She was sorry for Lucian, but the path which he was
following
just then was by no means to her own taste, and she must leave him to tread it alone.
Fletcher - Lucian the Dreamer
Mr.
Chilverstone turned from Sprats to the somewhat sore question of the tragedy.
It was to him a sad sign of the times that the public had
respecting
neglected such truly good
work, and he went on to
express his own opinion of the taste of the age. Lucian
listened absent-mindedly until Mrs. Chilverstone
returned with news of the sick man. She was much troubled; the specialist gave little hope of Simpson's
He might linger for some days, but it was almost certain that a week would see the end of him. But in spite of her trouble Aunt Judith was practical. Keziah, she said, must not be left alone that night, and she herself was going back to the farm as soon as she had seen that the vicar was properly provided for in respect of his sustenance and comfort. Ever since her marriage Mrs. Chilverstone had felt that her main object in Hfe was the pleasing of her lord; she had put away all thought of the dead hussar, and her romantic dis- position had bridled itself with the reins of chastened affection. Thus the vicar, who under Sprats 's regime had neither been pampered nor coddled, found himself indulged in many modes hitherto unknown to him, and he accepted all that was showered upon him with modest thankfulness. He thought his wife a kindly and con- siderate soul, and did not realise, being a truly simple man, that Judith was pouring out upon him the resources of a treasury which she had been stocking all her life. He was the first thing she had the chance of loving in a practical fashion; hence he began to live among rose-leaves. He protested now that Lucian and
recovery.
Chilverstone, how- ever, took the reins in hand, saw that the traveller was properly attended to and provided for, and did not leave
the vicarage until the two men were comfortably seated at the dinner-table, the maids admonished as to lighting a fire in Mr. Damerel's room, and the vicar warned of
himself wanted for nothing. Mrs.
200 LUCIAN THE DREAMER
the necessity of turning out the lamps and locking the doors. Then she returned to her brother's house, and for an hour or two Lucian and his old tutor talked of things nearest to their hearts, and the feehngs of home came upon the younger man more strongly than ever. He began to wonder how it was that he had settled down in London when he might have lived in the country; the atmosphere of this quiet, book-lined room in a village parsonage was, he thought just then, much more to his true taste than that in which he had spent the last few years of his life. At Oxford Lucian had lived the life of a book-worm and a dreamer: he was not a success in examinations, and he brought no great honour upon his tutor. In most respects he had lived apart from other men, and it was not until the publication of his first volume had drawn the eyes of the world upon him that he had been swept out of the peaceful backwater of a student's existence into the swirling tides of the full river of Hfe. Then had followed Lord Simonstower's legacy, and then the runaway marriage with Haidee, and then four years of butterfly existence. He began to wonder, as he ate the vicar's well-kept mutton, fed on the moor- lands close by, and sipped the vicar's old claret, laid down many a year before, whether his recent hfe had not been a feverish dream. Looked at from this peace- ful retreat, its constant excitement and perpetual rush and movement seemed to have lost whatever charm they once had for him. Unconsciously Lucian was suffering from reaction: his moral as well as his physical nature was crying for rest, and the first oasis in the desert assumed the delightful colours and soft air of Paradise.
Later in the evening he walked over to the farmhouse, through softly falling snow, to inquire after his uncle's condition. Mrs. Chilverstone was in the sick man's room and did not come downstairs; Miss Pepperdine received him in the parlour. In spite of the trouble that had fallen upon the house and of the busy day which
she had spent, Keziah was robed in state for the evening, and she sat bolt upright in her chair plying her knitting-
LUCIAN THE DREAMER
201
needles as vigorously as in the old days which Lucian remembered so well. He sat down and glanced at Simpson Pepperdine's chair, and wished the familiar figure were occupying it, and he talked to his aunt of her brother's illness, and the cloud which hung over the house weighed heavily upon both.
' I am glad you came down, Lucian,' said Miss Pepperdine, after a time. ' I have been wanting to talk
to you. ' '
' Yes,' he said.
Keziah's needles cUcked with unusual vigour for a
moment or two. '
' Simpson,' she said at last, was always a sott-
hearted man. If he had been harder of heart, he would
have been better off. ' remark, stared at Lucian, puzzled by this ambiguous indicative of his
with pointed
know at present, Lucian. When all is said and done,
you are the nearest of kin in the male line, and after
hearing the doctors to-night I'm prepared for Simpson's death at any moment. It's a very bad attack of apo- plexy—if he lived he'd be a poor invalid all his life. Better that he should be taken while in the full posses-
sion of his faculties. ' before him with
Lucian gazed at the upright figure
mingled feelings. Miss Pepperdine used to sit like
and knit like that, and talk like that, in the old days— especially when she felt it to be her duty to reprimand him for some offence. So far as he could tell, she was . wearing the same stiff and crackly silk gown, she held her elbows close to her side and in just the same fashion,
she spoke with the same precision as in the time of Lucian's youth. The sight of her prim figure, the sound of her precise voice, blotted out half a score of years : Lucian felt very young again.
What about? '
Miss Pepperdine in a fashion 3. nnazement .
' I think,' continued Miss Pepperdine,
emphasis, ' I think it is time you knew more than you
that,
202
LUCIAN THE DREAMER
* It may not be so bad as you think,' he said. ' Even the best doctors may err. '
Miss Pepperdine shook her head.
' No,' she said, ' it's all over with Simpson. And
I think you ought to know, Lucian, how things are with him. Simpson has been a close man, he has kept things to himself all his life; and of late he has been obliged to confide in me, and I know a great deal that I did not
know. ' Lucian,
' Yes? ' said
continued, ' has not done well in business for some time. He had a heavy loss some
years ago through a rascally lawyer whom he trusted he always was one of those easy-going men that will trust anybody—and although the old Lord Simonstower helped him out of the difficulty, it ultimately fell on his own shoulders, and of late he has had hard work to keep
things going. Simpson will die a poor man. Not that that matters—Judith and myself are provided for. I shall leave here, afterwards. Judith, of course, is married. But as regards you, Lucian, you lent Simpson some money a few months ago, didn't you? '
' Simpson,' she
' My dear aunt ! ' exclaimed Lucian, ' I '
' I know all about it,' she said, ' though it's only recently that I have known. Well, you mustn't be sur- prised if you have to lose it, Lucian. When all is settled up, I don't think there will be much, if anything, over; and of course everybody must be paid before a member of the family. The Pepperdines have always had their pride, and as your mother was a Pepperdine, Lucian, you must have a share of it in you. '
' I have my father's pride as well,' answered Lucian. ' Of course I shall not expect the money. I was glad to be able to lend it. '
' Well,' said Miss Pepperdine, with the air of one who
deals out justice impartially,
Simpson back for what he had laid out on you.
gaying on Lucian, when [e spent a good deal of money you,
you were a boy. '
' in one way you were only
LUCIAN THE DREAMER 203
Lucian heard this news with astonished feelings.
' I did not know that,' he said. ' Perhaps I am care- less about these things, but I have always thought that my father left money for me. '
' I thought so too, until recently,' replied Miss Pepper- dine. ' Your father thought that he did, too, and he made Simpson executor and trustee. But the money
in
Lucian listened in silence.
