itself to another, which lives for another, which
puts another first, is widened out, not only toward
that other, but toward all mankind. This is, of
course, an essential truth of the spiritual kingdom ;
but it applies also to the natural man. It pleased
God, long ago, to take from me my little children ;
and now He has seen fit to leave me without the
comfort of my husband's presence, for a time. Yet,
because I loved my own three so tenderly, my
heart now opens to take in all little children; and
because my husband's love meant so much to me,
I can sympathise with others, both in their joys
and in their sorrows. The very first Divine state-
ment made concerning man was this: *It is not
good that the man should be alone.' That genesis
of truth is as true now as it was six thousand years
ago, when first it found expression. It may not
be given to every man to find his full completion

338 The Wall of Partition

in the perfect love of a good woman. But those
to whom it is offered should think well and care-
fully, before they put from them so great a gift."

A small French time-piece, over the fire-place,
struck the hour of ten. A clock in the hall, in
reverberant tones, distinctly reminiscent of the
palace, boomed forth its deep note ten times.
Away in the far distance, Rodney heard the well-
known chimes, to which he had so often listened.

He lifted his head.

"Thank you," he said. "You have done me
heaps of good. I was bothered about a story of
mine, of which I have made a mess. I think I
begin to see now, where my mistakes came in."

He rose and stood before her.

" I am off this evening, " he said, "by a midnight
train. I carry with me the remembrance of your
great kindness. May I also take with me your
blessing?"

Rising, she took his hand between both her own,
looking up into his face with a wistful tenderness.

"God bless you, my dear boy," she said, "and
lead you in the right way, and prepare you for
whatever the future holds in store. And now,
for the sake of a dear mother who must have loved
you tenderly, and of my own little son, who would
have been about your age, kiss me before you go.

»»

The Baton of the Maestro 339

So Rodney stooped, and kissed the bishop's
widow; and that kiss seemed to purge his heart
from the burning shame of his lapse into tmre-
strained passion; and her blessing sent him out to
his self-imposed exile, conscious of a ray of hope,
shining, clear and bright, into the shrouded future.

CHAPTER XXXI

INTO THE DESERT

A S the clock chimed the quarter-past ten, Rod-
*^ ney stood expectant beside the telephone.

The minutes passed slowly.

The insistent little bell remained mute.

He walked up and down the hall.

There was sometimes a delay in getting through.

The clock chimed the half -hour.

Then Rodney walked quietly down the passage
to his room.

Madge was not going to ring him up.

At eleven o'clock he stood in the hall, his bag
beside him.

He wrote an address upon a slip of paper, and
rang the bell.

"I do not know how long I shall be away,

Jake," he said. "Here is an address to which

you can send letters. I am leaving my things

here. Should I want them, I will send for

340

Into the Desert 341

them. I may turn up any day; or I may not
come back at all. If any questions are asked,
say I have gone on a walking-tour. If they
then remark that a walking-tour in December,
is unusual; say the world would be a dtdl place
if we always did the obvious. Add that you
have noticed that people will pay any price
for asparagus and strawberries, green-peas, or
white lilac, out of season; so why not walking-
tours? . . . Keep that address to yourself,
if possible. I do not want to be bothered
with letters, though I must have my business
papers. . . . Don't look so much concerned,
my good fellow. You and Mrs. Jake have made
me most comfortable. But I can't stand town.
The gulls have unsettled me! I want wild
marshes, cliffs, and sea."

Jake helped him into his overcoat; took up the
bag, opened the door, and rang the Uft-bell.

At the entrance to the lift, Rodney hesitated.

"Here, Jake! Go on with my 'bag, and
put it into a taxi. I will follow in a couple of
minutes."

Turning back into the hall, he closed the
door.

He took down the telephone-book, and fotmd
Lady Hilary's number.

34^ The Wall of Partition

He was through almost immediately.

"Hullo?"

"Yes?" It was Madge's voice.

Rodney took off his hat, and dropped it on to
the chair beside him.

"Are you there?" he said, huskily.

"Yes, Roddie. I am here."

" Madge ! Can you forgive me? "

"Yes, dear. Fully and freely. I tmderstood."

"I am going away."

"I thought that was probably what you would
do, Rodney?"

"I couldn't go without your forgiveness."

"You have it."

"Good-bye, Madge."

"Good-night, Roddie."

He rang off; took up his hat ; stood for a moment
looking round the cosy hall — ^which suddenly
seemed so much more "home" than he had
realised; then ran down the stairs, and jtunped
into the waiting taxi.

Just as it moved off he leaned out, and looked
up at Madge's windows.

The curtains were closely drawn, but it seemed
to* Rodney that a faint golden radiance shone
through them.

Into the Desert 343

Half-way to the station it struck him suddenly
that, though he had said " Good-bye, " Madge had
said only " Good-night. '*

There was comfort in this thought.

CHAPTER XXXII

''so PBRISH ALL IHB KING's ENEMIES P'

T ADY HILARY sat at her writing-table, late
^ in the aftemcxMi of the day after Rodney's
departure.

She heard the door-bell, and wished, when too
late, that she had refused herself to visitors.

The drawing-room door opened and closed.

She pushed back her chair and rose to receive
her visitor; wondering, for an instant, who could
be entering unannounced.

Then, from behind the screen, came Billy —
Billy, so stem and white, that Lady Hilary's
heart stood still at sight of him.

''Billy!" she said. "Dear BiUy, what is it?
Oh, tell me! Come over here. Sit down beside
the fire. What is it, Billy?"

Billy sat down; looked at his sister; moistened
his dry lips; twice tried to speak; then, still silent,
turned and stared into the fire.

Lady Hilary sat down.

344

''So Perish All the King's Enemies'' 345

"Dear BiUy," she said.

Then Billy spoke.

"Valeria did not write The Great Divide'' he
said.

"We knew that yesterday, Billy," said Lady
Hilary, gently. "It is dreadfully hard for you,
old boy. But we must try to make allowances.
Only we three know of it ; and you can rely upon
Rodney and me "

But Billy ignored the interruption. He did
not seem to hear it.

"Valeria did not write ' The Great Divide, '" he
said, still staring steadily into the fire; "but she
has crossed it."

"What on earth do you mean, Billy?" cried
Lady Hilary.

"Valeria is dead," said Billy, in a slow,
monotonous voice.

"Dead! Valeria dead!"

"Yes, Madge. They found her dead this morn-
ing, when they went to her room. The doctor
says it was an overdose of her sleeping stuflE. Oh,
no! Not intentionally. Valeria would not have
done that. She was far too fond of herself and of
life. There is absolutely no suggestion of it being
other than an accident. Don't look so horrified.
I am sorry if I have told you too abruptly. May,

346 The Wall of Partition

I tell you exactly what happened, Madge? Then
you will understand.

"We had an awful time in the car, going home.
I don't think I need tell you about that. I pray
God I may forget it ; yet I know I never can.

"When we reached the Manor, Valeria walked
straight in. I saw her go towards the fire, with her
hands outstretched; and I saw Morris stoop to
pick up her sables, which she had dropped as
she entered.

"I stood outside, uncertain whether to follow
Valeria into the house, or to jump into the car
and run back to town.

"Then I heard a sudden fearful scream. I
dashed up the steps and into the hall.

"Valeria had fallen forward on to the fire, both
hands right among the blazing logs. You know
her way of walking with her hands stretched out
in front of her? Either she tripped on the tiger-
skin, or, coming straight into the heat out of the
frosty air, made her suddenly giddy; we don't
know which. But, anyway, there she was with
her hands in the flames. Morris ran fast enough ;
but I got to her first. I picked her up and placed
her in a chair. There had not been time for her
clothes to catch fire.

"We telephoned to Birkett. Her hands were

'*So Perish All the King's Enemies" 347

very painful; but the injuries were not serious.
Birkett dressed her hands with extreme care, and
ordered her to bed at once, because of the shock.
He had rather a tough time with her. You know
Valeria never could bear pain. I am afraid at
last Birkett rather lost patience. Valeria asked
over and over again whether her hands would be
permanently scarred. Birkett put her oflF, for a
long time; but at last he told her, straight out,
that of course her hands would be scarred; but
that he hoped, with care, she would soon regain
the full use of them.

''Valeria screamed when she heard that her
hands would be scarred. You know how she
loved her hands?

"Birkett went away, shortly after. He said
she was to be kept very quiet, and he left a sleeping
draught behind, in case the pain kept her awake.

''I only heard of this, after Birkett had gone.
It made me very uneasy, because I felt sure he did
not know of the stuff Valeria was already in the
habit of taking. I went to her room and begged
her not to take Birkett's draught. Her only reply
was to shout for her maid, and take it immediately.

"I then suggested sitting up with her; but she
was very much annoyed with me, Madge, and
ordered me out of the room. The doctor had

348 The Wall of Partition

said she must not be excited; so I had no choice
but to go. I charged the maid to sit up with
her.

"An hour later, she ordered the maid to bed.

Then she must have taken a double dose of her

" stujff. We found her dead, in the morning, her

bandaged hands spread out upon the silken

quilt. "

"BiUy, BiUy," said Madge, brokenly. "Oh,
my poor, dear, old BiUy!"

