oh, it was a funny world, fast enough, john knew that. he’d known it in fits and starts all his life, but somehow the last ten days had emphasized the fact more fully.
ten days! to john it seemed a lifetime since he, in company with corin, had stepped upon whortley platform, had taken his seat in the rickety bus that had conveyed him at its own shaky pace to the white cottage. a lifetime! and yet reason, that firm indicator of common-sense, emphasized to the contrary. anyhow, a lifetime or ten days, the time had been long enough for him to know his mind. he had known it for weeks past. but for her? there was the question. and it was one which common-sense, modesty, and every other thought but his own wish, answered firmly in the negative. he had seen her precisely seven times, and two out of the number obviously [pg 200]went for nothing, seeing that the first time she had been totally unaware of his presence, and the third time, if she had seen him, it would have been merely as one of a small congregation of worshippers, his individuality entirely unnoticed.
therefore, argued john, if what he so ardently desired was, by any possible manner of means, to be brought about by an increased number of meetings, the sooner he set about increasing them the better. obviously the proper, the correct thing to do, after lunching at a house, was to pay a respectful call upon one’s hostess. he had no need to consult an etiquette book to remind himself of that fact.
true, he had lunched on thursday, and this was only saturday, therefore the call might be considered somewhat precipitate. but, argued john, endeavouring to find some plausible excuse for the precipitancy of the call, with the practical certainty in view of meeting the family in the cloisters after mass the following day, the most desirable course, the only correct and proper course, was to call that very afternoon.
no sooner thought than decided on. john left the white cottage, betaking himself in the direction[pg 201] of the church, from which he intended to drag a possibly reluctant corin, and insist on his mounting the hill in his company.
but his intentions and his insistence came to nought.
a dusty, untidy, and wholly absorbed corin utterly refused to accompany him. objection number one, it was too soon to pay a call; objection number two, it was saturday afternoon, the one afternoon in the week on which he enjoyed solitude; objection number three, would john kindly look at the discovery he had just made, and then see if he—corin—was likely to leave it for the purpose of paying a merely conventional visit.
john looked. corin was, at the moment, on terra firma, be it stated.
on either side of where the altar would have stood, had there been one, and some five feet or so from the ground, the wall was partially uncovered. a border in brilliant blue, red, black, and yellow was disclosed,—a bold, simple pattern. below it, in the upper loops of a painted curtain, were animals,—dragons, twisted of tail, forked of tongue; a leveret, a deer, and a fox, each of these last courant, to use the parlance of heraldry. for [pg 202]the most part the animals were washed in boldly in red; two of the dragons were a gorgeous yellow.
“i am certain,” said corin enthusiastically, “that they are after geraldius cambrensis. it’s the best find of the lot. i’m not coming with you. nothing, no power on earth, can drag me from this till dark. if you must go today, make my excuses.”
therefore john departed.
the excuse was valid. it also gave a raison d’être for his somewhat precipitate call. miss delancey was interested in the discoveries in the church. it would be merely friendly to let her know of this new discovery as soon as possible. therefore, i say, john departed. of course he grumbled a moment or so before departing. equally of course the grumbling was of a merely perfunctory nature.
and then he turned into the sunshine.
his heart beat high as he walked up the hill. of course he was doing the right and obvious thing. it would be absurd to wait till next week to pay the visit. the day after tomorrow! how could such a delay be contemplated? it would have been impossible, unthinkable.
[pg 203]
the eighth meeting! and surely there must follow the ninth and the tenth, and heaven alone knew how many more. and which, which, which would be the meeting? of course it was absolutely absurd to surmise on this point. it was impossible to fix the moment beforehand. to come, as john would have it to come, it must be almost inspirational, heaven-sent. it couldn’t be arranged, planned. it couldn’t be calculated over, preconceived. but—and here john’s spirits went down to zero with a sudden run—would it ever come? wasn’t he a presumptuous ass even to dream of such a moment as possible? or—granting the moment—to dream of its fruition? wouldn’t it be nipped in the bud instantly? frozen to a mere shrivelled atom of a miserable moment? john shivered at the thought. then consolation took him kindly by the hand. at all events here was the eighth meeting, with the moment not yet even in bud. who could tell as to that budding?
and so he turned into the avenue.
he passed under the oaks and copper beeches, the roadway now dappled with gold among shadows, as the sunlight penetrated the branches overhead. to the right, in the distance, were [pg 204]undulating stretches of moorland. he fancied he could descry the silver-stemmed birch he had seen on his first morning’s walk. before him he had a view of smooth green lawns, of brilliant flowerbeds, backgrounded by the old grey castle itself. to the left the parkland sloped gently upwards to a wood of beeches,—a serene, cool, silent place, a veritable haunt of dryads.
between the avenue and the wood was a great oak tree, stretching wide branches above the rough grass. rumour had it that here was the scene of that old-time tragedy. though unknowing of this rumour, john yet felt something almost sinister about the twisted, gnarled branches, and massive trunk of the great tree. there was a hint of secrecy about it, the dumb knowledge of some tragedy. almost involuntarily he turned across the grass towards it.
there was no question as to its great age. for generations it must have stood there, weathering storm and sunshine. some seven feet or so from the ground there was a hole in the trunk, large enough to admit of the passage of a man’s head. scanning the hole, john noticed a rusty nail at one side. he wondered, idly enough, why it had [pg 205]been placed there. from the hole, he glanced up at the branches. truly there was something almost sinister in the great limbs. they were distorted, twisted, as if in agony. again he had the unreasoning sensation of secrecy. it was an extraordinary sensation, an absurd sensation.
he could fancy the spirit of the tree striving to find expression in speech. there was a curious feeling that somewhere, just beyond, in the spirit world, perhaps, there was the key to some riddle. it was an almost impalpable feeling; he barely realized it; only somewhere, in his deepest inner consciousness, it stirred slightly.
below the tree was a small mound. rumour also had it that here gelert, the wolf-hound, faithful as his ancient namesake, was buried. again, john had had no hint of this rumour. but he looked at the mound with curiosity. then, suddenly, he threw off the slight oppression that was upon him, retraced his steps to the avenue.
arrived at the big door, john pulled the bell, a twisted iron thing whose voice sounded faintly in some remote region. the door was opened, and john saw into the hall, dark and shadowed. he had a glimpse of bowls of roses, of a big straw hat [pg 206]lying on a table, green chiffon around the crown. a pair of long crinkled gloves lay near it. so, for an instant, john stood, his foot ready to cross the threshold.
“her ladyship is not at home.” the butler’s bland voice fell like a douche of cold water on john’s heart.
now, i don’t know whether john’s face fell in proportion to his heart, and the butler, more human than the majority of butlers, saw the falling, or whether his next statement came in the mere ordinary routine of matters. anyhow,
“but miss delancey is at home, and her ladyship will return shortly,” followed closely on the former speech.
john’s heart leaped to at least ten degrees above the point from which it had fallen. the speech had not even come as a query regarding his desire to enter, it had come as simple statement of fact.
john stepped across the threshold.