Then,' he said, after time, my uncle was respon-
sible for everything for me? suppose he paid Mr. Chilverstone, and bought my clothes, and gave me
was badly invested. It was in a building society Rome, and it was all lost. There was never a penny piece from from the time of your father's death to this. '
pocket-money, and so on? ' Every penny,' repUed
his aunt. Simpson was And my three years at Oxford? ' he said inquiringly.
always generous man. '
'Ah! ' replied Miss Pepperdine,
matter. Well— don't suppose matters now that you should know, though Simpson wouldn't have told you, but think you ought to know. That was Lord Simons-
tower —the old lord. Lucian uttered
step or two about the room. Miss Pepperdine continued to knit with undiminished vigour. So would seem,' he said presently, that lived
and was educated on charity? ' it,' answered, That how most people would put she
though, to do them justice, don't think either Lord Simonstower or Simpson Pepperdine would have called
that. They thought you promising youth and they
his chair and took
He paid every penny. *
sharp exclamation. He rose from
want you to feel that little of his own in the know he would have paid back to the day, according to his promise, he'd been able. But I'm afraid that he would not have been
put money into you. That's why Simpson was only getting back money that you lent him, though
'that's another
it it
'
''I'''
if
I
a IaI
I
a I
it is
a
*
I aa
it
'
*
it,
204
LUCIAN THE DREAMER
able, and I think his money affairs have worked upon
him/
' I wish I had known/ said Lucian. ' He should have
had no anxiety on my account/
He continued to pace the floor; Miss Pepperdine's
needles clicked an accompaniment to his advancing and retreating steps.
' I thought it best/ she observed presently, ' that you
should know all these
things — they will explain a good
deal/ answered, ' Yes/ he
it is best. I should know. But I wish I had known long ago. After all, a man should
'
not be placed in a false position even by his dearest friends. I ought to have been told the truth. '
Miss Pepperdine's needles clicked viciously.
' So I always felt—after I knew, and that is but recently,' she answered. ' But, as I have said to you
before, Simpson Pepperdine is a soft-hearted man. '
' He has been a kind-hearted man,' said Lucian. He was thinking, as he walked about the room, glancing at
the well-remembered objects, that the money which he had wasted in luxuries that he could well have done without would have reheved Mr. Pepperdine of anxiety
Miss Pepperdine melted. She had formed rather hard thoughts of Lucian since his marriage. The side-winds which blew upon her ears from time to time represented him as living in style which her old-fashioned mind
did not approve she had come to consider him as
and trouble. And yet he had never
guessed, that the kindly-hearted farmer had anything to distress him.
* I think we all seem to walk in darkness,' he said, thinking aloud. ' I never had the least notion of this. Had I known anything of Uncle Simpson should have had all that could give him. '
frivolous, and unbalanced. But she was woman of sound common sense and great shrewdness,
extravagant,
and she recognised the genuine ring in Luclan's voice
known, never
a
I :
a
it,
LUCIAN THE DREAMER 205
and the sincerity of his regret that he had not been able
to save Simpson Pepperdine some anxiety.
' I'm sure you would, my boy,' she said kindly.
' However, Simpson has done with everything now. I didn't tell Judith, because she frets so, but the doctors don't think he'll ever regain consciousness — will only be matter of few days, Lucian. '
And that only makes one wish that one had known
sooner,' he said. Five years ago could have helped him substantially. '
of his anxieties
He was thinking of the ten thousand pounds which
had already disappeared. follow his line of thought.
Miss Pepperdine did not
Yes, I've heard that you've made lot of money,' she said. You've been one of the lucky ones, Lucian, for always understood that poets generally Hved in garrets and were half-starved most of their time. I'm sure one used to read all that sort of thing in books; but perhaps t! mes have changed, and so much the better. Simpson always read your books as soon as you sent them. Upon my word, I'm sure he never understood what was all about, except perhaps some of the songs and ballads, but he liked the long words, and he was very proud of these little green books — they're all in
Well,
he bit on the wrong side of the ledger, must be made up by the family, and you must do your share. mustn't be said that Pepperdine died owing money
that he couldn't pay. I've already talked over with Judith, and there money to be found, she and and you must find between us. If need be, all mine can go,' she added sharply. can get place as housekeeper even at my age. '
Lucian gave her his promise readily enough, and
his bureau there, along with his account-books.
as was saying, understand you've made money, Lucian. Take care of it, my boy, for you never know when you may want it, and want badly, in this world. There's one thing want you to promise me. don't yet know how things will be when Simpson's gone, but
it
I
It
if
if
I
a
is
a
is a
II**a it
I'
a aII
it
I
-it
it
it
'
a
'
2o6 LUCIAN THE DREAMER
immediately began to wonder what it might imply. But he agreed with her reasoning, and assured himself that, if necessary, he would live on a crust in order to carry out her wishes. And soon afterwards he set out for the vicarage, promising to return for news of Mr. Pepper- dine's condition at an early hour in the morning.
As he walked back over the snow Lucian was full of thought. The conversation with Miss Pepperdine had opened a new world to him. He had always believed himself independent: it now turned out that for years and years he had lived at other men's charges. He owed his very food to the charity of a relative; another man, upon whom he had no claim, had lavished generosity upon him in no unstinted fashion. He was full of honest
to these men, but he wished at the same time that he had known of their HberaHty sooner. He felt that he had been placed in a false position, and the feeling lowered him in his own estimation. He thought of his father, who earned money easily and spent it freely, and reaUsed that he had inherited his happy-go-lucky
gratitude
Yet he had never doubted that his father had made provision for him, for he remembered hearing
temperament.
him tell some artist friends one afternoon in Florence that
benefit, and Cyprian Damerel had been a man of common sense, fond of pleasure and good living and generous though he was,
he had laid money aside for Lucian's
But Lucian well understood the story of the Roman
building society—greater folk than he, from the Holy Father downwards, had lost money out of that feverish
desire to build which has characterised the Romans of all ages. No doubt his father had been carried away by some wave of enthusiasm, and had put all his eggs into one basket, and they had all been broken together. Still, Lucian wished that Mr. Pepperdine had told him all this on his reaching an age of understanding—it would have made a difference in many ways. ' I seem,' he thought, as he plodded on through the snow, ' I seem to have lived in an unreal world, and to have supposed things which were not ! ' And he began to recall the days
LUCIAN THE DREAMER 20/
of sure and confident youth, when his name was being extolled as that of a newly risen star in the literary firma- ment, and his own heart was singing with the joy of pride and strength and full assurance. He had never
induced in him an unassuming modesty, at which many people who witnessed his triumphs and saw him lionised had wondered. Now, however, he had tasted the bitter-
ness of reverse; he had found that Fortune can frown as easily as she can smile, and that it is hard to know upon what principle her smiles and frowns are portioned out. To a certain point, life for Lucian had been a perpetual dancing along the primrose way—it was now developing into a tangle wherein were thorns and briars.
He was too full of these thoughts to care for conversa- tion, even with his old tutor, and he pleaded fatigue and went to bed. He lay awake for the greater part of the night, thinking over his talk with Miss Pepperdine, and
felt one doubt of the splendour of his
accepted it as anything but his just due. His very certainty on these matters had, all unknown to himself,
career, never
to arrange his affairs so that he might make good his promise to her, and when he slept, his sleep was troubled by uneasy dreams. He woke rather late in the morning with a feeling of impending calamity hanging heavily upon him. As he dressed, Mr. Chilverstone came tapping at his door—something in the sound warned Lucian of bad news. He was not surprised when the vicar told him that Simpson Pepperdine had died during the night.
He walked over to the farm as soon as he had break- fasted, and remained there until noon. Coming back, he overtook the village postman, who informed him that the letters were three hours late that morning in conse- quence of the heavy fall of snow, which had choked up the roads between Simonstower and Oakborough.
* It'll be late afternoon afore I've finished my rounds,' he added, with a strong note of self-pity. ' If you're going up to the vicarage, sir, it 'ud save me a step if
endeavouring
2o8 LUCIAN THE DREAMER
you took the vicar's letters — and there's one, I believe,
for yourself. '
Lucian took the bundle of letters which the man held
out to him, and turned it over until he found his own.
He wondered why Haidee had written to him—she had
no great liking for correspondence, and he had not
to hear from her during his absence. He opened the letter in the vicar's study, without the least expectation of finding any particular news in it.