"The doctors think," continued Billy, in the
same dull, monotonous voice, "that the first dose
of her stuff, taken so soon after Birkett's draught,
made her rather silly; and that she took the over-
dose, without in the least knowing what she was
doing. It appears her heart was weak. That is
why the Beaucourt man, who knew her well,
warned me to be careful. I used to sit up for
hours, to keep her from taking her doses too near
together. "

Billy paused. Then he looked at his sister, his
eyes heavy with misery.

"I — I did my best for Valeria, Madge."

Lady Hilary's tears overflowed.

"I know you did, Billy dear. You were
wonderful. "

"No; I wasn't wonderful. I was hopelessly

it
ii

**So Perish All the King's Enemies" 349

commonplace. But I loved her; and, until yes-
terday, I thought she loved me. "

Until yesterday?"

Yesterday she told me she had never loved
me. She had married me because of all the things
she wanted, and which I could give her. She
never loved me. I bored her less than other men;
that was all."

Oh, Billy!"

The last words she said to me were : * Go away,
can't you!' And the last words her maid heard
her say, were: 'Oh, my wonderful hands! My
wonderful hands!'"

"Poor Valeria!" murmured Lady Hilary.
"Her people arrived to-day," continued Billy.
*' They reached the Manor at two o'clock. I came
oflf soon after. . I couldn't stand it. They talk
against her, her own mother talks against her, in
the very room where she is Ijring dead. You know
the old saying: 'Of the dead speak only good.'
Well, Valeria is the only person I know, to whom
that meant nothing. She used to run down the
dead, just as freely as she ran down the living.
And now they do it of her. I simply can't stand
it. The Duchess came over at three, and gave
them a good jacketing. They won't forget in a
hurry, the piece of the Duchess's mind which was

350 The Wall of Partition

presented to them in most unmistakable language.
I am to go to Overdene directly after the funeral.
Until then I suppose I must be at the Manor. But
I want you to come back with me, Madge. I can't
face Valeria's family, alone."

"Of course I will come, Billy. I can be packed
and ready in a quarter of an hour. "

Lady Hilary rose. Action was a relief. Words
of comfort or of sympathy seemed so hopelessly
impossible. There was nothing to say.

"Come and sit with Nanny while I get ready,"
she said; and hastened on, to prepare the faithful
old nurse for Billy's terrible news.

Lady Hilary had scarcely contrived to whisper
it, before Billy appeared in the doorway.

"Come in, my dear, come in," said the old
woman.

Billy tried to smile, as he crossed the floor to
where she sat in a low nursery chair.

"Hullo, Nanny!" he said.

Then his eye fell on the work-basket he and
Valeria had chosen together and given as a joint
present to his old nurse, just before their wedding.
He had wanted it to be blue, because that was old
Nanny's favourite colour; but Valeria had in-
sisted upon rose-camation. He put out his hand,
unsteadily, and touched it.

"So Perish All the King^s Enemies" 351

"She's dead, Nanny," he said. "My wife's
dead."

Then Lady Hilary heard Billy sob, and saw old
Nanny open her arms.

She went out quickly; closing the door behind
her; but as she did so, she heard Billy drop to his
knees beside the old nursery chair; and the well-
remembered soothing soimd of Nanny's voice,
uplifted in consolation.

CHAPTER XXXIII

THE FXAMING SWORD

TTHE news of the death of Lady Valeria, reached
* Rodney Steele in a little, out-of-the-way,
fishing village, on the East Coast.

He had arrived at the primitive inn the evening
before, too sleepy, after a long day's tramp in the
frosty air, to pay much heed to physical dis-
comfort.

He now sat at breakfast in a room which seemed
a veritable museum of stuffed animals, wool-mats,
wax flowers, samplers, and family portraits. AU
the latter could be ignored; but he was consider-
ably tried by a melancholy squirrel in a square
glass case, a large nut in its mouth, holding, with
small stiflf paws, on to a bough, and regarding him
fixedly over its shoulder, with dull and glassy eyes.
Stuffed fish, owls, hawks, and kestrel, also adorned
the walls; but Rodney minded the squirrel most,
because it recalled gay little friends of the woods,
whose agile darting up and down had constituted

352

The Flaming Sword 353

their chief charm. When did a squirrel pose
stiffly on a bough, its tiny teeth clenched upon
a varnished nut?

Rodney tried to fix his attention on the really
excellent home-made bread, the kippers, and the
marmalade.

He would soon be off and away amid life, free
and aboxmding, gay in leap and frolic, mounting
on joyous wing.

When will mankind imderstand that animal
life is sacred ; that to each little furry or feathered
thing, its life and liberty mean as much as does
the well-being erf his own elaborate organism, to
the man who sallies forth to catch, kill, maim, or
destroy, for sport and pastime?

Rodney glanced again at the stiff, pathetic
squirrel. Nobody wotdd stuff a little dead child
and sit it in a glass case, taking a perpetual bite
out of a varnished penny bim !

On a chair beside him lay a newspaper, two
days old.

Rodney took it up and, while glancing casually
through it, came upon the news, given crudely
in startling detail, of the tragic death of Lady
Valeria.

He had left the inn, and walked some way along
the cliff, through the crisp wintry air, before he

354 The Wall of Partition

cotdd bring himself really to take in or to face the
full horror of this unexpected tragedy.

It is one thing to be confronted with an awful
event which touches you nearly when you can
ttun at once and discuss it with another mind;
it is another thing to have to realise it, look at it
in all its bearings, taking a sane and reasonable
view, when absolutely alone.

The papers mentioned the fall upon the fire,
the burnt hands, and the accidental overdose of
chloral; but, from the first, Steele felt convinced
that Lady Valeria had taken her own life, and had
been driven to this awful, irretrievable act, by the
pitilessness of his exposure of her foolish pretension
to the authorship of his book.

It did not occiu: to him that a self-centred nature
never, under any circumstances, commits suicide.
It does not destroy the only thing it really values.

He had not seen enough of Lady Valeria to
realise fully her calm self-complacency, incapable
of honest shame; the heartless callousness, which
cared nothing for Billy's distress.

He could not know that, long before the Manor
House was reached. Lady Valeria had been laugh-
ing gleefully over the prospect of an exposure of
himself and Madge.

By her tragic death, she had become the victim

The Flaming Sword 355

of his righteous anger. Almost, his anger ceased
to appear righteous; and the woman upon whom
he had wreaked it, became a martyr to his im-
petuous scorn.

What must Billy's feelings toward him now be?
What must Madge think of him? Would either
ever wish to see him again? He had been Billy's
friend, Billy's guest, and at his door lay the death
of Billy's wife.

A horror of loneliness was upon him as he
walked.

The sun went behind dark wintry clouds. The
sea became grey and angry. The giills circled
and screeched above his head.

Lady Valeria was more than avenged.

He could never return to the flat; never face
Billy again ; never see Madge.

How paltry and absurd the episode now seemed,
which had brought about this great disaster.
What on earth did it matter who laid claim to the
authorship of The Great Divide? He had not
intended ever to acknowledge it as his own work.
If a vain and foolish woman chose to pretend she
had written it, why should he have troubled him-
self to take any steps in the matter? He and
Madge might have kept their own counsel, and

356 The Wall of Partition

simply laughed together over Lady Valeria's
preposterous pretensions, and Billy's pride in
them.

He and Madge! Laughed together! Madge
and he!

How heavenly it sounded, out in this wilderness
of desolation.

His only hope of home, was in that word
"together."

Of his own choice, of his own free will, he had
stepped out of Paradise — ^but leaving the gate
open; knowing, at the bottom of his heart, that
he would return some day; certain that, when he
did return, Madge — who always understood —
would understand. But now I Lady Valeria had
slammed the gate and locked it. There could be
no return.

In the light of this subsequent disaster his con-
duct on that last afternoon at the flat, appeared
hopelessly selfish. He had not considered Billy;
he had shown no mercy to Billy's wife. He had
acted the part of a ruthless Nemesis to that un-
happy woman; and now Nemesis had overtaken
his own self-centred life. It was too late to go
back. Death — dark, irrevocable — ^blocked the
way. There was nothing left for him to do, but
to pass, without word or sign, out of the lives into

The Flaming Sword 357

which his coming had brought such sorrow and
desolation.

From the other side of the world he might write
to Madge — No ! That again would be selfish and
useless. He must abide by the result of his own
actions.

He had stepped out of Paradise, and Lady
Valeria had most effectually closed the door
behind him. Nay, more: her tragic death was
as the flaming sword which turned every way,
barring all possibility of re-entrance.

The fact that Death, when it steps in, places
all mistakes of the past hopelessly beyond recall,
constitutes one of its chief terrors; giving to it a
ghastly power over poor mortal hearts. Also it
can change in a moment the entire proportion of
things. When the grim conqueror rides in on his
pale horse, so much which seemed to matter
greatly before, now matters not at all. We would
give all the world to be able to say, to ears for ever
closed to earthly sounds: "Forgive! Forget! I
did not mean it " ; or, to a heart which once would
have beat responsive, but now is for ever still,
knowing nothing of our agony of self-reproach:
" I loved you all the time. "

It is this irrevocable finality which leaves the
victory with Death ; until we learn to look beyond

358 The Wall of Partition

the pale horse, to the glory of "the emerald rain-
bow round about the throne," and to remember
that "He which sat upon the throne said: 'Behold,
I make all things new. ' " Then only, can we take
up the triumphant question: "O Death, where is
thy sting? O Grave, where is thy victory?"

