a way in yorkshire, on a fell-side, a woman was sitting on a grey stone and looking at the landscape before her.
below her, some couple of hundred feet, ran a little brown stream, on the banks of which a man in tweed clothes was walking. he held a fishing-rod, and every now and then he paused to cast a fly upon the water with a light and dexterous hand.
the woman watched him idly. later he would join her by a clump of trees near the stream, and they would have luncheon together. the man’s name was luke preston, and he was her husband. they had been married exactly a fortnight previously, and were now spending part of their honeymoon in yorkshire.
the landscape, and particularly the sight of the distant figure by the stream, gave her a great sense of rest. in some ways luke was like the fells around her she thought—very big, very silent, and very enduring. it was the unwavering assurance of luke that had first attracted him to her. there was something so unswerving abouthis point of view. it was so direct. there were never more than two ways in his mind—the right and the wrong; never more than two colours—black and white. there were no little chance bypaths, and no shades of grey admissible. because of this some people found luke lacking in subtlety, but to the woman he had married it constituted a strength which she found very pleasant.
all her life she had been swayed by varying moods. actions seldom appeared to her in a light of her own opinion. they became black, white, or various shades of lighter or darker grey as they were presented to her by the minds of others. there was one episode only in her life in which she had resolutely adhered to her own determination. and that episode was one she wished to forget, or to remember only as a dream, and not as a time connected with her own waking self.
it had all happened a good many years ago, and some people have a curious faculty for disconnecting themselves mentally from their own past actions. sybil preston was one of these. during the years that had elapsed since the episode she had had one thing only to remind her of it—a quaint signet ring, with which she had never had the courage to part.
on the way up to yorkshire, the very day of her wedding, she had lost it. she fancied it must have slipped from her finger as she had waved [pg 252]to a small girl swinging on a gate. but she had not discovered her loss till the evening when they had stopped for the night at an hotel. in a sense she regretted the loss, yet on the other hand she could not help feeling it a relief. she regarded it in a way as a kind of omen—a sign that the past was banished forever, especially as the loss had occurred on the very day she had entered her new life.
the episode was known only to herself and to one other living person—a woman friend of hers. she had no smallest fear but that cecily mainwaring had kept silence regarding it—would always keep silence. she was a woman with extraordinary strength of character and great reserve. she had always been a staunch friend of sybil’s. sybil herself had sometimes marvelled that in this matter she had been able to stand firm against cecily’s opinion; in fact, to persuade her to her own point of view regarding it. though, to be strictly truthful, cecily had never adopted sybil’s point of view, she had acted contrary to her own judgment, and purely from her unswerving friendship to sybil. they had never again referred to the matter. sybil had seen considerably less of cecily after it. she had never felt entirely comfortable in her presence. cecily’s eyes were too terribly truthful. they were not unlike luke’s eyes.
sybil, sitting up on the moorland, heaved an enormous sigh of relief at the thought that he could never have the smallest suspicion of that episode. she knew that deceit of any kind was the one thing luke could never forgive. she knew, however, that she was perfectly safe. she would soon be safe herself from all memory of it. to-morrow they were returning to london, and a month hence they were sailing for india. luke was in the indian civil service, and would be returning after a year’s leave. for some years at least they would be out of england, and there would be no chance of meeting cecily, who just served to remind her of things she now wanted to forget entirely.
and then she saw her husband winding in his line and waving to her. she got up and went down the side of the fell towards him.
“been lonely, little girl?” he asked, putting his arm round her. “i’ve got five beauties. we’ll have them for supper to-night. now come along and have some lunch. i’m simply ravenous.”
“so am i,” laughed sybil. “what a glorious place it is, and how delicious the air is, and how utterly happy i am.”
“darling,” he said, and bent to kiss her.
they walked towards the clump of trees where luke had left a knapsack containing various eatables. they were simple enough—a couple of [pg 254]packets of sandwiches, a couple of pieces of cake, and a flask of claret. he was not the man to burden himself with unnecessary food.
sybil sat down on the grass, leaning back against a tree-trunk.
“i wish we could stay on here,” she said. “it would be infinitely pleasanter than going back to town.”
“infinitely,” said luke, taking a great bite of chicken sandwich.