It was a very short letter, and, considering the char- acter of the intimation it was intended to make, the
expected
and outspoken. Lucian 's wife merely announced that his plans for the future were not agreeable to her, and that she was leaving home with the intention of joining Eustace Darlington in Paris. She further added that it was useless to keep she had already been un-
phrasing
was commendably plain
up pretences any longer;
faithful, and she would be glad if Lucian would arrange
to divorce her as quickly as possible, so that she and
Either as an afterthought, or out of sheer good will, she concluded with a lightly worded expression of friendship and of hope that Lucian
might have better luck next time.
It is more than probable that Haidee was never quite
so much her true self in her relation to Lucian as when writing this letter. It is permitted to every woman, whatever her mental and moral quality, to have her ten minutes of unreasoning romance at some period of her life, and Haidee had hers when she and Lucian fell in love with each other's beauty and ran away to hide themselves from the world while they played out their little comedy. It was natural that they should tire of each other within the usual time; but the man's sense of duty was developed in Lucian in a somewhat excep- tional way, and he was inclined to settle down to a Darby and Joan life. Haidee had little of that particular instinct. She was all for pleasure and the glory of this world, and there is small wonder that the prospect of
exile in a land for which she had no great liking should
Darlington might marry.
LUCIAN THE DREAMER
209
have driven her to the salvation of her diamonds and herself by recourse to the man whom she ought to have married instead of Lucian. There was already a guilty bond between them; it seemed natural to Haidee to look to it as a means of drawing her away from the dangers which threatened her worldly comfort. It was equally natural to her to announce all these things to Lucian in pretty much the same terms that she would have em- ployed had she been declining an invitation to some social engagement.
Lucian read the letter three times. He gave no sign of whatever emotion it called up. All that he did was to announce in quiet, matter-of-fact tones that he must return to London that afternoon, and to beg the loan of the vicar's horse and trap as far as Wellsby station. After that he lunched with Mr. and Mrs. Chilverstone, and if they thought him unusually quiet, there was good reason for that in the fact that Simpson Pepperdine was lying dead in the old farmhouse behind the pine groves.
CHAPTER XXV
Haidee, waiting for Darlington in Paris, spent the time in a state of perfect peace, amused herself easily and
and at the same time kept clear of such of her acquaintance as she knew to be in the French capital at that moment. On the morrow Darlington would return, and after that everything would be simple. She had arranged it all in her own mind as she travelled from London, and she believed —having a confident and sanguine disposition—that the way in which the affair presented itself to her was the only way in which it could possibily present itself to any one. It had been a mis- take to marry Lucian. Well, it wasn't too late to rectify the mistake, and one was wise, of course, in rectifying it. If you find out that you are on the wrong road —why, what more politic and advisable than to take the shortest cut to the right one?
She was sorry for Lucian, but the path which he was following just then was by no means to her own taste, and she must leave him to tread it alone. She was indeed sorry for him. He had been an ardent and a delightful lover—for a while—and it was a pity he was not a rich man. Perhaps they might be friends yet. She, at any rate, would bear no malice — why should she? She was fond enough of Lucian in one way, but she had no fondness for a quiet life in Florence or Pisa or anywhere else, and she had been brought up to believe that a woman must be good to the man who can best afford to be good to her, and she felt as near an approach to thankfulness as she had ever felt in her life when she remembered that Eustace Darlington still cherished a benevolent disposition towards her.
Darlington did not return to Paris until nearly noon of the following day. When he reached his hotel he was informed by his valet, whom he had left behind, that
Mrs. Damerel had arrived, and had asked for him. 2IO
successfully,
needed no definite answer.
in Haidee's hearing.
LUCIAN THE DREAMER
211
Darlington felt no surprise on hearing this news; nothing more serious than a shopping expedition occurred to him. He sent his man to Haidee's rooms with a message, and after changing his clothes went to call upon her himself. His manner showed her that he neither suspected nor anticipated anything out of the common, but his first question paved the way for her explanation. It was a
question that might have been put had they met in New York or Calcutta or anywhere, a question that
Frills, or frocks, or some- thing equally feminine, I suppose? ' he said ' carelessly,
as he shook hands with her. ' Staying long?
The indifference of his tone sounded somewhat harshly
' What brings you here?
It was evident that he suspected nothing and had no idea of the real reason of her
She suddenly became aware that there might be difficulties in the path that had seemed so easy.
presence.
' Lucian here? ' asked Darlington, with equal careless-
ness.
' No,' she said.
Then, in a lower tone, she added,
* I have left Lucian. '
Darlington turned quickly from the window, whither
he had strolled after their greeting. He uttered a sharp,
half -suppressed exclamation.
' Left him? ' he said. ' You don't mean
His interrogative glance completed the sentence.
There was something in his eyes, something stern and businesslike, that made Haidee afraid. Her own eyes
turned elsewhere.
' Yes,' she said.
Dariington put his hands in his pockets and came and stood in front of her. He looked down at her as if she had been a child out of whom he wished to extract some information.
* Quarrelling, eh? ' he said.
' No, not quarrelling at all,' she answered.
* Then— what? '
' He has spent all the money,' she said, ' and lots
'
212 LUCIAN THE DREAMER
beside, and he is going to sell everything in the house in order to pay you, and then he wanted me to go and live cheaply—cheaply, you understand? —in Italy; and —and he said I must sell my diamonds. '
* Did he? ' said Darlington. ' And he is going to sell everything in order to pay me, is he? Well, that's honest; I didn't think he'd the pluck. He's evidently not quite such an utter fool as I've always thought him. Well? '
fident voice. — low, satirical,
Darlington laughed a cynical laughter
' And, of course, I left him. '
' That " of course " is good. Of course, being you, you did, " of course. " Yes, I understand that part, Haidee. But ' —he looked around him with an expres- sive glance at her surroundings, ' why—here? ' he inquired sharply.
' I came to you,' she said in a low and not too con-
that frightened her. She glanced at him timidly; she had never known him like that before.
' I see! ' he said. ' You thought that I should prove a refuge for the fugitive wife? But I'm afraid that I am not disposed to welcome refugees of any description — it isn't my metier, you know. '
Haidee looked at him in astonishment. Her caught and held his: he saw the growing terror in her face.
' But ' she said, and came to a stop. Then she repeated the word, still staring at him with questioning eyes. Darlington tore himself away with a snarl.
' Look here! ' he said, * I'm not a sentimental man. If I ever had a scrap of sentiment, you knocked it out of me four years ago. I was fond of you then. I'd have made you a kind husband, my girl, and you'd have got on, fool as you are by nature. But you threw me
over for that half-mad boy, and it killed all the soft things I had inside me. I knew I should have my revenge on both of you, and I've had it. He's ruined; he hasn't a penny piece that isn't due to me; and as for you—listen,
eyes
LUCIAN THE DREAMER
213
my girl, and I'll tell you some plain truths. You're a pretty animal, nice to play with for half an hour now and then, but you're no man's mate for life, unless the man's morally blind. I once heard a scientific chap say that the soul's got to grow in hiunan beings. Well, yours hasn't sprouted yet, Haidee. You're a fool, though you are a very lovely woman. I suppose — ' —he came closer to her, and looking down at her astonished face smiled more cynically than ever — ' I suppose you thought that I would run away with you and eventually marry you ? '
' I—yes—of course ! ' ahe whispered.
' Well,' he said, ' if I, too, had been a fool, I might have done that. But I am not a fool, my dear Haidee. Perhaps I'm hard, brutal, cynical—the world and its precious denizens have made me so. I'm not going to run away with the woman who ran away with another man on the very eve of her marriage to me; and as to marrying you, well—I'm plain spoken enough to tell you that I made up my mind years ago that whatever other silliness I might commit, I would never commit the crowning folly of marrying a woman who had been my mistress. '
Haidee caught her breath with a sharp exclamation. If she had possessed any spirit she would have risen to her feet, said things, done things : having none, like most of her sort, she suddenly buried her face in her hands and sobbed.