Long after nightfall, Rodney reached the town
on the Norfolk coast to which he had sent his
luggage, and where any letters forwarded by Jake
would await him.

He arrived too late to call at the post oflBce,
but foimd his bag at the railway-station. Then,
remembering his experience with the samplers and
the melancholy squirrel, he put up at the best
hotel in the place, close to the post office and
almost beneath the shadow of the fine old church-
tower.

He spent the evening searching the papers for
fresh details, but found nothing new; save that
the ftmeral of Lady Valeria had taken place at
three o'clock in the afternoon of the previous day,
and that Billy, as chief mourner, had been accom-
panied by his sister. Lady Hilary.

Tired out in body, and sick at heart, Rodney
went up to his room.

The Flaming Sword 359

In the hall he passed a gay group of young men
and girls, bidding one aaother good-night.

"And to-morrow," cried one of the girls, in a
voice of jubilant gaiety, "to-morrow will be
Christmas-eve! I shall hang up my stocking.
I don't care if it is babyish! Last year, Santa
Claus gave me a wrist-watch. This year I shall
whisper up the chimney, that I want a pearl pen-
dant! Good-night, everybody!"

Rodney mounted the stairs.

Christmas-eve? Why, of course. To-day was
the 23rd. He had lost all count of times and
seasons, of days and weeks.

So the day after to-morrow would be Christmas
Day.

It was ten years since he had had an English
Christmas.

He and Madge were to have spent it at the
Manor, with Billy and Lady Valeria.

Now, Madge and Billy would spend it together;
he and Lady Valeria would spend it alone ; he with
the wide world opening in desolation before him;
she, narrowed down to the compass of the six-
foot grave of which the bishop's widow had
spoken.

This was his punishment and hers, for the sin of
self-sufficiency.

36o The Wall of Partition

The two who had been faithful and unselfish,
would at least have each other — ^and home.

As Rodney switched off his light, he remem-
bered the quiet words of the blessing the bishop's
widow had given him at parting: "God bless you,
my dear boy, and lead you in the right way; and
prepare you for whatever the future holds in
store. "

It helped to make the long hours of darkness
less tmendurable.

CHAPTER XXXIV

THE BEACON UGHT

DODNEY breaMasted early.

*■ ^ It was a radiant morning, clear and crisp.

The sun rose in splendour, over the sea. It

had not yet risen, behind the Harley Street

chimneys.

He suddenly remembered the little black balls
hanging from the plane-trees, against the wintry
sky. How far removed he now seemed from the
flat, and all appertaining thereto.

On his way out from breakfast, he passed the
hotel telephone. He felt an impulse to ask for
a trunk call to 494 Majrfair, and to clamour tir-
gently to speak to the Matron or to Dr. Brown.
Jake wotdd say: "If it's the bloomin' 'orspital

you want "

At the post office they handed him two let-
ters, both redirected, from Regent House, in neat

prim writing, probably the careful calligraphy of

361

362 The Wall of Partition

the excellent little Sarah Mimms. One was the
long official envelope he was expecting. The
other

The other! Oh, heavens! How does a ship-
wrecked sailor, clinging frozen to a spar, believing
himself in mid-ocean, feel, when the fog lifts
suddenly, and he sees, just ahead, the harbour
lights — ^the lamps of home?

Rodney had not seen that handwriting for ten
long years; but he knew it instantly.

He dashed back to the hotel, up the stairs, into
his bedroom; locked the door, and fltmg himself
into an armchair.

The other letter was from Madge!

He tore it open.

It was dated December the 2ist, and written
from the Manor House.

"My Dear Rodney,
"I feel sure you wiU by now have seen in
the papers, news of the dreadful thing which has
happened here.

"It is tr3nng for you, as indeed for each of us,
that poor Valeria's death shotdd have followed so
quickly upon the painful scene we had with her
at the fiat.

"But Billy and I are most anxious that you

The Beacon Light 363

should know, at once, that you are not in the
slightest degree to blame in the matter; and that
Valeria's sad death was not in any way connected
with that which had gone before.

"She had completely recovered from any mor-
tification she may have experienced, and had been
laughing over it, before the car drew up at the
door.

"BiUy saw her pass into the hall, with a smile
of enjoyment at sight of the great log fire. She
walked toward it with hands outstretched, and
was evidently tripped up by the tiger skin.

"Afterwards, her mind was completely taken
up with a fear lest her hands should be perma-
nently scarred. She gave no ftuther thought to
you or me, or The Great Divide, She flew to the
sleeping draughts, in order to ease her pain; and
took the overdose while in an already dazed
condition.

"Of course poor Billy is inclined to reproach
himself bitterly for not having sat up with her;
but she had ordered him out of the room, and he
left her in charge of her maid.

"It is all hopelessly sad.

"Billy's eyes had been opened, during the run
down from town, to Valeria's selfish disregard of
his feelings, and utter lack of love for him. She

• . •

364 The Wall of

had told him, in so many words, that she had
married him, simply for the sake of all he could
give her.

'' In this, you and I do perhaps come in, as hav-
ing tmintentionally brought about a more complete
unmasking of poor Valeria than we could have
contemplated. In her vexation with Billy over
the matter of The Great Divide she appetos to have
thrown prudence to the winds, and indulged in an
hour of complete self-revelation.

"In the light of subsequent events, one cannot
but feel this to be a blessing in disguise. There
is always a strength and safety in truth, however
unpalatable at the moment, or hard to face.

"I believe Billy will come through this fierce
fire of disillusion, purged and strengthened. His
four months of married life with Valeria will be
but an episode. When he recovers from the be-
wildering torture of her self-revelation, and from
the shock of her subsequent death; he will take up
life again — older, and wiser, but, I trust, not
embittered. Everybody loves Billy. The at-
mosphere of sympathetic affection with which he
will find himself surrounded, must help. This one
mistake will not be allowed to spoil his whole life.

"Meanwhile, he seems inclined to shut up house
here, and go abroad for a year. He said last night :

The Beacon Light 365

* If Rod is off again soon, perhaps he will let me go
with him.' I said I felt sure you would.

"I tell you this to show how absolutely free
Billy's honest mind is from attaching any sort of
unjust blame to you, in connection with the
tragedy. All might have happened exactly as
it did, had Valeria merely been returning from a
day's shopping in town. Death, when it inter-
venes is apt to make us take a morbid view; but
vain regret over the mistakes of the Dead, shotdd
never be allowed to cause us to become tmjust
toward the Living.

"Rodney, you will understand, I feel sure, the
intense sadness through which we are passing
here.

" My heart goes out, in a passion of pity, to poor
Valeria. She lies upstairs, more lovely, in death,
than she ever appeared in life. Billy has covered
her with white flowers. Her poor bandaged hands
are hidden. I long to be able to fold them upon
her breast. She would have felt the picture so
incomplete, without her hands carefully in view.
It seems so pathetic that she cannot be here to
enjoy the sight of her own loveliness.

"Perhaps you hardly saw enough of her to
realise it, but Valeria always moved in pictures.
She saw herself always as a picturesque figiu'e in

366 The Wall of Partition

a suitable setting. Other people were just the
background. I shall never forget her, on her
wedding-day. Every movement, look, and at-
titude, had been carefully studied and rehearsed.
It imparted an extraordinary feeling of unreality
to the whole ceremony. I came away with an
absurd idea that Billy and aU the rest of us had
been mere puppets in a show; playing up, rather
inadequately, to Valeria as 'leading lady.*

''Oh, this looks so unkind, put down in black
and white ! But I do not mean it unkindly, Rod-
ney. I think you will tmderstand. I am afraid
Billy and I still feel like puppets, and Valeria is
not here to pull the strings. It wrings my heart,
to see Billy doing and ordering all sorts of things
quite foreign to his own tastes and ideas, simply
because he knows Valeria wotdd have wished them
in the setting.

"The ftmeral is to be to-morrow; so, merci-
fully, the whole thing will be over before Christ-
mas. We could not stand many more hours of
this strain.

" Billy came in just now, with a very white face,
bringing two casts of Valeria's hands which had
been foimd in a drawer in her boudoir. He asked
me what he should do with them. I took them
from him, without a word, went straight upstairs.

The Beacon Light 367

and put them into her coflBn. They will be buried
with her. Don't you think I was right? I wish
it were possible also to bury all the harm those
poor little hands have wrought.

"Now I must bring this rather lengthy epistle
to an end.

"I am sure you will understand that my sole
motive in writing, is to save you from any pain of
needless self-reproach, and to assure you that
Billy and I attach no blame to you in connection
with the tragedy which has overtaken us.

"Madge."

P.S. — " I have not tried to find out your address.
I hear you left it with Jake. I am sending this
to him to forward. Don't leave England without
remembering our poor old Billy's wish to go with
you. He could be ready any day. He would
leave all business affairs, in my hands. "

Rodney stood up, folded the letter, and walked
over to the window.

The sunshine sparkled gaily on the ripples of
the sea.

"Madge," he said, "oh, Madge— Madge!"

The world just then seemed to hold nothing save
her name.

368 The Wall of Partition

How completely she had understood. How
loyal and kind had been her endeavour to save him
from pain.

How utterly free from aU thought of self, was
every line of her letter.

As he stood there, he mentally lifted those fine,
capable hands to his lips, kissed them reverently,
then held them against his breast.