“then why not write and tell your people that we can’t come, and that we’re staying on here.”
luke laughed. “because, darling, there is no earthly reason beyond our own inclination to prevent us going back to london. and i promised my parents that we would come to them during the last part of july. they go down to henley in august, and their cottage is too small to take us in there.”
sybil pouted. “can’t you get out of it, though?” she said. “i could sprain my ankle, or break my leg, or something, and be unable to travel.”
luke frowned. “i don’t like to hear you say that, sybil. of course you don’t mean it, but that you should even suggest in fun that you could make an untrue statement——”
sybil interrupted him quickly. “of course i didn’t mean it, luke darling. it was only rather a stupid bit of nonsense. i wouldn’t break our promise for worlds, and you know i love your people. it was just the thought of this heavenly place that tempted me. besides, i have you to myself up here. i’m not sharing you with anyone.“
the last two sentences were the outcome of genuine affection on sybil’s part. she was honestly devoted to her big husband. and though at times she would have preferred him to be a little less literal, his strength and assurance of purpose, as already mentioned, appealed to her enormously.
her last two sentences, in fact her whole speech, pleased luke. he patted her hand and looked at her with tender eyes. he loved her from the very bottom of his extremely truthful heart. he had placed her carefully on a little pedestal of his own building, and her first remark had distressed him, as it had caused her to sway a trifle unsteadily on the same pedestal.
as soon as they had finished lunch he returned to his fishing, and she strolled across some fields to a little pond in a bit of heathery moorland, where she found some sundew and a bog violet.
it was nearly seven o’clock before they went back to the little white cottage in the small village. they found that the evening post had come in, and with it a couple of letters and a london paper.
“wonder why this has been sent?” asked luke, opening it. “we’ve been eschewing london [pg 256]papers since we’ve been up here. the ‘yorkshire post’ is quite good enough on a holiday.” he turned the pages. “oh, it’s talbot’s wedding”—talbot had been his best man. “ah, well, that kind of rigmarole will interest you far more than me. i’ve no use for other people’s weddings. i’m quite satisfied with my own. eh! little girl?”
sybil laughed, returned his kiss, and went upstairs to take off her hat.
later in the evening she took up the paper, and because she had nothing else to read she studied the pages rather carefully. suddenly an advertisement caught her eye. she read it slowly, then put down the paper. it told her that her ring had been found, and that she could get it by applying at a certain address.
for a moment she decided that she would take no notice of the advertisement. then it occurred to her that there might be the smallest element of risk in leaving the ring in other hands. it was certainly unique, and once seen not likely to be forgotten. no doubt other people had seen and observed it long before it had come into her hands—people who had known its previous owner.
they were going back to london to-morrow. if luke saw the advertisement he would at once recognize it as a description of the ring she had worn. she had told him that cecily had given it to her. he had mentioned it once to cecily as her gift to sybil. sybil remembered the tiny trace of scorn in cecily’s eyes at the lie, though she had not contradicted the statement.
if luke saw the advertisement he would promptly go and fetch the ring for her, and then there was no knowing whether he would not learn something of its previous history. she knew it was ridiculous to imagine such a thing, and yet she felt that she dared run no tiniest risk.
whoever had found the ring was advertising the fact assiduously, for the loss was now a fortnight old. they might continue to advertise. the moment she got back to london she would go to the address given by mr. kirby and claim the ring. and perhaps on the way out to india she would drop it overboard. she wanted to forget. whatever sybil’s faults and weaknesses she was genuinely in love with luke.
she crumpled the paper in her hand, managing to tear the advertisement. she would run no risk.
luke looked up with a big yawn.
“read the account of the wedding?” he asked. “they were going to biarritz, weren’t they?”
“yes,” said sybil.
“ah, well, i want all i can get out of old england. i don’t have too much of her. and now, little girl, how about bed?” he heaved himself out of his chair.
“by the way,” he said suddenly, “did you read [pg 258]the account of the exhibition of pictures at the grafton galleries? i see there’s a portrait exhibited there by a fellow named john kirby.”
sybil thought of the advertisement and her heart stood suddenly still, then began to race furiously, though she had no real notion why it was doing so.
“do you know the man?” she asked carelessly.
“we were at school together,” said luke. “i’ve seen him occasionally since then. he took up painting. i haven’t looked him up this time or let him know i was in england—don’t know why. if i’ve time i might look him up before i leave.”
the simple statement troubled sybil. she felt that she must get the ring from mr. kirby before her husband should see him. she had no reason for feeling this, but the idea was strong upon her, though she told herself it was entirely absurd.
“you’re looking tired, little girl,” said luke solicitously. “hope you didn’t overwalk to-day?”
“oh, no,” she said lightly. “i’m sleepy, that’s all. i’ll go up now and leave you to have your last pipe in the garden.”
she left the room and luke strolled into the garden, where he smoked under the quiet stars, and sniffed the night air, and watched the light in sybil’s room with a feeling of great content. the world, in his opinion, was an extraordinarily pleasant place.