' I dare say it doesn't sound nice,' said Darlington, 'but Lord knows it's best to be plain spoken. Now,
my girl, listen to me. Go home and make the best of your bargain. I'll let Lucian Damerel off easily, though to tell you the truth I've always had cheerful notions of ruining him hopelessly. If he wants to live cheaply in Italy, go with him—you married him. You have your maid here? —tell her to pack up and be ready to leave by the night train. I dare say Damerel thinks you have only run over here to buy a new gown; he never need know anything to the contrary. '
214
LUCIAN THE DREAMER
* B-b-b-but I have t-t-told him ! ' she sobbed. ' He
knows ! '
' Damn you for a fool ! ' said Darlington, between his
teeth. He put his hands in his pockets again and began rattling the loose money there. For a moment he stood staring at Haidee, his face puckered into frowning lines. He came up to her. ' How did you tell him? ' he said.
' You didn't— write it? '
' Yes,' she answered. ' I did — I wrote him a letter. '
Darlington sighed.
' Oh, well ! ' he said, ' it doesn't matter, only he'll be
able to get heavy damages, and I wanted to clear him out. It's the fortune of war. Well, I'm going. Good-
day. '
He had walked across to the door and laid his hand
upon the latch ere Haidee comprehended the meaning of his words. Then she sprang up with a scream.
' And what of me? ' she cried. ' Am Ito be left here? '
' You brought yourself here,' he retorted, eyeing her evilly. ' I did not ask you to come. '
She stared at him open-mouthed as if he were some strange thing that had come into her line of vision for the first time. Her breath began to come and go in gasps. She was an elementary woman, but at this treat- ment from the man she had known as her lover a natural
indignation sprang up words.
in her and she began to find
' But this ! ' she said, with a nearer approach to honesty than she had ever known, ' this is—desertion ! '
' I am under no vow to you,' he said.
' You have implied it. I trusted you. '
' As Lucian trusted you,' he sneered.
She became speechless again. Something in her looks
brought Darlington back from the door to her side.
' Look here, Haidee,' he said, not unkindly, ' don't be a little fool. Go home quickly and settle things with
your husband. Tell him you wrote that letter in a fit of temper; tell him—oh, tell him any of the lies that women
LUCIAN THE DREAMER 215
invent so easily on these occasions! It's absolutely hopeless to look to me for protection, absolutely impos- sible for me to give it '
He stopped. She was staring at him in a strange way
the way in which a dumb animal might stare if the butcher who was about to kill it condescended to try to explain to it why it was necessary that he should
cut its throat. Darlington hummed and ha'd when he caught that look. He cast a furtive glance at the door and half turned away from Haidee.
presently
' Yes, quite impossible,' he repeated. ' The fact is
well, you may as well knew it now as hear it later on— I am going to be married. '
She nodded her head as if she quite understood his
and he, looking full at her again, noticed that she was trying to moisten her lips with the tip of her
and that her eyes were dilated to an imusual
' You can't say that I've treated you badly,' he said. ' After all, you had the first chance, and it wasn't my
meaning,
tongue, degree.
There, now, be sensible and go back to London and make it up with Damerel. You can easily get round him—he'll believe anything you tell
him. Say you were upset at the thought of going to Italy with him, and lost your head. Things will come all right if you only manage your cards properly. Well, I'm going —good-day. '
He turned slowly from her as if he were somewhat ashamed of his desertion. They had been standing by the side of a table, littered about on v/hich were several odds and ends picked up by Haidee on the previous day. Amongst them was an antique stiletto, sharp as a needle, which had taken her fancy at a shop in the Palais Royal. She had thought of using it as a hat-pin, and was charmed when the dealer suggested that it had
fault if you threw it away.
tasted the heart' s-blood of more than one victim. Its glitter caught her eye now, and she picked it up and struck furiously at Darlington's back.
probably
At that moment Lucian was being conducted to his
2i6 LUCIAN THE DREAMER
wife's room by a courteous manager. At the threshold they paused, brought to a simultaneous standstill by a wild scream. When they entered the room, Darlington lay crumpled up and dead in the centre of the floor, and
Haidee, gazing spellbound at him from the furthest corner, was laughing—a long, low ripple of laughter that seemed as if it would never cease. The stiletto, thrown at her feet, flashed back a ray of sunlight from the window.
CHAPTER XXVI
That afternoon Saxonstowe arrived in town from York- shire with a grim determination in his heart to have it out once and for all with Sprats. He had tried to do his duty as a country squire and to interest himself in country life and matters: he had hunted the fox and shot pheasants, sat on the bench at petty and at quarter sessions, condoled with farmers on poor prices and with old women on bad legs, and he was still unsatisfied and restless and conscious of wanting something. The folk round about him came to the conclusion that he was not as other young men of his rank and wealth —he seemed inclined to bookishness, he was a bit shy and a little bit stand-ofhsh in manner, and he did not appear to have much inclination for the society of neighbours in his own station of hfe. Before he succeeded to the title Saxon- stowe had not been much known in the neighbourhood. He had sometimes visited his predecessor as a schoolboy, but the probability of his becoming the next Lord Saxon- stowe was at that time small, and no one had taken much notice of Master Richard Feversham. When he came back to the place as lord and master, what reputation he had was of a sort that scarcely appealed to the country people. He had travelled in some fearsome countries where no other man had ever set foot, and he haid written a great book about his adventures, and must therefore be a clever young man. But he was not a soldier, nor a sailor, and he did not particularly care for hunting or shooting, and was therefore somewhat of a hard nut to crack. The honest gentlemen who found fox-hunting the one thing worth living for could scarcely realise that even its undeniable excitements were somewhat tame to a man who had more than once taken part in a hunt in which he was the quarry, and they were disposed to 217
2i8 LUCIAN THE DREAMER
regard the new Viscount Saxonstowe as a bit of a prig, being unconscious that he was in reaUty a very simple-
minded, unaffected young man who was a httle bit embarrassed by his title and his wealth. As for their ladies, it was their decided opinion that a young peer of such ancient lineage and such great responsibilities should marry as soon as possible, and each beUeved that it was Lord Saxonstowe' s bounden duty to choose a wife from one of the old north-country famihes. In this Saxonstowe agreed with them. He desired a wife, and a wife from the north country, and he knew where to find her, and wanted her so much that it had long been evident to his sober judgment that, failing her, no other woman would ever call him husband. The more he was left alone, the more deeply he sank in the sea of love. And at last he felt that life was too short to be trifled with, and he went back to Sprats and asked her firmly
and insistently to marry him.
Sprats was neither hurt nor displeased nor surprised.
She listened silently to all he had to say, and she looked at him with her usual frankness when he had finished.
' I thought we were not to talk of these matters? ' she said. ' We were to be friends—was there not some sort
of compact? ' —
' If so, I have broken it,' he answered ' not
the
friendship —that, never! —but the compact. Besides, I don't remember anything about that. As to talking of this, well, I intend to go on asking you to marry me until you do. '
' You have not forgotten what I told you? ' she said, eyeing him with some curiosity.
* Not at all. I have thought a lot about it/ he
answered. ' I have not only thought,
but I have come
to a conclusion. ' '
' Yes? ' she said, still curious.
' That you are deceiving yourself,' he answered.
' You think you love Lucian Damerel. I do not doubt that you do, in a certain way, but not in the way in which I would wish you, for instance, to love me, and
What conclusion? '
LUCIAN THE DREAMER 219
in which I believe you could and would love me—if you
would let yourself. '
Sprats stared at him with growing curiosity and sur-
There was something masterful and lordly about his tone and speech that filled her heart with a great sense of contentment —it was the voice of the superior animal calling to the inferior, of the stronger to the weaker. And she was so strong that she had a great longing to be weak—always providing that something stronger than herself were shielding her weakness.
prise.