He and Billy were to go off abroad. She was
to stay, and manage all the difScult business
Billy's affairs would involve; close the Manor,
let the flat, deal with all complications; and then
sit down alone again, to wait. For what? Billy's
return?

Was this noble woman's life to be 'all made up
of waiting?

Was there to be no fruition for the possibilities
of her imselfish womanhood?

He looked the letter through, again; eagerly
searching for some sign, some indication, between
the lines, that he still held a place in Madge's plan
of life.

But no. Madge was not one who wrote be-
tween the lines.

He was to go abroad — ^that she seemed to take
for granted ; and Billy, if possible, was to go with
him.

The Beacon Light 369

He himself had shut the door; but the kind,
firm hand within, had put up the chain.

She obviously acquiesced in his decision.

Had he any choice but to abide by it?

He must take Billy abroad, and thus do his best
for Madge, in this tmforeseen crisis.

He went out and walked along the path at the
edge of the towering cliff, feeling strangely happy
and at rest. He was going to put others first,
for once, in his life's ordering. He was beating
back and forcing into silence the insistent clamoiu*
of a strong new desire, which had first awakened
within him when his separation from Madge
seemed to have become irrevocable — a thing no
longer under his own control. He could not deny
that it had awakened ; but he refused to recognise
it, think of it, or call it by its name.

He crossed the golf-links, and arrived at a little
village which had been a favoiuite resort of his
in bygone years.

An old church, which he remembered as a

picturesque ivy-covered ruin, was in process of

being beautifully restored. He entered the

churchyard, and examined the work with interest,

and with an appreciation bom of a knowledge of
34

370 The Wall of Partition

architecture which enabled him to understand
the reverent skill brought to bear upon the elabo-
rate and difficult work.

At the west door a box had been placed, for any
chance contributions toward the work of restora-
tion and reconstruction. Above this box, hung
a beautiful little painting of the old ruin as it used
to be — ^ivy-covered, useless, desolate; standing
out, jagged, roofless, against a purple sky. Illu-
minated in letters of gold upon the sky, were these
lines:

The ruins of my soul repair^

And make my heart a house of prayer.

There was a rare touch in the painting of that
pictiu"e. The artist had contrived to produce,
not only a correct representation of the ruin, but
also a vivid sense of uselessness and desolation.
The powerful portrayal of that fact, alone, seemed
incentive enough to induce the passer-by to help
on the noble work of restoration. But the gold
lettering, against the purple sky, went even deeper
than the picture.

Rodney found himself repeating the lines —
then realised that he had, all unconsciously-
uttered them aloud :

The Beacon Light 371

The ruins of my soul repair,

And make my heart a house of prayer.

He took a five-pound note from his pocket-book,
folded it, and slipped it into the box.

Then he walked on, toward the distant cliff.

CHAPTER XXXV

HOUSE AND HOME

/*\N the very outskirts of the village, Rodney
^^ came upon a picturesque old cottage. Its
tiny garden was enclosed by a low wall of grey
flints.

As Steele approached, the door opened and a
woman came out from beneath the rustic porch.
She wore a lilac print gown, and drew a woollen
cross-over about her shoulders, as she stepped into
the frosty air. She carried a plate, and scattered
crumbs upon the little plot of grass. Then she
stood for a moment near the wall, watching the
sparkle of the sunshine on the sea.

A robin, waiting in an apple-tree, flew down at
once and began to pick up the crumbs at her
feet.

There was a trim neatness about the woman,

which pleased Rodney. She made a pretty picture,

in her lilac gown, against the background of the

372

House and Home 373

white-washed cottage. The glow of a fire, came
from within.

Rodney stood still, lest the sound of his tread
shovild frighten the robin, or scare away a rapidly-
increasing crowd of other hungry little birds.

The robin flew back into the old apple-tree,
and biu^st into a gay little opening trill of
song.

The woman looked up and smiled.

"Ah, Bobby," she said; "you shall have cheese
to-morrow, for a treat on Christmas Day!"

"Bravo!" said Rodney, from the other side of
the wall. "I am glad you approve of giving
cheese to hungry Uttle birds."

At sound of his voice the woman turned, gave
a cry, and clasped her hands together, dropping
the plate, which fell on the path and broke into
several pieces.

Rodney lifted his hat.

"Too bad!" he said. "I am very sorry. I
startled you. You must allow me to replace
the broken plate."

But she hurried to the wall, both hands
outstretched.

"You!" she said: "you! And only this morn-
ing I was praying that I might see you again some
day!"

374 The Wall of Partition

Rodney looked into the thin, eager face, up-
lifted to his.

It was the "frayed widow."

He leaned over the wall, and took her trembling
hands in his.

"What an extraordinary coincidence," he said.
"Do you know I tramped Oxford Street, Regent
Street, Baker Street, Piccadilly, Harley Street,
Wimpole Street, Bond Street — every imaginable
street, road, and square, arotmd the original comer
where we met, in search of you? And here I find
you, quite by chance, on the Norfolk coast.
Wonderful!"

"Why did you seardi for me, sir," she said;
"you, who had already given me all?"

"Because," said Rodney, "I was anxious to
understand how a sovereign could mean 'house
and home,' and to make sure that it meant it
permanently. I argued the point, endlessly,
with the bishop's widow. She said it probably
meant overdue rent for a lodging; but I felt cer-
tain 'home, * in the tone of voice you used, meant
more than that." He looked past her at the cosy
cottage — the glowing firelight within. "Did it
mean this?" he asked, with sudden illumination.

"Indeed it did, sir," she said. "It meant
getting back to my old father and mother, and

House and Home 375

the home of my childhood. It meant getting
where people knew me, and where I could easily
find work. You see, your sovereign paid all I
owed for lodging, and my railway fare from
London, here. When my husband died, I was left
absolutely penniless, without home or friends.
Our bit of furniture had to be sold up, to pay his
debts and funeral expenses. I did not know
which way to turn. I was selling matches to
keep myself in daily food, and in hopes of gradually
saving enough to take me home. I cotild not
ask my old parents for help, though I felt sure
of a welcome, if I could only get to them. I
was ashamed to beg. The one society to which
I went and told my story, promised to 'investi-
gate the case,' but I heard no more. Investiga-
tion, sir, is a long word and takes time. While
the process is going on, we poor people starve,
go under, and disappear. This simplifies the
investigation.

"Then you came by, sir, and placed the very
sum I needed in my hand. I paid what I owed
for my lodging, and took the first train home the
next morning. Already I feel as if I had never
been away. I am earning enough to keep myself ,
and to help them. I'm made caretaker to that
big house yonder, which stands empty aU winter.

376 The Wall of Partition

I have needlework to do for those who knew me
as a girl. And I owe it all to you. Night and
morning I pray that God may reward you; and
he will. May I make so bold as to ask you into
our little home, sir? It is cold, standing out here;
and my mother will wish to thank you."

Rodney followed the trim figure up the
path. He liked this new edition of the frayed
widow.

In the cottage an old couple sat, one on either
side of the fire-place; the man bent, rugged and
weather-worn, with keen, humorous eyes, peering
out from beneath shaggy eyebrows; a cheerful
smile, a hearty voice, and a ready wink; the
woman, small and frail, inclined to overflow with
tearful gratitude; divided between tremulous
gratification at Rodney's presence, and a nervous
anxiety as to what old Dad would say next.

Between them the daughter, taking a loving
pride in both, and doing the honours of her humble
home, with that complete absence of self -con-
sciousness, which constitutes, in any walk of
life, the principal charm of a hostess.

Rodney soon fotmd himself partaking of a
steaming hot cup of cocoa and a plate of freshly-
cut bread-and-butter. The very last thing he
desired at that hour was cocoa; but there was

House and Home 377

that in the face of the woman in the lilac gown
as she offered it, which caused him to accept with
alacrity, and to put away the remembrance of
his very substantial and recent breakfast, as he
worked steadily through the plate of bread-and-
butter.

Meanwhile, he was listening to the pathetic
story of the adventures of his frayed widow, told,
somewhat disjointedly, from three different points
of view; old Dad's — though decidedly the most
racy and to the point — being hushed and kept in
check, as much as possible, by his wife and
daughter.

Polly had been in service, up at the big
house, ever since she left school — so smart,
and pretty, and highly thought of — this from
the mother, turning eagerly to Steele, and re-
fusing to see Polly's shake of the head. The
lilac print she now wore was a survival of those
days of service, laid up in lavender, against her
return.

"Not lavender," corrected old Dad. "You
bet it was Keating's. You always put Keating's
in my Sunday clo', mother. I'll take my davy,
it was Keating's."

Rodney smiled. He knew so well the kind of
mind which remembers its Keating's as lavender;

378 The Wall of Partition

and the mind which thinks of other people's
lavender as Keating's.

Polly had waited on Royalty up at the
house — even old Dad's ready wink was held
in check, in order to watch the effect upon
Steele of this evidence of Polly's grandeur;
while she — by a slight deprecatory gesture,
intimated that she did not expect him to
be overwhelmed by the fact that Royalty, in
common with ordinary mortals, required hot
water, and that it had been her duty to
supply it.

Polly could have married whom she pleased;
plenty of young men in the village were after her;
in fact, she was by way of walking out with Will
the carpenter — quite heart-broken, poor chap,
by what happened, but now set up on his own,
highly respectable and still unmarried — ^when a
"shover fellow" came along, and ousted Will, and
all PoUy's other suitors.