' Well? ' was all she could say. '
' You have always felt a sense of protection for him, continued Saxonstowe. ' It was in you from the first — you wanted something to take care of. But isn't there sometimes a feeling within you that you'd like to be taken care of yourself? '
' Who taught you all this? ' she asked, with puzzled
brows. ' You seem to have acquired some strange
knowledge of late.
respecting
neglected such truly good
work, and he went on to
express his own opinion of the taste of the age. Lucian
listened absent-mindedly until Mrs. Chilverstone
returned with news of the sick man. She was much troubled; the specialist gave little hope of Simpson's
He might linger for some days, but it was almost certain that a week would see the end of him. But in spite of her trouble Aunt Judith was practical. Keziah, she said, must not be left alone that night, and she herself was going back to the farm as soon as she had seen that the vicar was properly provided for in respect of his sustenance and comfort. Ever since her marriage Mrs. Chilverstone had felt that her main object in Hfe was the pleasing of her lord; she had put away all thought of the dead hussar, and her romantic dis- position had bridled itself with the reins of chastened affection. Thus the vicar, who under Sprats 's regime had neither been pampered nor coddled, found himself indulged in many modes hitherto unknown to him, and he accepted all that was showered upon him with modest thankfulness. He thought his wife a kindly and con- siderate soul, and did not realise, being a truly simple man, that Judith was pouring out upon him the resources of a treasury which she had been stocking all her life. He was the first thing she had the chance of loving in a practical fashion; hence he began to live among rose-leaves. He protested now that Lucian and
recovery.
Chilverstone, how- ever, took the reins in hand, saw that the traveller was properly attended to and provided for, and did not leave
the vicarage until the two men were comfortably seated at the dinner-table, the maids admonished as to lighting a fire in Mr. Damerel's room, and the vicar warned of
himself wanted for nothing. Mrs.
200 LUCIAN THE DREAMER
the necessity of turning out the lamps and locking the doors. Then she returned to her brother's house, and for an hour or two Lucian and his old tutor talked of things nearest to their hearts, and the feehngs of home came upon the younger man more strongly than ever. He began to wonder how it was that he had settled down in London when he might have lived in the country; the atmosphere of this quiet, book-lined room in a village parsonage was, he thought just then, much more to his true taste than that in which he had spent the last few years of his life. At Oxford Lucian had lived the life of a book-worm and a dreamer: he was not a success in examinations, and he brought no great honour upon his tutor. In most respects he had lived apart from other men, and it was not until the publication of his first volume had drawn the eyes of the world upon him that he had been swept out of the peaceful backwater of a student's existence into the swirling tides of the full river of Hfe. Then had followed Lord Simonstower's legacy, and then the runaway marriage with Haidee, and then four years of butterfly existence. He began to wonder, as he ate the vicar's well-kept mutton, fed on the moor- lands close by, and sipped the vicar's old claret, laid down many a year before, whether his recent hfe had not been a feverish dream. Looked at from this peace- ful retreat, its constant excitement and perpetual rush and movement seemed to have lost whatever charm they once had for him. Unconsciously Lucian was suffering from reaction: his moral as well as his physical nature was crying for rest, and the first oasis in the desert assumed the delightful colours and soft air of Paradise.
Later in the evening he walked over to the farmhouse, through softly falling snow, to inquire after his uncle's condition. Mrs. Chilverstone was in the sick man's room and did not come downstairs; Miss Pepperdine received him in the parlour. In spite of the trouble that had fallen upon the house and of the busy day which
she had spent, Keziah was robed in state for the evening, and she sat bolt upright in her chair plying her knitting-
LUCIAN THE DREAMER
201
needles as vigorously as in the old days which Lucian remembered so well. He sat down and glanced at Simpson Pepperdine's chair, and wished the familiar figure were occupying it, and he talked to his aunt of her brother's illness, and the cloud which hung over the house weighed heavily upon both.
' I am glad you came down, Lucian,' said Miss Pepperdine, after a time. ' I have been wanting to talk
to you. ' '
' Yes,' he said.
Keziah's needles cUcked with unusual vigour for a
moment or two. '
' Simpson,' she said at last, was always a sott-
hearted man. If he had been harder of heart, he would
have been better off. ' remark, stared at Lucian, puzzled by this ambiguous indicative of his
with pointed
know at present, Lucian. When all is said and done,
you are the nearest of kin in the male line, and after
hearing the doctors to-night I'm prepared for Simpson's death at any moment. It's a very bad attack of apo- plexy—if he lived he'd be a poor invalid all his life. Better that he should be taken while in the full posses-
sion of his faculties. ' before him with
Lucian gazed at the upright figure
mingled feelings. Miss Pepperdine used to sit like
and knit like that, and talk like that, in the old days— especially when she felt it to be her duty to reprimand him for some offence. So far as he could tell, she was . wearing the same stiff and crackly silk gown, she held her elbows close to her side and in just the same fashion,
she spoke with the same precision as in the time of Lucian's youth. The sight of her prim figure, the sound of her precise voice, blotted out half a score of years : Lucian felt very young again.
What about? '
Miss Pepperdine in a fashion 3. nnazement .
' I think,' continued Miss Pepperdine,
emphasis, ' I think it is time you knew more than you
that,
202
LUCIAN THE DREAMER
* It may not be so bad as you think,' he said. ' Even the best doctors may err. '
Miss Pepperdine shook her head.
' No,' she said, ' it's all over with Simpson. And
I think you ought to know, Lucian, how things are with him. Simpson has been a close man, he has kept things to himself all his life; and of late he has been obliged to confide in me, and I know a great deal that I did not
know. ' Lucian,
' Yes? ' said
continued, ' has not done well in business for some time. He had a heavy loss some
years ago through a rascally lawyer whom he trusted he always was one of those easy-going men that will trust anybody—and although the old Lord Simonstower helped him out of the difficulty, it ultimately fell on his own shoulders, and of late he has had hard work to keep
things going. Simpson will die a poor man. Not that that matters—Judith and myself are provided for. I shall leave here, afterwards. Judith, of course, is married. But as regards you, Lucian, you lent Simpson some money a few months ago, didn't you? '
' Simpson,' she
' My dear aunt ! ' exclaimed Lucian, ' I '
' I know all about it,' she said, ' though it's only recently that I have known. Well, you mustn't be sur- prised if you have to lose it, Lucian. When all is settled up, I don't think there will be much, if anything, over; and of course everybody must be paid before a member of the family. The Pepperdines have always had their pride, and as your mother was a Pepperdine, Lucian, you must have a share of it in you. '
' I have my father's pride as well,' answered Lucian. ' Of course I shall not expect the money. I was glad to be able to lend it. '
' Well,' said Miss Pepperdine, with the air of one who
deals out justice impartially,
Simpson back for what he had laid out on you.
gaying on Lucian, when [e spent a good deal of money you,
you were a boy. '
' in one way you were only
LUCIAN THE DREAMER 203
Lucian heard this news with astonished feelings.
' I did not know that,' he said. ' Perhaps I am care- less about these things, but I have always thought that my father left money for me. '
' I thought so too, until recently,' replied Miss Pepper- dine. ' Your father thought that he did, too, and he made Simpson executor and trustee. But the money
in
Lucian listened in silence.
Then,' he said, after time, my uncle was respon-
sible for everything for me? suppose he paid Mr. Chilverstone, and bought my clothes, and gave me
was badly invested. It was in a building society Rome, and it was all lost. There was never a penny piece from from the time of your father's death to this. '
pocket-money, and so on? ' Every penny,' repUed
his aunt. Simpson was And my three years at Oxford? ' he said inquiringly.
always generous man. '
'Ah! ' replied Miss Pepperdine,
matter. Well— don't suppose matters now that you should know, though Simpson wouldn't have told you, but think you ought to know. That was Lord Simons-
tower —the old lord. Lucian uttered
step or two about the room. Miss Pepperdine continued to knit with undiminished vigour. So would seem,' he said presently, that lived
and was educated on charity? ' it,' answered, That how most people would put she
though, to do them justice, don't think either Lord Simonstower or Simpson Pepperdine would have called
that. They thought you promising youth and they
his chair and took
He paid every penny. *
sharp exclamation. He rose from
want you to feel that little of his own in the know he would have paid back to the day, according to his promise, he'd been able. But I'm afraid that he would not have been
put money into you. That's why Simpson was only getting back money that you lent him, though
'that's another
it it
'
''I'''
if
I
a IaI
I
a I
it is
a
*
I aa
it
'
*
it,
204
LUCIAN THE DREAMER
able, and I think his money affairs have worked upon
him/
' I wish I had known/ said Lucian. ' He should have
had no anxiety on my account/
He continued to pace the floor; Miss Pepperdine's
needles clicked an accompaniment to his advancing and retreating steps.
' I thought it best/ she observed presently, ' that you
should know all these
things — they will explain a good
deal/ answered, ' Yes/ he
it is best. I should know. But I wish I had known long ago. After all, a man should
'
not be placed in a false position even by his dearest friends. I ought to have been told the truth. '
Miss Pepperdine's needles clicked viciously.
' So I always felt—after I knew, and that is but recently,' she answered. ' But, as I have said to you
before, Simpson Pepperdine is a soft-hearted man. '
' He has been a kind-hearted man,' said Lucian. He was thinking, as he walked about the room, glancing at
the well-remembered objects, that the money which he had wasted in luxuries that he could well have done without would have reheved Mr. Pepperdine of anxiety
Miss Pepperdine melted. She had formed rather hard thoughts of Lucian since his marriage. The side-winds which blew upon her ears from time to time represented him as living in style which her old-fashioned mind
did not approve she had come to consider him as
and trouble. And yet he had never
guessed, that the kindly-hearted farmer had anything to distress him.
* I think we all seem to walk in darkness,' he said, thinking aloud. ' I never had the least notion of this. Had I known anything of Uncle Simpson should have had all that could give him. '
frivolous, and unbalanced. But she was woman of sound common sense and great shrewdness,
extravagant,
and she recognised the genuine ring in Luclan's voice
known, never
a
I :
a
it,
LUCIAN THE DREAMER 205
and the sincerity of his regret that he had not been able
to save Simpson Pepperdine some anxiety.
' I'm sure you would, my boy,' she said kindly.
' However, Simpson has done with everything now. I didn't tell Judith, because she frets so, but the doctors don't think he'll ever regain consciousness — will only be matter of few days, Lucian. '
And that only makes one wish that one had known
sooner,' he said. Five years ago could have helped him substantially. '
of his anxieties
He was thinking of the ten thousand pounds which
had already disappeared. follow his line of thought.
Miss Pepperdine did not
Yes, I've heard that you've made lot of money,' she said. You've been one of the lucky ones, Lucian, for always understood that poets generally Hved in garrets and were half-starved most of their time. I'm sure one used to read all that sort of thing in books; but perhaps t! mes have changed, and so much the better. Simpson always read your books as soon as you sent them. Upon my word, I'm sure he never understood what was all about, except perhaps some of the songs and ballads, but he liked the long words, and he was very proud of these little green books — they're all in
Well,
he bit on the wrong side of the ledger, must be made up by the family, and you must do your share. mustn't be said that Pepperdine died owing money
that he couldn't pay. I've already talked over with Judith, and there money to be found, she and and you must find between us. If need be, all mine can go,' she added sharply. can get place as housekeeper even at my age. '
Lucian gave her his promise readily enough, and
his bureau there, along with his account-books.
as was saying, understand you've made money, Lucian. Take care of it, my boy, for you never know when you may want it, and want badly, in this world. There's one thing want you to promise me. don't yet know how things will be when Simpson's gone, but
it
I
It
if
if
I
a
is
a
is a
II**a it
I'
a aII
it
I
-it
it
it
'
a
'
2o6 LUCIAN THE DREAMER
immediately began to wonder what it might imply. But he agreed with her reasoning, and assured himself that, if necessary, he would live on a crust in order to carry out her wishes. And soon afterwards he set out for the vicarage, promising to return for news of Mr. Pepper- dine's condition at an early hour in the morning.
As he walked back over the snow Lucian was full of thought. The conversation with Miss Pepperdine had opened a new world to him. He had always believed himself independent: it now turned out that for years and years he had lived at other men's charges. He owed his very food to the charity of a relative; another man, upon whom he had no claim, had lavished generosity upon him in no unstinted fashion. He was full of honest
to these men, but he wished at the same time that he had known of their HberaHty sooner. He felt that he had been placed in a false position, and the feeling lowered him in his own estimation. He thought of his father, who earned money easily and spent it freely, and reaUsed that he had inherited his happy-go-lucky
gratitude
Yet he had never doubted that his father had made provision for him, for he remembered hearing
temperament.
him tell some artist friends one afternoon in Florence that
benefit, and Cyprian Damerel had been a man of common sense, fond of pleasure and good living and generous though he was,
he had laid money aside for Lucian's
But Lucian well understood the story of the Roman
building society—greater folk than he, from the Holy Father downwards, had lost money out of that feverish
desire to build which has characterised the Romans of all ages. No doubt his father had been carried away by some wave of enthusiasm, and had put all his eggs into one basket, and they had all been broken together. Still, Lucian wished that Mr. Pepperdine had told him all this on his reaching an age of understanding—it would have made a difference in many ways. ' I seem,' he thought, as he plodded on through the snow, ' I seem to have lived in an unreal world, and to have supposed things which were not ! ' And he began to recall the days
LUCIAN THE DREAMER 20/
of sure and confident youth, when his name was being extolled as that of a newly risen star in the literary firma- ment, and his own heart was singing with the joy of pride and strength and full assurance. He had never
induced in him an unassuming modesty, at which many people who witnessed his triumphs and saw him lionised had wondered. Now, however, he had tasted the bitter-
ness of reverse; he had found that Fortune can frown as easily as she can smile, and that it is hard to know upon what principle her smiles and frowns are portioned out. To a certain point, life for Lucian had been a perpetual dancing along the primrose way—it was now developing into a tangle wherein were thorns and briars.
He was too full of these thoughts to care for conversa- tion, even with his old tutor, and he pleaded fatigue and went to bed. He lay awake for the greater part of the night, thinking over his talk with Miss Pepperdine, and
felt one doubt of the splendour of his
accepted it as anything but his just due. His very certainty on these matters had, all unknown to himself,
career, never
to arrange his affairs so that he might make good his promise to her, and when he slept, his sleep was troubled by uneasy dreams. He woke rather late in the morning with a feeling of impending calamity hanging heavily upon him. As he dressed, Mr. Chilverstone came tapping at his door—something in the sound warned Lucian of bad news. He was not surprised when the vicar told him that Simpson Pepperdine had died during the night.
He walked over to the farm as soon as he had break- fasted, and remained there until noon. Coming back, he overtook the village postman, who informed him that the letters were three hours late that morning in conse- quence of the heavy fall of snow, which had choked up the roads between Simonstower and Oakborough.
* It'll be late afternoon afore I've finished my rounds,' he added, with a strong note of self-pity. ' If you're going up to the vicarage, sir, it 'ud save me a step if
endeavouring
2o8 LUCIAN THE DREAMER
you took the vicar's letters — and there's one, I believe,
for yourself. '
Lucian took the bundle of letters which the man held
out to him, and turned it over until he found his own.
He wondered why Haidee had written to him—she had
no great liking for correspondence, and he had not
to hear from her during his absence. He opened the letter in the vicar's study, without the least expectation of finding any particular news in it.
It was a very short letter, and, considering the char- acter of the intimation it was intended to make, the
expected
and outspoken. Lucian 's wife merely announced that his plans for the future were not agreeable to her, and that she was leaving home with the intention of joining Eustace Darlington in Paris. She further added that it was useless to keep she had already been un-
phrasing
was commendably plain
up pretences any longer;
faithful, and she would be glad if Lucian would arrange
to divorce her as quickly as possible, so that she and
Either as an afterthought, or out of sheer good will, she concluded with a lightly worded expression of friendship and of hope that Lucian
might have better luck next time.