Rodney wondered who this pushing person
could be, until old Dad threw light upon his
profession, by a spicy tirade against motor-cars.

Old Dad was great on prophecy, and immensely
elated at having discovered a prophetic descrip-
tion of motors in the book of Nahum. He stub-
bornly refused to be silenced, tmtil Polly had

House and Home 379

found the passage in the large family Bible and
read it to Steele.

"That's it!'* said old Dad, gleefully. "Thafs
a good one, for them as says the Bible ain't abreast
of modem discoveries ! ' You just read Nahtun ii.
4,' says I, 'B.C. 713! "The chariots shall rage in
the streets, they shall justle one against another
in the broad ways: they shall seem like torches,
they shall run like the lightnings!" ' And then,
in the next verse, all the poor folk getting out
of the way. How does it go, Polly? . . . Ay,
that's it, 'They shall stumble in their walk;
they shall make haste to the wall/ But the
next chapter puts it dear that we can't all
get out o' the way of them 'jumping chariots'
— there's a fine name for 'em! You just read
Nahum iii. 3, my girl. No, wait a bit. I've
got it! 'There is a multitude of slain, and a
great number of carcases.' I'd like to know
what that means, if it don't apply to these
dam'd motors!"

"Oh, hush, father!" said Polly, hastily clos-
ing the family Bible, and replacing the anti-
macassar.

"Pr'aps the gentleman owns a motor. Dad,"
suggested the little old woman, with a tremulous
glance of apology in Steele's direction.

380 The Wall of Partition

"Not he!" said old Dad, stoutly, "or he
wouldn't ha' bin walking in the streets, with a
sovereign in his pocket to spare for our poor
lass in her need. He'd 'a bin in his 'jumping
chariot,' and, like as not, knocked her down at
the street comer, and left her dead among
her match-boxes. 'There is none end of their
corpses, ' says the prophet."

"Oh, do be quiet, father," pleaded the daughter,
looking anxiously at their visitor. But Rod-
ney's hearty laugh, relieved her fear of giving
offence.

He produced his tobacco-pouch, the old man's
pipe was filled; he became busy and silent, and
the story proceeded.

The "shover" laid siege to Polly's heart.
Faithful Will, the carpenter, was no longer in
the running. "Women are silly creatures," —
old Dad removed his pipe to explain this, winking
knowingly at Rodney. "They prefer a showy
ne'er-do-well, to any amount of honest worth."

The little old woman did not hush down this
statement. She nodded and smiled, looking at
Steele with shy pride. She knew herself to be
the one shining exception, in this respect, to the
general rule. Had she not had the sense to realise
old Dad's honest worth, half a century ago?

House and Home 381

The daughter bit her lip, and looked out of the
window. The carpenter's workshop could be
seen in the distance. Faithful Will was building
himself a house close by.

The family for whom the "showy shover"
shoved, returned to London. He persuaded poor
foolish Polly to throw up her place at the House
— ^the place where she occasionally waited upon
Royalty — and to follow him to London.

They were married at a registry office. "Not
much blessing on that," remarked old Dad, and
glanced toward the family Bible. He had a pet
verse about registry oflBces; but for the moment
it had escaped him, and Polly was gazing firmly
out of the window.

This was five years ago.

At first Polly wrote often, and her letters
sotmded as if she were happier than she had any
right to expect to be. Then they grew few, and
far between ; and at last they ceased altogether.

Then faithful Will went up to London to find
out how things were going with Polly. He came
back with a sad tale. The "shover" had taken
to drink, and lost his place. He had become a
taxi driver, and lost his Ucense. Then he had
done scene-shifting, for a while; but he stuck to
nothing for long. He had ceased to be "showy,"

382 The Wall of Partition

and had become dissolute. Polly had grown thin
and worn ; and her little boy was ill. They lived
in two rooms, and Polly took in needlework to
keep herself and her little boy in food, and her
husband in drink.

Faithful Will sent her money; but Polly re-
turned it. She would have died of starvation,
sooner than take money from Will.

Her little boy died. She changed her lodgings,
leaving no address, and they lost sight of her
altogether, until a week ago; when a tap came at
the door, and, the mother opening it, there stood
Polly, the shadow of her former self, worn, pale,
trembling, alone in the world, and said: "Mother
and Dad, I've come home. May I come
in?'*

The little mother wept freely, at this point.

Old Dad bit hard into the stem of his pipe, and
winked at Rodney. But he winked because his
keen old eyes had, also, filled with tears.

"We soon had her in and by the fire," he said,
with an attempt at a chuckle, "and I can tell ye,
she hadn't sat in the old chair many minutes
before we'd heard all about the gentleman who
had given a sovereign for a box o' matches, and
'Blessed are the merciful,' says I, 'for they shall
obtain mercy. ' "

House and Home 383

The quiet woman in the lilac gown, turned her
soft eyes upon Rodney.

''You know now, sir," she said, "why it meant
house and home. My former master and mistress
have been so kind. They sent for me at once,
and foimd me this post of caretaker to a house
belonging to friends of theirs. I have charge
of beautiful things, and keep the rooms aired and
fresh. My lady also gives me needlework, and
whenever they want extra help, I am to go up
to the House. It seems like old times to be back
there. Everything seems like old times, except"
— ^her eyes sought the window again— " except
one's self," she added, very low. "One can't
feel again, as one felt before; one can't he again
as one was before."

Presently Rodney stood up, and took his
leave.

He shook hands warmly with the old couple,
promising old Dad a potmd of this particular
tobacco, and declaring that if he ever bought a
"jumping chariot" he should arrive in it, to take
them out for a run.

"You could then verify Nahimi in every detail,"
said Rodney. "If you were in the car, you
wotild love to see the people running to the
wall."

384 The Wall of Partition

The old woman wept again, and her tremtdous
blessings followed him to the door.

The daughter slipped on a cloak, and walked
beside him down the garden path.

"Mary," said Steele— he could not say "Polly"
to a person who had carried up hot water to
Royalty! Yet he wanted to call this sweet-faced
woman by her name — " Mary, how about faithful
Will?"

Her brightness was clouded instantly, by a sad
perplexity.

"He comes round of an evening," she said.
"He is very good. He is — ^just that: faithful
Will. I know what he feels, and I know what
he hopes. But "

"But what?" asked Rodney, kindly, his eyes
upon the troubled face.

"Well, sir. Will is quite unchanged. He has
hardly grown older. He has Uved on here, and
worked and waited, and been wonderfully good
to father and mother. But you see, sir, the
trouble is that I have changed. I made a great
mistake and had to suffer for it. I know life, and
I know sorrow. I buried my little boy; and I
have faced starvation, times without number.
Five years ago, I was younger than Will. Now I
am far, far older. I can't seem able to go back

House and Home 385

and give him the love I gave him as a girl, long
years ago."

"Of course you can't," said Rodney, eagerly.
"You can do better than that for faithful
Will, Mary. He deserves more than a young
and thoughtless love, as recompense for these
long years of waiting. You must fall in love
with Will afresh. You must give him the
mature love of the woman who has lived
and suffered — ^the woman who knows and who
understands."

She stood in the sunlight, holding open the
little gate.

"Must I?" she said. A pretty flush tinted her
pale cheeks. "Can I?" she asked.

"Of course you can," said Rodney. "Don't
let the one mistake spoil his. life and yours.
Providence has given you another chance. Take
it, Mary."

She looked toward the house the honest car-
penter was building.

"I thank you for your advice, sir," she
said.

"It means 'house and home' again, Mary."

She smiled. "Perhaps it does, sir."

"Let me know, when the matter is settled,'*
he said. "This address will always find me.

386 The Wall of Partition

When you fix the day, Mary, if I am not on the
other side of the world, I should like to attend
your wedding/'

Again she smiled, and her sweet eyes were wist-
ful. She no longer looked the shadow of her
former self. The bloom of womanhood was re-
turning, in the peaceful atmosphere of love and
home.

She stood with his card in her hand, the sun-
light in her eyes, and fresh hope in her heart.
Had she really stiU something to give, worth
offering to faithful Will?

Rodney bade her good-bye, and walked on up
the cliff.

The song of the robin in the apple-tree followed
him.

Who would have believed that one sovereign
could be so important a factor in the lives of
four people?

The thought gave him a new sense of re-
sponsibility as he remembered his large balance,
lying at the bank.

"Your heavenly Father feedeth them." Mary,
in her poverty, had said that she gave her
crumbs to the little birds because she liked
to have a share, however humble, in God's
work.

House and Home 387

Rodney began dimly to apprehend this truth,
in its wider aspect.

He strode on, mounting rapidly, and whistling
as he walked.

And, suddenly, he fotmd himself in the Garden
of Sleep.

CHAPTER XXXVI

IN THE GARDEN OF SLEEP

DODNEY stood among the qtiiet graves, and
* ^ looked around him.

He was in Poppy-land; and, strangely enough,
although it was Christmas-eve, one tiny poppy
bloomed at his feet — a small splash of scarlet in
the frosty grass. He picked it, and put it in his
buttonhole.

Many years before, he had visited the Garden
of Sleep, lying solemn and peaceful at the summit
of the wind-swept cliff. When the ancient church
had had to be taken down and moved inland,
the tower was left untouched, standing alone on
the edge of the cliflf — a landmark to ships at sea.

It now stood so near the edge, that any day it
might fall over and disappear.