It is more than probable that Haidee was never quite
so much her true self in her relation to Lucian as when writing this letter. It is permitted to every woman, whatever her mental and moral quality, to have her ten minutes of unreasoning romance at some period of her life, and Haidee had hers when she and Lucian fell in love with each other's beauty and ran away to hide themselves from the world while they played out their little comedy. It was natural that they should tire of each other within the usual time; but the man's sense of duty was developed in Lucian in a somewhat excep- tional way, and he was inclined to settle down to a Darby and Joan life. Haidee had little of that particular instinct. She was all for pleasure and the glory of this world, and there is small wonder that the prospect of
exile in a land for which she had no great liking should
Darlington might marry.
LUCIAN THE DREAMER
209
have driven her to the salvation of her diamonds and herself by recourse to the man whom she ought to have married instead of Lucian. There was already a guilty bond between them; it seemed natural to Haidee to look to it as a means of drawing her away from the dangers which threatened her worldly comfort. It was equally natural to her to announce all these things to Lucian in pretty much the same terms that she would have em- ployed had she been declining an invitation to some social engagement.
Lucian read the letter three times. He gave no sign of whatever emotion it called up. All that he did was to announce in quiet, matter-of-fact tones that he must return to London that afternoon, and to beg the loan of the vicar's horse and trap as far as Wellsby station. After that he lunched with Mr. and Mrs. Chilverstone, and if they thought him unusually quiet, there was good reason for that in the fact that Simpson Pepperdine was lying dead in the old farmhouse behind the pine groves.
CHAPTER XXV
Haidee, waiting for Darlington in Paris, spent the time in a state of perfect peace, amused herself easily and
and at the same time kept clear of such of her acquaintance as she knew to be in the French capital at that moment. On the morrow Darlington would return, and after that everything would be simple. She had arranged it all in her own mind as she travelled from London, and she believed —having a confident and sanguine disposition—that the way in which the affair presented itself to her was the only way in which it could possibily present itself to any one. It had been a mis- take to marry Lucian. Well, it wasn't too late to rectify the mistake, and one was wise, of course, in rectifying it. If you find out that you are on the wrong road —why, what more politic and advisable than to take the shortest cut to the right one?
She was sorry for Lucian, but the path which he was following just then was by no means to her own taste, and she must leave him to tread it alone. She was indeed sorry for him. He had been an ardent and a delightful lover—for a while—and it was a pity he was not a rich man. Perhaps they might be friends yet. She, at any rate, would bear no malice — why should she? She was fond enough of Lucian in one way, but she had no fondness for a quiet life in Florence or Pisa or anywhere else, and she had been brought up to believe that a woman must be good to the man who can best afford to be good to her, and she felt as near an approach to thankfulness as she had ever felt in her life when she remembered that Eustace Darlington still cherished a benevolent disposition towards her.
Darlington did not return to Paris until nearly noon of the following day. When he reached his hotel he was informed by his valet, whom he had left behind, that
Mrs. Damerel had arrived, and had asked for him. 2IO
successfully,
needed no definite answer.
in Haidee's hearing.
LUCIAN THE DREAMER
211
Darlington felt no surprise on hearing this news; nothing more serious than a shopping expedition occurred to him. He sent his man to Haidee's rooms with a message, and after changing his clothes went to call upon her himself. His manner showed her that he neither suspected nor anticipated anything out of the common, but his first question paved the way for her explanation. It was a
question that might have been put had they met in New York or Calcutta or anywhere, a question that
Frills, or frocks, or some- thing equally feminine, I suppose? ' he said ' carelessly,
as he shook hands with her. ' Staying long?
The indifference of his tone sounded somewhat harshly
' What brings you here?
It was evident that he suspected nothing and had no idea of the real reason of her
She suddenly became aware that there might be difficulties in the path that had seemed so easy.
presence.
' Lucian here? ' asked Darlington, with equal careless-
ness.
' No,' she said.
Then, in a lower tone, she added,
* I have left Lucian. '
Darlington turned quickly from the window, whither
he had strolled after their greeting. He uttered a sharp,
half -suppressed exclamation.
' Left him? ' he said. ' You don't mean
His interrogative glance completed the sentence.
There was something in his eyes, something stern and businesslike, that made Haidee afraid. Her own eyes
turned elsewhere.
' Yes,' she said.
Dariington put his hands in his pockets and came and stood in front of her. He looked down at her as if she had been a child out of whom he wished to extract some information.
* Quarrelling, eh? ' he said.
' No, not quarrelling at all,' she answered.
* Then— what? '
' He has spent all the money,' she said, ' and lots
'
212 LUCIAN THE DREAMER
beside, and he is going to sell everything in the house in order to pay you, and then he wanted me to go and live cheaply—cheaply, you understand? —in Italy; and —and he said I must sell my diamonds. '
* Did he? ' said Darlington. ' And he is going to sell everything in order to pay me, is he? Well, that's honest; I didn't think he'd the pluck. He's evidently not quite such an utter fool as I've always thought him. Well? '
fident voice. — low, satirical,
Darlington laughed a cynical laughter
' And, of course, I left him. '
' That " of course " is good. Of course, being you, you did, " of course. " Yes, I understand that part, Haidee. But ' —he looked around him with an expres- sive glance at her surroundings, ' why—here? ' he inquired sharply.
' I came to you,' she said in a low and not too con-
that frightened her. She glanced at him timidly; she had never known him like that before.
' I see! ' he said. ' You thought that I should prove a refuge for the fugitive wife? But I'm afraid that I am not disposed to welcome refugees of any description — it isn't my metier, you know. '
Haidee looked at him in astonishment. Her caught and held his: he saw the growing terror in her face.
' But ' she said, and came to a stop. Then she repeated the word, still staring at him with questioning eyes. Darlington tore himself away with a snarl.
' Look here! ' he said, * I'm not a sentimental man. If I ever had a scrap of sentiment, you knocked it out of me four years ago. I was fond of you then. I'd have made you a kind husband, my girl, and you'd have got on, fool as you are by nature. But you threw me
over for that half-mad boy, and it killed all the soft things I had inside me. I knew I should have my revenge on both of you, and I've had it. He's ruined; he hasn't a penny piece that isn't due to me; and as for you—listen,
eyes
LUCIAN THE DREAMER
213
my girl, and I'll tell you some plain truths. You're a pretty animal, nice to play with for half an hour now and then, but you're no man's mate for life, unless the man's morally blind. I once heard a scientific chap say that the soul's got to grow in hiunan beings. Well, yours hasn't sprouted yet, Haidee. You're a fool, though you are a very lovely woman. I suppose — ' —he came closer to her, and looking down at her astonished face smiled more cynically than ever — ' I suppose you thought that I would run away with you and eventually marry you ? '
' I—yes—of course ! ' ahe whispered.
' Well,' he said, ' if I, too, had been a fool, I might have done that. But I am not a fool, my dear Haidee. Perhaps I'm hard, brutal, cynical—the world and its precious denizens have made me so. I'm not going to run away with the woman who ran away with another man on the very eve of her marriage to me; and as to marrying you, well—I'm plain spoken enough to tell you that I made up my mind years ago that whatever other silliness I might commit, I would never commit the crowning folly of marrying a woman who had been my mistress. '
Haidee caught her breath with a sharp exclamation. If she had possessed any spirit she would have risen to her feet, said things, done things : having none, like most of her sort, she suddenly buried her face in her hands and sobbed.
' I dare say it doesn't sound nice,' said Darlington, 'but Lord knows it's best to be plain spoken. Now,
my girl, listen to me. Go home and make the best of your bargain. I'll let Lucian Damerel off easily, though to tell you the truth I've always had cheerful notions of ruining him hopelessly. If he wants to live cheaply in Italy, go with him—you married him. You have your maid here? —tell her to pack up and be ready to leave by the night train. I dare say Damerel thinks you have only run over here to buy a new gown; he never need know anything to the contrary. '
214
LUCIAN THE DREAMER
* B-b-b-but I have t-t-told him ! ' she sobbed. ' He
knows ! '
' Damn you for a fool ! ' said Darlington, between his
teeth. He put his hands in his pockets again and began rattling the loose money there. For a moment he stood staring at Haidee, his face puckered into frowning lines. He came up to her. ' How did you tell him? ' he said.
' You didn't— write it? '
' Yes,' she answered. ' I did — I wrote him a letter. '
Darlington sighed.
' Oh, well ! ' he said, ' it doesn't matter, only he'll be
able to get heavy damages, and I wanted to clear him out. It's the fortune of war. Well, I'm going. Good-
day. '
He had walked across to the door and laid his hand
upon the latch ere Haidee comprehended the meaning of his words. Then she sprang up with a scream.
' And what of me? ' she cried. ' Am Ito be left here? '
' You brought yourself here,' he retorted, eyeing her evilly. ' I did not ask you to come. '
She stared at him open-mouthed as if he were some strange thing that had come into her line of vision for the first time. Her breath began to come and go in gasps. She was an elementary woman, but at this treat- ment from the man she had known as her lover a natural
indignation sprang up words.
in her and she began to find
' But this ! ' she said, with a nearer approach to honesty than she had ever known, ' this is—desertion ! '
' I am under no vow to you,' he said.
' You have implied it. I trusted you. '
' As Lucian trusted you,' he sneered.
She became speechless again. Something in her looks
brought Darlington back from the door to her side.
' Look here, Haidee,' he said, not unkindly, ' don't be a little fool. Go home quickly and settle things with
your husband. Tell him you wrote that letter in a fit of temper; tell him—oh, tell him any of the lies that women
LUCIAN THE DREAMER 215
invent so easily on these occasions! It's absolutely hopeless to look to me for protection, absolutely impos- sible for me to give it '
He stopped. She was staring at him in a strange way
the way in which a dumb animal might stare if the butcher who was about to kill it condescended to try to explain to it why it was necessary that he should
cut its throat. Darlington hummed and ha'd when he caught that look. He cast a furtive glance at the door and half turned away from Haidee.
presently
' Yes, quite impossible,' he repeated. ' The fact is
well, you may as well knew it now as hear it later on— I am going to be married. '
She nodded her head as if she quite understood his
and he, looking full at her again, noticed that she was trying to moisten her lips with the tip of her
and that her eyes were dilated to an imusual
' You can't say that I've treated you badly,' he said. ' After all, you had the first chance, and it wasn't my
meaning,
tongue, degree.
There, now, be sensible and go back to London and make it up with Damerel. You can easily get round him—he'll believe anything you tell
him. Say you were upset at the thought of going to Italy with him, and lost your head. Things will come all right if you only manage your cards properly. Well, I'm going —good-day. '
He turned slowly from her as if he were somewhat ashamed of his desertion. They had been standing by the side of a table, littered about on v/hich were several odds and ends picked up by Haidee on the previous day. Amongst them was an antique stiletto, sharp as a needle, which had taken her fancy at a shop in the Palais Royal. She had thought of using it as a hat-pin, and was charmed when the dealer suggested that it had
fault if you threw it away.
tasted the heart' s-blood of more than one victim. Its glitter caught her eye now, and she picked it up and struck furiously at Darlington's back.
probably
At that moment Lucian was being conducted to his
2i6 LUCIAN THE DREAMER
wife's room by a courteous manager. At the threshold they paused, brought to a simultaneous standstill by a wild scream. When they entered the room, Darlington lay crumpled up and dead in the centre of the floor, and
Haidee, gazing spellbound at him from the furthest corner, was laughing—a long, low ripple of laughter that seemed as if it would never cease. The stiletto, thrown at her feet, flashed back a ray of sunlight from the window.
CHAPTER XXVI
That afternoon Saxonstowe arrived in town from York- shire with a grim determination in his heart to have it out once and for all with Sprats. He had tried to do his duty as a country squire and to interest himself in country life and matters: he had hunted the fox and shot pheasants, sat on the bench at petty and at quarter sessions, condoled with farmers on poor prices and with old women on bad legs, and he was still unsatisfied and restless and conscious of wanting something. The folk round about him came to the conclusion that he was not as other young men of his rank and wealth —he seemed inclined to bookishness, he was a bit shy and a little bit stand-ofhsh in manner, and he did not appear to have much inclination for the society of neighbours in his own station of hfe. Before he succeeded to the title Saxon- stowe had not been much known in the neighbourhood. He had sometimes visited his predecessor as a schoolboy, but the probability of his becoming the next Lord Saxon- stowe was at that time small, and no one had taken much notice of Master Richard Feversham. When he came back to the place as lord and master, what reputation he had was of a sort that scarcely appealed to the country people. He had travelled in some fearsome countries where no other man had ever set foot, and he haid written a great book about his adventures, and must therefore be a clever young man. But he was not a soldier, nor a sailor, and he did not particularly care for hunting or shooting, and was therefore somewhat of a hard nut to crack. The honest gentlemen who found fox-hunting the one thing worth living for could scarcely realise that even its undeniable excitements were somewhat tame to a man who had more than once taken part in a hunt in which he was the quarry, and they were disposed to 217
2i8 LUCIAN THE DREAMER
regard the new Viscount Saxonstowe as a bit of a prig, being unconscious that he was in reaUty a very simple-
minded, unaffected young man who was a httle bit embarrassed by his title and his wealth. As for their ladies, it was their decided opinion that a young peer of such ancient lineage and such great responsibilities should marry as soon as possible, and each beUeved that it was Lord Saxonstowe' s bounden duty to choose a wife from one of the old north-country famihes. In this Saxonstowe agreed with them. He desired a wife, and a wife from the north country, and he knew where to find her, and wanted her so much that it had long been evident to his sober judgment that, failing her, no other woman would ever call him husband. The more he was left alone, the more deeply he sank in the sea of love. And at last he felt that life was too short to be trifled with, and he went back to Sprats and asked her firmly
and insistently to marry him.
Sprats was neither hurt nor displeased nor surprised.
She listened silently to all he had to say, and she looked at him with her usual frankness when he had finished.
' I thought we were not to talk of these matters? ' she said. ' We were to be friends—was there not some sort
of compact? ' —
' If so, I have broken it,' he answered ' not
the
friendship —that, never! —but the compact. Besides, I don't remember anything about that. As to talking of this, well, I intend to go on asking you to marry me until you do. '
' You have not forgotten what I told you? ' she said, eyeing him with some curiosity.
* Not at all. I have thought a lot about it/ he
answered. ' I have not only thought,
but I have come
to a conclusion. ' '
' Yes? ' she said, still curious.
' That you are deceiving yourself,' he answered.
' You think you love Lucian Damerel. I do not doubt that you do, in a certain way, but not in the way in which I would wish you, for instance, to love me, and
What conclusion? '
LUCIAN THE DREAMER 219
in which I believe you could and would love me—if you
would let yourself. '
Sprats stared at him with growing curiosity and sur-
There was something masterful and lordly about his tone and speech that filled her heart with a great sense of contentment —it was the voice of the superior animal calling to the inferior, of the stronger to the weaker. And she was so strong that she had a great longing to be weak—always providing that something stronger than herself were shielding her weakness.
prise.
' Well? ' was all she could say. '
' You have always felt a sense of protection for him, continued Saxonstowe. ' It was in you from the first — you wanted something to take care of. But isn't there sometimes a feeling within you that you'd like to be taken care of yourself? '
' Who taught you all this? ' she asked, with puzzled
brows. ' You seem to have acquired some strange
knowledge of late.