The great cliffs were constantly slipping into

the . sea. Looking back, Rodney could see, all

along the coast, how they had gone, in giant

bites, huge masses at a time.

388

In the Garden of Sleep 389

It was impossible now to walk round the tower.

He went inside; and, looking up, noted the
cracks in its walls which made it evident that
soon this sacred sentinel, keeping guard over the
quiet graves, would fall with a mighty crash and
disappear.

He stepped out; and, half-way down the shelv-
ing precipice below him, he saw a human bone.

Then he reaUsed that the Garden of Sleep was
itself slipping into the sea. Many of the graves,
and the bones they contained, had gone already.
Laid to rest in the quiet earth centuries ago, they
now fotmd themselves swept away into the ocean.

Well, it matters little to the Dead from whence
they rise. "The sea gave up the dead which
were in it; and death and the grave delivered up
the dead which were in them: and they were
judged every man according to their works."
What would matter then would be, how they
had lived ; not where they had rested after death.

Rodney looked away from that lonely himian
bone, covered for the moment neither by earth
nor sea, and let his eyes dwell upon the moving,
sparkling waters far below him.

Then he turned to see what was left of the
Garden of Sleep.

The tombstones he remembered as standing up

390 The Wall of Partition

against the sky, had been moved a few yards
inland, and reverently laid, by careful hands, flat
upon the grass.

Rodney walked among them, reading the names,
dates, and inscriptions.

His attention was drawn to one, by the lengthy
poetic effusion carved upon it.

It had formerly covered the grave of a ''much
respected farmer,'' who had "departed this Ufe"
at a ripe age, nearly a century before.

By his express desire, a text had been inscribed
upon his tombstone, setting forth that he was
''chief of sinners"; but his family had hastened
to f oUow this up by sixteen lines of poetic pane-
gyric explaining that he had, in reality, been
chief of saints.

Rodney read the lines through, beginning:

Pause, stranger, pause I Fix here thy wandering

eyes

Beneath this stone a hrigjkt example lies.

and, as he read, his "wandering eyes" were full
of a keen, yet not tmkindly, humour.

He seemed able to reconstruct that family, and
to see so clearly the respected old farmer at the
head of his table, depreciating himself with tmc-

In the Garden of Sleep 391

tuous humility; well aware that, at once, his
admiring family would take the cue, and play up
to his self-disparagement, with anxious and ex-
postulatory praise. And, even after death, they
did not fail him. When he insisted on recording
himself upon his tombstone ''chief of sinners,"
they replied with:

He^ who his faculties so meekly bore^
He told his failures y not his virtues o^er.
While stUl so humbly of himself he deem^d^
In his own eyes^ the chief of sinners seemed.
WhcUy though so well he filled his long career ,
That rich and poor met mourning o^er his bier.
And o'er his grave both might with reverence bend^
Who shone as neighbour ^ husband^ father ^ friend.

Rodney, as a student of human nature, had
often come across that insistent humility which
holds as much of egoism as does self-praise. And
here he found it, echoing from a past century,
in the quiet wind-swept grass of the Garden of
Sleep.

A whimsical smile was on his lips, as he turned
from the tombstone of the respected farmer.
Certainly the old man had been safe in leaving
his final word of self-depreciation in the hands

■•-v..

39^ The Wall of Partition

of his family. It was firmly recorded, in im-
perishable stone, that they did not fail him.

With rapid transition of thought, Rodney's
mind went back to the small, pallid schoolboy,
seasick and forlorn, met at Charing Cross by his
adoring little mother; blossoming at once, in the
atmosphere of her admiration, into a jaunty
traveller, undaunted by the ocean.

Ah, it is good to have somebody who believes
in you! There are few who fail to live up to
the standard set by appreciation and praise.

Close at hand lay another tombstone, bearing
a very short inscription.

Rodney stood at the foot to read it.

SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF

DENNIS BLYTHE,

WHO DEPARTED THIS LIFE

MAY IITH, 1856,

AGED 73.

"READER!"
"PREPARE TO MEET THY GOD!''

After the name, date, and age, just these two
lines — ^nothing more.

At first Rodney stood and considered them, as
the student of human nature.

In the Garden of Sleep 393

Again he could reconstruct from this simple
inscription the old man whose honest heart had
ceased to beat more than half a century before.

Always a preacher, his great desire was to give
one final, arresting message to each passer-by
who should pause beside his grave.

Rodney could picture him as a fine, fearless old
fellow of one idea, who would probably astonish
a chance fellow-traveller, seated beside him on the
coach on the road from London to Norwich,
by saying, suddenly: "Young man, are you bound
for heaven?" or "Friend, how is it with your
soul?" disarming oflfence by the intense earnest-
ness of his desire for the welfare of the stranger
he thus accosted.

When at last he lay upon his djong-bed, facing
the fact that his opportunities for earthly service
were over, Rodney could fancy his joy as he
thought of this plan! A final clear message
should be writ plain upon his tombstone, a warn-
ing, an exhortation, to all who paused to read
what was written thereon.

So it came to pass that — beyond the fact of his
name, and age, and date 'of death — ^there was
nothing about old Dennis Blythe, upon that stone;
save for those who could read between the lines,
and recognise the burning, deathless zeal of the

394 The Wall of Partition

evangelist, in that final appeal, cut deep into the
stone:

"READER!"
"PREPARE TO MEET THY GOD!"

Rodney preferred old Dennis Blythe, in his
nigged, selfless simplicity, to the much respected
farmer, who was "a bright example." Also he
saw in the two inscriptions a curious instance of
the futility of egotism, and of the abiding, enduring
power of a selfless thought for others. Both graves
had long ago subsided with the sUpping of the
cliff. The stones had been moved from the edge,
and laid flat upon the simple grass. The one
still pompously proclaimed: "Beneath this stone
a bright example lies!" long after the bright
example had been swept out to sea. The other
made so little mention of the man who at first
had lain beneath it that, though the bones of old
Dennis Blythe had also found permanent rest
far below in the ocean, his tombstone still spoke
its simple, arresting message, with equal appropri-
ateness and power.

"The bishop's widow would base a neat little
preachment on that," thought Rodney. "Self-
contemplation, whether humble or otherwise, is
proved inadequate — ^in this case, absurdly so.

In the Garden of Sleep 395

Thought — of and for others — ^holds the elements
of lasting power."

He wondered idly, how many people had read
those words, since 1856. Constant visitors troop
up, in summer, to view the Garden of Sleep.
Probably old Dennis's "Readers" by now
amoimted to thousands.

Then — suddenly — ^the inspired Word did that
which It — ^and It alone — can do. It gripped
Rodney, and brought him face to face with real-
ities, past, present, and future, in his own inner
life.

In one clear flash of revelation he saw that those
words held for him the essential thing which had,
up to now, been wanting in his scheme of life:
** Prepare — to meet — thy God."

He stood, bareheaded, facing the conviction
brought about by this silent message from the
Dead, searching and strong in its living power.

His life, during the last ten years, had been
void of all preparation for the futiu'e — of prepara-
tion of any kind.

After the blow of losing Madge had shattered
his whole prospect of settled happiness, he had
lived from day to day in the present; he had
travelled far, worked strenuously, grasped at suc-
cess and attained it. But of the calm of soul.

396 The Wall of Partition

the steadfast mental outlook which meant pre-
paration, there had been none. Work, strive,
succeed, then work again, had been his one idea.

He met each foe with a swift drawing of the
sword. He leapt over each barrier, as he reached
it.

He btiried the past and ignored the future.
Nothing counted but the present; and, in that,
nobody counted save himself.

"Prepare to meet thy God."

Preparation was optional; but was the meeting
inevitable?

And whom or what was this Grod he must
prepare to meet?

In working out his book on Eg3^t, Rodney had
made a study of the ancient names of deities.
He knew that the Hebrew word here, was prob-
ably that which signifies "an object of worship."
What object of worship was there in his life?
What did he put first?

Self? When launched into the Unknown, would
he come face to face with the Self of which he
was already sick? Was this to be his hell?

Success? When fame and fortune and the
opinions of his fellows were all left behind, wotdd
he find himself alone with the empty husk of a
past success, in a life he had left for ever?

In the Garden of Sleep 397

"And now, Lord, what wait I for? My hope
is in Thee."

Is this God, whom old Dennis Blythe calls
upon him to prepare to meet, the Maestro for
whom his life's tempestuous orchestra is waiting?

What had Madge said about a measure of three
almighty beats?

At once the bishop's motto came into his mind;
the three words his gentle mother used to draw,
that her little boy might paint them, stood out
clearly as the answer to all vague and restless
questionings: *'God is Love."

He put on his hat, thrust his hands into his
coat-pockets, and walked up and down, to and
fro, in the quiet Garden of Sleep.

Reviewing the past ten years of his life, he
realised them empty and barren; barren because
they had held no supreme love — either human or
divine. Then, all imexpectedly, the rich gift of
a woman's perfect love had been offered him;
but he had not been prepared to meet it. He
had been taken unawares. The demon voice of
Self had cried, to the greatest human gift which
could step forth to meet a man on the lonely
shore of life: '*What have I to do with thee? I
beseech thee, torment me not!"

"God is Love"— "Love is of God." The

398 The Wall of Partition

htiman and the divine seemed to him strangely
one, in this hour of self -revelation. In cutting
himself adrift from the one, during all these years,
he had found himself unprepared to meet the other.

The sin of self-sufficiency had proved his un-
doing. Was he permanently undone?

He pulled up short at the edge of the cliff,
beside the old ruined tower.

The ruins of my said repair;

And make my heart a house of prayer.

Back into his mind came the gentle words of
the bishop's widow: "God bless you, my dear
boy, and lead you in the right way, and prepare
you for whatever the future holds in store."

If reparation was still possible, surely prepara-
tion was possible also?

Then and there, on the wind-swept diff, regen-
eration came to Rodney — ^regeneration of will, of
purpose, of heart, and of life.

"The wind bloweth where it listeth, fmd thou
hearest the sound thereof, but canst not tell
whence it cometh, and whither it goeth."

He could not explain the process; but he knew
that, in this quiet Garden of Sleep, his soul had
awakened ; his life's orchestra was now hushed and

In the Garden of Sleep 399

ready; no longer trumpeting its own random
snatches of unfinished music, but prepared to
respond obedient to the beat of the Maestro.

Low took up the harp of Life^ and smote on all the

chords with might;
Smote the chord of Self thai, tremblings passed in

music out of sight.

Rodney turned, and stood once more at the
foot of old Dennis Blythe's grave-stone.

He smiled as he remembered Madge's words:
"It is not what you do to the texts, Rodney; it
is what the texts do to you."

What else had Madge said? Something about
the Maestro. Ah! "I do not know how He will
deal with the comet; but He will have to silence
the beat of that kettle-drum in your life's or-
chestra, if there is to be harmony in its music."

His first test arose — ^gaunt, and fierce, and cruel
— ^a spectre from the past, among those quiet
graves.

For the moment, it took him by the throat.
Its gripping fingers were the ten long years during
which Madge, thinking him false, had belonged
to another.

Then he grappled with it, shook it oflf, and —

400 The Wall of Partition

standing bareheaded, one foot upon old Dennis
Blythe's tombstone — ^took his first step along the
path of preparation.

"I forgive the woman who came between us,"
he said, aloud. "My God, I forgive her — as I
hope to be forgiven."

CHAPTER XXXVII

THE "tRAUMEREI"

nPHE robin was still singing in the apple-tree, as
* Rodney strode past the low wall.

Polly had picked up the fragments of the broken
plate. All the crumbs were gone.

A little further on, he passed the carpenter's
shop.

Through the window he could see a man planing
a board. He glanced up, as Rodney went by —
a ruddy face, honest blue eyes, thick curly hair,
and a brown beard. Faithful Will, without a
doubt, working at house and home for Polly.

Providence had given her another chance.
Would she take it?

Rodney looked at his watch. He had just time,
if he walked quickly, to get back to the hotel,
pack his bag, pay his bill, and catch an express
up to town.

What his next move would be, he did not know;
but, for the moment, he must get back to the flat.
a6 401

402 The Wall of Partition

Madge would be away, spending Christmas
with Billy; but, after Christmas was over, she
might return.

Anyway, he would wait for Madge, where
Madge had waited for him.

He caught the express; even finding time, on
his way to the station, to look in at a grocer's and
order a hamper of good things to be sent up
immediately to the cottage on the clifif, where his
frayed widow would be spending such a thankful
Christmas. "A sort of fatted calf," thought
Rodney, as he chose a fine York ham. "And put
in a good bit of cheese, " he said to the man who
served him, remembering the promise to Bobby
in the apple-tree. "Half a Stilton? Yes, that
wiU do."

London was enveloped in a heavy mantle of
yellow fog. It himg lower and more thick,
than on the afternoon of his arrival by the boat
train.

When at last he reached the entrance to Regent
House, the upper windows were invisible. No
little hands tapped on the pane, in eager expecta-
tion; no children's faces were pressed against
the glass. The atmosphere of welcome was
wanting.

'* The Traumerei " 403

Yet the hall of Billy's flat looked cheerftil and
wonderfully homelike, when Jake opened the
door, and Rodney entered.

He was seated in a deep armchair beside
the library fire, that evening, when the distant
chimes rang out the hour of nine. He was
alone — ^yet not lonely; thinking deeply, earn-
estly — ^yet not brooding. He was pondering
over his own life, reviewing past mistakes;
considering the possibility of retrieving those
mistakes, in the future.

The process of preparation, once begun, went
forward rapidly.

He had advised Mary, as they stood in the
little cottage garden on the cliff, to take the
second chance given her by Providence, and by
the fidelity of another heart.

He himself was also ready to take another
chance; but the question was: would Madge
give it him? Everything to him in life, humanly
speaking, now depended upon that.

Delivered at last from the warped vision
of a self-centred point of view, it seemed to
Rodney that his behaviour to Madge had put
him outside the pale of her tenderness, beyond the
reach even of her faithful and understanding love.

404 The Wall of Partition

First, he had deliberately reftised the great
gift she offered him.

Then, 3delding unworthily to the overmastering
attraction of her loveliness, to the remembrance
of a past possession which he had scouted as a
present fact, he had insulted her, and shamed
himself, by a violent exhibition of passion ; taking
unworthy advantage of her complete trust in him.

Here — ^in this very room — ^after giving her to
understand that he had no best to offer her,
he had forcibly taken that to which he had
no right unless his whole life's devotion lay at
her feet.

He shuddered now, as he remembered Madge's
stillness and silence, and the stricken look upon
her face, as she left the room.

She had forgiven him. She had pitied and
understood. But could love survive so great a
blow; and could he face life — this new life of
infinite possibilities — ^if he had irrevocably lost
Madge's love?

He realised now, with a depth of shame and
self-abasement, that he had never meant to lose
it. His pride had made him hold aloof. His
petty annoyance over the telephone episode, had
kept him from an immediate surrender to his
insistent need of her.

" The Traumerei " 405

To satisfy this selfish desire to hold the
reins, choose his own time, and prove himself
master of his life and hers, he had walked out,
leaving her shamed, humiliated, and confronted
by the impossible situation of having offered
to the man who had admitted that he still
loved her, more of herself than he was prepared
to accept.

In pimishing her for her innocent deception
of him, he had also punished himself; yet he
had enjoyed the pain he thus ruthlessly inflicted,
knowing — ^yes, knowing all the time — that even-
tually he would return.

Not until it had seemed to him that Lady
Valeria, by her sudden death, had irrevocably
closed the door, did he realise how much this
certainty of eventual return meant to him.

Then a great despair had seized him, for the
bishop's widow had indeed been right. His
former love for Madge had been as nothing to the
love he now felt for Lady Hilary. He had fallen
in love with Madge as a woman, more deeply and
completely than he had ever been in love with
her as a girl.

It had required long hours of facing the flam-
ing sword which turned every way, barring
his passage back to her, to make clear to him

4o6 The Wall of Partition

his own desperate need of the woman whom he,
in his dogged pride, had imagined he could live
without.

The phantom of vain regret had marched beside
him, throughout the bleak and stormy hours of
yesterday.

All night it had gazed at him with grim relent-
less face; and ever at the gate of Paradise, flashed
through the dark, the flaming sword.

Then, with the mom, came sunshine, blue sky,
bright ripples on the sea, and — ^Madge's letter.
And lo, the flaming sword was safely sheathed in
the bosom of her tenderness.

Wait! Dare he call it that? Was it not
rather, her kindness, her consideration for him,
prompted by her fine sense of justice which
would not allow undeserved reproach to fall,
even upon one who had forfeited all right to her
consideration?

In common with most strong sotds in the
throes of conviction, Rodney was inclined, dur-
ing this hard time of retrospection, to be un-
just to himself. He forgot his honest doubt as
to whether he could offer to Lady Hilary a
love worthy of her acceptance. He forgot his
fear lest having lived his own life for so long,
with none to consult or to consider, he should

** The Traumerei " 407

find it impossible to put her iBrst; he forgot his
firm determination not to offer her a second
best, if he had no best to offer. In the reaction
of this hour of self -revelation, his own conduct
seemed to him to have been altogether selfish
and unworthy.

He took out Lady Hilary's letter, and read it
through again.

It had brought him, at first, complete and un-
speakable comfort in the fact that Lady Valeria's
death did not lie at his door; that Madge and
Billy both held him free of all blame in that
respect.

But after this first rush of immense relief
was over, the chill certainly took hold of him,
that the friendliness of this kind and generous
letter held no promise of love, contained no
sign that she awaited his return, or even wanted
him back.

Was not this plan, that he should take Billy
abroad, a clear indication that she expected
him to go, and would be best pleased by his
absence?

He turned to the end of the letter.

"I am sure you will tmderstand," wrote Lady
Hilary, "that my sole motive in writing, is to
save you from any pain of needless self-reproach,

4o8 The Wall of Partition

and to assure you that Billy and I attach no
blame to you in connection with the tragedy
which has overtaken us/'

"Us"— "BiUyandL"

The words seemed to range the brother and
sister, together, on one side; and Rodney, alone,
on the other. The Great Divide lay between.
Not the book — so inadequate and mistaken in its
poor attempt to record a tragedy of human love —
but the true parting of the ways, brought about
by the fact of a self-centred and imprepared
heart.

H^olded the letter.

She was his no longer. She had avoided even
the most formal "Yours,'* by signing herself
simply "Madge."

Rodney sat forward, his elbows on his knees,
and dropped his head into his hands.

"I cannot live without her," he said.

A sense of tmutterable loneliness fell upon him.

The distant chimes sounded the hour of ten.

"And now. Lord, what wait I for? My hope
is in Thee."

"I will live without her," said Rodney, "if
this is now her choice, and best for her. I will
have strength to play the man. I will take old
Billy abroad, and give him a real good time. In

" The Traumerei " 409

doing this, I shall serve her best. God give me
'courage and gaiety.' "

Sitting lonely there, he felt again like Valentine
in The Great Divide; but the beast which the
bishop's widow had said died hardest, lay dead
at his feet : Self was slain.

He was unspeakably lonely; yet a vague peace
filled his soul.

Then, softly through the wall, came stealing
the tender theme of the "Traumerei."

Bewildered, amazed, Rodney listened; hardly
realising at first that it meant that she was there,
so close to him.

Each note seemed to carry its message, vibrant,
with memories of the past; appealing, with pos-
sibilities of the present; trembling, with hope of
the future.

First came the simple gladness of unquestioned
possession, in which two hearts moimt high upon
the wings of mutual love and trust.

Then, the same theme changed to a minor key,
and wailed forth the sadness of disappointment
and disillusion.

But, by and by, it passed again into the major,
and rose triumphant; love and trust overcoming
all pain of separation and of doubt.

410 The Wall of Partition

Finally — ^in the calm of exceeding rest — came
the three closing notes; and these notes sent
one insistent message through the wall, to the
straining ears of the lonely listener:

"Are — ^you — ^there?'*

CHAPTER XXXVIII

"are you there?"

DODNEY STEELE rose to his feet, walked
* ^ through the hall to the telephone, rang up,
and asked for Lady Hilary's number.

Listening, breathless in the silence, he heard
her take up the receiver.

"Madge," he whispered. "Madge! Are you
there?"

"Yes, Rodney. I am here.'

" Madge ! I can't live without you !

"Oh, Roddie, have you fotmd that out?

"Found it out? I should think I have! I
want you more than any man ever wanted any
woman before."

"Roddie, I really can't quite bear hearing
this through the telephone. Come to me, darling;
come your own self and find me here."

"Can you really give me another chance,

Madge? Isn't it too late? I have been such a

blind, senseless brute."

411

412 The Wall of Partition

"Of course it is not too late, dear. Does love
ever say 'too late'? Come round and see."

"Madge, I can't live without you!"

"Roddie, I absolutely refuse to hear that again
through the telephone. Oh, you foolish old boy !
Don't keep us both waiting."

"Madge, I "

"Roddie, I am going to ring oflE!"

Rodney hung up the receiver.

He walked slowly down the stairs, as in a
bewildered dream of wonderment.

"Prepare to meet "

He was prepared; and yet he felt imready to
meet such love — such bliss.

The door of Lady Hilary's flat stood open.

Rodney passed in, closing it behind him.

The drawing-room door had also been put
ajar.

He entered, shut the door, and stood for a
moment behind the screen.

Suddenly it became almost impossibly hard to
him to walk the full length of that room, to where
Madge would sit waiting for him in her chair
beside the fire, as once before she had done, when
he so cruelly failed and disappointed her.

He felt ashamed. He felt horribly unworthy.

Miles of carpet seemed to lie between himself

*'Are You There?" 413

and Lady Hilary. How could he cross it, with
her calm, steadfast eyes upon him?

Would he ever reach her?

And when he reached her, what could he say?

But the woman who loved Rodney, and who
knew him so well, had risen, and moved swiftly
down the room, when she heard him close the
door.

As, stepping from behind the screen, he passed
into the soft, golden light, her arms were round
him. Her love had leapt the Great Divide,
There was no need for words.

CHAPTER XXXIX

ON THE SAME SIDE OF THE WALL

AN hour later, Madge said :
"My darling, you must go! I can't keep
you here until midnight. But I will wait in this
room until the clock strikes; and you can ring
me up, and wish me a happy Christmas, on our
dear telephone."

"Oh, bother the telephone!" said Rodney.
"And bother, still more, the wall! I say, Madge?
Can't we get an extra special license, and be
married to-morrow? "

"Certainly not! Only costermongers and their
girls get married on Christmas Day. You would
have to come in 'pearlies.' "

"I'd joyfully wear pearlies, or anything else,
to get my girl."

"A little waiting wiU not hurt you, Roddie.

It shall not be very long. Perhaps — on New

Year's Eve. Would you like to begin the New

Year together?"

414

On the Same Side of the Wall 415

"Would I like! Promise, Madge."

"Yes, dear. I promise."

"We will be married at Marylebone Church,"
aimoimced Rodney. ' ' The Jakes can be witnesses,
I suppose we mustn't ask poor old Billy. The
Bishop can give you away."

"The Bishop ! What bishop? "

"There is but one Bishop. Mrs. Bellamy wiU
be his proxy. She will tell us, so exactly, all that
he would have thought, and said, and done, that
we shall feel as if he has really done it."

Madge smiled.

"I believe that dear loving old heart helped
you, Rodney."

"Of course she did," said Rodney, "Widows
are most helpful people. They all helped me.
Even my frayed widow did her share. She had
such a wonderful way of saying ' house and home.' "

"I wonder whether you will like my little home
at Haslemere."

"Where you grow the lilies for the button-
holes? Of course I shall. But I shall check the
inventory, and reduce it to one buttonhole."

" Don't be silly, darling. I haven't the faintest
notion where that man got his lilies. It was a
pure coincidence that I happened to be wearing
mine that night."

4i6 The Wall of Partition

" Then he wasn't on the buttonhole inventory? "

"Rodney, shall we go down to Haslemere on
our wedding-day? "

"No," he said. "Unless you specially wish
it. I should like to see the Old Year out, and
the New Year in, here — on whichever side of the
wall you like; but here — ^where we have each
been so lonely; here — ^with no wall between."

Tender amusement was in her eyes.

"Very well, my Pyramus!

' Thus have /, Wall, my part discharged so;
And being done, (he wall away doth go.*

And then?"

"Then to Haslemere, Madge; or anywhere you
wiU."

"I shotdd love a week at Haslemere. But
after that, Roddie, I should like you to take me to
Egypt. Since reading The Desert Sentinel, I have
longed to know Egjrpt, as you know it."

Rodney glowed with pleasure.

Then a sudden thought sobered him.

"How about BiUy?" he said.

"Billy is at Overdene. I heard from him this
morning. His special chum, Ronald Ingram, is
there also. There seems to be some idea of their

On the Same Side of the Wall 417

going off abroad, together. Of course, if he likes,
Billy can join us later. But not at first, Roddie,
Not just yet."

She sent him away at last.
It was not easy.

CHAPTER XL

THE CHANT OF THE PURPLE HTTJiS

DODNEY waited, in the hall of Billy's flat, for
^ ^ the call of the telephone. Madge was to
ring him up, for a final good-night.

He heard the midnight chimes. A sense of
the Herald Angels was in the air. It was Christ-
mas Day.

He was so happy, that he could scarcely face
his happiness, sum it up, or comprehend it.

The old chant of Bethlehem's purple hills
seemed to voice it best: "Glory to God in the
highest, and on earth peace, good-will toward
men!"

Certainly there was glory in his soul, deep peace
in his heart, and a sense of good-will toward all.

He was glad the beat of the kettle-drums had

been silenced, before this great anthem of praise

began.

It would have been easy to forgive that poor

418

The Chant of the Purple Hills 4^9

soul, now; for the joy of which she had robbed
him, was not a joy such as this.

But he had reached the point of forgiving her,
while still uncertain as to what the future held.

He was glad of this. It added to the harmony
of his soul's orchestra, now that, at the bidding
of the maestro, it was rendering the Bethlehem
theme of glory, peace, and good-will.

The telephone-bell rang.

Rodney took up the receiver.

"Hullo?"

"Is this 494 Mayfair?"

It was the ICind Voice !

"Yes," said Rodney.

"Can I speak to the Matron, or Dr. Brown?"

Rodney grinned, delightedly.

"I am afraid you can't," he said. "The
Matron and Dr. Brown are going to get married
to-day — Christmas Day, you know — and Dr.
Brown is out just now, ordering his pearlies."

"Dear me, how interesting!" said the Kind
Voice.

Then he heard Madge laugh.

"Oh, Roddie! Are they as happy as we are?"

" Dr. Brown is not, " said Rodney, emphatically.
** I can't answer for the Matron."

420 The Wall of Partition

" Let's go to the wedding."

** I decline to attend any weddings, until I come
to yours."

"Darling, don't be so peremptory! Of course
you shall come to mine. I will send you an
invitation, and a buttonhole of lilies of the
valley."

"Madge?"

"Yes?"

"I have something to say to you which can't
be said over the telephone. May I come roimd
again, for one minute?"

"No, you may not. You have already said
so much over the telephone; I think it can stand
the strain of one thing more. What is it?"

"I wish you a happy Christmas."

"Is that all?"

"No, there's lots more."

"I understand. Come to breakfast in the
morning. I will give you my Christmas greeting
then."

" Madge? This time next week, we shall have
done with the wall of partition; and done with
the telephone. I shall say all I want to say,
then! Shan't I?"

"Good.night,Roddie."

"Good-night, Madge."

The Chant of the Purple Hills 421

He heard her hang up the receiver.
He waited for one moment, listening in silence.
Then, with a smile of complete content, Rodney
rang off.

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